The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,27

was a lawyer from Boston. Strange.” He thought carefully before adding, “I think his last name was the same as yours.”

The old woman stared at the table now, her mouth set in a grimace. Finally, Zilpha said, “My uncle wrote several books when I was a girl, but under a pseudonym. Oswald Kent? Kentwall? Something like that. I don’t really remember.”

“That’s it,” said Abigail. “Ogden Kentwall.”

“We learned his real last name online. But your last name is still …?” Timothy was unsure how to finish.

“I kept ‘Kindred’ for professional reasons,” she said. “I was a photographer in my youth.”

“Abigail showed me the pictures,” said Timothy. “They’re amazing.”

A spark lit up the old woman’s eyes as she looked at him again. “Well … thank you.”

“Gramma,” said Abigail, “do you remember your uncle’s books? They say he based the character on his niece.” She quietly added, “Was it you?”

“I don’t know what my uncle was thinking back then,” said Zilpha. She hesitated before adding, “It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about it.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” asked Timothy.

“I … I don’t remember much.”

“Gramma, please. It’ll really help … our report.”

Zilpha shut her eyes, looking ready to close up entirely.

As one last desperate attempt for an answer, Timothy said, “Have you ever heard these names: Carlton Quigley, Bucky Jenkins, or Leroy Fromm?”

Now Zilpha looked truly confused. “Some stories are best forgotten,” she said, shaking her head with finality. “Why don’t you read something more fun, instead? I’ve heard so much about those Harry Potter books.”

Abigail glanced at Timothy. The look in her eyes said, This is not going to be easy.

21.

After dinner, Timothy asked the location of the bus stop, so he could ride back up Edgehill Road to Beech Nut Street. Abigail’s grandmother did not like that idea. “It’s too late,” she said. “Too dark.”

As Sarah put on her coat, Abigail pulled Timothy into the living room. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” she said.

“Right,” said Timothy. “Tomorrow.”

Outside, as Abigail’s mother pulled her SUV away from the curb, Timothy noticed someone exiting the building.

A formidable silhouette heading north underneath the nearest streetlight. A tall man in a long overcoat. A small hat was perched on his head.

Timothy pressed his face to the window, craning his neck to keep the man in view as the SUV moved up the street. In the brief moment when Sarah paused to make a left onto Andrade Avenue, Timothy thought he saw the man pass into the shadows beyond the building. The sight sent shivers through him. He pressed himself into the passenger seat.

People often wore long coats and hats outside on cool nights. Was it possible that the sight of this man had meant nothing? He decided to call Abigail when he got home, just to be safe.

“Timothy! Where have you been?” his mother shouted at him when he came through the front door. The entire first floor of the house was lit up.

“I was at my friend Abigail’s house,” he said, slipping out of his wet sneakers and kicking them into the front hall closet.

“Why didn’t you call?” said his mother, stepping into the doorway from the kitchen. “We were so worried. Your father was just about to notify the police. Plus, your school phoned that you had detention this afternoon. What is going on with you?”

“It was for passing a note in class,” Timothy explained, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Mr. Crane was being totally unfair.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” his father shouted from the kitchen. “Next time, you’d better call.”

Something was going on here. Timothy could sense a change in the atmosphere; his parents were electrified. Last night, they hadn’t cared that he’d walked home alone from the pool, but now …

“We got a call from your brother’s doctor,” said Timothy’s mother. “They feel that he’s been stabilized enough to transport him to a base in Maryland. He’s on his way there right now.”

Timothy grabbed on to the banister at the base of the stairs to steady himself. “Is he awake?”

“Not yet,” she said. “But there’s hope. I’m flying down first thing tomorrow.”

“Can we all go?”

“They don’t think that’s a good idea, honey. Maybe eventually, but for now, I’m going alone to sort out the situation.”

“What about Dad?”

“He’ll stay here with you,” said his mom. She held open her arms. Timothy came forward, and she hugged him. “You boys will take care of each other.”

Timothy sat at the kitchen table and listened to his parents discuss their plans for