Linda Gray and her killer waiting in line at the Whirly Cups. Linda Gray and her killer at the Shootin Gallery. Never mind the goddam tattoo, I told myself. Its not that. Its something else. But what else could it be? The sunglasses masked his eyes. The goatee masked his lower face, and the slightly tilted bill of the baseball cap shaded his forehead and eyebrows. The caps logo showed a catfish peering out of a big red C, the insignia of a South Carolina minor league team called the Mudcats. Dozens of Mudcat lids went through the park every day at the height of the season, so many that we called them fishtops instead of dogtops. The bastard could hardly have picked a more anonymous lid, and surely that was the idea. Back and forth I went, from the Whirly Cups to the Shootin Gallery and then back to the Whirly Cups again. At last I tossed the photos in the folder and threw the folder on my little desk. I read until Tom and Erin came in, then went to bed. Maybe itll come to me in the morning, I thought. Ill wake up and say, Oh shit, of course. The sound of the incoming waves slipped me into sleep. I dreamed I was on the beach with Annie and Mike. Annie and I were standing with our feet in the surf, our arms around each other, watching Mike fly his kite. He was paying out twine and running after it. He could do that because there was nothing wrong with him. He was fine. I had only dreamed that stuff about Duchennes muscular dystrophy. I woke early because Id forgotten to pull down the shade. I went to the folder, pulled out those two photographs, and stared at them in the days first sunlight, positive Id see the answer. But I didnt. A harmony of scheduling had allowed Tom and Erin to travel from New Jersey to North Carolina together, but when it comes to train schedules, harmony is the exception rather than the rule. The only ride they got together on Sunday was the one from Heavens Bay to Wilmington, in my Ford. Erins train left for upstate New York and AnnandaleonHudson two hours before Toms Coastal Express was due to whisk him back to New Jersey. I tucked a check in her jacket pocket. Interlibrary loans and long distance. She fished it out, looked at the amount, and tried to hand it back. Eighty dollars is too much, Dev. Considering all you found out, its not enough. Take it, Lieutenant Columbo. She laughed, put it back in her pocket, and kissed me goodbyeanother brothersister quickie, nothing like the one wed shared that night at the end of the summer. She spent considerably longer in Toms arms. Promises were made about Thanksgiving at Toms parents home in western Pennsylvania. I could tell he didnt want to let her go, but when the loudspeakers announced last call for Richmond, Baltimore, WilkesBarre, and points north, he finally did. When she was gone, Tom and I strolled across the street and had an early dinner in a nottoobad ribs joint. I was contemplating the dessert selection when he cleared his throat and said, Listen, Dev. Something in his voice made me look up in a hurry. His cheeks were even more flushed than usual. I put the menu down. This stuff youve had Erin doing . . . I think it should stop. Its bothering her, and I think shes been neglecting her coursework. He laughed, glanced out the window at the trainstation bustle, looked back at me. I sound more like her dad than her boyfriend, dont I? You sound concerned, thats all. Like you care for her. Care for her? Buddy, Im headoverheels in love. Shes the most important thing in my life. What Im saying here isnt jealousy talking, though. I dont want you to get that idea. Heres the thing if shes going to transfer and still hold onto her financial aid, she cant let her grades slip. You see that, dont you? Yes, I could see that. I could see something else, too, even if Tom couldnt. He wanted her away from Joyland in mind as well as body, because something had happened to him there that he couldnt understand. Nor did he want to, which in my opinion made him sort of a fool. That dour flush of envy ran through me again, causing my stomach to clench around the food it was trying to digest. Then I smiledit was an effort, I wont kid you about thatand said, Message received. As far as Im concerned, our little research project is over. So relax, Thomas. You can stop thinking about what happened in Horror House. About what you saw there. Good. Were still friends, right? I reached across the table. Friends to the end, I said. We shook on it. The WiggleWaggle Villages Story Stage had three backdrops Prince Charmings Castle, Jacks Magic Beanstalk, and a starry night sky featuring the Carolina Spin outlined in red neon. All three had sunfaded over the course of the summer. I was in the WiggleWaggles small backstage area on Monday morning, touching them up (and hoping not to fuck them upI was no Van Gogh) when one of the parttime gazoonies arrived with a message from Fred Dean. I was wanted in his office. I went with some unease, wondering if I was going to get a reaming for bringing Erin into the park on Saturday. I was surprised to find Fred dressed not in one of his suits or his amusing golf outfit, but in faded jeans and an equally faded Joyland teeshirt, the short sleeves rolled to show some real muscle. There was a paisley sweatband cinched around his brow. He didnt look like an accountant or the parks chief employment officer; he looked like a ridejock. He registered my surprise and smiled. Like the outfit? I must admit I do. Its the way I dressed when I caught on with the Blitz Brothers show in the Midwest, back in the fifties. My mother was okay with the Blitzies, but my dad was horrified. And he was carny. I know, I said. He raised his eyebrows. Really? Word gets around, doesnt it? Anyway, theres a lot to do this afternoon. Just give me a list. Im almost done painting the backdrops in the Not at all, Jonesy. Youre signing out at noon today, and I dont want to see you until tomorrow morning at nine, when you turn up with your guests. Dont worry about your paycheck, either. Ill see youre not docked for the hours you miss. Whats this about, Fred? He gave me a smile I couldnt interpret. Its a surprise. That Monday was warm and sunny, and Annie and Mike were having lunch at the end of the boardwalk when I walked back to Heavens Bay. Milo saw me coming and raced to meet me. Dev! Mike called. Come and have a sandwich! Weve got plenty! No, I really shouldnt We insist, Annie said. Then her brow furrowed. Unless youre sick, or something. I dont want Mike to catch a bug. Im fine, just got sent home early. Mr. Deanhes my bosswouldnt tell me why. He said it was a surprise. Its got something to do with tomorrow, I guess. I looked at her with some anxiety. Were still on for tomorrow, right? Yes, she said. When I surrender, I surrender. Just . . . were not going to tire him out. Are we, Dev? Mom, Mike said. She paid him no mind. Are we? No, maam. Although seeing Fred Dean dressed up like a carny road dog, with all those unsuspected muscles showing, had made me uneasy. Had I made it clear to him how fragile Mikes health was? I thought so, but Then come on up here and have a sandwich, she said. I hope you like egg salad. I didnt sleep well on Monday night, halfconvinced that the tropical storm Fred had mentioned would arrive early and wash out Mikes trip to the park, but Tuesday dawned cloudless. I crept down to the parlor and turned on the TV in time to get the six fortyfive weathercast on WECT. The storm was still coming, but the only people who were going to feel it today were the ones living in coastal Florida and Georgia. I hoped Mr. Easterbrook had packed his galoshes. Youre up early, Mrs. Shoplaw said, poking her head in from the kitchen. I was just making scrambled eggs and bacon. Come have some. Im not that hungry, Mrs. S. Nonsense. Youre still a growing boy, Devin, and you need to eat. Erin told me what youve got going on today, and I think youre doing a wonderful thing. It will be fine. I hope youre right, I said, but I kept thinking of Fred Dean in his workclothes. Fred, whod sent me home early. Fred, who had a surprise planned. We had made our arrangements at lunch the day before, and when I turned my old car into the driveway of the big green Victorian at eightthirty on Tuesday morning, Annie and Mike were ready to go. So was Milo. Are you sure nobody will mind us bringing him? Mike had asked on Monday. I dont want to get into trouble. Service dogs are allowed in Joyland, I said, and Milos going to be a service dog. Arent you, Milo? Milo had cocked his head, apparently unfamiliar with the service dog concept. Today Mike was wearing his huge, clanky braces. I moved to help him into the van, but he waved me off and did it himself. It took a lot of effort and I expected a coughing fit, but none came. He was practically bouncing with excitement. Annie, looking impossibly longlegged in Lee Riders, handed me the van keys. You drive. And lowering her voice so Mike wouldnt hear Im too goddam nervous to do it. I was nervous, too. Id bulldozed her into this, after all. Id had help from Mike, true, but I was the adult. If it went wrong, it would be on me. I wasnt much for prayer, but as I loaded Mikes crutches and wheelchair into the back of the van, I sent one up that nothing would go wrong. Then I backed out of the driveway, turned onto Beach Drive, and drove past the billboard reading BRING YOUR KIDS TO JOYLAND FOR THE TIME OF THEIR LIVES! Annie was in the passenger seat, and I thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did that October morning, in her faded jeans and a light sweater, her hair tied back with a hank of blue yarn. Thank you for this, Dev, she said. I just hope were doing the right thing. We are, I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. Because, now that it was a done deal, I had my doubts. The Joyland sign was lit upthat was the first tiling I noticed. The second was that the summertime gethappy music was playing through the loudspeakers a sonic parade of late sixties and early seventies hits. I had intended to park in one of the Lot A handicapped spacesthey were only fifty feet or so from the park entrancebut before I could do so, Fred Dean stepped through the open gate and beckoned us forward. Today he wasnt wearing just any suit but the threepiecer he saved for the occasional celebrity who rated a VIP tour. The suit I had seen, but never the black silk top hat, which looked like the kind you saw diplomats wearing in old newsreel footage. Is this usual? Annie asked. Sure, I said, a trifle giddily. None of it was usual. I drove through the gate and onto Joyland Avenue, pulling up next to the park bench outside the WiggleWaggle Village where I had once sat with Mr. Easterbrook after my first turn as Howie. Mike wanted to get out of the van the way hed gotten in by himself. I stood by, ready to catch him if he lost his balance, while Annie hoisted the wheelchair out of the back. Milo sat at my feet, tail thumping, ears cocked, eyes bright. As Annie rolled the wheelchair up, Fred approached in a cloud of aftershave. He was . . . resplendent. Theres really no other word for it. He took off his hat, bowed to Annie, then held out a hand. You must be Mikes mother. You have to remember that Ms. wasnt common usage back then, and, nervous as I was, I took a moment to appreciate how deftly he had avoided the MissMrs. dichotomy. I am, she said. I dont know if she was flustered by his courtliness or by the difference in the way they were dressedshe amusementpark casual, he statevisit formalbut flustered she was. She shook his hand, though. And this young man is Michael. He offered his hand to the wideeyed boy standing there in his steel supports. Thank you for coming today. Youre welcome . . . I mean, thank you. Thank you for having us. He shook Freds hand. This place is huge. It wasnt, of course; Disney World is huge. But to a tenyearold who had never been to an amusement park, it had to look that way. For a moment I could see it through his eyes, see it new, and my doubts about bringing him began to melt away. Fred bent down to examine the third member of the Ross family, hands on his knees. And youre Milo! Milo barked. Yes, Fred said, and I am equally pleased to meet you. He held out his hand, waiting for Milo to raise his paw. When he did, Fred shook it. How do you know our dogs name? Annie asked. Did Dev tell you? He straightened, smiling. He did not. I know because this is a magic place, my dear. For instance. He showed her his empty hands, then put them behind his back. Which hand? Left, Annie said, playing along. Fred brought out his left hand, empty. She rolled her eyes, smiling. Okay, right. This time he brought out a dozen roses. Real ones. Annie and Mike gasped. Me too. All these years later, I have no idea how he did it. Joyland is for children, my dear, and since today Mike is the only child here, the park belongs to him. These, however, are for you. She took them like a woman in a dream, burying her face in the blooms, smelling their sweet red dust. Ill put them in the van for you, I said. She held them a moment longer, then passed them to me. Mike, Fred said, do you know what we sell here? He looked uncertain. Rides? Rides and games? We sell fun. So what do you say we have some? I remember Mikes day at the parkAnnies day, tooas if it happened last week, but it would take a correspondent much more talented than I am to tell you how it felt, or to explain how it could have ended the last hold Wendy Keegan still held over my heart and my emotions. All I can say is what you already know some days are treasure. Not many, but I think in almost every life there are a few. That was one of mine, and when Im bluewhen life comes down on me and everything looks tawdry and cheap, the way Joyland Avenue did on a rainy dayI go back to it, if only to remind myself that life isnt always a butchers game. Sometimes the prizes are real. Sometimes theyre precious. Of course not all the rides were running, and that was okay, because there were a lot of them Mike couldnt handle. But more than half of the park was operational that morningthe lights, the music, even some of the shys, where half a dozen gazoonies were on duty selling popcorn, fries, sodas, cotton candy, and PupALicious dogs. I have no idea how Fred and Lane pulled it off in a single afternoon, but they did. We started in the Village, where Lane was waiting beside the engine of the ChooChoo Wiggle. He was wearing a pillowtick engineers cap instead of his derby, but it was cocked at the same insouciant angle. Of course it was. All aboard! This is the ride that makes kids happy, so get on board and make it snappy. Dogs ride free, moms ride free, kids ride up in the engine with me. He pointed at Mike, then to the passenger seat in the engine. Mike got out of his chair, set his crutches, then tottered on them. Annie started for him. No, Mom. Im okay. I can do it. He got his balance and clanked to where Lane was standinga real boy with robot legsand allowed Lane to boost him into the passenger seat. Is that the cord that blows the whistle? Can I pull it? Thats what its there for, Lane said, but watch out for pigs on the tracks. Theres a wolf in the area, and theyre scared to death of him. Annie and I sat in one of the cars. Her eyes were bright. Roses all her own burned in her cheeks. Her lips, though tightly pressed together, were trembling. You okay? I asked her. Yes. She took my hand, laced her fingers through mine, and squeezed almost tight enough to hurt. Yes. Yes. Yes. Controls green across the board! Lane cried. Check me on that, Michael! Check! Watch out for what on the tracks? Pigs! Kid, you got style that makes me smile. Give that yellrope a yank and were off! Mike yanked the cord. The whistle howled. Milo barked. The airbrakes chuffed, and the train began to move. ChooChoo Wiggle was strictly a zamp ride, okay? All the rides in the Village were zamps, meant mostly for boys and girls between the ages of three and seven. But you have to remember how seldom Mike Ross had gotten out, especially since his pneumonia the year before, and how many days he had sat with his mother at the end of that boardwalk, listening to the rumble of the rides and the happy screams coming from down the beach, knowing that stuff wasnt for him. What was for him was more gasping for air as his lungs failed, more coughing, a gradual inability to walk even with the aid of crutches and braces, and finally the bed where he would die, wearing diapers under his PJs and an oxygen mask over his face. WiggleWaggle Village was sort of depopulated with no greenies to play the fairytale parts, but Fred and Lane had reactivated all the mechanicals the magic beanstalk that shot out of the ground in a burst of steam; the witch cackling in front of the Candy House; the Mad Hatters tea party; the nightcapwearing wolf who lurked beneath one of the underpasses and sprang at the train as it passed. As we rounded the final turn, we passed three houses all kids know wellone of straw, one of sticks, and one of bricks. Watch out for pigs! Lane cried, and just then they came waddling onto the tracks, uttering amplified oinks. Mike shrieked with laughter and yanked the whistle. As always, the pigs escaped . . . barely. When we pulled back into the station, Annie let go of my hand and hurried up to the engine. Are you okay, hon? Want your inhaler? No, Im fine. Mike turned to Lane. Thanks, Mr. Engineer! My pleasure, Mike. He held out a hand, palm up. Slap me five if youre still alive. Mike did, and with gusto. I doubt if hed ever felt more alive. Now Ive got to move on, Lane said. Today I am a man of many hats. He dropped me a wink. Annie vetoed the Whirly Cups but allowed Mikenot without apprehensionto ride the ChairOPlanes. She gripped my arm even harder than she had my hand when his chair rose thirty feet above the ground and began to tilt, then loosened up again when she heard him laughing. God, she said, look at his hair! How it flies out behind him! She was smiling. She was also crying, but didnt seem aware of it. Nor of my arm, which had found its way around her waist. Fred was running the controls, and knew enough to keep the ride at halfspeed, rather than bringing it all the way up to full, which would have had Mike parallel to the ground, held in only by centrifugal force. When he finally came back to earth, the kid was too dizzy to walk. Annie and I each took an arm and guided him to the wheelchair. Fred toted Mikes crutches. Oh, man. It seemed to be all he could say. Oh man, oh man. The Dizzy Speedboatsa land ride in spite of the namewas next. Mike rode over the painted water in one with Milo, both of them clearly loving it. Annie and I took another one. Although I had been working at Joyland for over four months by then, Id never been on this ride, and I yelled the first time I saw us rushing prowfirst at Mike and Milos boat, only to shear off at the last second. Wimp! Annie shouted in my ear. When we got off, Mike was breathing hard but still not coughing. We rolled him up Hound Dog Way and grabbed sodas. The gazoonie refused to take the livespot Annie held out. Everythings on the house today, maam. Can I have a Pup, Mom? And some cotton candy? She frowned, then sighed and shrugged. Okay. Just as long as you understand that stuff is still offlimits, buster. Todays an exception. And no more fast rides. He wheeled ahead to the PupALicious shy, his own pup trotting beside him. She turned to me. Its not about nutrition, if thats what youre thinking. If he gets sick to his stomach, he might vomit. And vomiting is dangerous for kids in Mikes condition. They I kissed her, just a gentle brush of my lips across hers. It was like swallowing a tiny drop of something incredibly sweet. Hush, I said. Does he look sick? Her eyes got very large. For a moment I felt positive that she was going to slap me and walk away. The day would be ruined and it would be my own stupid goddam fault. Then she smiled, looking at me in a speculative way that made my stomach feel light. I bet you could do better than that, if you had half a chance. Before I could think of a reply, she was hurrying after her son. It really would have made no difference if shed hung around, because I was totally flummoxed. Annie, Mike, and Milo crowded into one car of the Gondola Glide, which crossed above the whole park on a diagonal. Fred Dean and I rode beneath them in one of the electric carts, with Mikes wheelchair tucked in back. Seems like a terrific kid, Fred commented. He is, but I never expected you to go allout like this. Thats for you as much as for him. Youve done the park more good than you seem to know, Dev. When I told Mr. Easterbrook I wanted to go big, he gave me the green light. You called him? I did indeed. That thing with the roses . . . howd you pull it off? Fred shot his cuffs and looked modest. A magician never tells his secrets. Dont you know that? Did you have a cardandbunnygig when you were with Blitz Brothers? No, sir, I did not. All I did with the Blitzies was ridejock and drag the midway. And, although I did not have a valid drivers license, I also drove a truck on a few occasions when we had to DS from some ruberanch or other in the dead of night. So where did you learn the magic? Fred reached behind my ear, pulled out a silver dollar, dropped it into my lap. Here and there, all around the square. Better goose it a little, Jonesy. Theyre getting ahead of us. From Skytop Station, where the gondola ride ended, we went to the merrygoround. Lane Hardy was waiting. He had lost the engineers cap and was once more sporting his derby. The parks loudspeakers were still pumping out rock and roll, but under the wide, flaring canopy of whats known in the Talk as the spinning jenny, the rock was drowned out by the calliope playing A Bicycle Built for Two. It was recorded, but still sweet and oldfashioned. Before Mike could mount the dish, Fred dropped to one knee and regarded him gravely. You cant ride the jenny without a Joyland hat, he said. We call em dogtops. Got one? No, Mike said. He still wasnt coughing, but dark patches had begun to creep out beneath his eyes. Where his cheeks werent flushed with excitement, he looked pale. I didnt know I was supposed to . . . Fred took off his own hat, peered inside, showed it to us. It was empty, as all magicians top hats must be when they are displayed to the audience. He looked into it again, and brightened. Ah! He brought out a brand new Joyland dogtop and put it on Mikes head. Perfect! Now which beast do you want to ride? A horse? The unicorn? Marva the Mermaid? Leo the Lion? Yes, the lion, please! Mike cried. Mom, you ride the tiger right next to me! You bet, she said. Ive always wanted to ride a tiger. Hey, champ, Lane said, lemme help you up the ramp. While he did that, Annie lowered her voice and spoke to Fred. Not a lot more, okay? Its all great, a day hell never forget, but Hes fading, Fred said. I understand. Annie mounted the snarling, greeneyed tiger next to Mikes lion. Milo sat between them, grinning a doggy grin. As the merrygoround started to move, A Bicycle Built for Two gave way to Twelfth Street Rag. Fred put his hand on my shoulder. Youll want to meet us at the Spinwell make that his last ridebut you need to visit the costume shop first. And put some hustle into it. I started to ask why, then realized I didnt need to. I headed for the back lot. And yes, I put some hustle into it. That Tuesday morning in October of 1973 was the last time I wore the fur. I put it on in the costume shop and used Joyland Under to get back to the middle of the park, pushing one of the electric carts as fast as it would go, my Howiehead bouncing up and down on one shoulder. I surfaced behind Madame Fortunas shy, just in time. Lane, Annie, and Mike were coming up the midway. Lane was pushing Mikes chair. None of them saw me peering around the corner of the shy; they were looking at the Carolina Spin, their necks craned. Fred saw me, though. I raised a paw. He nodded, then turned and raised his own paw to whoever was currently watching from the little sound booth above Customer Services. Seconds later, Howiemusic rolled from all the speakers. First up was Elvis, singing Hound Dog. I leaped from cover, going into my Howiedanee, which was kind of a fuckedup softshoe. Mike gaped. Annie clapped her hands to her temples, as if shed suddenly been afflicted with a monster headache, then started laughing. I believe what followed was one of my better performances. I hopped and skipped around Mikes chair, hardly aware that Milo was doing the same thing, only in the other direction. Hound Dog gave way to the Rolling Stones version of Walking the Dog. Thats a pretty short song, which was goodI hadnt realized how out of shape I was. I finished by throwing my arms wide and yelling Mike! Mike! Mike! That was the only time Howie ever talked, and all I can say in my defense is that it really sounded more like a bark. Mike rose from his chair, opened his arms, and fell forward. He knew Id catch him, and I did. Kids half his age had given me the HowieHug all summer long, but no hug had ever felt so good. I only wished I could turn him around and squeeze him the way I had Hallie Stansfield, expelling what was wrong with him like an aspirated chunk of hotdog. Face buried in the fur, he said You make a really good Howie, Dev. I rubbed his head with one paw, knocking off his dogtop. I couldnt reply as Howiebarking his name was as close as I could come to thatbut I was thinking, A good kid deserves a good dog. Just ask Milo. Mike looked up into Howies blue mesh eyes. Will you come on the hoister with us? I gave him an exaggerated nod and patted his head again. Lane picked up Mikes new dogtop and stuck it back on his head. Annie approached. Her hands were clasped demurely at her waist, but her eyes were full of merriment. Can I unzip you, Mr. Howie? I wouldnt have minded, but of course I couldnt let her. Every show has its rules, and one of Joylandshard and fastwas that Howie the Happy Hound was always Howie the Happy Hound. You never took off the fur where the conies could see. I ducked back into Joyland Under, left the fur in the cart, and rejoined Annie and Mike at the ramp leading up to the Carolina Spin. Annie looked up nervously and said, Are you sure you want to do this, Mike? Yes! Its the one I want to do most! All right, then. I guess. To me she added Im not terrified of heights, but they dont exactly thrill me. Lane was holding a car door open. Climb aboard, folks. Im going to send you up where the air is rare. He bent down and scruffed Milos ears. Youre sittin this one out, fella. I sat on the inside, nearest the wheel. Annie sat in the middle, and Mike on the outside, where the view was best. Lane dropped the safety bar, went back to the controls, and reset his derby on a fresh slant. Amazement awaits! he called, and up we went, rising with the stately calm of a coronation procession. Slowly, the world opened itself beneath us first the park, then the bright cobalt of the ocean on our right and all of the North Carolina lowlands on our left. When the Spin reached the top of its great circle, Mike let go of the safety bar, raised his hands over his head, and shouted, Were flying! A hand on my leg. Annies. I looked at her and she mouthed two words Thank you. I dont know how many times Lane sent us aroundmore spins than the usual ride, I think, but Im not sure. What I remember best was Mikes face, pale and full of wonder, and Annies hand on my thigh, where it seemed to burn. She didnt take it away until we slowed to a stop. Mike turned to me. Now I know what my kite feels like, he said. So did I. When Annie told Mike hed had enough, the kid didnt object. He was exhausted. As Lane helped him into his wheelchair, Mike held out a hand, palm up. Slap me five if youre still alive. Grinning, Lane slapped him five. Come back anytime, Mike. Thanks. It was so great. Lane and I pushed him up the midway. The booths on both sides were shut up again, but one of the shys was open Annie Oakleys Shootin Gallery. Standing at the chump board, where Pop Allen had stood all summer long, was Fred Dean in his threepiece suit. Behind him, chaindriven rabbits and ducks traveled in opposite directions. Above them were bright yellow ceramic chicks. These were stationary, but very small. Like to try your shooting skill before you exit the park? Fred asked. There are no losers today. Today evrybody wins a prize. Mike looked around at Annie. Can I, mom? Sure, honey. But not long, okay? He tried to get out of the chair, but couldnt. He was too tired. Lane and I propped him up, one on each side. Mike picked up a rifle and took a couple of shots, but he could no longer steady his arms, even though the gun was light. The beebees struck the canvas backdrop and clicked into the gutter at the bottom. Guess I suck, he said, putting the rifle down. Well, you didnt exactly burn it up, Fred allowed, but as I said, today everyone wins a prize. With that, he handed over the biggest Howie on the shelf, a top stuffy that even sharpshooters couldnt earn without spending eight or nine bucks on reloads. Mike thanked him and sat back down, looking overwhelmed. That damn stuffed dog was almost as big as he was. You try, Mom. No, thats okay, she said, but I thought she wanted to. It was something in her eyes as she measured the distance between the chump board and the targets. Please? He looked first at me, then at Lane. Shes really good. She won the prone shooting tournament at Camp Perry before I was born and came in second twice. Camp Perrys in Ohio. I dont Lane was already holding out one of the modified .22s. Step right up. Lets see your best Annie Oakley, Annie. She took the rifle and examined it in a way few of the conies ever did. How many shots? Ten a clip, Fred said. If Im going to do this, can I shoot two clips? As many as you want, maam. Todays your day. Mom used to also shoot skeet with my grampa, Mike told them. Annie raised the .22 and squeezed off ten shots with a pause of perhaps two seconds between each. She knocked over two moving ducks and three of the moving bunnies. The teensy ceramic chicks she ignored completely. A crack shot! Fred crowed. Any prize on the middle shelf, your pick! She smiled. Fifty percent isnt anywhere near crack. My dad would have covered his face for shame. Ill just take the reload, if thats okay. Fred took a paper cone from under the countera wee shoot, in the Talkand put the small end into a hole on top of the gag rifle. There was a rattle as another ten beebees rolled in. Are the sights on these trigged? she asked Fred. No, maam. All the games at Joyland are straight. But if I told you Pop Allenthe man who usually runs this shyspent long hours sighting them in, Id be a liar. Having worked on Pops team, I knew that was disingenuous, to say the least. Sighting in the rifles was the last thing Pop would do. The better the rubes shot, the more prizes Pop had to give away . . . and he had to buy his own prizes. All the shybosses did. They were cheap goods, but not free goods. Shoots left and high, she said, more to herself than to us. Then she raised the rifle, socked it into the hollow of her right shoulder, and triggered off ten rounds. This time there was no discernable pause between shots, and she didnt bother with the ducks and bunnies. She aimed for the ceramic chicks and exploded eight of them. As she put the gun back on the counter, Lane used his bandanna to wipe a smutch of sweat and grime from the back of his neck. He spoke very softly as he did this chore. Jesus Horatio Christ. Nobody gets eight peeps. I only nicked the last one, and at this range I should have had them all. She wasnt boasting, just stating a fact. Mike said, almost apologetically Told you she was good.


He curled a fist over his mouth and coughed into it. She was thinking about the Olympics, only then she dropped out of college. You really are Annie Oakley, Lane said, stuffing his bandanna back into a rear pocket. Any prize, pretty lady. You pick. I already have my prize, she said. This has been a wonderful, wonderful day. I can never thank you guys enough. She turned in my direction. And this guy. Who actually had to talk me into it. Because Im a fool. She kissed the top of Mikes head. But now I better get my boy home. Wheres Milo? We looked around and saw him halfway down Joyland Avenue, sitting in front of Horror House with his tail curled around his paws. Milo, come! Annie called. His ears pricked up but he didnt come. He didnt even turn in her direction, just stared at the faade of Joylands only dark ride. I could almost believe he was reading the drippy, cobwebfestooned invitation COME IN IF YOU DARE. While Annie was looking at Milo, I stole a glance at Mike. Although he was all but done in from the excitements of the day, his expression was hard to mistake. It was satisfaction. I know its crazy to think he and his Jack Russell had worked this out in advance, but I did think it. I still do. Roll me down there, Mom, Mike said. Hell come with me. No need for that, Lane said. If youve got a leash, Im happy to go get him. Its in the pocket on the back of Mikes wheelchair, Annie said. Um, probably not, Mike said. You can check but Im pretty sure I forgot it. Annie checked while I thought, In a pigs ass you forgot. Oh, Mike, Annie said reproachfully. Your dog, your responsibility. How many times have I told you? Sorry, Mom. To Fred and Lane he said, Only we hardly ever use it because Milo always comes. Except when we need him to. Annie cupped her hands around her mouth. Milo, come on! Time to go home! Then, in a much sweeter voice Biscuit, Milo! Come get a biscuit! Her coaxing tone would have brought me on the runprobably with my tongue hanging outbut Milo didnt budge. Come on Dev, Mike said. As if I were also in on the plan but had missed my cue, somehow. I grabbed the wheelchairs handles and rolled Mike down Joyland Avenue toward the funhouse. Annie followed. Fred and Lane stayed where they were, Lane leaning on the chump board among the laidout popguns on their chains. He had removed his derby and was spinning it on one finger. When we got to the dog, Annie regarded him crossly. Whats wrong with you, Milo? Milo thumped his tail at the sound of Annies voice, but didnt look at her. Nor did he move. He was on guard and intended to stay that way unless he was hauled away. Michael, please make your dog heel so we can go home. You need to get some r Two things happened before she could finish. Im not exactly sure of the sequence. Ive gone over it often in the years since thenmost often on nights when I cant sleepand Im still not sure. I think the rumble came first the sound of a ridecar starting to roll along its track. But it might have been the padlock dropping. Its even possible that both things happened at the same time. The big American Master fell off the double doors below the Horror House faade and lay on the boards, gleaming in the October sunshine. Fred Dean said later that the shackle must not have been pushed firmly into the locking mechanism, and the vibration of the moving car caused it to open all the way. This made perfect sense, because the shackle was indeed open when I checked it. Still bullshit, though. I put that padlock on myself, and remember the click as the shackle clicked into place. I even remember tugging on it to make sure it caught, the way you do with a padlock. And all that begs a question Fred didnt even try to answer with the Horror House breakers switched off, how could that car have gotten rolling in the first place? As for what happened next . . . Heres how a trip through Horror House ended. On the far side of the Torture Chamber, just when you thought the ride was over and your guard was down, a screaming skeleton (nicknamed Hagar the Horrible by the greenies) came flying at you, seemingly on a collision course with your car. When it pulled away, you saw a stone wall dead ahead. Painted there in fluorescent green was a rotting zombie and a gravestone with END OF THE LINE printed on it. Of course the stone wall split open just in time, but that final doublepunch was extremely effective. When the car emerged into the daylight, making a semicircle before going back in through another set of double doors and stopping, even grown men were often screaming their heads off. Those final shrieks (always accompanied by gales of ohshityougotme laughter) were Horror Houses best advertisement. There were no screams that day. Of course not, because when the double doors banged open, the car that emerged was empty. It rolled through the semicircle, bumped lightly against the next set of double doors, and stopped. Okay, Mike said. It was a whisper so low that I barely heard it, and Im sure Annie didntall her attention had been drawn to the car. The kid was smiling. What made it do that? Annie asked. I dont know, I said. Shortcircuit, maybe. Or some kind of power surge. Both of those explanations sounded good, as long as you didnt know about the breakers being off. I stood on my tiptoes and peered into the stalled car. The first thing I noticed was that the safety bar was up. If Eddie Parks or one of his greenie minions forgot to lower it, the bar was supposed to snap down automatically once the ride was in motion. It was a statemandated safety feature. The bar being up on this one made a goofy kind of sense, though, since the only rides in the park that had power that morning were the ones Lane and Fred had turned on for Mike. I spotted something beneath the semicircular seat, something as real as the roses Fred had given Annie, only not red. It was a blue Alice band. We headed back to the van. Milo, once more on best behavior, padded along beside Mikes wheelchair. Ill be back as soon as I get them home, I told Fred. Put in some extra hours. He shook his head. Youre eightysix for today. Get to bed early, and be here tomorrow at six. Pack a couple of extra sandwiches, because well all be working late. Turns out that storms moving a little faster than the weather forecasters expected. Annie looked alarmed. Should I pack some stuff and take Mike to town, do you think? Id hate to when hes so tired, but Check the radio this evening, Fred advised. If NOAA issues a coastal evacuation order, youll hear it in plenty of time, but I dont think thatll happen. This is just going to be your basic cap of wind. Im a little worried about the high rides, thats allthe Thunderball, the Shaker, and the Spin. Theyll be okay, Lane said. They stood up to Agnes last year, and that was a bona fide hurricane. Does this storm have a name? Mike asked. Theyre calling it Gilda, Lane said. But its no hurricane, just a little old subtropical depression. Fred said, Winds are supposed to start picking up around midnight, and the heavy rainll start an hour or two later. Lanes probably right about the big rides, but its still going to be a busy day. Have you got a slicker, Dev? Sure. Youll want to wear it. The weather forecast we heard on WKLM as we left the park eased Annies mind. The winds generated by Gilda werent expected to top thirty miles an hour, with occasionally higher gusts. There might be some beach erosion and minor flooding inland, but that was about it. The dj called it great kiteflying weather, which made us all laugh. We had a history now, and that was nice. Mike was almost asleep by the time we arrived back at the big Victorian on Beach Row. I lifted him into his wheelchair. It wasnt much of a chore; Id put on muscle in the last four months, and with those horrible braces off, he couldnt have weighed seventy pounds. Milo once more paced the chair as I rolled it up the ramp and into the house. Mike needed the toilet, but when his mother tried to take over the wheelchair handles, Mike asked if Id do it, instead. I rolled him into the bathroom, helped him to stand, and eased down his elasticwaisted pants while he held onto the grab bars. I hate it when she has to help me. I feel like a baby. Maybe, but he pissed with a healthy kids vigor. Then, as he leaned forward to push the flush handle, he staggered and almost took a header into the toilet bowl. I had to catch him. Thanks, Dev. I already washed my hair once today. That made me laugh, and Mike grinned. I wish we were going to have a hurricane. Thatd be boss. You might not think so if it happened. I was remembering Hurricane Doria, two years before. It hit New Hampshire and Maine packing ninetymileanhour winds, knocking down trees all over Portsmouth, Kittery, Sanford, and the Berwieks. One big old pine just missed our house, our basement flooded, and the power had been out for four days. I wouldnt want stuff to fall down at the park, I guess. Thats just about the best place in the world. That Ive ever been, anyway. Good. Hold on, kid, let me get your pants back up. Cant have you mooning your mother. That made him laugh again, only the laughter turned to coughing. Annie took over when we came out, rolling him down the hall to the bedroom. Dont you sneak out on me, Devin, she called back over her shoulder. Since I had the afternoon off, I had no intention of sneaking out on her if she wanted me to stay awhile. I strolled around the parlor, looking at things that were probably expensive but not terribly interestingnot to a young man of twentyone, anyway. A huge picture window, almost walltowall, saved what would otherwise have been a gloomy room, flooding it with light. The window looked out on the back patio, the boardwalk, and the ocean. I could see the first clouds feathering in from the southeast, but the sky overhead was still bright blue. I remember thinking that Id made it to the big house after all, although Id probably never have a chance to count all the bathrooms. I remember thinking about the Alice band, and wondering if Lane would see it when he put the wayward car back under cover. What else was I thinking? That I had seen a ghost after all. Just not of a person. Annie came back. He wants to see you, but dont stay long. Okay. Third door on the right. I went down the hall, knocked lightly, and let myself in. Once you got past the grab bars, the oxygen tanks in the corner, and the leg braces standing at steely attention beside the bed, it could have been any boys room. There was no baseball glove and no skateboard propped against the wall, but there were posters of Mark Spitz and Miami Dolphins running back Larry Csonka. In the place of honor above the bed, the Beatles were crossing Abbey Road. There was a faint smell of liniment. Mike looked very small in the bed, all but lost under a green coverlet. Milo was curled up, nose to tail, beside him, and Mike was stroking his fur absently. It was hard to believe this was the same kid who had raised his hands triumphantly over his head at the apogee of the Carolina Spin. He didnt look sad, though. He looked almost radiant. Did you see her, Dev? Did you see her when she left? I shook my head, smiling. I had been jealous of Tom, but not of Mike. Never of Mike. I wish my grampa had been there. He would have seen her, and heard what she said when she left. What did she say? Thanks. She meant both of us. And she told you to be careful. Are you sure you didnt hear her? Even a little? I shook my head again. No, not even a little. But you know. His face was too pale and tired, the face of a boy who was very sick, but his eyes were alive and healthy. You know, dont you? Yes. Thinking of the Alice band. Mike, do you know what happened to her? Someone killed her. Very low. I dont suppose she told you . . . But there was no need to finish. He was shaking his head. You need to sleep, I said. Yeah, Ill feel better after a nap. I always do. His eyes closed, then slowly opened again. The Spin was the best. The hoister. Its like flying. Yes, I said. It is like that. This time when his eyes closed, they didnt reopen. I walked to the door as quietly as I could. As I put my hand on the knob, he said, Be careful, Dev. Its not white. I looked back. He was sleeping. Im sure he was. Only Milo was watching me. I left, closing the door softly. Annie was in the kitchen. Im making coffee, but maybe youd rather have a beer? Ive got Blue Ribbon. Coffee would be fine. What do you think of the place? I decided to tell the truth. The furnishings are a little elderly for my taste, but I never went to interior decorating school. Nor did I, she said. Never even finished college. Join the club. Ah, but you will. Youll get over the girl who dumped you, and youll go back to school, and youll finish, and youll march off into a brilliant future. How do you know about The girl? One, you might as well be wearing a sandwich board. Two, Mike knows. He told me. Hes been my brilliant future. Once upon a time I was going to major in anthropology. I was going to win a gold medal at the Olympics. I was going to see strange and fabulous places and be the Margaret Mead of my generation. I was going to write books and do my best to earn back my fathers love. Do you know who he is? My landlady says hes a preacher. Indeed he is. Buddy Ross, the man in the white suit. He also has a great head of white hair. He looks like an older version of the Man from Glad in the TV ads. Mega church; big radio presence; now TV. Offstage, hes an asshole with a few good points. She poured two cups of coffee. But thats pretty much true of all of us, isnt it? I think so. You sound like someone with regrets. It wasnt the politest thing to say, but we were beyond that. I hoped so, at least. She brought the coffee and sat down opposite me. Like the song says, Ive had a few. But Mikes a great kid, and give my father thishes taken care of us financially so I could be with Mike fulltime. The way I look at it, checkbook love is better than no love at all. I made a decision today. I think it happened when you were wearing that silly costume and doing that silly dance. While I was watching Mike laugh. Tell me. I decided to give my father what he wants, which is to be invited back into my sons life before its too late. He said terrible things about how God caused Mikes MD to punish me for my supposed sins, but Ive got to put that behind me. If I wait for an apology, Ill be waiting a long time . . . because in his heart, Dad still believes thats true. Im sorry. She shrugged, as if it were of no matter. I was wrong about not letting Mike go to Joyland, and Ive been wrong about holding onto my old grudges and insisting on some sort of fuckedup quid pro quo. My son isnt goods in a trading post. Do you think thirtyones too old to grow up, Dev? Ask me when I get there. She laughed. Touch. Excuse me a minute. She was gone for almost five. I sat at the kitchen table, sipping my coffee. When she came back, she was holding her sweater in her right hand. Her stomach was tanned. Her bra was a pale blue, almost matching her faded jeans. Mikes fast asleep, she said. Would you like to go upstairs with me, Devin? Her bedroom was large but plain, as if, even after all the months she had spent here, shed never fully unpacked. She turned to me and linked her arms around my neck. Her eyes were very wide and very calm. A trace of a smile touched the corners of her mouth, making soft dimples.  I bet you could do better, if you had half a chance. Remember me saying that? Yes. Is that a bet Id win? Her mouth was sweet and damp. I could taste her breath. She drew back and said, It can only be this once. You have to understand that. I didnt want to, but I did. Just as long as its not . . . you know . . . She was really smiling now, almost laughing. I could see teeth as well as dimples. As long as its not a thankyou fuck? Its not, believe me. The last time I had a kid like you, I was a kid myself. She took my right hand and put it on the silky cup covering her left breast. I could feel the soft, steady beat of her heart. I must not have let go of all my daddy issues yet, because I feel delightfully wicked. We kissed again. Her hands dropped to my belt and unbuckled it. There was the soft rasp as my zipper went down, and then the side of her palm was sliding along the hard ridge beneath my shorts. I gasped. Dev? What? Have you ever done this before? Dont you dare lie to me. No. Was she an idiot? This girl of yours? I guess we both were. She smiled, slipped a cool hand inside my underwear, and gripped me. That sure hold, coupled with her gently moving thumb, made all of Wendys efforts at boyfriend satisfaction seem very minor league. So youre a virgin. Guilty as charged. Good. It wasnt just the once, and that was lucky for me, because the first time lasted Im going to say eight seconds. Maybe nine. I got inside, that much I did manage, but then everything spurted everywhere. I may have been more embarrassed oncethe time I blew an asstrumpet while taking communion at Methodist Youth Campbut I dont think so. Oh God, I said, and put a hand over my eyes. She laughed, but there was nothing mean about it. In a weird way, Im flattered. Try to relax. Im going downstairs for another check on Mike. Id just as soon he didnt catch me in bed with Howie the Happy Hound. Very funny. I think if Id blushed any harder, my skin would have caught on fire. I think youll be ready again when I come back. Its the nice thing about being twentyone, Dev. If you were seventeen, youd probably be ready now. She came back with a couple of sodas in an ice bucket, but when she slipped out of her robe and stood there naked, Coke was the last thing I wanted. The second time was quite a bit better; I think I might have managed four minutes. Then she began to cry out softly, and I was gone. But what a way to go. We drowsed, Annie with her head pillowed in the hollow of my shoulder. Okay? she asked. So okay I cant believe it. I didnt see her smile, but I felt it. After all these years, this bedroom finally gets used for something besides sleeping. Doesnt your father ever stay here? Not for a long time, and I only started coming back because Mike loves it here. Sometimes I can face the fact that hes almost certainly going to die, but mostly I cant. I just turn away from it. I make deals with myself. If I dont take him to Joyland, he wont die. If I dont make it up with my father so Dad can come and see him, he wont die. If we just stay here, he wont die. A couple of weeks ago, the first time I had to make him put on his coat to go down to the beach, I cried. He asked me what was wrong, and I told him it was my time of the month. He knows what that is. I remembered something Mike had said to her in the hospital parking lot It doesnt have to be the last good time. But sooner or later the last good time would come around. It does for all of us. She sat up, wrapping the sheet around her. Remember me saying that Mike turned out to be my future? My brilliant career? Yes. I cant think of another one. Anything beyond Michael is just . . . blank. Who said that in America there are no second acts? I took her hand. Dont worry about act two until act one is over. She slipped her hand free and caressed my face with it. Youre young, but not entirely stupid. It was nice of her to say, but I certainly felt stupid. About Wendy, for one thing, but that wasnt the only thing. I found my mind drifting to those damn pictures in Erins folder. Something about them . . . She lay back down. The sheet slipped away from her nipples, and I felt myself begin to stir again. Some things about being twentyone were pretty great. The shooting gallery was fun. I forgot how good it is, sometimes, just to have that eyeandhand thing going on. My father put a rifle in my hands for the first time when I was six. Just a little singleshot .22. I loved it. Yeah? She was smiling. Yeah. It was our thing, the thing that worked. The only thing, as it turned out. She propped herself up on an elbow. Hes been selling that hellfire and brimstone shit since he was a teenager, and its not just about the moneyhe got a triple helping of backroads gospel from his own parents, and I have no doubt he believes every word of it. You know what, though? Hes still a southern man first and a preacher second. Hes got a custom pickup truck that cost fifty thousand dollars, but a pickup truck is still a pickup truck. He still eats biscuits and gravy at Shoneys. His idea of sophisticated humor is Minnie Pearl and Junior Samples. He loves songs about cheatin and honkytonkin. And he loves his guns. I dont care for his brand of Jesus and I have no interest in owning a pickup truck, but the guns . . . that he passed on to his only daughter. I go bangbang and feel better. Shitty legacy, huh? I said nothing, only got out of bed and opened the Cokes. I gave one to her. Hes probably got fifty guns at his fulltime place in Savannah, most of them valuable antiques, and theres another half a dozen in the safe here. Ive got two rifles of my own at my place in Chicago, although I hadnt shot at a target for two years before today. If Mike dies . . . She held the Coke bottle to the middle of her forehead, as if trying to soothe a headache. When Mike dies, the first thing Im going to do is get rid of them all. Theyd be too much temptation. Mike wouldnt want No, of course not, I know that, but its not all about him. If I could believelike my holyhat fatherthat I was going to find Mike waiting outside the golden gates to show me in after I die, that would be one thing. But I dont. I tried my ass off to believe that when I was a little girl, and I couldnt. God and heaven lasted about four years longer than the Tooth Fairy, but in the end, I couldnt. I think theres just darkness. No thought, no memory, no love. Just darkness. Oblivion. Thats why I find whats happening to him so hard to accept. Mike knows its more than oblivion, I said. What? Why? Why do you think that? Because she was there. He saw her, and he saw her go. Because she said thank you. And I know because I saw the Alice band, and Tom saw her. Ask him, I said. But not today. She put her Coke aside and studied me. She was wearing the little smile that put dimples at the corners of her mouth. Youve had seconds. I dont suppose youd be interested in thirds? I put my own Coke down beside the bed. As a matter of fact . . . She held out her arms. The first time was embarrassing. The second time was good. The third . . . man, the third time was the charm. I waited in the parlor while Annie dressed. When she came downstairs, she was back in her jeans and sweater. I thought of the blue bra just beneath the sweater, and damned if I didnt feel that stirring again. Are we good? she said. Yes, but I wish we could be even better. I wish that, too, but this is as good as its ever going to get. If you like me as much as I like you, youll accept that. Can you? Yes. Good. How much longer will you and Mike be here? If the place doesnt blow away tonight, you mean? It wont. A week. Mikes got a round of specialists back in Chicago starting on the seventeenth, and I want to get settled before then. She drew in a deep breath. And talk to his grandpa about a visit. Therell have to be some ground rules. No Jesus, for one. Will I see you again before you leave? Yes. She put her arms around me and kissed me. Then she stepped away. But not like this. It would confuse things too much. I know you get that. I nodded. I got it. You better go now, Dev. And thank you. It was lovely. We saved the best ride for last, didnt we? That was true. Not a dark ride but a bright one. I wish I could do more. For you. For Mike. So do I, she said, but thats not the world we live in. Come by tomorrow for supper, if the storms not too bad. Mike would love to see you. She looked beautiful, standing there barefooted in her faded jeans. I wanted to take her in my arms, and lift her, and carry her into some untroubled future. Instead, I left her where she was. Thats not the world we live in, shed said, and how right she was. How right she was. About a hundred yards down Beach Row, on the inland side of the twolane, there was a little cluster of shops too tony to be called a strip mall a gourmet grocery, a salon called Hairs Looking at You, a drugstore, a branch of the Southern Trust, and a restaurant called Mi Casa, where the Beach Row elite no doubt met to eat. I didnt give those shops so much as a glance when I drove back to Heavens Bay and Mrs. Shoplaws. If ever I needed proof that I didnt have the gift that Mike Ross and Rozzie Gold shared, that was it. Go to bed early, Fred Dean had told me, and I did. I lay on my back with my hands behind my head, listening to the waves as I had all summer long, remembering the touch of her hands, the firmness of her breasts, the taste of her mouth. Mostly it was her eyes I thought about, and the fan of her hair on the pillow. I didnt love her the way I loved Wendythat sort of love, so strong and stupid, only comes oncebut I loved her. I did then and still do now. For her kindness, mostly, and her patience. Some young man somewhere may have had a better initiation into the mysteries of sex, but no young man ever had a sweeter one. Eventually, I slept. It was a banging shutter somewhere below that woke me. I picked my watch up from the night table and saw it was quarter of one. I didnt think there was going to be any more sleep for me until that banging stopped, so I got dressed, started out the door, then returned to the closet for my slicker. When I got downstairs, I paused. From the big bedroom down the hall from the parlor, I could hear Mrs. S. sawing wood in long, noisy strokes. No banging shutter was going to break her rest. It turned out I didnt need the slicker, at least not yet, because the rain hadnt started. The wind was strong, though; it had to be blowing twentyfive already. The low, steady thud of the surf had become a muted roar. I wondered if the weather boffins had underestimated Gilda, thought of Annie and Mike in the house down the beach, and felt a tickle of unease. I found the loose shutter and refastened it with the hookandeye. I let myself back in, went upstairs, undressed, and lay down again. This time sleep wouldnt come. The shutter was quiet, but there was nothing I could do about the wind moaning around the eaves (and rising to a low scream each time it gusted). Nor could I turn off my brain, now that it was running again. Its not white, I thought. That meant nothing to me, but it wanted to mean something. It wanted to connect with something Id seen at the park during our visit. Theres a shadow over you, young man. That had been Rozzie Gold, on the day that Id met her. I wondered how long she had worked at Joyland, and where she had worked before. Was she carnyfromcarny? And what did it matter? One of these children has the sight. I dont know which. I knew. Mike had seen Linda Gray. And set her free. He had, as they say, shown her the door. The one she hadnt been able to find herself. Why else would she have thanked him? I closed my eyes and saw Fred at the Shootin Gallery, resplendent in his suit and magic top hat. I saw Lane holding out one of the.22s chained to the chump board. Annie How many shots? Fred Ten a clip. As many as you want. Todays your day. My eyes flew open as several things came crashing together in my mind. I sat up, listening to the wind and the agitated surf. Then I turned on the overhead light and got Erins folder out of my desk drawer. I laid the photographs on the floor again, my heart pounding. The pix were good but the light wasnt. I dressed for the second time, shoved everything back into the folder, and made another trip downstairs. A lamp hung above the Scrabble table in the middle of the parlor, and I knew from the many evenings Id gotten my ass kicked that the light it cast was plenty bright. There were sliding doors between the parlor and the hall leading to Mrs. S.s quarters. I pulled them shut so the light wouldnt disturb her. Then I turned on the lamp, moved the Scrabble box to the top of the TV, and laid my photos out. I was too agitated to sit down. I bent over the table instead, arranging and rearranging the photographs. I was about to do that for the third time when my hand froze. I saw it. I saw him. Not proof that would stand up in court, no, but enough for me. My knees came unhinged, and I sat down after all. The phone Id used so many times to call my fatheralways noting down the time and duration on the guestcall honor sheet when I was donesuddenly rang. Only in that windy early morning silence, it sounded more like a scream. I lunged at it and picked up the receiver before it could ring again. HHHel It was all I could manage. My heart was pounding too hard for more. Its you, the voice on the other end said. He sounded both amused and pleasantly surprised. I was expecting your landlady. I had a story about a family emergency all ready. I tried to speak. Couldnt. Devin? Teasing. Cheerful. Are you there? I . . . just a second. I held the phone to my chest, wondering (its crazy how your mind can work when its put under sudden stress) if he could hear my heart at his end of the line. On mine, I listened for Mrs. Shoplaw. I heard her, too the muted sound of her continuing snores. It was a good thing Id closed the parlor doors, and a better thing that there was no extension in her bedroom. I put the phone back to my ear and said, What do you want? Why are you calling? I think you know, Devin . . . and even if you didnt, its too late now, isnt it? Are you psychic, too? It was stupid, but right then my brain and my mouth seemed to be running on separate tracks. Thats Rozzie, he said. Our Madame Fortuna. He actually laughed. He sounded relaxed, but I doubt if he was. Killers dont make telephone calls in the middle of the night if theyre relaxed. Especially if they cant be sure of whos going to answer the phone. But he had a story, I thought. This guys a Boy Scout, hes crazy but always prepared. The tattoo, for instance. Thats what takes your eye when you look at those photos. Not the face. Not the baseball cap. I knew what you were up to, he said. I knew even before the girl brought you that folder. The one with the pictures in it. Then today . . . with the pretty mommy and the crippled kid . . . have you told them, Devin? Did they help you work it out? They dont know anything. The wind gusted. I could hear it at his end, too . . . as if he were outside. I wonder if I can believe you. You can. You absolutely can. Looking down at the pictures. Tattoo Man with his hand on Linda Grays ass. Tattoo Man helping her aim her rifle at the Shootin Gallery. Lane Lets see your best Annie Oakley, Annie. Fred A crack shot! Tattoo Man in his fishtop cap and dark glasses and sandy blond goatee. You could see the bird tattoo on his hand because the rawhide gloves had stayed in his back pocket until he and Linda Gray were in Horror House. Until he had her in the dark. I wonder, he said again. You were in that big old house for a long time this afternoon, Devin. Were you talking about the pictures the Cook girl brought, or were you just fucking her? Maybe it was both. Mommys a tasty piece, all right. They dont know anything, I repeated. I was speaking low and fixing my gaze on the closed parlor doors. I kept expecting them to open and to see Mrs. S. standing there in her nightgown, her face ghostly with cream. Neither do I. Not that I could prove. Probably not, but it would only be a matter of time. You cant unring the bell. Do you know that old saying? Sure, sure. I didnt, but at that moment I would have agreed with him if hed declared that Bobby Rydell (a yearly performer at Joyland) was president. Heres what youre going to do. Youre going to come to Joyland, and well talk this out, face to face. Man to man.


Why would I do that? That would be pretty crazy, if youre who I Oh, you know I am. He sounded impatient. And I know that if you went to the police, theyd find out I came onboard at Joyland only a month or so after Linda Gray was killed. Then theyd put me with the Wellman show and Southern Star Amusements, and there goes the ballgame. So why dont I call them right now? Do you know where I am? Anger was creeping into his voice. Novenom. Do you know where I am right now, you nosy little sonofabitch? Joyland, probably. In admin. Not at all. Im at the shopping center on Beach Row. The one where the rich bitches go to buy their macrobiotics. Rich bitches like your girlfriend. A cold finger began to trace its courseits very slow coursedown the length of my spine from the nape of my neck to the crack of my ass. I said nothing. Theres a pay phone outside the drugstore. Not a booth, but thats okay because it isnt raining yet. Just windy. Thats where I am. I can see your girlfriends house from where Im standing. Theres a light on in the kitchenprobably the one she leaves on all nightbut the rest of the house is dark. I could hang up this phone and be there in sixty seconds. Theres a burglar alarm! I didnt know if there was or not. He laughed. At this point, do you think I give a shit? It wont stop me from cutting her throat. But first Ill make her watch me do it to the little cripple. You wont rape her, though, I thought. You wouldnt even if there was time. I dont think you can. I came close to saying it, but didnt. As scared as I was, I knew that goading him right now would be a very bad idea. You were so nice to them today, I said stupidly. Flowers . . . prizes . . . the rides . . . Yeah, all the rube shit. Tell me about the car that came popping out of the funhouse shy. What was that about? I dont know. I think you do. Maybe well discuss it. At Joyland. I know your Ford, Jonesy. Its got the flickery left headlight and the cute little pinwheel on the antenna. If you dont want me in that house cutting throats, youre going to get in it right now, and youre going to drive down Beach Row to Joyland. I Shut up when Im talking to you. When you pass the shopping center, youll see me standing by one of the park trucks. Ill give you four minutes to get here from the time I hang up the phone. If I dont see you, Ill kill the woman and the kid. Understand? I . . . Do you understand? Yes! Ill follow you to the park. Dont worry about the gate; its already open. So youll either kill me or them. I get to choose. Is that it? Kill you? He sounded honestly surprised. Im not going to kill you, Devin. That would only make my position worse. No, Im going to do a fade. It wont be the first time, and it probably wont be the last. What I want is to talk. I want to know how you got onto me. I could tell you that over the phone. He laughed. And spoil your chance to overpower me and be Howie the Hero again? First the little girl, then Eddie Parks, and the pretty mommy and her crippledup brat for the exciting climax. How could you pass that up? He stopped laughing. Four minutes. I He hung up. I stared down at the glossy photos. I opened the drawer in the Scrabble table, took out one of the pads, and fumbled for the mechanical pencil Tina Ackerley always insisted on using to keep score. I wrote Mrs. S. If youre reading this, something has happened to me. I know who killed Linda Gray. Others, too. I wrote his name in capital letters. Then I ran for the door. My Fords starter spun and sputtered and did not catch. Then it began to slow. All summer Id been telling myself I had to get a new battery, and all summer Id found other things to spend my money on. My fathers voice Youre flooding it, Devin. I took my foot off the gas and sat there in the dark. Time seemed to be racing, racing. Part of me wanted to run back inside and call the police. I couldnt call Annie because I didnt have her fucking phone number, and given her famous father, it would be unlisted. Did he know that? Probably not, but he had the luck of the devil. As brazen as he was, the murdering son of a bitch should have been caught three or four times already, but hadnt been. Because he had the luck of the devil. Shell hear him breaking in and shell shoot him. Only the guns were in the safe, shed said so. Even if she got one, shed probably find the bastard holding his straightrazor to Mikes throat when she confronted him. I turned the key again, and with my foot off the accelerator and the carb full of gas, my Ford started up at once. I backed down the driveway and turned toward Joyland. The circular red neon of the Spin and the blue neon swoops of the Thunderball stood out against low, fastrunning clouds. Those two rides were always lit on stormy nights, partly as a beacon for ships at sea, partly to warn away any lowflying small aircraft bound for the Parish County Airport. Beach Row was deserted. Sheets of sand blew across it with every gust of wind, some of those gusts strong enough to shake my car. Dunelets were already starting to build up on the macadam. In my headlights, they looked like skeleton fingers. When I passed the shopping center, I saw a single figure standing in the middle of the parking lot next to one of the Joyland maintenance trucks. He raised a hand to me as I went past and gave a single solemn wave. The big Victorian on the beach side came next. There was a light on in the kitchen. I thought it was the fluorescent over the sink. I remembered Annie coming into the room with her sweater in her hand. Her tanned stomach. The bra almost the same color as her jeans. Would you like to go upstairs with me, Devin? Lights bloomed in my rearview mirror and pulled up close. He was using his brights and I couldnt see the vehicle behind them, but I didnt have to. I knew it was the maintenance truck, just as I knew he had been lying when he said he wasnt going to kill me. The note Id left for Mrs. Shoplaw would still be there in the morning. She would read it, and the name I had written there. The question was how long it would take her to believe it. He was such a charmer, him with his rhyming patter, winning smile, and cocked derby lid. Why, all the women loved Lane Hardy. The gates were open, as promised. I drove through them and tried to park in front of the nowshuttered Shootin Gallery. He gave his horn a brief blip and flashed his lights Drive on. When I got to the Spin, he flashed his lights again. I turned off my Ford, very aware that I might never start it again. The hoisters red neon cast a bloodcolored light over the dashboard, the seats, my own skin. The trucks headlights went out. I heard the door open and shut. And I heard the wind blowing through the Spins strutstonight that sound was a harpys screech. There was a steady, almost syncopated rattling sound, as well. The wheel was shaking on its treethick axle. The Gray girls killerand DeeDee Mowbrays, and Claudine Sharps, and Darlene Stamnacherswalked to my car and tapped on the window with the barrel of a pistol. With his other hand he made a beckoning gesture. I opened the door and got out. You said you werent going to kill me. It sounded as weak as my legs felt. Lane smiled his charming smile. Well . . . well see which way the flows gonna go. Wont we? Tonight his derby was cocked to the left and pulled down tight so it wouldnt fly off. His hair, let loose from its workday ponytail, blew around his neck. The wind gusted and the Spin gave an unhappy screech. The red glow of the neon flickered across his face as it shook. Dont worry about the hoister, he said. If it was solid it might blow over, but the wind shoots right through the struts. Youve got other things to worry about. Tell me about the funhouse car. Thats what I really want to know. Howd you do that? Was it some kind of remote gadget? Im very interested in those things. Theyre the wave of the future, thats what I think. There was no gadget. He didnt seem to hear me. Also what was the point? Was it supposed to flush me out? If it was, you didnt need to bother. I was already flushed. She did it, I said. I didnt know if that was strictly true, but I had no intention of bringing Mike into this conversation. Linda Gray. Didnt you see her? The smile died. Is that the best you can manage? The old ghostinthefunhouse story? Youll have to do a little better than that. So he hadnt seen her any more than I had. But I think he knew there was something. Ill never know for sure, but I think that was why he offered to go after Milo. He hadnt wanted us anywhere near Horror House. Oh, she was there. I saw her headband. Remember me looking in? It was under the seat. He lashed out so suddenly I didnt even have a chance to get my hand up. The barrel of the gun slammed across my forehead, opening a gash. I saw stars. Then blood poured into my eyes and I saw only that. I staggered back against the rail beside the ramp leading to the Spin and gripped it to keep from falling down. I swiped at my face with the sleeve of my slicker. I dont know why youd bother trying to spook me with a campfire story at this late date, he said, and I dont appreciate it. You know about the headband because there was a picture of it in the folder your nosy collegecunt girlfriend brought you. He smiled. There was nothing charming about this one; it was all teeth. Dont kid a kidder, kiddo. But . . . you didnt see the folder. The answer to that one was a simple deduction even with my head ringing. Fred saw it. And told you. Didnt he? Yep. On Monday. We were having lunch together in his office. He said that you and the college cunt were playing Hardy Boys, although he didnt put it quite that way. He thought it was sort of cute. I didnt, because Id seen you stripping off Eddie Parkss gloves after he had his heart attack. Thats when I knew you were playing Hardy Boys. That folder . . . Fred said the cunt had pages of notes. I knew it was only a matter of time before she put me with Wellmans and Southern Star. I had an alarming picture of Lane Hardy riding the train to Annandale with a straight razor in his pocket. Erin doesnt know anything. Oh, relax. Do you think Im going after her? Apply some strain and use your brain. And take a little stroll while you do it. Up the ramp, champ. You and I are going for a ride. Up there where the air is rare. I started to ask him if he was crazy, but that would have been sort of a stupid question at this late date, wouldnt it? What have you got to grin about, Jonesy? Nothing, I said. You dont really want to go up with the wind blowing like this, do you? But the Spins engine was running. I hadnt been aware of it over the wind, the surf, and the eerie scream of the ride itself, but now that I was listening, I heard it a steady rumble. Almost a purr. Something fairly obvious came to me he was probably planning to turn the gun on himself after he finished with me. Maybe you think that should have occurred to me sooner, because crazy people have a way of doing thatyou read about it in the paper all the time. Maybe youd be right. But I was under a lot of stress. Old Carolinas safe as houses, he said. Id go up in her if the wind was blowing sixty instead of just thirty. It blew at least that hard when Carla skimmed past the coast two years ago, and she was just fine. How are you going to put it in gear if were both in the car? Get in and see. Or . . . He lifted the gun. Or I can shoot you right here. Im good with it either way. I walked up the ramp, opened the door of the car currently sitting at the loading station, and started to climb in. No, no, no, he said. You want to be on the outside. Better view. Stand aside, Clyde. And put your hands in your pockets. Lane sidled past me, the gun leveled. More blood was trickling into my eyes and down my cheeks, but I didnt dare take a hand from my slicker pocket to wipe it off. I could see how white his finger was on the trigger of the pistol. He sat down on the inside of the car. Now you. I got in. I didnt see any choice. And close the door, thats what its there for. You sound like Dr. Seuss, I said. He grinned. Flattery will get you nowhere. Close the door or Ill put a bullet in your knee. You think anyone will hear it over this wind? I dont. I closed the door. When I looked at him again, he had the pistol in one hand and a square metal gadget in the other. It had a stubby antenna. Told you, I love these gadgets. This ones your basic garage dooropener with a couple of small modifications. Sends a radio signal. Showed it to Mr. Easterbrook this spring, told him it was the perfect thing for wheel maintenance when there wasnt a greenie or a gazoonie around to run the groundside controls. He said I couldnt use it because it hasnt been safetyapproved by the state commission. Cautious old sonofabitch. I was going to patent it. Too late now, I guess. Take it. I took it. It was a garage door opener. A Genie. My dad had one almost exactly like it. See the button with the up arrow? Yes. Push it. I put my thumb on the button, but didnt push it. The wind was strong down here; how much stronger up there, where the air was rare? Were flying! Mike had shouted. Push it or take one in the knee, Jonesy. I pushed the button. The Spins motor geared down at once, and our car began to rise. Now throw it over the side. What? Throw it over the side or you get one in the knee and youll never twostep again. Ill give you a threecount. One . . . t I threw his controller over the side. The wheel rose and rose into the windy night. To my right I could see the waves pounding in, their crests marked by foam so white it looked phosphorescent. On the left, the land was dark and sleeping. Not a single set of headlights moved on Beach Row. The wind gusted. My bloodsticky hair flew back from my forehead in clumps. The car rocked. Lane threw himself forward, then back, making the car rock more . . . but the gun, now pointed at my side, never wavered. Red neon skimmed lines along the barrel. He shouted, Not so much like a grandma ride tonight, is it, Jonesy? It sure wasnt. Tonight the staid old Carolina Spin was terrifying. As we reached the top, a savage gust shook the wheel so hard I heard our car rattling on the steel supports that held it. Lanes derby flew off into the night. Shit! Well, theres always another one. Lane, how are we going to get off? The question rose behind my lips, but I didnt ask. I was too afraid hed tell me we werent, that if the storm didnt blow the Spin over and if the power didnt go out, wed still be going around and around when Fred got here in the morning. Two dead men on Joylands chumphoister. Which made my next move rather obvious. Lane was smiling. You want to try for the gun, dont you? I can see it in your eyes. Well, its like Dirty Harry said in that movieyou have to ask yourself if you feel lucky. We were going down now, the car still rocking but not quite so much. I decided I didnt feel lucky at all. How many have you killed, Lane? None of your fucking business. And since I have the gun, I think I should get to ask the questions. How long have you known? Quite a while, right? At least since the college cunt showed you the pictures. You just held off so the cripple could get his day at the park. Your mistake, Jonesy. A rubes mistake. I only figured it out tonight, I said. Liar, liar, pants on fire. We swept past the ramp and started up again. I thought, Hes probably going to shoot me when the cars at the top. Then hell either shoot himself or push me out, slide over, and jump onto the ramp when the car comes back down. Take his chances on not breaking a leg or a collarbone. I was betting on the murdersuicide scenario, but not until his curiosity was satisfied. I said, Call me stupid if you want, but dont call me a liar. I kept looking at the pictures, and I kept seeing something in them, something familiar, but until tonight I couldnt quite figure out what it was. It was the hat. You were wearing a fishtop baseball cap in the photos, not a derby, but it was tilted one way when you and the Gray girl were at the Whirly Cups, and the other when you were at the Shootin Gallery. I looked at the rest, the ones where the two of you are only in the background, and saw the same thing. Back and forth, back and forth. You do it all the time. You dont even think about it. Thats all? A fucking tilted cap? No. We were reaching the top for the second time, but I thought I was good for at least one more turn. He wanted to hear this. Then the rain started, a hard squall that turned on like a shower spigot. At least itll wash the blood off my face, I thought. When I looked at him, I saw that wasnt all it was washing off. One day I saw you with your hat off and I thought your hair was showing the first strands of white. I was almost yelling to be heard over the wind and the rush of the rain. It was coming sideways, hitting us in the face. Yesterday I saw you wiping the back of your neck. I thought it was dirt. Then tonight, after I got the thing about the cap, I started thinking about the fake bird tattoo. Erin saw how the sweat made it run. I guess the cops missed that. I could see my car and the maintenance truck, growing larger as the Spin neared the bottom of its circle for the second time. Beyond them, something largea windloosened swatch of canvas, maybewas blowing up Joyland Avenue. It wasnt dirt you were wiping off, it was dye. It was running, just like the tattoo ran. Like its running now. Its all over your neck. It wasnt strands of white hair I saw, it was strands of blond. He wiped his neck and looked at the black smear on his palm. I almost went for him then, but he raised the gun and all at once I was looking into a black eye. It was small but terrible. I used to be blond, he said, but under the black Im mostly gray now. Ive lived a stressful life, Jonesy. He smiled ruefully, as though this were some sad joke we were both in on. We were going up again, and I had just a moment to think that the thing Id seen blowing up the midwaywhat Id taken for a big square of loose canvascould have been a car with its headlights out. It was crazy to hope, but I hoped, anyway. The rain slashed at us. My slicker rippled. Lanes hair flew like a ragged flag. I hoped I could keep him from pulling the trigger for at least one more spin. Maybe two? Possible but not probable. Once I let myself think of you as Linda Grays killerand it wasnt easy, Lane, not after the way you took me in and showed me the ropesI could see past the hat and sunglasses and facehair. I could see you. You werent working here I was running a forklift in a warehouse in Florence. He wrinkled his nose. Rube work. I hated it. You were working in Florence, you met Linda Gray in Florence, but you knew all about Joyland over here in NC, didnt you? I dont know if youre carnyfromcarny, but youve never been able to stay away from the shows. And when you suggested a little road trip, she went along with it. I was her secret boyfriend. I told her I had to be. Because I was older. He smiled, She bought it. They all do. Youd be surprised how much the young ones will buy. You sick fuck, I thought. You sick, sick fuck. You brought her to Heavens Bay, you stayed at a motel, and then you killed her here at Joyland even though you must have known about the Hollywood Girls running around with their cameras. Bold as brass. That was part of the kick, wasnt it? Sure it was. You did it on a ride full of conies Rubes, he said. The hardest gust yet shook the Spin, but he seemed not to feel it. Of course, he was on the inside of the wheel where things were a little calmer. Call em what they are. Theyre just rubes, all of them. They see nothing. Its like their eyes are connected to their assholes instead of their brains. Everything goes right through. You get off on the risk, dont you? Thats why you came back and hired on. Not even a month later. His smile widened. All this time Ive been right under their noses. And you know what? Ive been . . . you know, good . . . ever since that night in the funhouse. All the bad stuff was behind me. I could have gone on being good. I like it here. I was building a life. I had my gadget, and I was going to patent it. Oh, I think sooner or later you would have done it again. We were back at the top. The wind and rain pelted us. I was shivering. My clothes were soaked; Lanes cheeks were dark with hairdye. It ran down his skin in tendrils. His mind is like that, I thought. On the inside, where he never smiles. No. I was cured. I have to do you, Jonesy, but only because you stuck your nose in where it doesnt belong. Its too bad, because I liked you. I really did. I thought he was telling the truth, which made what was happening even more horrible. We were going back down. The world below was windy and rainsoaked. There had been no car with its headlights out, only a blowing piece of canvas that for a moment looked like that to my yearning mind. The cavalry wasnt coming. Thinking it was would only get me killed. I had to do this myself, and the only chance I had was to make him mad. Really mad. You get off on risk, but you dont get off on rape, do you? If you did, you would have taken them to some isolated place. I think what your secret girlfriends have between their legs scares you limp. What do you do later? Lie in bed and jack off thinking about how brave you are, killing defenseless girls? Shut up. You can fascinate them, but you cant fuck them. The wind shouted; the car rocked. I was going to die and at that moment I didnt give shit one. I didnt know how angry I was making him, but I was angry enough for both of us. What happened to make you this way? Did your mother put a clothespin on your peepee when you went weewee in the corner? Did Uncle Stan make you give him a blowjob? Or was it Shut up! He rose into a crouch, gripping the safety bar in one hand and pointing the gun at me with the other. A stroke of lightning lit him up staring eyes, lank hair, working mouth. And the gun. Shut your dirty mou DEVIN, DUCK! I didnt think about it, I just did it. There was a whipcrack report, an almost liquid sound in the blowing night. The bullet must have gone right past me, but I didnt hear it or feel it, the way characters do in books. The car we were in swept past the loading point and I saw Annie Ross standing on the ramp with a rifle in her hands. The van was behind her. Her hair was blowing around her bonewhite face. We started up again. I looked at Lane. He was frozen in his crouch, his mouth ajar. Black dye ran down his cheeks. His eyes were rolled up so only the bottom half of the irises showed. Most of his nose was gone. One nostril hung down by his upper lip, but the rest of it was just a red ruin surrounding a black hole the size of a dime. He sat down on the seat, hard. Several of his front teeth rattled out of his mouth when he did. I plucked the gun from his hand and tossed it over the side. What I was feeling right then was . . . nothing. Except in some very deep part of me, where I had begun to realize this might not be my night to die, after all. Oh, he said. Then he said Ah. Then he slumped forward, chin on chest. He looked like a man considering his options, and very carefully. There was more lightning as the car reached the top. It illuminated my seatmate in a stutter of blue fire. The wind blew and the Spin moaned in protest. We were coming down again. From below, almost lost in the storm Dev, how do I stop it? I first thought of telling her to look for the remote control gadget, but in the storm she could hunt for half an hour and still not find it. Even if she did, it might be broken or lying shorted out in a puddle. Besides, there was a better way. Go to the motor! I shouted. Look for the red button! RED BUTTON, ANNIE! Its the emergency stop! I swept past her, registering the same jeans and sweater shed worn earlier, both now soaked and plastered to her. No jacket, no hat. She had come in a hurry, and I knew who had sent her. How much simpler it would have been if Mike had focused on Lane at the start. But Rozzie never had, even though shed known him for years, and I was to find out later that Mike never focused on Lane Hardy at all. I was going back up again. Beside me, Lanes soaking hair was dripping black rain into his lap. Wait until I come back down! What? I didnt bother trying again; the wind would have drowned it out. I could only hope she wouldnt hammer on the red button while I was at the top of the ride. As the car rose into the worst of the storm the lightning flashed again, and this time there was an accompanying crack of thunder. As if it had roused himperhaps it hadLane lifted his head and looked at me. Tried to look at me; his eyes had come back level in their sockets, but were now pointing in opposite directions. That terrible image has never left my mind, and still comes to me at the oddest times going through turnpike tollbooths, drinking a cup of coffee in the morning with the CNN anchors baying bad news, getting up to piss at three AM, which some poet or other has rightly dubbed the Hour of the Wolf. He opened his mouth and blood poured out. He made a grinding insectile sound, like a cicada burrowing into a tree. A spasm shook him. His feet tapdanced briefly on the steel floor of the car. They stilled, and his head dropped forward again. Be dead, I thought. Please be dead this time. As the Spin started down again, a bolt of lightning struck the Thunderball; I saw the tracks light up briefly. I thought, That could have been me. The hardest gust of wind yet struck the car. I held on for dear life. Lane flopped like a big doll. I looked down at Annieher white face staring up, her eyes squinted against the rain. She was inside the rail, standing next to the motor. So far, so good. I put my hands around my mouth. The red button! I see it! Wait until I tell you! The ground was coming up. I grabbed the bar. When the late (at least I hoped he was) Lane Hardy was at the control stick, the Spin always came to an easy halt, the cars up top swaying gently. I had no idea what an emergency stop would be like, but I was going to find out. Now, Annie! Push it now! It was a good thing I was holding on. My car stopped dead about ten feet from the unloading point and still five feet above the ground. The car tilted. Lane was thrown forward, his head and torso flopping over the bar. Without thinking, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. One of his hands flopped into my lap and I flung it away with a grunt of disgust. The bar wouldnt unlock, so I had to wriggle out from beneath it. Be careful, Dev! Annie was standing beside the car, holding up her hands, as if to catch me. She had propped the rifle shed used to end Hardys life against the motor housing. Step back, I said, and threw one leg over the side of the car. More lightning flashed. The wind howled and the Spin howled back. I got hold of a strut and swung out. My hands slipped on the wet metal and I dropped. I went to my knees. A moment later she was pulling me to my feet. Are you all right? Yes. I wasnt, though. The world was swimming, and I was on the edge of a faint. I lowered my head, gripped my legs just above the knees, and began taking deep breaths. For a moment it could have gone either way, but then things began to solidify. I stood up again, careful not to move too fast. It was hard to tell with the rain bucketing down, but I was pretty sure she was crying. I had to do it. He was going to kill you. Wasnt he? Please, Dev, say he was going to kill you. Mike said he was, and You can quit worrying about that, believe me. And I wouldnt have been his first. Hes killed four women. I thought of Erins speculation about the years when there had been no bodiesnone discovered, at least. Maybe more. Probably more. We have to call the police. Theres a phone in I started to point toward Mysterios Mirror Mansion, but she grabbed my arm. No. You cant. Not yet. Annie She thrust her face close to mine, almost kissing distance, but kissing was the last thing on her mind. How did I get here? Am I supposed to tell the police that a ghost showed up in my sons room in the middle of the night and told him youd die on the Ferris wheel if I didnt come? Mike cant be a part of this, and if you tell me Im being an overprotective mom. Ill . . . Ill kill you myself. No, I said. I wont tell you that. So how did I get here? At first I didnt know. You have to remember that I was still scared myself. Only scared doesnt cover it. Scared isnt even in the ballpark. I was in shock. Instead of Mysterios, I led her to her van and helped her sit behind the wheel. Then I went around and got in on the passenger side. By then I had an idea. It had the virtue of simplicity, and I thought it would fly. I shut the door and took my wallet out of my hip pocket. I almost dropped it on the floor when I opened it; I was shaking like crazy. Inside there were plenty of things to write on, but I had nothing to write with. Please tell me you have a pen or a pencil, Annie. Maybe in the glove compartment. Youll have to call the police, Dev. I have to get back to Mike. If they arrest me for leaving the scene or something . . . or for murder. Nobodys going to arrest you, Annie. You saved my life. I was pawing through the glove compartment as I talked. There was an owners manual, piles of gasoline credit card receipts, Rolaids, a bag of MMs, even a Jehovahs Witnesses pamphlet asking if I knew where I was going to spend the afterlife, but no pen or pencil. You cant wait . . . in a situation like that . . . thats what I was always told . . . Her words came in chunks because her teeth were chattering. Just aim . . . and squeeze before you can . . . you know . . . secondguess yourself . . . it was supposed to go between his eyes, but . . . the wind . . . I guess the wind . . . She shot out a hand and gripped my shoulder hard enough to hurt. Her eyes were huge. Did I hit you, too, Dev? Theres a gash in your forehead and blood on your shirt! You didnt hit me. He pistolwhipped me a little, thats all. Annie, theres nothing in here to write w But there was a ballpoint at the very back of the glove compartment. Printed on the barrel, faded but still legible, was LETS GO KROGERING! I wont say that pen saved Annie and Mike Ross serious police trouble, but I know it saved them a lot of questions about what had brought Annie to Joyland on such a dark and stormy night. I passed her the pen and a business card from my wallet, blank side up. Earlier, sitting in my car and terribly afraid that my failure to buy a new battery was going to get Annie and Mike killed, Id thought I could go back into the house and call her . . . only I didnt have her number. Now I told her to write it down. And below the number, write Call if plans change. While she did, I started the vans engine and turned the heater on full blast. She returned the card. I tucked it into my wallet, shoved the wallet back into my pocket, and tossed the pen into the glove compartment. I took her in my arms and kissed her cold cheek. Her trembling didnt stop, but it eased. You saved my life, I said. Now lets make sure nothing happens to you or Mike because you did. Listen very carefully. She listened. Six days later, Indian summer came back to Heavens Bay for a brief final fling. It was perfect weather for a noon meal at the end of the Ross boardwalk, only we couldnt go there. Newsmen and photographers had it staked out. They could do that because, unlike the two acres surrounding the big green Victorian, the beach was public property. The story of how Annie had taken out Lane Hardy (known then and forever after as The Carny Killer) with one shot had gone nationwide. Not that the stories were bad. Quite the opposite. The Wilmington paper had led with DAUGHTER OF EVANGELIST BUDDY ROSS BAGS CARNY KILLER.