"Hide."
"We can't leave you--"
"Hide."
The boys ran and vanished in the dark maze.
Charles Halloway then rigidly, slowly, breathing in, breathing out, forced himself to sit back down, his eyes on the yellowed newspapers, to wait, to wait, then again ... to wait some more.
Chapter 41
A SHADOW moved among shadows.
Charles Halloway felt his soul submerge.
It took a long time for the shadow and the man it escorted to come stand in the doorway of the room. The shadow seemed deliberate in its slowness so as to shingle his flesh and cheesegrate his steadily willed calm. And when at last the shadow reached the door it brought not one, not a hundred, but a thousand people with it to look in.
"My name is Dark," said the voice.
Charles Halloway let out two fistfuls of air.
"Better known as the Illustrated Man," said the voice. "Where are the boys?"
"Boys?" Will's father turned at last to appraise the tall man who stood in the door.
The Illustrated Man sniffed the yellow pollen that whiffed up from the ancient books as quite suddenly Will's father saw them laid out in full sight, leaped up, stopped, then began to close them, one by one, as casually as possible.
The Illustrated Man pretended not to notice.
"The boys are not home. The two houses are empty. What a shame, they'll miss those free rides."
"I wish I knew where they were." Charles Halloway started carrying the books to the shelves. "Hell, if they knew you were here with free tickets, they'd shout for joy."
"Would they?" Mr. Dark let his smile melt like a white and pink paraffin candy toy he no longer had appetite for. Softly, he said, "I could kill you."
Charles Halloway nodded, walking slowly.
"Did you hear what I said?" barked the Illustrated Man.
"Yes." Charles Halloway weighed the books, as if they were his judgment. "But you won't kill now. You're too smart. You've kept the show on the road a long time, being smart."
"So you've read a few papers and think you know all about us?"
"No, not all. Just enough to scare me."
"Be more scared, then," said the crowd of night-crawling illustrations locked under black suiting, speaking through the thin lips. "One of my friends, outside, can fix you so it seems you died of most natural heart failure."
The blood banged at Charles Halloway's heart, knocked at his temples, tapped twice at his wrists.
The Witch, he thought.
His lips must have formed the words.
"The Witch." Mr. Dark nodded.
The other shelved the books, withholding one.
"Well, what have you there?" Mr. Dark squinted. "A Bible? How very charming, how childish and refreshingly old-fashioned."