The Nightmarys (17 page)

right. I need to park this thing next to it.”

Timothy felt a smal rush. His father had

Timothy felt a smal rush. His father had

never asked him to do this by himself before. It

should have been more exciting. “Whose car is

this?” Timothy asked, trying to sound peppy.

“I’m doing a favor for a buddy. Said I’d give

it a look over the weekend.” His father clicked

the garage-door opener. Timothy hopped out

of the car, clutching the keys. He’d watched his

father do this plenty of times. He’d waited

years for this chance. Now his mind was so

frantic, he couldn’t even think about enjoying

the experience.

Once his father had pul ed into the garage

beside him, Timothy fol owed him out into the

rain. “Nice job there,” said his father, distracted.

“Stuart’s doing bet er?” His father led the way

up the brick path toward the house’s unlit back

door.

“That’s the big question,” Timothy said,

trailing behind. Lightning flashed again, and the

memory of Ben’s face echoed in Timothy’s

mind. Suddenly, he remembered there were

bigger questions.

THE NIGHTMARYS

INTERLUDE

MARCELLA’S ITALIAN RESTAURANT—

PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND

“Surprise!” shouted the crowd.

Percival Ankh clutched at his chest and

screwed up his face into a mad grimace.

Everyone gasped, but when Percival smiled, his

family understood he was just kidding. Cruel,

he knew, but he’d told them for years that he

hated surprises. They deserved it. “Oh, Dad,”

they said, pat ing him on the back, wishing him

congratulations.

The old man’s family was throwing him a

birthday party. He was ninety today, a late-

April baby, a typical y stubborn Taurus. He’d

told his wife he’d never been sure he’d actual y

wanted to live this long. But now, surrounded

wanted to live this long. But now, surrounded

by his loved ones, Percival realized what his

life had been al about. Sure, there had always

been the chal enges of working at the library,

but nding his family at home at the end of the

day provided his true satisfaction.

The food was delicious, and the cake was even

bet er.

Later, when Percival got up to use the

restroom, everyone looked nervous. “I do this

every day at home by myself,” he said. “I can

walk.” Stil , his son insisted on accompanying

him. Percival waved him away. “How about

this instead? If I’m not back in ten minutes,

send out a search party.”

After he’d done his business, Percival washed

his hands. When he’d rst entered the

bathroom, an at endant had greeted him,

smiling. Now, though, Percival was alone.

Strange. He grabbed a towel to dry himself,

then turned to go.

But the door he’d entered through was no

But the door he’d entered through was no

longer there. Somehow, it had been replaced

with a solid wal , covered by the dul , gray-

striped wal paper that encompassed the rest of

the room, like bars. “What the …?” said

Percival, searching the room for a way out. He

must have got en turned around. But as he

scanned each wal it seemed as though there

actual y was no exit.

He was trapped in here. Alone. Impossible.

Was this another surprise, another trick

planned by his kids to teach him a lesson for

messing around earlier?

The old man pounded on the wal where the

door should have been. He cal ed out for his

son. Boy, his kids were thinking, wil Dad be

embarrassed when he comes back to the table.

Can’t even pee by himself anymore, they’d say.

Poor old guy.

He waited, but received no answer.

Then, behind him, one of the stal doors

creaked open. Percival turned, chil s swarming

his body like lit le red ants. Maybe the

his body like lit le red ants. Maybe the

at endant he’d seen earlier had been in there

the whole time. Maybe he could help.

A man stepped out from the stal , but it was

not the at endant. This man’s face was familiar,

though Percival hadn’t thought of him in years

… especial y since the man he was staring at

was dead. Percival fel backward against the

wal .

The man in the gray overcoat pul ed the

smal wicker basket from the counter between

the sinks and held it out. Smiling, he said,

“Soap? Lotion? Mint?” Then he began to laugh.

Percival turned and pounded harder than ever

on the wal behind him.

Where the hel was that search party?

28.

On Saturday morning, Timothy awoke with the

sun shining in his eyes. Everything was, and

always had been, fine.

Moments later, after a good stretch, Timothy

sat up in his bed and realized that everything

was not ne. The week’s events came rushing

back to him, and despite the revelatory light of

the morning, he felt an awful dread, which

grew when he heard the phone ringing.

Rushing downstairs, Timothy grabbed the

handset from the side table in the front

hal way. “Hel o?”

“Timothy,” said an old woman’s voice. “This

is Zilpha Kindred. Abigail’s grandmother. Sorry

to cal so early, but I need your help.”

Zilpha explained that the night before, Abigail

had arrived home quite late, drenched from the

had arrived home quite late, drenched from the

rain. She’d apologized and asked if she could

go to sleep early. Later, in bed, Zilpha was

restless, so she went to get a glass of water.

When she heard a sni ing noise outside the

foyer, Zilpha opened the front door and found

Abigail slumped against the wal . The elevator

but on glowed red. Zilpha led her back into the

apartment. She asked Abigail what was going

on. Breaking down, Abigail had told her

everything.

“Everything?” Timothy asked.

“Everything,” Zilpha answered. “And there

are a few things you should know too,

Timothy.”

The night before, Zilpha had explained to

Abigail that these odd occurrences were

something they shared—that when Zilpha was

young, she tried to stop a bad man from doing

a bad thing. His name had been Christian

Hesselius—the man Frances May had told them

about. Now, somehow the bad man had

returned to New Starkham to ful l some kind

returned to New Starkham to ful l some kind

of vengeance. The weirdest part? The bad man

had died in an institution nearly fifty years ago.

“But how …?” Timothy imagined his shadow

man as a ghost, a magician, a demon.

“I’m not exactly sure myself,” said Zilpha.

“Is Abigail okay now?”

“That’s why I’m cal ing, Timothy. Did she say

anything about leaving New Starkham to go

back to her father in New Jersey?”

“Yes, actual y,” he answered quietly. “She

told me she was thinking about it, but then

changed her mind.”

“She left a let er on the dining room table

this morning. She must have snuck out quite

early.” Timothy felt his throat begin to close.

“We can’t reach her father. Sarah has already

left town to search for her. If you hear anything

…”“Uh-huh,” Timothy murmured, his mind

racing with guilt for not fol owing Abigail al

the way home.

the way home.

“I beg you to cal .” Zilpha gave him her

phone number, which he scribbled on a nearby

scrap of paper. “And Timothy … trust me. After

today, this wil be over. I know everything must

seem weird, but please … This is my mess, and

I am handling it. Alone. Understand?”

“Okay,” he said. Even though Timothy now

had a mil ion more questions, he stil managed

to hang up.

When he had nal y col ected his thoughts,

Timothy poured himself a bowl of cereal, ate

quickly, then packed his swim bag, sticking

Zilpha’s phone number in his pocket. If Zilpha

didn’t want him thinking about Christian

Hesselius, he had to do something else.

Saturday-morning practice would be starting in

less than a half hour. He left a note on the

counter, tel ing his father where he had gone.

The air outside was brisk, but not cold. As

Timothy made his way down the hil toward

Edgehil Road and the mouth of the Dragon

Stairs, he hoped he could stop worrying about

Stairs, he hoped he could stop worrying about

what might be waiting for him in the locker

room.

Luckily, when he arrived, several of his team

members were stil in the dim chamber, put ing

on their suits, and teasing each other with the

threat of rat-tail whips. Timothy changed, then

fol owed the rowdy group through the showers

and down the long hal way to the pool.

Timothy tried to fol ow Thom’s practice to

the minute. Whenever he swam toward the

deep end, he couldn’t help imagining what

Stuart had seen at the bot om of the pool.

Under the diving platforms, he kept his eyes

closed, and counted his strokes so he could nd

the wal .

“Nice work,” Thom cal ed out to him, after

the rst one hundred yards. “I’ve never seen

you swim so fast.” Timothy knew why: he’d

never before felt like something was chasing

him.

him.

The more he thought about Zilpha’s cal , the

more anxious he became. Maybe if he walked

to the Mayfair now, they could talk some more,

sort this out together. She was an old woman.

Abigail would have wanted him to help her

grandmother, wouldn’t she?

From the shal ow end, Timothy pushed o

the wal , heading into a particularly strong free-

style sprint. He had to beat the clock.

Head to Zilpha’s apartment, even though

she’d asked him to stay out of it. That’s what

he’d do. The route would be easy, up the

southern slope, right past the col ege library—

Timothy felt a jolt, then jerked his body

upright. Grabbing on to the closest lane line in

the middle of the pool, he fought to keep from

going under. The person swimming behind him

just missed smacking him in the face with a

but erfly upstroke. Timothy didn’t even notice.

The library.

The col ege had a library too.

Maybe they would have the answers he

Maybe they would have the answers he

needed?

This way, Zilpha wouldn’t have to know.

29.

Outside, Timothy walked through the quad. He

fol owed the stone path as it wound between

the centuries-old buildings.

The hil rose as Timothy headed south, and

suddenly he was standing in front of a tal

structure that reminded him of the mansion

from The Addams Family. Timothy pul ed hard

on the handle and slipped inside.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the di erence in

light. Two wings of the building reached out

from a central distribution desk that sat directly

in front of the main entrance. A blond girl with

large blue eyes stood behind the desk.

“Hey, cutie,” she said. “What can I do for ya?”

“I—I was wondering if I’m al owed to use the

library,” he stammered, blushing. “I’ve got to

research a school project.”

The girl laughed. “I’m assuming you don’t

The girl laughed. “I’m assuming you don’t

have a col ege ID card.”

Timothy shook his head.

“Are you here with that other girl?”

“What other girl?”