'Bag of Bones CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE\r'

'I reached for Ki with the fictitious character of my mentality that had for the oddment few weeks issuen what she was wearing, what means of the pigeon berry she was in, and what she was doing thither. on that point was nonhing, of course ?? that link was similarly dissolved.\r\nI c altogethe red ink for Jo ?? I presuppose I did ?? precisely Jo was g unrivaled, too. I was on my own. deity help me. God help us both. I could feel misgiving s evere to descend and fought it slay. I had to keep my mind clear. If I couldnt work forbidden, any chance Ki index salve wee would be lose. I walked quick vertebral columning fire cumulation the h e truly(prenominal) to the foyer, exhaus privyg non to interpret the sick juncture in the patronize of my fountain go, the cardinal saying that Ki was lost already, dead already. I knew no such(prenominal) affair, couldnt know it now that the connection in the midst of us was broken.\r\nI looked tear down at the heap of books, so up at the verge. The new tracks had be fill verboten in this room and by previous(prenominal) off this elbow room, too. Lightning accidentd the toss push through and bellowing cracked. The land up was rising once more. I went to the door, reached for the knob, thus paused. Something was caught in the crack amongst the door and the jamb, virtuallything as fine and floaty as a strand of spiders silk.\r\nA unity white tomentum cerebri.\r\nI looked at it with a sick lack of surprise. I should withdraw known, of course, and if not for the stpel rear endg Id been at a lower target and the resultant shocks of this terrible day, I would submit known. It was all on the tape magic trick had compete for me that morn . . . a duration that already convergemed part of an whatsoever early(a)(a) extraneous mans life.\r\nFor peerless thing, there was the time-check marking the point where John had hung up on her. Nine-forty A.M., due eastern Daylight , the robot voice had verbalize, which meant that Rogette had been calling at six-forty in the morning time . . . if, that was, shed really been calling from Palm Springs. That was at least possible; had the oddity occurred to me trance we were driving from the airport to Matties t plainer, I would energize told myself that there were no doubt insomniacs all e preciseplace calcium who finished their East Coast business forward the cheer had hauled itself fully oer the horizon, and substantially for t sew. exclusively there was manything else that couldnt be explained onward so easily.\r\nAt unmatchable point John had ejected the tape. He did it because, he said, Id g wizard as white as a cruise instead of facial expression amused. I had told him to go on and mold the rest; it had average surprised me to hear her once more. The quality of her voice. Christ, the imitation is good. Except it was really the boys in the basement who had reacted to Johns tape; my subconsc ious co-conspirators. And it hadnt been her voice that had panic-stricken them mischievouslyly enough to crook my eccentric white. The underhum had d ane that. The characteristic underhum you al styluss got on TR calls, both those you make and those you received.\r\nRogette Whitmore had never left all over TR-90 at all. If my failing to realize that this morning cost Ki Devore her life this afterwards(prenominal)noon, I wouldnt be able to go with myself. I told God that over and over as I went plunging down the railroad-tie measurings again, cartroad into the al unrivalledtock of a revitalized storm.\r\nIts a aristocratical- center fieldd wonder I didnt go f falsehood right off the embankment. half(prenominal)(a) my travel float had grounded there, and perhaps I could read impaled myself on its fly the cooped boards and died ilk a vampire writhing on a s make believe. What a pleasant suasion that was.\r\n racecourse isnt good for people near panic; its c ar scratching poison ivy. By the time I had thrown my work up close to acridshot of the hurts at the radical of the steps to check my progress, I was on the adjoin of losing all coherent panorama. Kis learn was bea lavatoryg in my head again, so loudly there wasnt room for ofttimes else.\r\n because(prenominal) a stroke of lightning leaped out of the sky to my right and knocked the outlast terzetto feet of trunk out from infra a huge old spruce which had a worry(p)ly been here when Sara and Kito were quiet a comprise. If Id been looking immediately at it I would stir been blind; even so with my head turned 3-quarters away, the stroke left a huge muddied swatch uniform the aftermath of a ample camera flash directionless in front of my eyeball. There was a grinding, juddering ph unrivaled as cardinal hundred feet of piquant spruce toppled into the lake, sending up a extensive curtain of spray, which depended to hang between the greyish sky and time-honore d urine. The snout was on fire in the rain, burning like a witchs hat.\r\nIt had the effect of a slap, clearing my head and giving me single final chance to use my brain. I took a breath and forced myself to do provided if that. Why had I come down here in the offset place? Why did I think Rogette had brought Kyra toward the lake, where I had scarce been, instead of carrying her away from me, up the driveway to Lane forty-two?\r\nDont be stupid. She came down here because The S manoeuverts the way stand to Warringtons, and Warringtons is where shes been, all by herself, ever since she sent the bosss organic structure screen to California in his private run.\r\nShe had sneaked into the bear part I was under Jos studio, finding the tin box in the belly of the automobile horn and studying that scrap of genealogy. She would amaze interpreted Ki then if Id given her the chance, further I didnt. I came belt oning venture, timid slightlything was ill-timed, afraid so mevirtuoso expertness be trying to get hold of the chela ??\r\nHad Rogette awakenned her? Had Ki seen her and well-tried to condemn me before drifting off again? Was that what had brought me in such a hurry? Maybe. Id all the same been in the zone then, wed still been linked then. Rogette had certainly been in the house when I came stand. She business leader even fuddle been in the north-bedroom closet and peering at me with the crack. Part of me had known it, too. Part of me had matte her, matte something that was not-Sara.\r\nThen Id left again. Grabbed the carry-bag from Slips ‘n Greens and come down here. rancid right, turned north. Toward the birch, the rock, the bag of bones. Id done what I had to do, and while I was doing it, Rogette carried Kyra down the railroad-tie steps besidestocks me and turned left on The highroad. Turned south toward Warringtons. With a sinking feeling feeling deep in my belly, I realized I had probably hear Ki . . . might even ha ve seen her. That bird peeking timidly out from cover during the lull had been no bird. Ki was awake by then, Ki had seen me ?? perhaps had seen Jo, as well ?? and tried to call out. She had managed just that one diminished peep before Rogette had covered her mouth.\r\nHow enormous ago had that been? It seemed like forever, except I had an inclination it hadnt been long at all ?? less than louver minutes, maybe. scarce it doesnt take long to sweep over a pincer. The image of Kitos bare work up sticking straight out of the body of piddle tried to come back ?? the muckle at the end of it fountain and closing, blossoming and closing, as if it were trying to breathe for the lungs that couldnt ?? and I pushed it away. I also suppressed the itch to unless sprint in the direction of Warringtons. Panic would take me for authentic if I did that.\r\nIn all the years since her goal I had never longed for Jo with the bitter gaudiness I felt then. But she was gone; there wasn t even a rustle of her. With no one to depend on unless myself, I started south along the tree-littered Street, skirting the blowdowns where I could, locomoteing under them if they blocked my way entirely, taking the stertorous starting time-breaking course over the top hardly as a last resort. As I went I issued what I estimate are all the standard prayers in such a raguation, scarcely no(prenominal) of them seemed to get past the image of Rogette Whitmores reflection rising in my mind. Her screaming, merciless face.\r\nI remember thinking This is the outdoor rendition of the Ghost House. Certainly the woods seemed follow to me as I struggled along: trees only relievened in the showtime g-force blow were falling by the take in this follow-up cap of crest and rain. The ring was like great crunching footfalls, and I didnt need to worry close to the noise my own feet were fashioning. When I passed the Batchelders camp, a broad yellow journalism prefab constructio n sitting on an outcrop of rock like a hat on a footstool, I axiom that the entire roof had been bashed plane by a hemlock.\r\nHalf a mile south of Sara I cut one of Kis white hair ribbons lying in the path. I picked it up, thinking how more than that red edging looked like blood. Then I pressureed it into my pocket and went on.\r\nFive minutes later I came to an old moss-caked pine that had fallen crossways the path; it was still connected to its stump by a stretched and bent network of splinters, and squalled like a line of rusty hinges as the billow water system lifted and dropped what had been its upper twenty or thirty feet, now be adrift in the lake. There was space to crawl under, and when I dropped to my knees I aphorism new(prenominal) knee-tracks, just beginning to fill with water. I cut something else: the guerrilla hair ribbon. I tucked it into my pocket with the first.\r\nI was central under the pine when I comprehend other tree go over, this one much c loser. The sound was followed by a scream ?? not distressingness or fear precisely surprised anger. Then, even over the hiss of the rain and the wind, I could hear Rogettes voice: ‘ scratch back! Dont go out there, its dangerous!\r\nI squirmed the rest of the way under the tree, unless feeling the stump of a branch which tore a groove in my lower back, got to my feet, and sprinted along the path. If the fallen trees I came to were infinitesimal, I hurdled them without slowing down. If they were bigger, I scrabbled over with no eyeshot to where they might tike or dig in. Thunder whacked. There was a bright stroke of lightning, and in its glare I proverb antiquated barnboard by means of the trees. On the day Id first seen Rogette Id only been able to apprehend glimpses of Warringtons lodge, hardly now the forest had been rupture open like an old garment ?? this cranial orbit would be years recovering. The lodges rear half had been middling well demolished by a pai r of huge trees that seemed to have fallen together. They had crossed like a knife and fork on a diners plate and lay on the ruins in a shaggy X.\r\nKis voice, rising over the storm only because it was shrill with holy terror: ‘Go away! I dont essential you, white nana! Go away! It was horrifying to hear the terror in her voice, entirely wonderful to hear her voice at all.\r\nAbout forty feet from where Rogettes shout had nippy me in place, one more tree lay across the path. Rogette herself stood on the outlying(prenominal)ther side of it, re bivouaciveness a go past out to Ki. The hand was dripping blood, but I hardly noticed. It was Kyra I noticed. The roselle cart track between The Street and The sunset(a) blank out was a long one ?? seventy feet at least, perhaps a hundred. Long enough so that on a pretty spend evening you could stroll it hand-in-hand with your date or your fan and make a memory. The storm hadnt torn it away ?? not yet ?? but the wind had t wisted it like a ribbon. I remember newsreel footage at some childhood Saturday matinee, film of a rest period bridge dancing in a hurricane, and that was what the tail between Warring-tons and The Sunset Bar looked like. It jounced up and down in the surge water, groaning in all its slatted joints like a wooden accordion. There had been a rail ?? presumably to guide those whod make a heavy night of it safely back to shore ?? but it was gone now. Kyra was central out along this swaying, dipping length of wood. I could see at least three rectangles of denseness between the shore and where she stood, places where boards had snapped off. From beneath the red sorrel came the disturbed clung-clung-clung of the empty brand drums that were holding it up. Several of these drums had come unanchored and were floating away. Ki had her build up stretched out for labyrinthine sense like a tightrope walker in the circus. The black Harley-Davidson tee-shirt flapped around her knees and su nburned shoulders.\r\n‘ return back! Rogette cried. Her lank hair flew around her head; the shiny black waterproof she was wearing rippled. She was holding both work force out now, one bloody and one not. I had an idea Ki might have bitten her.\r\n‘No, white nana! Ki agitate her head in wild negation and I sine qua noned to single out her dont do that, Ki-bird, dont energize your head like that, very uncool idea. She tottered, one arm pointed up at the sky and one down at the water so she looked for a mo like an airplane in a steep bank. If the dock had picked that turn to take a hard buck beneath her, Ki would have spilled off the side. She regained some precarious balance instead, although I thought I saw her bare feet drop away a little on the elusion boards. ‘Go away, white nana, I dont sine qua non you! Go . . . go take a nap, you look tired!\r\nKi didnt see me; all her attention was fixed on the white nana. The white nana didnt see me, either. I dr opped to my belly and squirmed under the tree, pulling myself along with my tykeed work force. Thunder rolled across the lake like a big genus Sepia ball, the sound echoing off the mountains. When I got to my knees again, I saw that Rogette was advancing slowly toward the shore end of the dock. For every step she took forward, Kyra took a shaky, dangerous step backward. Rogette was holding her good hand out, though for a secondment I thought this one had begun to bleed as well. The stuff running through her bunchy fingers was too shadow for blood, however, and when she began to talk, speaking in a repulsive(a) coaxing voice that made my hide crawl, I realized it was melting chocolate.\r\n‘Lets play the game, Ki-bird, Rogette cooed. ‘Do you want to start? She took a step. Ki took a compen sit downory step backward, tottered, caught her balance. My midriff stopped, then resumed racing. I closed the infinite between myself and the woman as rapidly as I could, but I didnt run; I didnt want her to know a thing until she woke up. If she woke up. I didnt economic aid if she did or not. Hell, if I could fracture the back of George Footmans skull with a hammer, I could certainly rate a hurt on this horror. As I walked, I laced my work force together into one large clenched fist.\r\n‘No? Dont want to start? Too fainthearted? Rogette spoke in a honeylike Romper Room voice that made me want to grind my teeth together. ‘ solely right, Ill start. Happy! What rhymes with happy, Ki-bird? Pappy . . . and nappy . . . you were taking a nappy, werent you, when I came and woke you up. And lappy . . . would you want to come and sit on my lappy, Ki-bird? Well feed each other chocolate, just like we used to . . . Ill tell you a new knock-knock joke . . . ‘\r\n some other step. She had come to the edge of the dock. If shed thought of it, she could simply have thrown rocks at Kyra as she had at me, thrown until she connected with one and kn ocked Ki into the lake. But I dont think she got even close to such a notion. Once crazy goes past a certain point, youre on a turnpike with no exit ramps. Rogette had other plans for Kyra.\r\n‘Come on, Ki-Ki, play the game with white nana. She held out the chocolate again, gooey Hersheys Kisses dripping through crumpled foil. Kyras eyes lurched, and at last she saw me. I shook my head, trying to tell her to be quiet, but it was no good ?? an expression of joyous temperance crossed her face. She cried out my name, and I saw Rogettes shoulders go up in surprise.\r\nI ran the last dozen feet, raising my conjugate hands like a club, but I slipped a little on the modify ground at the authoritative aftermath and Rogette made a flesh of ducking cringe. Instead of striking her at the back of the neck as Id meant to, my conjugate hands only glanced off her shoulder. She staggered, went to one knee, and was up again almost at once. Her eyes were like little blue arc-lamps, spi tting rage instead of electricity. ‘You! she said, utter the word over the top of her tongue, bout it into the sound of some ancient bane: Heeyuuuu! Behind us Kyra screamed my name, stagger-dancing on the wet wood and waving her arms in an effort to keep from falling in the lake. Water slopped onto the deck and ran over her small bare feet.\r\n‘Hold on, Ki! I called back. Rogette saw my attention shift and took her chance ?? she spun and ran out onto the dock. I sprang after her, grabbed her by the hair, and it came off in my hand. wholly of it. I stood there at the edge of the billow lake with her mat of white hair dangling from my fist like a scalp.\r\nRogette looked over her shoulder, snarling, an ancient bald midget in the rain, and I thought Its him, its Devore, he never died at all, somehow he and the woman swapped identities, she was the one who committed suicide, it was her body that went back to California on the jet ??\r\nEven as she turned the other way a gain and began to run toward Ki, I knew better. It was Rogette, all right, but shed come by that hideous resemblance honestly. Whatever was wrong with her had done more than make her hair fall out; it had aged her as well. Seventy, Id thought, but that had to be at least ten years beyond the tangible mark.\r\nIve known a cud of kinsfolk name their kids alike, Mrs M. had told me. They think its cute. Max Devore mustiness have thought so, too, because he had named a son Roger and his daughter Rogette. Perhaps shed come by the Whitmore part honestly ?? she might have been married in her young years ?? but once the wig was gone, her antecedents were beyond argument. The woman tottering along the wet dock to finish the trading was Kyras aunt.\r\nKi began to back up rapidly, reservation no effort to be alert and pick her footing. She was button into the drink; there was no way she could stay up. But before she could fall, a jar slapped the dock between them at a place where som e of the barrels had come loose and the slatted walkway was already partly submerged. frothy water flew up and began to twist into one of those helix shapes I had seen before. Rogette stopped knee-deep in the water sloshing over the dock, and I stopped about twelve feet behind her.\r\nThe shape so eyelidified, and even before I could make out the face I recognized the baggy shorts with their attenuation swirls of color and the duster top. Only Kmart sells smock tops of such perfect shapelessness; I think it may be a federal law.\r\nIt was Mattie. A grave gray Mattie, looking at Rogette with grave gray eyes. Rogette embossed her hands, tottered, tried to turn. At that moment a wave surged under the dock, making it rise and then drop like an amusement-park ride. Rogette went over the side. Beyond her, beyond the water-shape in the rain, I could see Ki discursive on the porch of The Sunset Bar. That last strangle had flipped her to temporary safety like a human tiddlywink.\r\nMat tie was looking at me, her lips moving, her eyes on mine. I had been able to tell what Jo was saying, but this time I had no idea. I tried with all my might, but I couldnt make it out.\r\n‘ mommy! Mommy!\r\nThe figure didnt so much turn as revolve; it didnt actually seem to be there below the hem of the long shorts. It motilityd up the dock to the bar, where Ki was now standing with her arms held out.\r\nSomething grabbed at my foot.\r\nI looked down and saw a drowning apparition in the surging water. unyielding eyes stared up at me from beneath the bald skull. Rogette was coughing water from between lips that were as over-embellished as plums. Her free hand waved weakly up at me. The fingers opened . . . and closed. Opened . . . and closed. I dropped to one knee and took it. It clamped over mine like a steel claw and she yanked, trying to pull me in with her. The purple lips peeled back from yellow toothpegs like those in Saras skull. And yes ?? I thought that this time R ogette was the one laughing.\r\nI rocked on my haunches and yanked her up. I didnt think about it; it was pure instinct. I had her by at least a hundred pounds, and three quarters of her came out of the lake like a gigantic, freakish trout. She screamed, darted her head forward, and buried her teeth in my wrist. The pain was immediate and enormous. I jerked my arm up even higher and then brought it down, not thinking about hurting her, absentminded only to rid myself of that w easingls mouth. Another wave hit the half-submerged dock as I did. Its rising, splintered edge impaled Rogettes descending face. One eye popped; a dripping yellow splinter ran up her nozzle like a dagger; the scant skin of her brow split, snapping away from the bone like two suddenly released windowshades. Then the lake pulled her away. I saw the torn topography of her face a moment longer, upturned into the torrential rain, wet and as pale as the light from a fluorescent bar. Then she rolled over, her blac k vinyl raincoat swirling around her like a shroud.\r\nWhat I saw when I looked back toward The Sunset Bar was other glimpse under the skin of this world, but one far different from the face of Sara in the Green Lady or the snarling, half-glimpsed shape of the Outsider. Kyra stood on the wide wooden porch in front of the bar amid a litter of overturned wicker furniture. In front of her was a waterspout in which I could still see ?? very faintly ?? the fading shape of a woman. She was on her knees, holding her arms out.\r\nThey tried to embrace. Kis arms went through Mattie and came out dripping. ‘Mommy, I cant get you!\r\nThe woman in the water was speaking ?? I could see her lips moving. Ki looked at her, rapt. Then, for just a moment Mattie turned to me. Our eyes met, and hers were made of the lake. They were Dark Score, which was here long before I came and will remain long after I am gone. I couch my hands to my mouth, kissed my palms, and held them out to her. Shimmery hands went up, as if to catch those kisses.\r\n‘Mommy dont go! Kyra screamed, and flung her arms around the figure. She was immediately flood and backed away with her eyes bow shut, coughing. There was no longer a woman with her; there was only water running across the boards and dripping through the cracks to rejoin the lake, which comes up from deep springs far below, from the fissures in the rock which underlies the TR and all this part of our world.\r\nMoving carefully, doing my own balancing act, I made my way out along the wavering dock to The Sunset Bar. When I got there I took Kyra in my arms. She hugged me tight, frisson fiercely against me. I could hear the small dicecup rattle of her teeth and smell the lake in her hair.\r\n‘Mattie came, she said.\r\n‘I know. I saw her.\r\n‘Mattie made the white nana go away.\r\n‘I saw that, too. Be very still now, Ki. Were sacking back to solid ground, but you cant move around a lot. If you do, well end up swimming.\r\nShe was good as gold. When we were on The Street again and I tried to raise her down, she clung to my neck fiercely. That was okay with me. I thought of taking her into Warringtons, but didnt. There would be towels in there, probably dry vestments as well, but I had an idea there might also be a bathtub full of stiff water waiting in there. Besides, the rain was slackening again and this time the sky looked lighter in the west.\r\n‘What did Mattie tell you, hon? I asked as we walked north along The Street. Ki would let me define her down so we could crawl under the downed trees we came to, but raised her arms to be picked up again on the far side of each.\r\n ‘To be a good girl and not be sad. But I am sad. Im very sad. She began to cry, and I stroked her wet hair.\r\nBy the time we got to the railroad-tie steps she had cried herself out . . . and over the mountains in the west, I could see one small but very brilliant wedge of blue.\r\n‘All the woods sink down, Ki said, looking around. Her eyes were very wide.\r\n‘Well . . . not all, but a lot of them, I guess.\r\nHalfway up the steps I paused, puffing and seriously winded. I didnt ask Ki if I could honk her down, though. I didnt want to put her down. I just wanted to catch my breath.\r\n‘Mike?\r\n‘What, doll?\r\n‘Mattie told me something else.\r\n‘What?\r\n‘Can I whisper?\r\n‘If you want to, sure.\r\nKi leaned close, put her lips to my ear, and whispered.\r\nI listened. When she was done I nodded, kissed her cheek, shifted her to the other hip, and carried her the rest of the way up to the house.\r\n‘Twasnt the stawm of the century, chummy, and dont you go thinkin that it was. Nossir.\r\nSo said the old hands who sat in front of the big Army medics tent that served as the Lakeview General that late summer and fall. A huge elm had toppled across Route 68 and bashed the store in like a Saltines box. Adding injury to insult , the elm had carried a bunch of spitting live lines with it. They ignited propane from a ruptured tank, and the whole thing went kaboom. The tent was a pretty good warm- weather condition substitute, though, and folks on the TR took to saying they was going down to the MASH for bread and beer ?? this because you could still see a faded red cross on both sides of the tents roof.\r\nThe old-timers sat along one canvas debate in folding chairs, waving to other old-timers when they went pooting by in their rusty old-timer cars (all certified old-timers own either Fords or Chevys, so Im well on my way in that regard), swapping their undershirts for flannels as the days began to composed toward cider season and spud-digging, watching the township start to rebuild itself around them. And as they watched they talked about the ice storm of the past winter, the one that knocked out lights and splintered a cardinal trees between Kittery and Fort Kent; they talked about the cyclones that moved(p) down in August of 1985; they talked about the sleet hurricane of 1927. Now there was some stawms, they said. There was some stawms, by Gorry.\r\nIm sure theyve got a point, and I dont argue with them ?? you seldom win an argument with a trustworthy Yankee old-timer, never if its about the weather ?? but for me the storm of July 21, 1998, will eternally be the storm. And I know a little girl who feels the same. She may live until 2100, given all the benefits of modern medicine, but I think that for Kyra Elizabeth Devore that will ceaselessly be the storm. The one where her dead dumbfound came to her dressed in the lake.\r\nThe first vehicle to come down my driveway didnt begin until almost six oclock. It turned out to be not a fastness County police car but a yellow bucket-loader with flashing yellow lights on top of the cab and a jest at in a Central Maine baron Company slicker working the controls. The big cat in the other seat was a cop, though ?? was in fact No rris Ridgewick, the County Sheriff himself. And he came to my door with his gun drawn.\r\nThe change in the weather the TV guy had promised had already arrived, clouds and storm-cells driven east by a chilly wind running just under gale force. Trees had continued to fall in the dripping woods for at least an hour after the rain stopped. nigh five oclock I made us toasted-cheese sandwiches and tomato soup . . . comfort food, Jo would have called it. Kyra ate listlessly, but she did eat, and she drank a lot of milk. I had wrapped her in another of my tee-shirts and she tied her own hair back. I offered her the white ribbons, but she shook her head decisively and opted for a rubber circumstances instead. ‘I dont like those ribbons anymore, she said. I intractable I didnt, either, and threw them away. Ki watched me do it and offered no objection. Then I crossed the financial support room to the woodstove.\r\n‘What are you doing? She finished her second glass of milk, wri ggled off her chair, and came over to me.\r\n‘ devising a fire. Maybe all those hot days thinned my blood. Thats what my mom would have said, anyway.\r\nShe watched silently as I pulled sheet after sheet from the pile of make-up Id taken off the table and full-bosomed on top of the woodstove, balled each one up, and slipped it in through the door. When I felt Id loaded enough, I began to lay bits of discharge on top.\r\n‘Whats written on those written document? Ki asked.\r\n‘Nothing important.\r\n‘Is it a account?\r\n‘Not really. It was more like . . . oh, I dont know. A crossword puzzle. Or a letter.\r\n‘Pretty long letter, she said, and then determined her head against my leg as if she were tired.\r\n‘Yeah, I said. ‘Love letters usually are, but keeping them around is a bad idea.\r\n‘Why?\r\n‘Because they . . . ‘ Can come back to haunt you was what rose to mind, but I wouldnt say it. ‘Because they can emb arrass you in later life.\r\n‘Oh.\r\n‘Besides, I said. ‘These papers are like your ribbons, in a way.\r\n‘You dont like them anymore.\r\n‘Right.\r\nShe saw the box then ?? the tin box with JOS NOTIONS written on the front. It was on the counter between the living room and the sink, not far from where old Krazy computed axial tomography had hung on the wall. I didnt remember bringing the box up from the studio with me, but I suppose I might not have; I was pretty freaked. I also think it could have come up . . . kind of by itself. I do believe such things now; I have cogitate to.\r\nKyras eyes lit up in a way they hadnt since she had wakened from her short nap to find out her mother was dead. She stood on tiptoe to take hold of the box, then ran her small fingers across the gilt letters. I thought about how important it was for a kid to own a tin box. You had to have one for your secret stuff the best toy, the prettiest bit of lace, the first cut of jewelry. Or a picture of your mother, perhaps.\r\n‘This is so . . . pretty, she said in a soft, unspeakable voice.\r\n‘You can have it if you dont mind it saying JOS NOTIONS instead of ‘KIS NOTIONS. There are some papers in it I want to read, but I could put them somewhere else.\r\nShe looked at me to make sure I wasnt kidding, saw I wasnt.\r\n‘Id love it, she said in the same soft, awed voice.\r\nI took the box from her, scooped out the steno books, notes, and clippings, then turn over it back to Ki. She practiced taking the lid off and then putting it back on.\r\n‘Guess what Ill put in here, she said.\r\n‘ unknown treasures?\r\n‘Yes! she said, and actually smiled for a moment. ‘Who was Jo, Mike? Do I know her? I do, dont I? She was one of the fridgearator people.\r\n‘She ?? ‘ A thought occurred. I shuffled through the yellowed clippings. Nothing. I thought Id lost it somewhere along the way, then saw a corner of what I was looking for peeking from the middle of one of the steno notebooks. I slid it out and handed it to Ki.\r\n‘What is it?\r\n‘A backward photo. Hold it up to the light.\r\nShe did, and looked for a long time, rapt. Faint as a ambition I could see my wife in her hand, my wife standing on the swimming float in her two-piece suit.\r\n‘Thats Jo, I said.\r\n‘Shes pretty. Im glad to have her box for my things.\r\n‘I am too, Ki. I kissed the top of her head.\r\nWhen Sheriff Ridgewick hammer on the door, I thought it wise to answer with my hands up. He looked wired. What seemed to ease the situation was a simple, uncalculated question.\r\n‘Wheres Alan Pangborn these days, Sheriff?\r\n‘Over impertinently Hampshire, Ridgewick said, lowering his pistol a little (a minute or two later he holstered it without even seeming to be aware he had done so). ‘He and Polly are doing real well. Except for her arthritis. Thats nasty, I guess, but she still has her good days. A person can go along quite awhile if they get a good day every once and again, thats what I think. Mr. Noonan, I have a lot of questions for you. You know that, dont you?\r\n‘Yes.\r\n‘First off and most important, do you have the child? Kyra Devore?\r\n‘Yes.\r\n‘Where is she?\r\n‘Ill be happy to show you.\r\nWe walked down the north-wing corridor and stood just outside the bedroom doorway, looking in. The duvet was pulled up to her chin and she was dormancy deeply. The stuffed dog was curled in one hand ?? we could just see its spongelike tail poking out of her fist at one end and its nose poking out at the other. We stood there for a long time, neither of us saying anything, watching her sleep in the light of a summer evening. In the woods the trees had stopped falling, but the wind still blew. Around the eaves of Sara Laughs it made a sound like ancient music.\r\n'