The newspaper the hardware store clerk had let him look at promised sunset at six oclock P.M. on the dot. Moonrise was not listed, but Jack guessed seven, at the latest. It was already one p.m., and he had no idea where he was going to put Wolf for the night. You have to lock me up, Jack, Wolf had said. Have to lock me up good. Because if I get out, Ill hurt anything I can run down and catch hold of. Even you, Jack. Even you. So you have to lock me up and keep me locked up, no matter what I do or what I say. Three days, Jack, until the moon starts to get thin again. Three days . . . even four, if youre not completely sure. Yes, but where? It had to be someplace away from people, so no one would hear Wolf ifwhen, he amended reluctantlyhe began to howl. And it had to be someplace a lot stronger than the shed they had been staying in. If Jack used his fine new tendollar padlock on the door of that place, Wolf would bust right out through the back. Where? He didnt know, but he knew he had only six hours to find a place . . . maybe less. Jack began to hurry along even faster. 6 They had passed several empty houses to come this far, had even spent the night in one, and Jack watched all the way back from Daleville for the signs of lack of occupancy for blank uncovered windows and FOR SALE signs, for grass grown as high as the second porch step and the sense of lifelessness common to empty houses. It was not that he hoped he could lock Wolf into some farmers bedroom for the three days of his Change. Wolf would be able to knock down the door of the shed. But one farmhouse had a root cellar; that would have worked. A stout oaken door set into a grassy mound like a door in a fairy tale, and behind it a room without walls or ceilingan underground room, a cave no creature could dig its way out of in less than a month. The cellar would have held Wolf, and the earthen floor and walls would have kept him from injuring himself. But the empty farmhouse, and the root cellar, must have been at least thirty or forty miles behind them. They would never make it back there in the time remaining before moonrise. And would Wolf still be willing to run forty miles, especially for the purpose of putting himself in a foodless solitary confinement, so close to the time of his Change? Suppose, in fact, that too much time had passed. Suppose that Wolf had come too close to the edge and would refuse any sort of imprisonment? What if that capering, greedy underside of his character had climbed up out of the pit and was beginning to look around this odd new world, wondering where the food was hiding? The big padlock threatening to rip the seams out of Jacks pocket would be useless. He could turn around, Jack realized. He could walk back to Daleville and keep on going. In a day or two hed be nearly to Lapel or Cicero, and maybe he would work an afternoon at a feed store or get in some hours as a farmhand, make a few dollars or scrounge a meal or two, and then push all the way to the Illinois border in the next few days. Illinois would be easy, Jack thoughthe didnt know how he was going to do this, exactly, but he was pretty sure he could get to Springfield and the Thayer School only a day or two after he made it into Illinois. And, Jack puzzled as he hesitated a quartermile down the road from the shed, how would he explain Wolf to Richard Sloat? His old buddy Richard, in his round glasses and ties and laced cordovans? Richard Sloat was thoroughly rational and, though very intelligent, hardheaded. If you couldnt see it, it probably didnt exist. Richard had never been interested in fairy tales as a child; he had remained unexcited by Disney films about fairy godmothers who turned pumpkins into coaches, about wicked queens who owned speaking mirrors. Such conceits were too absurd to snare Richards sixyearold (or eightyearold, or tenyearold) fancyunlike, say, a photograph of an electron microscope. Richards enthusiasm had embraced Rubiks Cube, which he could solve in less than ninety seconds, but Jack did not think it would go so far as to accept a sixfootfive, sixteenyearold werewolf. For a moment Jack twisted helplessly on the roadfor a moment he almost thought that he would be able to leave Wolf behind and get on with his journey toward Richard and then the Talisman. What if Im the herd? he asked himself silently. And what he thought of was Wolf scrambling down the bank after his poor terrified animals, throwing himself into the water to rescue them. 7 The shed was empty. As soon as Jack saw the door leaning open he knew that Wolf had taken himself off somewhere, but he scrambled down the side of the gully and picked his way through the trash almost in disbelief. Wolf could not have gone farther than a dozen feet by himself, yet he had done so. Im back, Jack called. Hey, Wolf? I got the lock. He knew he was talking to himself, and a glance into the shed confirmed this. His pack lay on a little wooden bench; a stack of pulpy magazines dated 1973 stood beside it. In one corner of the windowless wooden shed odd lengths of deadwood had been carelessly heaped, as if someone had once halfheartedly made a stab at squirreling away firewood. Otherwise the shed was bare. Jack turned around from the gaping door and looked helplessly up the banks of the gully. Old tires scattered here and there among the weeds, a bundle of faded and rotting political pamphlets still bearing the name LUGAR, one dented blueandwhite Connecticut license plate, beerbottles with labels so faded they were white . . . no Wolf. Jack raised his hands to cup his mouth. Hey, Wolf! Im back! He expected no reply, and got none. Wolf was gone. Shit, Jack said, and put his hands on his hips. Conflicting emotions, exasperation and relief and anxiety, surged through him. Wolf had left in order to save Jacks lifethat had to be the meaning of his disappearance. As soon as Jack had set off for Daleville, his partner had skipped out. He had run away on those tireless legs and by now was miles away, waiting for the moon to come up. By now, Wolf could be anywhere. This realization was part of Jacks anxiety. Wolf could have taken himself into the woods visible at the end of the long field bordered by the gully, and in the woods gorged himself on rabbits and fieldmice and whatever else might live there, moles and badgers and the whole cast of The Wind in the Willows. Which would have been dandy. But Wolf just might sniff out the livestock, wherever it was, and put himself in real danger. He might also, Jack realized, sniff out the farmer and his family. Or, even worse, Wolf might have worked his way close to one of the towns north of them. Jack couldnt be sure, but he thought that a transformed Wolf would probably be capable of slaughtering at least half a dozen people before somebody finally killed him. Damn, damn, damn, Jack said, and began to climb up the far side of the gully. He had no real hopes of seeing Wolfhe would probably never see Wolf again, he realized. In some smalltown paper, a few days down the road, hed find a horrified description of the carnage caused by an enormous wolf which had apparently wandered into Main Street looking for food. And there would be more names. More names like Thielke, Heidel, Hagen . . . At first he looked toward the road, hoping even now to see Wolfs giant form skulking away to the easthe wouldnt want to meet Jack returning from Daleville. The long road was as deserted as the shed. Of course. The sun, as good a clock as the one he wore on his wrist, had slipped well below its meridian. Jack turned despairingly toward the long field and the edge of the woods behind it. Nothing moved but the tips of the stubble, which bent before a chill wandering breeze. HUNT CONTINUES FOR KILLER WOLF, a headline would read, a few days down the road. Then a large brown boulder at the edge of the woods did move, and Jack realized that the boulder was Wolf. He had hunkered down on his heels and was staring at Jack. Oh, you inconvenient son of a bitch, Jack said, and in the midst of his relief knew that a part of him had been secretly delighted by Wolfs departure. He stepped toward him. Wolf did not move, but his posture somehow intensified, became more electric and aware. Jacks next step required more courage than the first. Twenty yards farther, he saw that Wolf had continued to change. His hair had become even thicker, more luxuriant, as if it had been washed and blowdried; and now Wolfs beard really did seem to begin just beneath his eyes. He entire body, hunkered down as it was, seemed to have become wider and more powerful. His eyes, filled with liquid fire, blazed Halloween orange. Jack made himself go nearer. He nearly stopped when he thought he saw that Wolf now had paws instead of hands, but a moment later realized that his hands and fingers were completely covered by a thatch of coarse dark hair. Wolf continued to gaze at him with his blazing eyes. Jack again halved the distance between them, then paused. For the first time since he had come upon Wolf tending his flock beside a Territories stream, he could not read his expression. Maybe Wolf had become too alien for that already, or maybe all the hair simply concealed too much of his face. What he was sure of was that some strong emotion had gripped Wolf. A dozen feet away he stopped for good and forced himself to look into the werewolfs eyes. Soon now, Jacky, Wolf said, and his mouth dropped open in a fearsome parody of a smile. I thought you ran away, Jack said. Sat here to see you coming. Wolf! Jack did not know what to make of this declaration. Obscurely, it reminded him of Little Red Riding Hood. Wolfs teeth did look particularly crowded, sharp, and strong. I got the lock, he said. He pulled it out of his pocket and held it up. You have any ideas while I was gone, Wolf? Wolfs whole faceeyes, teeth, everythingblazed out at Jack. Youre the herd now, Jacky, Wolf said. And lifted his head and released a long unfurling howl. 8 A less frightened Jack Sawyer might have said, Can that stuff, willya? or Well have every dog in the county around here if you keep that up, but both of these statements died in his throat. He was too scared to utter a word. Wolf gave him his A 1 smile again, his mouth looking like a television commercial for Ginsu knives, and rose effortlessly to his feet. The John Lennon glasses seemed to be receding back into the bristly top of his beard and the thick hair falling over his temples. He looked at least seven feet tall to Jack, and as burly as the beer barrels in the back room of the Oatley Tap. You have good smells in this world, Jacky, Wolf said. And Jack finally recognized his mood. Wolf was exultant. He was like a man who against steep odds had just won a particularly difficult contest. At the bottom of this triumphant emotion percolated that joyful and feral quality Jack had seen once before. Good smells! Wolf! Wolf! Jack took a delicate step backward, wondering if he was upwind of Wolf. You never said anything good about it before, he said, not quite coherently. Before is before and now is now, Wolf said. Good things. Many good thingsall around. Wolf will find them, you bet. That made it worse, for now Jack could seecould nearly feela flat, confident greed, a wholly amoral hunger shining in the reddish eyes. Ill eat anything I catch and kill, it said. Catch and kill. I hope none of those good things are people, Wolf, Jack said quietly. Wolf lifted his chin and uttered a bubbling series of noises halfhowl, halflaughter. Wolfs need to eat, he said, and his voice, too, was joyous. Oh, Jacky, how Wolfs do need to eat. EAT! Wolf! Im going to have to put you in that shed, Jack said. Remember, Wolf? I got the lock? Well just have to hope itll hold you. Lets start over there now, Wolf. Youre scaring the shit out of me. This time the bubbling laughter ballooned out of Wolfs chest. Scared! Wolf knows! Wolf knows, Jacky! You have the fearsmell. Im not surprised, Jack said. Lets get over to that shed now, okay? Oh, Im not going in the shed, Wolf said, and a long pointed tongue curled out from between his jaws. No, not me, Jacky. Not Wolf. Wolf cant go in the shed. The jaws widened, and the crowded teeth shone. Wolf remembered, Jacky. Wolf! Right here and now! Wolf remembered! Jack stepped backward. More fearsmell. Even on your shoes. Shoes, Jacky! Wolf! Shoes that smelled of fear were evidently deeply comic. You have to go in the shed, thats what you should remember. Wrong! Wolf! You go in the shed, Jacky! Jacky goes in shed! I remembered! Wolf! The werewolfs eyes slid from blazing reddishorange to a mellow, satisfied shade of purple. From The Book of Good Farming, Jacky. The story of the Wolf Who Would Not Injure His Herd. Remember it, Jacky? The herd goes in the barn. Remember? The lock goes on the door. When the Wolf knows his Change is coming on him, the herd goes in the barn and the lock goes on the door. He Would Not Injure His Herd. The jaws split and widened again, and the long dark tongue curled up at the tip in a perfect image of delight. Not! Not! Not Injure His Herd! Wolf! Right here and now! You want me to stay locked up in the shed for three days? Jack said. I have to eat, Jacky, Wolf said simply, and the boy saw something dark, quick, and sinister slide toward him from Wolfs changing eyes. When the moon takes me with her, I have to eat. Good smells here, Jacky. Plenty of food for Wolf. When the moon lets me go, Jacky comes out of the shed. What happens if I dont want to be locked up for three days? Then Wolf will kill Jacky. And then Wolf will be damned. This is all in The Book of Good Farming, is it? Wolf nodded his head. I remembered. I remembered in time, Jacky. When I was waiting for you. Jack was still trying to adjust himself to Wolfs idea. He would have to go three days without food. Wolf would be free to wander. He would be in prison, and Wolf would have the world. Yet it was probably the only way he would survive Wolfs transformation. Given the choice of a threeday fast or death, hed choose an empty stomach. And then it suddenly seemed to Jack that this reversal was really no reversal at allhe would still be free, locked in the shed, and Wolf out in the world would still be imprisoned. His cage would just be larger than Jacks. Then God bless The Book of Good Farming, because I would never have thought of it myself. Wolf gleamed at him again, and then looked up at the sky with a blank, yearning expression. Not long now, Jacky. Youre the herd. I have to put you inside. Okay, Jack said. I guess you do have to. And this too struck Wolf as uproariously funny. As he laughed his howling laugh, he threw an arm around Jacks waist and picked him up and carried him all the way across the field. Wolf will take care of you, Jacky, he said when he had nearly howled himself insideout. He set the boy gently on the ground at the top of the gully. Wolf, Jack said. Wolf widened his jaws and began rubbing his crotch. You cant kill any people, Wolf, Jack said. Remember thatif you remembered that story, then you can remember not to kill any people. Because if you do, theyll hunt you down for sure. If you kill any people, if you kill even one person, then a lot of people will come to kill you. And theyd get you, Wolf. I promise you. Theyd nail your hide to a board. No people, Jacky. Animals smell better than people. No people. Wolf! They walked down the slope into the gully. Jack removed the lock from his pocket and several times clipped it through the metal ring that would hold it, showing Wolf how to use the key. Then you slide the key under the door, okay? he asked. When youve changed back, Ill push it back to you. Jack glanced down at the bottom of the doorthere was a twoinch gap between it and the ground. Sure, Jacky. Youll push it back to me. Well, what do we do now? Jack said. Should I go in the shed right now? Sit there, Wolf said, pointing to a spot on the floor of the shed a foot from the door. Jack looked at him curiously, then stepped inside the shed and sat down. Wolf hunkered back down just outside the sheds open door, and without even looking at Jack, held out his hand toward the boy. Jack took Wolfs hand. It was like holding a hairy creature about the size of a rabbit. Wolf squeezed so hard that Jack nearly cried outbut even if he had, he didnt think that Wolf would have heard him. Wolf was staring upward again, his face dreamy and peaceful and rapt. After a second or two Jack was able to shift his hand into a more comfortable position inside Wolfs grasp. Are we going to stay like this a long time? he asked. Wolf took nearly a minute to answer. Until, he said, and squeezed Jacks hand again. 9 They sat like that, on either side of the doorframe, for hours, wordlessly, and finally the light began to fade. Wolf had been almost imperceptibly trembling for the previous twenty minutes, and when the air grew darker the tremor in his hand intensified. It was, Jack thought, the way a thoroughbred horse might tremble in its stall at the beginning of a race, waiting for the sound of a gun and the gate to be thrown open. Shes beginning to take me with her, Wolf said softly. Soon well be running, Jack. I wish you could, too. He turned his head to look at Jack, and the boy saw that while Wolf meant what he had just said, there was a significant part of him that was silently saying I could run after you as well as beside you, little friend. We have to close the door now, I guess, Jack said. He tried to pull his hand from Wolfs grasp, but could not free himself until Wolf almost disdainfully released him. Lock Jacky in, lock Wolf out. Wolfs eyes flared for a moment, becoming red molten Elroyeyes. Remember, youre keeping the herd safe, Jack said. He stepped backward into the middle of the shed. The herd goes in the barn, and the lock goes on the door. He Would Not Injure His Herd. Wolfs eyes ceased to drip fire, shaded toward orange. Put the lock on the door. God pound it, thats what Im doing now, Wolf said. Im putting the Godpounding lock on the Godpounding door, see? He banged the door shut, immediately sealing Jack up in the darkness. Hear that, Jacky? Thats the Godpounding lock. Jack heard the lock click against the metal loop, then heard its ratchets catch as Wolf slid it home. Now the key, Jack said. Godpounding key, right here and now, Wolf said, and a key rattled into a slot, rattled out. A second later the key bounced off the dusty ground beneath the door high enough to skitter onto the sheds floorboards. Thanks, Jack breathed. He bent down and brushed his fingers along the boards until he touched the key. For a moment he clamped it so hard into his palm that he almost drove it through his skinthe bruise, shaped like the state of Florida, would endure nearly five days, when in the excitement of being arrested he would fail to notice that it had left him. Then Jack carefully slid the key into his pocket. Outside, Wolf was panting in hot regular agitatedsounding spurts. Are you angry with me, Wolf? he whispered through the door. A fist thumped the door, hard. Not! Not angry! Wolf! All right, Jack said. No people, Wolf. Remember that. Or theyll hunt you down and kill you. No peopOOOWWWOOOOOOOOHHHOOOO! The word turned into a long, liquid howl. Wolfs body bumped against the door, and his long blackfurred feet slid into the opening beneath it. Jack knew that Wolf had flattened himself out against the shed door. Not angry, Jack, Wolf whispered, as if his howl had embarrassed him. Wolf isnt angry. Wolf is wanting, Jacky. Its so soon now, so Godpounding soon. I know, Jack said, now suddenly feeling as if he had to cryhe wished he could have hugged Wolf. More painfully, he wished that they had stayed the extra days at the farmhouse, and that he were now standing outside a root cellar where Wolf was safely jailed. The odd, disturbing thought came to him again that Wolf was safely jailed. Wolfs feet slid back under the door, and Jack thought he had a glimpse of them becoming more concentrated, slimmer, narrower. Wolf grunted, panted, grunted again. He had moved well back from the door. He uttered a noise very like Aaah. Wolf? Jack said. An earsplitting howl lifted up from above Jack Wolf had moved to the top of the gully. Be careful, Jack said, knowing that Wolf would not hear him, and fearing that he would not understand him even if he were close enough to hear. A series of howls followed soon afterthe sound of a creature set free, or the despairing sound of one who wakes to find himself still confined, Jack could not tell which. Mournful and feral and oddly beautiful, the cries of poor Wolf flew up into the moonlit air like scarves flung into the night. Jack did not know he was trembling until he wrapped his arms around himself and felt his arms vibrating against his chest, which seemed to vibrate, too. The howls diminished, retreating. Wolf was running with the moon. 10 For three days and three nights, Wolf was engaged in a nearly ceaseless search for food. He slept from each dawn until just past noon, in a hollow he had discovered beneath the fallen trunk of an oak. Certainly Wolf did not feel himself imprisoned, despite Jacks forebodings. The woods on the other side of the field were extensive, and full of a wolfs natural diet. Mice, rabbits, cats, dogs, squirrelsall these he found easily. He could have contained himself in the woods and eaten more than enough to carry him through to his next Change. But Wolf was riding with the moon, and he could no more confine himself to the woods than he could have halted his transformation in the first place. He roamed, led by the moon, through barnyards and pastures, past isolated suburban houses and down unfinished roads where bulldozers and giant asymmetrical rollers sat like sleeping dinosaurs on the banks. Half of his intelligence was in his sense of smell, and it is not exaggerating to suggest that Wolfs nose, always acute, had attained a condition of genius. He could not only smell a coop full of chickens five miles away and distinguish their odors from those of the cows and pigs and horses on the same farmthat was elementaryhe could smell when the chickens moved. He could smell that one of the sleeping pigs had an injured foot, and one of the cows in the barn an ulcerated udder. And this worldfor was it not this worlds moon which led him?no longer stank of chemicals and death. An older, more primitive order of being met him on his travels. He inhaled whatever remained of the earths original sweetness and power, whatever was left of qualities we might once have shared with the Territories. Even when he approached some human dwelling, even while he snapped the backbone of the family mutt and tore the dog into gristly rags he swallowed whole, Wolf was aware of pure cool streams moving far beneath the ground, of bright snow on a mountain somewhere a long way west. This seemed a perfect place for a transmogrified Wolf, and if he had killed any human being he would have been damned. He killed no people. He saw none, and perhaps that is why. During the three days of his Change, Wolf did kill and devour representatives of most other forms of life to be found in eastern Indiana, including one skunk and an entire family of bobcats living in limestone caves on a hillside two valleys away. On his first night in the woods he caught a lowflying bat in his jaws, bit off its head, and swallowed the rest while it was still jerking. Whole squadrons of domestic cats went down his throat, platoons of dogs. With a wild, concentrated glee he one night slaughtered every pig in a pen the size of a city block. But twice Wolf found that he was mysteriously forbidden from killing his prey, and this too made him feel at home in the world through which he prowled. It was a question of place, not of any abstract moral concernand on the surface, the places were merely ordinary. One was a clearing in the woods into which he had chased a rabbit, the other the scruffy back yard of a farmhouse where a whimpering dog lay chained to a stake. The instant he set a paw down in these places, his hackles rose and an electric tingling traversed the entire distance of his spine. These were sacred places, and in a sacred place a Wolf could not kill. That was all. Like all hallowed sites, they had been set apart a long time ago, so long ago that the word ancient could have been used to describe themancient is probably as close as we can come to representing the vast well of time Wolf sensed about him in the farmers back yard and the little clearing, a dense envelope of years packed together in a small, highly charged location. Wolf simply backed off the sacred ground and took himself elsewhere. Like the wingmen Jack had seen, Wolf lived in a mystery and so was comfortable with all such things. And he did not forget his obligations to Jack Sawyer. 11 In the locked shed, Jack found himself thrown upon the properties of his own mind and character more starkly than at any other time in his life. The only furniture in the shed was the little wooden bench, the only distraction the nearly decadeold magazines. And these he could not actually read. Since there were no windows, except in very early morning when light came streaming under the door he had trouble just working out the pictures on the pages. The words were streams of gray worms, indecipherable. He could not imagine how he would get through the next three days. Jack went toward the bench, struck it painfully with his knee, and sat down to think. One of the first things he realized was that shedtime was different from time on the outside. Beyond the shed, seconds marched quickly past, melted into minutes which melted into hours. Whole days ticked along like metronomes, whole weeks. In shedtime, the seconds obstinately refused to movethey stretched into grotesque monsterseconds, Plasticmanseconds. Outside, an hour might go by while four or five seconds swelled and bloated inside the shed. The second thing Jack realized was that thinking about the slowness of time made it worse. Once you started concentrating on the passing of seconds, they more or less refused to move at all. So he tried to pace off the dimensions of his cell just to take his mind off the eternity of seconds it took to make up three days. Putting one foot in front of another and counting his steps, he worked out that the shed was approximately seven feet by nine feet. At least there would be enough room for him to stretch out at night. If he walked all the way around the inside of the shed, hed walk about thirtytwo feet. If he walked around the inside of the shed a hundred and sixtyfive times, hed cover a mile. He might not be able to eat, but he sure could walk. Jack took off his watch and put it in his pocket, promising himself that he would look at it only when he absolutely had to. He was about onefourth of the way through his first mile when he remembered that there was no water in the shed. No food and no water. He supposed that it took longer than three or four days to die of thirst. As long as Wolf came back for him, hed be all rightwell, maybe not all right, but at least alive. And if Wolf didnt come back? He would have to break the door down. In that case, he thought, hed better try it now, while he still had some strength. Jack went to the door and pushed it with both hands. He pushed it harder, and the hinges squeaked. Experimentally, Jack threw his shoulder at the edge of the door, opposite the hinges. He hurt his shoulder, but he didnt think he had done anything to the door. He banged his shoulder against the door more forcefully. The hinges squealed but did not move a millimeter. Wolf could have torn the door off with one hand, but Jack did not think that he could move it if he turned his shoulders into hamburger by running into it. He would just have to wait for Wolf. By the middle of the night, Jack had walked seven or eight mileshed lost count of the number of times he had reached one hundred and sixtyfive, but it was something like seven or eight. He was parched, and his stomach was rumbling. The shed stank of urine, for Jack had been forced to pee against the far wall, where a crack in the boards meant that at least some of it went outside. His body was tired, but he did not think he could sleep. According to clocktime, Jack had been in the shed barely five hours; in shedtime it was more like twentyfour. He was afraid to lie down. His mind would not let him gothat was how it felt. He had tried making lists of all the books hed read in the past year, of every teacher hed had, of every player on the Los Angeles Dodgers . . . but disturbing, disorderly images kept breaking in. He kept seeing Morgan Sloat tearing a hole in the air. Wolfs face floated underwater, and his hands drifted down like heavy weeds. Jerry Bledsoe twitched and rocked before the electrical panel, his glasses smeared over his nose. A mans eyes turned yellow, and his hand became a clawhoof. Uncle Tommys false teeth coruscated in the Sunset Strip gutter. Morgan Sloat came toward his mother, not himself. Songs by Fats Waller, he said, sending himself around another circuit in the dark.  Your Feets Too Big. Aint Misbehavin. Jitterbug Waltz. Keepin Out of Mischief Now.  The Elroything reached out toward his mother, whispering lewdly, and clamped a hand down over her hip. Countries in Central America. Nicaragua. Honduras. Guatemala. Costa Rica . . . Even when he was so tired he finally had to lie down and curl into a ball on the floor, using his knapsack as a pillow, Elroy and Morgan Sloat rampaged through his mind. Osmond flicked his bullwhip across Lily Cavanaughs back, and his eyes danced. Wolf reared up, massive, absolutely inhuman, and caught a rifle bullet directly in the heart. The first light woke him, and he smelled blood. His whole body begged for water, then for food. Jack groaned. Three more nights of this would be impossible to survive. The low angle of the sunlight allowed him dimly to see the walls and roof of the shed. It all looked larger than he had felt it to be last night. He had to pee again, though he could scarcely believe that his body could afford to give up any moisture. Finally he realized that the shed seemed larger because he was lying on the floor. Then he smelled blood again, and looked sideways, toward the door. The skinned hindquarters of a rabbit had been thrust through the gap. They lay sprawled on the rough boards, leaking blood, glistening. Smudges of dirt and a long ragged scrape showed that they had been forced into the shed. Wolf was trying to feed him. Oh, Jeez, Jack groaned. The rabbits stripped legs were disconcertingly human. Jacks stomach folded into itself. But instead of vomiting, he laughed, startled by an absurd comparison. Wolf was like the family pet who each morning presents his owners with a dead bird, an eviscerated mouse. With two fingers Jack delicately picked up the horrible offering and deposited it under the bench. He still felt like laughing, but his eyes were wet. Wolf had survived the first night of his transformation, and so had Jack. The next morning brought an absolutely anonymous, almost ovoid knuckle of meat around a startingly white bone splintered at both ends. 12 On the morning of the fourth day Jack heard someone sliding down into the gully. A startled bird squawked, then noisily lifted itself off the roof of the shed. Heavy footsteps advanced toward the door. Jack raised himself onto his elbows and blinked into the darkness. A large body thudded against the door and stayed there. A pair of split and stained penny loafers was visible through the gap. Wolf? Jack asked softly. Thats you, isnt it? Give me the key, Jack. Jack slipped his hand into his pocket, brought out the key, and pushed it directly between the penny loafers. A large brown hand dropped into view and picked up the key.


Bring any water? Jack asked. Despite what he had been able to extract from Wolfs gruesome presents, he had come close to serious dehydrationhis lips were puffy and cracked, and his tongue felt swollen, baked. The key slid into the lock, and Jack heard it click open. Then the lock came away from the door. A little, Wolf said. Close your eyes, Jacky. You have nighteyes now. Jack clasped his hands over his eyes as the door opened, but the light which boomed and thundered into the shed still managed to trickle through his fingers and stab his eyes. He hissed with the pain. Better soon, Wolf said, very close to him. Wolfs arms circled and lifted him. Eyes closed, Wolf warned, and stepped backward out of the shed. Even as Jack said, Water, and felt the rusty lip of an old cup meet his own lips, he knew why Wolf had not lingered in the shed. The air outside seemed unbelievably fresh and sweetit might have been imported directly from the Territories. He sucked in a double tablespoon of water that tasted like the best meal on earth and wound down through him like a sparkling little river, reviving everything it touched. He felt as though he were being irrigated. Wolf removed the cup from his lips long before Jack considered he was through with it. If I give you more youll just sick it up, Wolf said. Open your eyes, Jackbut only a little bit. Jack followed directions. A million particles of light stormed into his eyes. He cried out. Wolf sat down, cradling Jack in his arms. Sip, he said, and put the cup once more to Jacks lips. Eyes open, little more. Now the sunlight hurt much less. Jack peered out through the screen of his eyelashes at a flaring dazzle while another miraculous trickle of water slipped down his throat. Ah, Jack said. What makes water so delicious? The western wind, Wolf promptly replied. Jack opened his eyes wider. The swarm and dazzle resolved into the weathered brown of the shed and the mixed green and lighter brown of the gully. His head rested against Wolfs shoulder. The bulge of Wolfs stomach pressed into his backbone. Are you okay, Wolf? he asked. Did you get enough to eat? Wolfs always get enough to eat, Wolf said simply. He patted the boys thigh. Thanks for bringing me those pieces of meat. I promised. You were the herd. Remember? Oh, yes, I remember, Jack said. Can I have some more of that water? He slid off Wolfs huge lap and sat on the ground, where he could face him. Wolf handed him the cup. The John Lennon glasses were back; Wolfs beard was now little more than a scurf covering his cheeks; his black hair, though still long and greasy, fell well short of his shoulders. Wolfs face was friendly and peaceful, almost tiredlooking. Over the bib overalls he wore a gray sweatshirt, about two sizes too small, with INDIANA UNIVERSITY ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT stencilled on the front. He looked more like an ordinary human being than at any other time since he and Jack had met. He did not look as if he could have made it through the simplest college course, but he could have been a great highschool football player. Jack sipped againWolfs hand hovered above the rusty tin cup, ready to snatch it away if Jack gulped. Youre really okay? Right here and now, Wolf said. He rubbed his other hand over his belly, so distended that it stretched the fabric at the bottom of the sweatshirt as taut as a hand would a rubber glove. Just tired. Little sleep, Jack. Right here and now. Whered you get the sweatshirt? It was hanging on a line, Wolf said. Cold here, Jacky. You didnt hurt any people, did you? No people. Wolf! Drink that water slow, now. His eyes disconcertingly shaded into happy Halloween orange for a second, and Jack saw that Wolf could never really be said to resemble an ordinary human being. Then Wolf opened his wide mouth and yawned. Little sleep. He hitched himself into a more comfortable position on the slope and put down his head. He was almost immediately asleep. THREE A COLLISION OF WORLDS 20 Taken by the Law 1 By two oclock that afternoon they were a hundred miles west, and Jack Sawyer felt as if he too had been running with the moonit had gone that easily. In spite of his extreme hunger, Jack sipped slowly at the water in the rusty can and waited for Wolf to awaken. Finally Wolf stirred, said, Ready now, Jack, hitched the boy up onto his back, and trotted into Daleville. While Wolf sat outside on the curb and tried to look inconspicuous, Jack entered the Daleville Burger King. He made himself go first to the mens room and strip to the waist. Even in the bathroom, the maddening smell of grilling meat caused the saliva to spill into his mouth. He washed his hands, arms, chest, face. Then he stuck his head under the tap and washed his hair with liquid soap. Crumpled paper towels fell, one after the other, to the floor. At last he was ready to go to the counter. The uniformed girl there stared at him while he gave his orderhis wet hair, he thought. While she waited for the order to come through, the girl stepped back and leaned against the service hatch, still unabashedly looking at him. He was biting into the first Whopper as he turned away toward the glass doors. Juice ran down his chin. He was so hungry he could scarcely bother to chew. Three enormous bites took most of the big sandwich. He had just worked his mouth far enough around the remainder to take a fourth when he saw through the doors that Wolf had attracted a crowd of children. The meat congealed in his mouth, and his stomach slammed shut. Jack hurried outside, still trying to swallow his mouthful of ground chuck, limp bread, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, and sauce. The kids stood in the street on three sides of Wolf, staring at him every bit as frankly as the waitress had stared at Jack. Wolf had hunched down on the curb as far as he was able, bowing his back and pulling in his neck like a turtle. His ears seemed flattened against his head. The wad of food stuck in Jacks throat like a golfball, and when he swallowed convulsively, it dropped down another notch. Wolf glanced at him out of the side of his eye, and visibly relaxed. A tall bluejeaned man in his twenties opened the door of a battered red pickup five or six feet away down the curb, leaned against the cab, and watched, smiling. Have a burger, Wolf, Jack said as carelessly as he could. He handed Wolf the box, which Wolf sniffed. Then Wolf lifted his head and took a huge bite out of the box. He began methodically to chew. The children, astounded and fascinated, stepped nearer. A few of them were giggling. What is he? asked a little girl with blond pigtails tied with fuzzy pink giftwrapping yarn. Is he a monster? A crewcut boy of seven or eight shoved himself in front of the girl and said, Hes the Hulk, isnt he? Hes really the Hulk. Hey? Hey? Huh? Right? Wolf had managed to extract what was left of his Whopper from its cardboard container. He pushed the whole thing into his mouth with his palm. Shreds of lettuce fell between his upraised knees, mayonnaise and meat juices smeared over his chin, his cheek. Everything else became a brownish pulp smacked to death between Wolfs enormous teeth. When he swallowed he started to lick the inside of the box. Jack gently took the container out of his hands. No, hes just my cousin. Hes not a monster, and hes not the Hulk. Why dont you kids get away and leave us alone, huh? Go on. Leave us alone. They continued to stare. Wolf was now licking his fingers. If you keep on gawping at him like that, you might make him mad. I dont know what hed do if he got mad. The boy with the crewcut had seen David Banners transformation often enough to have an idea of what anger might do to this monstrous Burger King carnivore. He stepped back. Most of the others moved back with him. Go on, please, Jack said, but the children had frozen again. Wolf rose up mountainously, his fists clenched. GOD POUND YOU, DONT LOOK AT ME! he bellowed. DONT MAKE ME FEEL FUNNY! EVERYBODY MAKES ME FEEL FUNNY! The children scattered. Breathing hard, redfaced, Wolf stood and watched them disappear up Dalevilles Main Street and around the corner. When they were gone, he wrapped his arms around his chest and looked dartingly at Jack. He was miserable with embarrassment. Wolf shouldnt have yelled, he said. They were just little ones. Big fat scarell do them a lot of good, a voice said, and Jack saw that the young man from the red pickup was still leaning against his cab, smiling at them. Never saw anything like that before myself. Cousins, are you? Jack nodded suspiciously. Hey, I didnt mean to get personal or anything. He stepped forward, an easy, darkhaired young man in a sleeveless down vest and a plaid shirt. I especially dont want to make anybody feel funny now, ya know. He paused, lifted his hands, palmout. Really. I was just thinking that you guys look like youve been on the road awhile. Jack glanced at Wolf, who was still hugging himself in embarrassment but also glowering through his round glasses at this figure. Ive been there myself, the man said. Hey, dig itthe year I got out of good old DHSDaleville High, you knowI hitched all the way to northern California and all the way back. Anyhow, if youre sort of going west, I can give you a lift. Cant, Jacky. Wolf spoke in a thunderous stage whisper. How far west? Jack asked. Were trying to make it to Springfield. I have a friend in Springfield. Hey, no probleema, seenyor. He raised his hands again. Im going just this side of Cayuga, right next to the Illinois border. You let me scarf a burger, we gone. Straight shot. An hour and a half, maybe lessyoull be about halfway to Springfield. Cant, Wolf rasped again. Theres one problem, okay? I got some stuff on the front seat. One of you guysll have to ride behind. Its gonna be windy back there. You dont know how great that is, Jack said, speaking nothing more than the truth. Well see you when you come back out. Wolf began to dance in agitation. Honest. Well be out here, mister. And thanks. He turned to whisper to Wolf as soon as the man went through the doors. And so when the young manBill Buck Thompson, for that was his namereturned to his pickup carrying the containers for two more Whoppers, he found a sedatelooking Wolf kneeling in the open back, his arms resting on the side panel, mouth open, nose already lifting. Jack was in the passenger seat, crowded by a stack of bulky plastic bags which had been taped, then stapled shut, and then sprayed extensively with room freshener, to judge by the smell. Through the translucent sides the bags were visible long frondlike cuttings, medium green. Clusters of buds grew on these amputated fronds. I reckoned you still looked a little hungry, he said, and tossed another Whopper to Wolf. Then he let himself in on the drivers side, across the pile of plastic bags from Jack. Thought he might catch it in his teeth, no reflection on your cousin. Here, take this one, he already pulverized his. And a hundred miles west they went, Wolf delirious with joy to have the wind whipping past his head, halfhypnotized by the speed and variety of the odors which his nose caught in flight. Eyes blazing and glowing, registering every nuance of the wind, Wolf twitched from side to side behind the cab, shoving his nose into the speeding air. Buck Thompson spoke of himself as a farmer. He talked nonstop during the seventyfive minutes he kept his foot near the floor, and never once asked Jack any questions. And when he swung off onto a narrow dirt road just outside the Cayuga town line and stopped the car beside a cornfield that seemed to run for miles, he dug in his shirt pocket and brought out a faintly irregular cigarette rolled in almost tissuelike white paper. Ive heard of redeye, he said. But your cousins ridiculous. He dropped the cigarette into Jacks hand. Have him take some of this when he gets excited, willya? Doctors orders. Jack absently stuffed the joint into his shirt pocket and climbed out of the cab. Thanks, Buck, he called up to the driver. Man, I thought Id seen something when I saw him eat, Buck said. How do you get him to go places? Yell mush! mush! at him? Once Wolf realized that the ride was over, he bounded off the back of the truck. The red pickup rolled off, leaving a long plume of dust behind it. Lets do that again! Wolf sang out. Jacky! Lets do that again! Boy, I wish we could, Jack said. Come on, lets walk for a while. Someone will probably come along. He was thinking that his luck had turned, that in no time at all he and Wolf would be over the border into Illinoisand hed always been certain that things would go smoothly once he got to Springfield and Thayer School and Richard. But Jacks mind was still partially in shedtime, where what is unreal bloats and distorts whatever is real, and when the bad things started to happen again, they happened so quickly that he was unable to control them. It was a long time before Jack saw Illinois, and during that time he found himself back in the shed. 2 The bewilderingly rapid series of events which led to the Sunlight Home began ten minutes after the two boys had walked past the stark little roadsign telling them that they were now in Cayuga, pop. 23,568. Cayuga itself was nowhere visible. To their right the endless cornfield rolled across the land; to their left a bare field allowed them to see how the road bent, then arrowed straight toward the flat horizon. Just after Jack had realized that they would probably have to walk all the way into town to get their next ride, a car appeared on this road, travelling fast toward them. Ride in back? Wolf yelled, joyfully raising his arms up over his head. Wolf ride in back! Right here and now! Its going the wrong way, Jack said. Just be calm and let it pass us, Wolf. Get your arms down or hell think youre signalling him. Reluctantly Wolf lowered his arms. The car had come nearly to the bend in the road which would take it directly past Jack and Wolf. No ride in the back now? Wolf asked, pouting almost childishly. Jack shook his head. He was staring at an oval medallion painted on the cars dusty white doorpanel. County Parks Commission, this might have said, or State Wildlife Board. It might have been anything from the vehicle of the state agricultural agent to the property of the Cayuga Maintenance Department. But when it turned into the bend, Jack saw it was a police car. Thats a cop, Wolf. A policeman. Just keep walking and stay nice and loose. We dont want him to stop. Whats a coppiceman? Wolfs voice had dropped into a dark brown range; he had seen that the speeding car was now coming straight toward him. Does a coppiceman kill Wolfs? No, Jack said, they absolutely never kill Wolfs, but it did no good. Wolf captured Jacks hand in his own, which trembled. Let go of me, please, Wolf, Jack pleaded. Hell think its funny. Wolfs hand dropped away. As the police car advanced toward them, Jack glanced at the figure behind the wheel, and then turned around and walked back a few paces so that he could watch Wolf. What he had seen was not encouraging. The policeman driving the car had a wide doughy domineering face with livid slabs of fat where hed once had cheekbones. And Wolfs terror was plain on his face. Eyes, nostrils flared; he was showing his teeth. You really liked riding in the back of that truck, didnt you? Jack asked him. Some of the terror disappeared, and Wolf nearly managed a smile. The police car roared pastJack was conscious of the driver turning his head to inspect them. All right, Jack said. Hes on his way. Were okay, Wolf. He had turned around again when he heard the sound of the police car suddenly begin to grow louder again. Coppicemans coming back! Probably just going back to Cayuga, Jack said. Turn around and just act like me. Dont stare at him. Wolf and Jack trudged along, pretending to ignore the car, which seemed to hang behind them deliberately. Wolf uttered a sound that was halfmoan, halfhowl. The police car swung out into the road, passed them, flashed its brake lights, and then cut in diagonally before them. The officer pushed open his door and got his feet planted on the ground. Then he hoisted himself out of the seat. He was roughly Jacks height, and all his weight was in his face and his stomachhis legs were twigskinny, his arms and shoulders those of a normally developed man. His gut, trussed in the brown uniform like a fifteenpound turkey, bulged out on both sides of the wide brown belt. I cant wait for it, he said, and cocked an arm and leaned on the open door. Whats your story, anyhow? Give. Wolf padded up behind Jack and hunched his shoulders, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his overalls. Were going to Springfield, officer, Jack said. Weve been hitchingI guess maybe we shouldnt. You guess maybe you shouldnt. Holeee shit. Whats this guy tryinna disappear behind you, a Wookie? Hes my cousin. Jack thought frantically for a momentthe Story had to be bent far enough to accommodate Wolf. Im supposed to be taking him home. He lives in Springfield with his Aunt Helen, I mean my Aunt Helen, the one whos a schoolteacher. In Springfield. Whatd he do, escape from somewhere? No, no, nothing like that. It was just that The cop looked at him neutrally, his face sizzling. Names. Now the boy met a dilemma Wolf was certain to call him Jack, no matter what name he gave the cop. Im Jack Parker, he said. And hes Hold it. I want the feeb to tell me himself. Come on, you. You remember your name, basket case? Wolf squirmed behind Jack, digging his chin into the top of his overalls. He muttered something. I couldnt hear you, sonny. Wolf, he whispered. Wolf. Probly I should have guessed. Whats your first name, or did they just give you a number? Wolf had squeezed his eyes shut, and was twisting his legs together. Come on, Phil, Jack said, thinking that it was one of the few names Wolf might remember. But he had just finished it when Wolf pulled up his head and straightened his back and yelled, JACK! JACK! JACK WOLF! We call him Jack sometimes, the boy put in, knowing it was already too late. Its because he likes me so much, sometimes Im the only one who can do anything with him. I might even stay there in Springfield a few days after I get him home, just to make sure he settles down okay. I sure am sick of the sound of your voice, Jack boy. Why dont you and good old PhilJack get in the back seat here and well go into town and straighten everything out? When Jack did not move, the policeman put a hand on the butt of the enormous pistol which hung from his straining belt. Get in the car. Him first. I want to find out why youre a hundred miles from home on a school day. In the car. Right now. Ah, officer, Jack began, and behind him Wolf rasped, No. Cant. My cousin has this problem, Jack said. Hes claustrophobic. Small spaces, especially the insides of cars, drive him crazy. We can only get rides in pickups, so he can be in the back. Get in the car, the policeman said. He stepped forward and opened the back door. CANT! Wolf wailed. Wolf CANT! Stinks, Jacky, it stinks in there. His nose and lip had wrinkled into corrugations. You get him in the car or I will, the cop said to Jack. Wolf, it wont be for long, Jack said, reaching for Wolfs hand. Reluctantly, Wolf allowed him to take it. Jack pulled him toward the back seat of the police car, Wolf literally dragging his feet across the surface of the road. For a couple of seconds it looked as though it would work. Wolf got close enough to the police car to touch the doorframe. Then his entire body shook. He clamped both hands onto the top of the doorframe. It looked as though he were going to try to rip the top of the car in half, as a circus strongman tears a telephone book in two. Please, Jack said quietly. We have to. But Wolf was terrified, and too disgusted by whatever he had smelled. He shook his head violently. Slobber ran from his mouth and dripped onto the top of the car. The policeman stepped around Jack and released something from a catch on his belt. Jack had time only to see that it was not his pistol before the cop expertly whapped his blackjack into the base of Wolfs skull. Wolfs upper body dropped onto the top of the car, and then all of Wolf slid gracefully down onto the dusty road. You get on his other side, the cop said, fastening the sap to his belt. Were gonna finally get this big bag of shit into the vehicle. Two or three minutes later, after they had twice dropped Wolfs heavy unconscious body back onto the road, they were speeding toward Cayuga. I already know whats gonna happen to you and your feeb cousin, if he is your cousin, which I doubt. The cop looked up at Jack in his rearview mirror, and his eyes were raisins dipped in fresh tar. All the blood in Jacks body seemed to swing down, down in his veins, and his heart jumped in his chest. He had remembered the cigarette in his shirt pocket. He clapped his hand over it, then jerked his hand away before the cop could say anything. I gotta put his shoes back on, Jack said. They sort of fell off. Forget it, the cop said, but did not object further when Jack bent over. Out of sight of the mirror, he first shoved one of the splitseamed loafers back up on Wolfs bare heel, then quickly snatched the joint out of his pocket and popped it in his mouth. He bit into it, and dry crumbly particles with a oddly herbal taste spilled over his tongue. Jack began to grind them between his teeth. Something scratched down into his throat, and he convulsively jerked upright, put his hand in front of his mouth, and tried to cough with his lips together. When his throat was clear, he hurriedly swallowed all of the dampened, now rather sludgy marijuana. Jack ran his tongue over his teeth, collecting all the flecks and traces. You got a few surprises ahead of you, the policeman said. Youre gonna get a little sunlight in your soul. Sunlight in my soul? Jack asked, thinking that the cop had seen him stuff the joint into his mouth. A few blisters on your hands, too, the cop said, and glared happily at Jacks guilty image in the rearview mirror. The Cayuga Municipal Building was a shadowy maze of unlighted hallways and narrow staircases that seemed to wind unexpectedly upward alongside equally narrow rooms. Water sang and rumbled in the pipes. Let me explain something to you kids, the policeman said, ushering them toward the last staircase to their right. Youre not under arrest. Got that? You are being detained for questioning. I dont want to hear any bullshit about one phone call. Youre in limbo until you tell us who you are and what youre up to, the cop went on. You hear me? Limbo. Nowhere. Were gonna see Judge Fairchild, hes the magistrate, and if you dont tell us the truth, youre gonna pay some big fuckin consequences. Upstairs. Move it! At the top of the stairs the policeman pushed a door open. A middleaged woman in wire glasses and a black dress looked up from a typewriter placed sideways against the far wall. Two more runaways, the policeman said. Tell him were here. She nodded, picked up her telephone, and spoke a few words. You may go in, the secretary said to them, her eyes wandering from Wolf to Jack and back again. The cop pushed them across the anteroom and opened the door to a room twice as large, lined with books on one long wall, framed photographs and diplomas and certificates on another. Blinds had been lowered across the long windows opposite. A tall skinny man in a dark suit, a wrinkled white shirt, and a narrow tie of no discernible pattern stood up behind a chipped wooden desk that must have been six feet long. The mans face was a relief map of wrinkles, and his hair was so black it must have been dyed. Stale cigarette smoke hung visibly in the air. Well, what have we got here, Franky? His voice was startlingly deep, almost theatrical. Kids I picked up on French Lick Road, over by Thompsons place. Judge Fairchilds wrinkles contorted into a smile as he looked at Jack. You have any identification papers on you, son? No sir, Jack said. Have you told Officer Williams here the truth about everything? He doesnt think you have, or you wouldnt be here. Yes sir, Jack said. Then tell me your story. He walked around his desk, disturbing the flat layers of smoke just over his head, and halfsat, halfleaned on the front corner nearest Jack. Squinting, he lit a cigaretteJack saw the Judges recessed pale eyes peering at him through the smoke and knew there was no charity in them. It was the pitcher plant again. Jack drew in a large breath. My name is Jack Parker. Hes my cousin, and hes called Jack, too. Jack Wolf. But his real name is Philip. He was staying with us in Daleville because his dads dead and his mother got sick. I was just taking him back to Springfield. Simpleminded, is he? A little slow, Jack said, and glanced up at Wolf. His friend seemed barely conscious. Whats your mothers name? the Judge asked Wolf. Wolf did not respond in any way. His eyes were clamped shut and his hands stuffed into his pockets. Shes named Helen, Jack said. Helen Vaughan. The Judge eased himself off the desk and walked slowly over to Jack. Have you been drinking, son? Youre a little unsteady. No. Judge Fairchild came to within a foot of Jack and bent down. Let me smell your breath. Jack opened his mouth and exhaled. Nope. No booze. The Judge straightened up again. But thats the only thing you were telling the truth about, isnt it? Youre trying to string me along, boy. Im sorry we were hitching, Jack said, aware that he had to speak with great caution now. Not only might what he said determine whether he and Wolf were to be let free, but he was having a little trouble forming the words themselveseverything seemed to be happening with great slowness. As in the shed, the seconds had wandered off the metronome. In fact, we hardly ever hitch because WolfJack, that ishates being in cars. Well never do it again. We havent done anything wrong, sir, and that really is the truth. You dont understand, sonny, the Judge said, and his faroff eyes gleamed again. Hes enjoying this, Jack understood. Judge Fairchild moved slowly back behind his desk. Hitching rides isnt the issue. You two boys are out on the road by yourself, coming from nowhere, going nowherereal targets for trouble. His voice was like dark honey. Now we have here in this country what we think is a most unusual facilitystateapproved and statefunded, by the waywhich might have been set up expressly for the benefit of boys like yourselves. Its called the Sunlight Gardener Scripture Home for Wayward Boys. Mr. Gardeners work with young fellows in trouble has been nothing short of miraculous. Weve sent him some tough cases, and in no time at all he has those boys on their knees begging Jesus for forgiveness. Now Id say that was pretty special, wouldnt you? Jack swallowed. His mouth felt drier than it had been in the shed. Ah, sir, its really urgent that we get to Springfield. Everybodys going to wonder I very much doubt that, said the Judge, smiling with all his wrinkles. But Ill tell you what. As soon as you two wags are on your way to the Sunlight Home, Ill telephone Springfield and try to get the number of this Helen . . . Wolf, is it? Or is it Helen Vaughan? Vaughan, Jack said, and a redhot blush covered his face like a fever. Yes, the Judge said. Wolf shook his head, blinking, and then put a hand on Jacks shoulder. Coming around are you, son? the Judge asked. Could you tell me your age? Wolf blinked again, and looked at Jack. Sixteen, Jack said. And you? Twelve. Oh. I would have taken you for several years older. All the more reason for seeing you get help now before you get in real deep trouble, wouldnt you say, Franky? Amen, the policeman said. You boys come back here in a month, said the Judge. Then well see if your memory is any better. Why are your eyes so bloodshot? They feel kind of funny, Jack said, and the policeman barked. He had laughed, Jack realized a second later. Take them away, Franky, the Judge said. He was already picking up the telephone. Youre going to be different boys thirty days from now. Depend on it. While they walked down the steps of the redbrick Municipal Building, Jack asked Franky Williams why the Judge had asked for their ages. The cop paused on the bottom step and halfturned to glare up at Jack out of his blazing face. Old Sunlight generally takes em in at twelve and turns em loose at nineteen. He grinned. You tellin me you never heard him on the radio? Hes about the most famous thing we got around here. Im pretty sure they heard of old Sunlight Gardener even way over in Daleville. His teeth were small discolored pegs, irregularly spaced. 3 Twenty minutes later they were in farmland again. Wolf had climbed into the back seat of the police car with surprisingly little fuss. Franky Williams had pulled his sap from his belt and said, You want this again, you fuckin freak? Who knows, it might make you smart. Wolf had trembled, Wolfs nose had wrinkled up, but he had followed Jack into the car. He had immediately clapped his hand over his nose and begun breathing through his mouth. Well get away from this place, Wolf, Jack had whispered into his ear. A couple of days, thats all, and well see how to do it. No chatter came from the front seat. Jack was strangely relaxed. He was certain that they would find a way to escape. He leaned back against the plastic seat, Wolfs hand wrapped around his, and watched the fields go by. There she is, Franky Williams called from the front seat. Your future home. Jack saw a meeting of tall brick walls planted surrealistically amidst the fields. Too tall to see over, the walls around the Sunlight Home were topped with three strands of barbed wire and shards of broken glass set in cement. The car was now driving past exhausted fields bordered with fences in which strands of barbed and smooth wire alternated. Got sixty acres out here, Williams said. And all of it is either walled or fencedyou better believe it. Boys did it themselves. A wide iron gate interrupted the expanse of wall where the drive turned into the Homes property. As soon as the police car turned into the drive the gates swung open, triggered by some electronic signal. TV camera, the policeman explained. Theyre awaitin for you two fresh fish. Jack leaned forward and put his face to the window. Boys in denim jackets worked in the long fields to either side, hoeing and raking, pushing wheelbarrows. You two shitheads just earned me twenty bucks, Williams said. Plus another twenty for Judge Fairchild. Aint that great? 21 The Sunlight Home 1 The Home looked like something made from a childs blocks, Jack thoughtit had grown randomly as more space was needed. Then he saw that the numerous windows were barred, and the sprawling building immediately seemed penal, rather than childish. Most of the boys in the fields had put down their tools to watch the progress of the police car. Franky Williams pulled up into the wide, rounded end of the drive. As soon as he had cut off his engine, a tall figure stepped through the front door and stood regarding them from the top of the steps, his hands knitted together before him. Beneath a full head of longish wavy white hair, the mans face seemed unrealistically youthfulas if these chipped, vitally masculine features had been created or at least assisted by plastic surgery. It was the face of a man who could sell anything, anywhere, to anybody. His clothes were as white as his hair white suit, white shoes, white shirt, and a trailing white silk scarf around his neck. As Jack and Wolf got out of the back seat, the man in white pulled a pair of dark green sunglasses from his suitpocket, put them on, and appeared to examine the two boys for a moment before smilinglong creases split his cheeks. Then he removed the sunglasses and put them back in his pocket. Well, he said. Well, well, well.


Where would we all be without you, Officer Williams? Afternoon, Reverend Gardener, the policeman said. Is it the usual sort of thing, or were these two bold fellows actually engaged in criminal activity? Vagrants, said the cop. Hands on hips, he squinted up at Gardener as if all that whiteness hurt his eyes. Refused to give Fairchild their right names. This one, the big one, he said, pointing a thumb at Wolf, he wouldnt talk at all. I had to nail him in the head just to get him in the car. Gardener shook his head tragically. Why dont you bring them up here so they can introduce themselves, and then well take care of the various formalities. Is there any reason why the two of them should look so, ah, shall we say, befuddled? Just that I cracked that big one behind the ears. Ummmmm. Gardener stepped backward, steepling his fingers before his chest. As Williams prodded the boys up the steps to the long porch, Gardener cocked his head and regarded his new arrivals. Jack and Wolf reached the top of the steps and moved tentatively onto the surface of the porch. Franky Williams wiped his forehead and huffed himself up beside them. Gardener was smiling mistily, but his eyes switched back and forth between the boys. The second after something hard, cold, and familiar jumped out of his eyes at Jack, the Reverend again twitched the sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. The smile remained misty and delicate, but even wrapped as he was in a sense of false security, Jack felt frozen by that glancebecause he had seen it before. Reverend Gardener pulled the sunglasses below the bridge of his nose and peered playfully over the tops of the frames. Names? Names? Might we have some names from you two gentlemen? Im Jack, the boy said, and then stoppedhe did not want to say one more word until he had to. Reality seemed to fold and buckle about Jack for a moment he felt that he had been jerked back into the Territories, but that now the Territories were evil and threatening, and that foul smoke, jumping flames, the screams of tortured bodies filled the air. A powerful hand closed over his elbow and held him upright. Instead of the foulness and smoke, Jack smelled some heavy sweet cologne, applied too liberally. A pair of melancholy gray eyes were looking directly into his. And have you been a bad boy, Jack? Have you been a very bad boy? No, we were just hitching, and I think youre a trifle stoned, said the Reverend Gardener. Well have to see that you get some special attention, wont we? The hand released his elbow; Gardener stepped neatly away, and pushed the sunglasses up over his eyes again. You do possess a last name, I imagine. Parker, Jack said. Yesss. Gardener whipped the glasses off his head, executed a dancing little halfturn, and was scrutinizing Wolf. He had given no indication whether he believed Jack or not. My, he said. Youre a healthy specimen, arent you? Positively strapping. Well certainly be able to find a use for a big strong boy like you around here, praise the Lord. And might I ask you to emulate Mr. Jack Parker here, and give me your name? Jack looked uneasily at Wolf. His head was bowed, and he was breathing heavily. A glistening line of slobber went from the corner of his mouth to his chin. A black smudge, halfdirt, halfgrease, covered the front of the stolen Athletic Department sweatshirt. Wolf shook his head, but the gesture seemed to have no contenthe might have been shaking away a fly. Name, son? Name? Name? Are you called Bill? Paul? Art? Sammy? Nosomething exceedingly foursquare, Im sure. George, perhaps? Wolf, said Wolf. Ah, that is nice. Gardener beamed at both of them. Mr. Parker and Mr. Wolf. Perhaps youll escort them inside, Officer Williams? And arent we happy that Mr. Bast is in residence already? For the presence of Mr. Hector Bastone of our stewards, by the waymeans that we shall probably be able to outfit Mr. Wolf. He peered at the two boys over the frames of his sunglasses. One of our beliefs here at the Scripture Home is that the soldiers of the Lord march best when they march in uniform. And Heck Bast is nearly as large as your friend Wolf, young Jack Parker. So from the points of view of both clothing and discipline you shall be very well served indeed. A comfort, yes? Jack, Wolf said in a low voice. Yes. My head hurts, Jack. Hurts bad. Your little head pains you, Mr. Wolf? Reverend Sunlight Gardener halfdanced toward Wolf and gently patted his arm. Wolf snatched his arm away, his face working into an exaggerated reflex of disgust. The cologne, Jack knewthat heavy cloying odor would have been like ammonia in Wolfs sensitive nostrils. Never mind, son, said Gardener, seemingly unaffected by Wolfs withdrawal from him. Mr. Bast or Mr. Singer, our other steward, will see to that inside. Frank, I thought I told you to get them into the Home. Officer Williams reacted as if he had been jabbed in the back with a pin. His face grew more feverish, and he jerked his peculiar body across the porch to the front door. Sunlight Gardener twinkled at Jack again, and the boy saw that all his dandified animation was only a kind of sterile selfamusement the man in white was cold and crazy within. A heavy gold chain rattled out of Gardeners sleeve and came to rest against the base of his thumb. Jack heard the whistle of a whip cutting through the air, and this time he recognized Gardeners dark gray eyes. Gardener was Osmonds Twinner. Inside, young fellows, Gardener said, halfbowing and indicating the open door. 2 By the way, Mr. Parker, Gardener said, once they had gone in, is it possible that weve met before? There must be some reason you look so familiar to me, mustnt there? I dont know, Jack said, looking carefully around the odd interior of the Scripture Home. Long couches covered with a dark blue fabric sat against the wall on the forestgreen carpet; two massive leathertopped desks had been placed against the opposite wall. At one of the desks a pimply teenager glanced at them dully, then returned to the video screen before him, where a TV preacher was inveighing against rock and roll. The teenage boy seated at the adjoining desk straightened up and fixed Jack with an aggressive stare. He was slim and blackhaired and his narrow face looked clever and badtempered. To the pocket of his white turtleneck sweater was pinned a rectangular nameplate of the sort worn by soldiers SINGER. But I do think we have met each other somewhere, dont you, my lad? I assure you, we must haveI dont forget, I am literally incapable of forgetting, the face of a boy I have encountered. Have you ever been in trouble before this, Jack? Jack said, I never saw you before. Across the room, a massive boy had lifted himself off one of the blue couches and was now standing at attention. He too wore a white turtleneck sweater and a military nameplate. His hands wandered nervously from his sides to his belt, into the pockets of his blue jeans, back to his sides. He was at least sixthree and seemed to weigh nearly three hundred pounds. Acne burned across his cheeks and forehead. This, clearly, was Bast. Well, perhaps it will come to me later, Sunlight Gardener said. Heck, come up here and help our new arrivals at the desk, will you? Bast lumbered forward, scowling. He made a point of coming up very close to Wolf before he sidestepped past him, scowling more fiercely all the whileif Wolf had opened his eyes, which he did not, he would have seen no more than the ravaged moonscape of Basts forehead and the mean small eyes, like a bears eyes, bulging up at him from beneath crusty brows. Bast switched his gaze to Jack, muttered, Cmon, and flapped a hand toward the desk. Registration, then take them up to the laundry for clothes, Gardener said in a flat voice. He smiled with chromelike brilliance at Jack. Jack Parker, he said softly. I wonder who you really are, Jack Parker. Bast, make sure everything is out of his pockets. Bast grinned. Sunlight Gardener drifted across the room toward an obviously impatient Franky Williams and languidly withdrew a long leather wallet from his jackets inside pocket. Jack saw him begin to count money out into the policemans hands. Pay attention, snotface, said the boy behind the desk, and Jack snapped around to face him. The boy was playing with a pencil, the smirk on his face an utterly inadequate disguise for what seemed to Jacks keyedup perceptions his characteristic angera rage that bubbled far down within him, eternally stoked. Can he write? Jeez, I dont think so, Jack said. Then youll have to sign in for him. Singer shoved two legalsized sheets of paper at him. Print on the top line, write on the bottom one. Where the Xs are. He fell back into his chair, raising the pencil to his lips, and slumped eloquently into its corner. Jack supposed that was a trick learned from the very Reverend Sunlight Gardener. JACK PARKER, he printed, and scrawled something like that at the bottom of the sheet. PHILIP JACK WOLF. Another scrawl, even less like his real handwriting. Now youre wards of the State of Indiana, and thats what youll be for the next thirty days, unless you decide to stay longer. Singer twitched the papers back toward himself. Youll be Decide? Jack asked. What do you mean, decide? A trifle of red grew smooth beneath Singers cheeks. He jerked his head to one side and seemed to smile. I guess you dont know that over sixty percent of our kids are here voluntarily. Its possible, yeah. You could decide to stay here. Jack tried to keep his face expressionless. Singers mouth twitched violently, as if a fishhook had snagged it. This is a pretty good place, and if I ever hear you ranking it Ill pound the shit out of youits the best place youve ever been in, Im sure. Ill tell you another thing you got no choice. You have to respect the Sunlight Home. You understand? Jack nodded his head. How about him? Does he? Jack looked up at Wolf, who was blinking slowly and breathing through his mouth. I think so. All right. The two of you will be bunkmates. The day starts at five in the morning, when we have chapel. Fieldwork until seven, then breakfast in the dining hall. Back to the field until noon, when we get lunch plus Bible readingseverybody gets a crack at this, so you better start thinking about what youll read. None of that sexy stuff from the Song of Songs, either, unless you want to find out what discipline means. More work after lunch. He looked sharply up at Jack. Hey, dont think that you work for nothing at the Sunlight Home. Part of our arrangement with the state is that everybody gets a fair hourly wage, which is set against the cost of keeping you hereclothes and food, electricity, heating, stuff like that. You are credited fifty cents an hour. That means that you earn five dollars a day for the hours you put inthirty dollars a week. Sundays are spent in the Sunlight Chapel, except for the hour when we actually put on the Sunlight Gardener Gospel Hour. The red smoothed itself out under the surface of his skin again, and Jack nodded in recognition, being more or less obliged to. If you turn out right and if you can talk like a human being, which most people cant, then you might get a shot at OSOutside Staff. Weve got two squads of OS, one that works the streets, selling hymn sheets and flowers and Reverend Gardeners pamphlets, and the other one on duty at the airport. Anyhow, we got thirty days to turn you two scumbags around and make you see how dirty and filthy and diseased your crummy lives were before you came here, and this is where we start, right now exactly. Singer stood up, his face the color of a blazing autumn leaf, and delicately set the tips of his fingers atop his desk. Empty your pockets. Right now. Right here and now, Wolf mumbled, as if by rote. TURN EM OUT! Singer shouted. I WANT TO SEE IT ALL! Bast stepped up beside Wolf. Reverend Gardener, having seen Franky Williams to his car, drifted expressively into Jacks vicinity. Personal possessions tend to tie our boys too much to the past, weve found, Gardener purred to Jack. Destructive. We find this a very helpful tool. EMPTY YOUR POCKETS! Singer bawled, now nearly in a straightforward rage. Jack pulled from his pockets the random detritus of his time on the road. A red handkerchief Elbert Palamountains wife had given him when shed seen him wipe his nose on his sleeve, two matchbooks, the few dollars and scattered change that was all of his moneya total of six dollars and fortytwo centsthe key to room 407 of the Alhambra Inn and Gardens. He closed his fingers over the three objects he intended to keep. I guess you want my pack, too, he said. Sure, you sorry little fart, Singer ranted, of course we want your foul backpack, but first we want whatever youre trying to hide. Get it outright now. Reluctantly Jack took Speedys guitarpick, the croaker marble, and the big wheel of the silver dollar from his pocket and put them in the nest of the handkerchief. Theyre just goodluck stuff. Singer snatched up the pick. Hey, whats this? I mean, what is it? Fingerpick. Yeah, sure. Singer turned it over in his fingers, sniffed it. If he had bitten it, Jack would have slugged him in the face. Fingerpick. You tellin me the truth? A friend of mine gave it to me, Jack said, and suddenly felt as lonely and adrift as he ever had during these weeks of travelling. He thought of Snowball outside the shopping mall, who had looked at him with Speedys eyes, who in some fashion Jack did not understand had actually been Speedy Parker. Whose name he had just adopted for his own. Bet he stole it, Singer said to no one in particular, and dropped the pick back into the handkerchief beside the coin and the marble. Now the knapsack. When Jack had unshouldered the backpack, handed it over, Singer pawed through it for some minutes in growing distaste and frustration. The distaste was caused by the condition of the few clothes Jack had left, the frustration by the reluctance of the pack to yield up any drugs. Speedy, where are you now? Hes not holding, Singer complained. You think we should do a skin search? Gardener shook his head. Let us see what we can learn from Mr. Wolf. Bast shouldered up even closer. Singer said, Well? He doesnt have anything in his pockets, Jack said. I want those pockets EMPTY! EMPTY! Singer yelled. ON THE TABLE! Wolf tucked his chin into his chest and clamped his eyes shut. You dont have anything in your pockets, do you? Jack asked. Wolf nodded once, very slowly. Hes holding! The dummys holding! Singer crowed. Come on, you big dumb idiot, get the stuff out on the table. He clapped his hands sharply together twice. Oh wow, Williams never searched him! Fairchild never did! This is incredibletheyre going to look like such morons. Bast shoved his face up to Wolfs and snarled, If you dont empty your pockets onto that table in a hurry, Im going to tear your face off. Jack softly said, Do it, Wolf. Wolf groaned. Then he removed his balled right hand from its overall pocket. He leaned over the desk, brought his hand forward, and opened his fingers. Three wooden matches and two small waterpolished stones, grained and straited and colorful, fell out onto the leather. When his left hand opened, two more pretty little stones rolled alongside the others. Pills! Singer snatched at them. Dont be an idiot, Sonny, Gardener said. You made me look like a jerk, Singer said in low but vehement tones to Jack as soon as they were on the staircase to the upper floors. These stairs were covered with a shabby rosepatterned carpet. Only the principal downstairs rooms of the Sunlight Scripture Home had been decorated, dressed upthe rest of it looked rundown and ill cared for. Youre gonna be sorry, I promise you thatin this place, nobody makes Sonny Singer into a jackass. I practically run this place, you two idiots. Christ! He pushed his burning narrow face into Jacks. That was a great stunt back there, the dummy and his fuckin stones. Itll be a long time before you get over that one. I didnt know he had anything in his pockets, Jack said. A step ahead of Jack and Wolf, Singer abruptly stopped moving. His eyes narrowed; his entire face seemed to contract. Jack understood what was going to happen a second before Singers hand slapped stingingly over the side of his face. Jack? Wolf whispered. Im okay, he said. When you hurt me, Ill hurt you back twice as bad, Singer said to Jack. When you hurt me in front of Reverend Gardener, Ill hurt you four times as bad, you got that? Yeah, Jack said. I think I got it. Arent we supposed to get some clothes? Singer whirled around and marched upward, and for a second Jack stood still and watched the other boys thin intense back go up the stairs. You, too, he said to himself. You and Osmond. Someday. Then he followed, and Wolf trudged after. In a long room stacked with boxes Singer fidgeted at the door while a tall boy with a passionless bland face and the demeanor of a sleepwalker researched the shelves for their clothes. Shoes, too. You get him into regulation shoes or youre gonna be holding a shovel all day, Singer said from the doorway, conspicuously not looking at the clerk. Weary disgustit would have been another of Sunlight Gardeners lessons. The boy finally located a size thirteen pair of the heavy square black laceups in a corner of the storeroom, and Jack got them on Wolfs feet. Then Singer took them up another flight to the dormitory floor. Here there was no attempt to disguise the real nature of the Sunlight Home. A narrow corridor ran the entire length of the top of the houseit might have been fifty feet long. Rows of narrow doors with inset eyelevel windows marched down either side of the long corridor. To Jack, the socalled dormitory looked like a prison. Singer took them a short way up the narrow hall and paused before one of the doors. On their first day, nobody works. You start the full schedule tomorrow. So get in here for now and look at your Bibles or something until five. Ill come back and let you out in time for the confession period. And change into the Sunlight clothes, hey? You mean youre going to lock us in there for the next three hours? Jack asked. You want me to hold your hand? Singer exploded, his face reddening again. Look. If you were a voluntary, I could let you walk around, get a look at the place. But since youre a ward of the state on a referral from a local police department, youre one step up from being a convicted criminal. Maybe in thirty days youll be voluntaries, if youre lucky. In the meantime, get in your room and start acting like a human being made in Gods image instead of like an animal. He impatiently fitted a key into the lock, swung the door open, and stood beside it. Get in there. I got work to do. What happens to all our stuff? Singer theatrically sighed. You little creep, do you think wed be interested in stealing anything you could have? Jack kept himself from responding. Singer sighed again. Okay. We keep it all for you, in a folder with your name on it. In Reverend Gardeners office downstairsthats where we keep your money, too, right up until the time you get released. Okay? Get in there now before I report you for disobedience. I mean it. Wolf and Jack went into the little room. When Singer slammed the door, the overhead light automatically went on, revealing a windowless cubicle with a metal bunkbed, a small corner sink, and a metal chair. Nothing more. On the white Sheetrock walls yellowing tape marks showed where pictures had been put up by the rooms previous inhabitants. The lock clicked shut. Jack and Wolf turned to see Singers driven face in the small rectangular window. Be good, now, he said, grinning, and disappeared. No, Jacky, Wolf said. The ceiling was no more than an inch from the top of his head. Wolf cant stay here. Youd better sit down, Jack said. You want the top or the bottom bunk? Huh? Take the bottom one and sit down. Were in trouble here. Wolf knows, Jacky. Wolf knows. This is a bad bad place. Cant stay. Why is it a bad place? How do you know it, I mean? Wolf sat heavily on the lower bunk, dropped his new clothes on the floor, and idly picked up the book and two pamphlets set out there. The book was a Bible bound in some artificial fabric that looked like blue skin; the pamphlets, Jack saw by looking at those on his own bunk, were entitled The High Road to Everlasting Grace and God Loves You! Wolf knows. You know, too, Jacky. Wolf looked up at him, almost scowling. Then he glanced back down at the books in his hands, began turning them over, almost shuffling them. They were, Jack supposed, the first books Wolf had ever seen. The white man, Wolf said, almost too softly for Jack to hear. White man? Wolf held up one of the pamphlets, its back cover showing. The whole rear cover was a blackandwhite photograph of Sunlight Gardener, his beautiful hair lifting in a breeze, his arms outstretcheda man of everlasting grace, beloved of God. Him, Wolf said. He kills, Jacky. With whips. This is one of his places. No Wolf should ever be in one of his places. No Jack Sawyer, either. Never. We have to get away from here, Jacky. Well get out, Jack said. I promise you. Not today, not tomorrowwe have to work it out. But soon. Wolfs feet protruded far past the edge of his bunk. Soon. 3 Soon, he had promised, and Wolf had required the promise. Wolf was terrified. Jack could not tell if Wolf had ever seen Osmond in the Territories, but he had certainly heard of him. Osmonds reputation in the Territories, at least among members of the Wolf family, appeared to be even worse than Morgans. But though both Wolf and Jack had recognized Osmond in Sunlight Gardener, Gardener had not recognized themwhich brought up two possibilities. Either Gardener was just having fun with them, pretending ignorance; or he was a Twinner like Jacks mother, profoundly connected to a Territories figure but unaware of the connection at any but the deepest level. And if that was true, as Jack thought it was, then he and Wolf could wait for the really right moment to escape. They had time to watch, time to learn. Jack put on the scratchy new clothes. The square black shoes seemed to weigh several pounds apiece, and to be suited to either foot. With difficulty, he persuaded Wolf to put on the Sunlight Home uniform. Then the two of them lay down. Jack heard Wolf begin to snore, and after a while, he drifted off himself. In his dreams his mother was somewhere in the dark, calling for him to help her, help her. 22 The Sermon 1 At five that afternoon, an electric bell went off in the hallway, a long, toneless blare of sound. Wolf leaped from his bunk, thudding the metal frame of the upper with the side of his head hard enough to wake up Jack, who had been dozing, with a jolt. The bell stopped shrieking after fifteen seconds or so; Wolf went right on. He staggered over into the corner of the room, his hands wrapped around his head. Bad place, Jack! he screamed. Bad place right here and now! Gotta get outta here! Gotta get outta here RIGHT HERE AND NOW! Pounding on the wall. Shut the dummy up! From the other side, a shrieking, whinnying, horsey laugh. You gittin some sunlight in you souls now, boys! And from de way dat big fella soun, it sho feel fine! The giggling, whinnying laugh, too much like a horrified scream, came again. Bad, Jack! Wolf! Jason! Bad! Bad, bad Doors were opening all up and down the hall. Jack could hear the rumble of many feet dressed in blocky Sunlight Home shoes. He got down from the top bunk, forcing himself to move. He felt crossgrained to realitynot awake, not really asleep, either. Moving across the mean little room to Wolf was like moving through Karo syrup instead of air. He felt so tired now . . . so very tired. Wolf, he said. Wolf, stop it. Cant, Jacky! Wolf sobbed. His arms were still wrapped around his head, as if to keep it from exploding. You got to, Wolf. We have to go out in the hall now. Cant, Jacky, Wolf sobbed, its a bad place, bad smells. . . . From the hallway, someoneJack thought it was Heck Bastyelled, Out for confession! Out for confession! someone else yelled, and they all took up the chant Out for confession! Out for confession! It was like some weird football cheer. If were going to get out of here with our skins on, weve got to stay cool. Cant, Jacky, cant stay cool, bad. . . . Their door was going to open in a minute and Bast or Sonny Singer would be there . . . maybe both. They were not out for confession, whatever that was, and while newcomers to the Sunlight Home might be allowed a few screwups during their orientation period, Jack thought their chances for escape would be better if they blended in as completely as they could as soon as they could. With Wolf, that wasnt going to be easy. Christ, Im sorry I got you into this, big guy, Jack thought. But the situation is what the situation is. And if we cant ride it, its gonna ride us down. So if Im hard with you, its for your own good. He added miserably to himself, I hope. Wolf, he whispered, do you want Singer to start beating on me again? No, Jack, no. . . . Then you better come out in the hall with me, Jack said. You have to remember that what you do is going to have a lot to do with how Singer and that guy Bast treat me. Singer slapped me around because of your stones Someone might slap him around, Wolf said. His voice was low and mild, but his eyes suddenly narrowed, flared orange. For a moment Jack saw the gleam of white teeth between Wolfs lipsnot as if Wolf had grinned, but as if his teeth had grown. Dont even think of that, Jack said grimly. Itll only makes things worse. Wolfs arms fell away from his head. Jack, I dont know. . . . Will you try? Jack asked. He threw another urgent glance at the door. Ill try, Wolf whispered shakily. Tears shone in his eyes. 2 The upstairs corridor should have been bright with lateafternoon light, but it wasnt. It was as if some sort of filtering device had been fitted over the windows at the end of the corridor so that the boys could see outout to where the real sunlight wasbut that the light itself wasnt allowed to enter. It seemed to drop dead on the narrow inner sills of those high Victorian windows. There were forty boys standing in front of twenty doors, ten on each side. Jack and Wolf were by far the last to appear, but their lateness was not noticed. Singer, Bast, and two other boys had found someone to rag and could not be bothered with taking attendance. Their victim was a narrowchested, bespectacled kid of maybe fifteen. He was standing at a sorry approximation of attention with his chinos puddled around his black shoes. He wore no underpants. Have you stopped it yet? Singer asked. I Shut up! One of the other boys with Singer and Bast yelled this last. The four of them wore blue jeans instead of chinos, and clean white turtleneck sweaters. Jack learned soon enough that the fellow who had just shouted was Warwick. The fat fourth was Casey. When we want you to talk, well ask you! Warwick shouted now. You still whipping your weasel, Morton? Morton trembled and said nothing. ANSWER HIM! Casey shrieked. He was a tubby boy who looked a little bit like a malevolent Tweedledum. No, Morton whispered. WHAT? SPEAK UP! Singer yelled. No! Morton moaned. If you can stop for a whole week, youll get your underpants back, Singer said with the air of one conferring a great favor on an undeserving subject. Now pull up your pants, you little creep. Morton, sniffling, bent over and pulled up his trousers. The boys went down to confession and supper. 3 Confession was held in a large barewalled room across the way from the dining hall. The maddening smells of baked beans and hotdogs drifted across, and Jack could see Wolfs nostrils flaring rhythmically. For the first time that day the dull expression left his eyes and he began to look interested. Jack was more wary of confession than he had let on to Wolf. Lying in his upper bunk with his hands behind his head, he had seen a black something in the upper corner of the room. He had thought for a moment or two that it was some sort of a dead beetle, or the husk of its shellhe thought if he got closer he would perhaps see the spiders web the thing was caught in. It had been a bug, all right, but not the organic kind. It was a small, oldfashionedlooking microphone gadget, screwed into the wall with an eyebolt. A cord snaked from the back of it and through a ragged hole in the plaster. There had been no real effort to conceal it. Just part of the service, boys. Sunlight Gardener Listens Better. After seeing the bug, after the ugly little scene with Morton in the hall, he had expected confession to be an angry, perhaps scary, adversary situation. Someone, possibly Sunlight Gardener himself, more probably Sonny Singer or Hector Bast, would try to get him to admit that he had used drugs on the road, that he had broken into places in the middle of the night and robbed while on the road, that he had spit on every sidewalk he could find while on the road, and played with himself after a hard day on the road. If he hadnt done any of those things, they would keep after him until he admitted them, anyway. They would try to break him. Jack thought he could hold up under such treatment, but he wasnt sure Wolf could. But what was most disturbing about confession was the eagerness with which the boys in the Home greeted it. The inner cadrethe boys in the white turtleneckssat down near the front of the room. Jack looked around and saw the others looking toward the open door with a sort of witless anticipation. He thought it must be supper they were anticipatingit smelled very damn good, all right, especially after all those weeks of pickup hamburgers interspersed with large helpings of nothing at all. Then Sunlight Gardener walked briskly in and Jack saw the expressions of anticipation change to looks of gratification. Apparently it hadnt been dinner they had been looking forward to, after all. Morton, who had been cowering in the upper hallway with his pants puddled around his ankles only fifteen minutes ago, looked almost exalted. The boys got to their feet. Wolf sat, nostrils flaring, looking puzzled and frightened, until Jack grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled him up. Do what they do, Wolf, he muttered. Sit down, boys, Gardener said, smiling. Sit down, please. They sat. Gardener was wearing faded blue jeans overtopped with an openthroated shirt of blinding white silk. He looked at them, smiling benignly. The boys looked back worshipfully, for the most part. Jack saw one boywavy brown hair that came to a deep widows peak on his brow, receding chin, delicate little hands as pale as Uncle Tommys Delftwareturn aside and cup his mouth to hide a sneer, and he, Jack, felt some encouragement. Apparently not everyones head had been blown by whatever was going on here . . . but a lot of heads had been. Wideopen they had been blown, from the way things looked. The fellow with the great buck teeth was looking at Sunlight Gardener adoringly. Let us pray. Heck, will you lead us? Heck did. He prayed fast and mechanically. It was like listening to a DialaPrayer recorded by a dyslexic. After asking God to favor them in the days and weeks ahead, to forgive them their trespasses and to help them become better people, Heck Bast rapped out, ForJesussakeamen, and sat down. Thank you, Heck, Gardener said. He had taken an armless chair, had turned it around backward, and was sitting on it like a rangeridin cowpoke in a John Ford Western. He was at his most charming tonight; the sterile, selfreferring craziness Jack had seen that morning was almost gone. Let us have a dozen confessions, please. No more than that. Will you lead us, Andy? Warwick, an expression of ludicrous piety on his face, took Hecks place. Thank you, Reverend Gardener, he said, and then looked at the boys. Confession, he said. Who will start? There was a rustling stir . . .