Bedtime Story (52 page)

Yes! There it was! Another silver disk, another red stone, slightly higher than the level of the floor, plainly visible just under the bottom edge of the flame.

It should be cooler there
, Matt said.
It takes the right mix of oxygen to burn, so the gas is too concentrated under there to burn …

Matt
, David said inside his head.
I think I figured it out
.

David, just get the Stone
.

That’s the thing
, he thought, and even thinking the words was almost too much for him.
About your theory. About the happy ending. About me having to get the Stone
.

David, you don’t have much time
.

His hand was shaking as he reached toward the clear space, just
over the silver disk.

See, I think maybe you’re wrong. About it being … about it being inevitable … that there’s a happy ending
.

His next breath felt like a jet of flame to his lungs.

David …

He lowered his hand, almost touching the silver.
Because the last time I did this, I died
.

I sat at my desk for a long time with my eyes closed, trying in vain to undo the last hour. I shouldn’t have said anything more about the book.

Mea culpa
. Again.

I picked up my notebook, bulging from use, then threw it back down on the desk without opening it.

Carol Corvin’s e-mail was open on my laptop when I booted up; I looked at it blankly for a moment, and I felt something shift within me.

This wasn’t about me and my failings: this was about David, about making him whole again, about doing anything in my power to save my son. Whatever it cost me.

Carol Corvin was the founder and chair of a foundation responsible for millions of dollars in research into childhood brain injuries every year. She’d been living with a child in David’s condition for almost thirty years. She was certainly someone I should talk to.

I picked up my notebook and wrote down her name and phone number. Then I flipped back through the pages until I got to Tony Markus’s contact information. I dialled his direct number.

Voice mail again. I took a deep breath and said, “This is for David” out loud as his outgoing message played.

“Tony, it’s Chris Knox calling. I’ve left a couple of messages but I haven’t heard back from you. I know that you’ve got the book. I know you’ve got it, and I don’t really care—you’re welcome to it. Davis & Keelor can do what it wants with the book—I’ve got no claim on it. I just—I really need to talk to you. This is going to sound crazy, but I think the book has done something to my son, and I need to see it, to borrow it for a couple of days to see, to see if I can undo it. Like I said,
I know that sounds crazy, but if you could just call me, please, I can explain.”

I left my number and hung up the phone. I’d probably never hear from him, but maybe coming clean would work. I had nothing more to lose. If I could just talk to him …

I dialled the next number down the list.

“Good afternoon, Davis & Keelor, how may I direct your call?”

“Can I speak to Tony Markus, please?”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Markus is out of the office today.”

“Is there any way to get hold of him? My name is Christopher Knox and I’m working on a project with him.”

“I can put you through to a department assistant, Mr. Knox,” she said. “One moment.”

I waited as the line went quiet, then gave my explanation again to the chipper-voiced woman who picked up.

“I’ve already left him a couple of voice mails,” I continued.

“I don’t have any way to reach him except for his cell phone or e-mail,” she said.

“It’s very important.”

“I’m sorry, sir, he’s—”

“Can you tell me when he’ll be back?”

She named a date, a Monday, a week-and-a-half away.

“That’s too long,” I said. “I really need to get hold of him.”

“I’m sure he’ll call you as soon as he has a chance. Would you like me to connect you to his voice mail here?” Genuinely trying to be helpful. “He said he would be checking it while he was in Oregon.” She pronounced the second
o
heavily, the way people from the East Coast always did.

“No, thank you,” I stammered. “I’ll keep trying him on his cell.” I hung up as quickly as I could.

Oregon. He was going to meet with Cat, and bring her the book as a show of good faith, an unexpected gift to sweeten the deal.

Oregon.

Portland was only a ferry trip and a few hours away.

David braced himself as he reached under the tower of flame, squinting against the roar and heat. He half expected to watch his hand sizzle, expected to hear himself screaming.

Almost there
.

David could barely breathe as he watched his fingers, coated in red mud, reach toward the silver disk, remembering last time what had come next—

That didn’t happen to you
, Matt said.
That happened to Dafyd
.

With one final stretch he touched the top of the Stone. He closed his eyes completely, waiting for the crackle of energy, the sharp punch to the chest.

But none of that happened.

Instead, under the pressure of his hand, the Stone descended almost an inch, settling with a resounding thunk. All flames in the room guttered and died. The air was cooler instantly.

He drew a full breath for what felt like the first time in an eternity, and smiled.

You see?
Matt said.

“See what?” David asked, revelling in the fact that he was still alive.

It wasn’t a trap
.

“Right,” David said, not sure where the other boy was going with this.

No one else has made it this far. Everything has changed
.

“It’s a book,” David said. “How can everything change?”

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Yes, we’re in the world that Lazarus created, but you’re not one of his characters. He doesn’t control you. And that changes everything
.

“I’m not so sure.”

Think about it. What book for an eleven-year-old boy would have the heroes butchering a group of people in their sleep? If this was a typical book, you and Captain Bream would be bonding. He’d be showing you how to use a sword. Hell, it would probably turn out that he was Dafyd’s father
.

“But because I’m here, everything is different.”

Exactly
.

“So I could just walk away,” David said, considering the possibility. “I could sneak away in the middle of the night, keep away from all this.” He looked around the room, his gaze returning to the Stone, now almost level with the chamber floor. “Forget that I even heard of the Sunstone …”

But …
Matt said slowly.

“But if I ever want to see my family again, I have to get through to the end. I have to get the Sunstone.” His heart sank.

And even then …

“I know,” he said sadly. “It’s only a guess.”

Right
.

Shifting carefully, he leaned over to take a closer look at the Stone and its silver disk. They were almost identical to the ones he had found in the canyon.

David touched it carefully with his fingertip to see if it would move; it didn’t.

“I’m guessing I have to unscrew it,” he said, bending close to look. Yes. There was a narrow groove around the edges of the disk, just big enough for his fingertips.

Be careful
, Matt said.
Last time we nearly drowned
.

“I know,” he said, reaching down to grip the edges of the disk. “But it’s not like I have any choice.”

At least he’s consistent
, Matt muttered.
Gafilair. Lazarus Took. Whichever
.

David twisted the disk, trying to force it to the left. When it finally gave, a hissing noise filled the air.

“Oh shit,” he said.

It’s gas
, Matt said.
When you pushed the Stone down it must have sealed it off. And now you broke the seal
.

David unscrewed the disk as quickly as he could. He could feel the gas as it rushed past his hand, his face.

It’s not just here. It’s all around the room
.

Hisses echoed around the chamber, as if the cave were suddenly filled with dozens of snakes.

Hurry
, Matt urged as David twisted the canister around and around. It was taking too long.

The air was growing thick, and David was beginning to get dizzy.

He took a chance and stopped unscrewing, pulling instead.

“Got it!” he said as he yanked the silver canister out of the floor. There was a hint of resistance—

David!

—and a rasping noise as the last inch of the cylinder came free from the floor. David knew the sound immediately, had heard it dozens of times in his life—the rasp of flint against metal, the thick sound of a spark, like from his father’s Zippo lighter—

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I would drive down to Oregon, maybe stopping to “interview” Carol Corvin on the way, and arrange to meet with Cat. I wouldn’t tell her why I wanted to talk to her, but by the time I got there she would probably have met with Tony, so she would have some idea.

And I’d beg.

I looked at David in front of the television, his shapeless posture, his jerky hands. Jacqui had gone out, making some excuse about errands, leaving me with my son.

Oh yes, I’d beg. Anything. For David.

Now I just needed a car.

I was surprised when Dale didn’t answer his cell phone—usually he picked it up on the first ring.

“Dale, it’s me,” I said into the silence of his voice mail. “Listen, gimme a call. I need to talk to you. I’ve got a huge favour to ask.”

I hung up and started to go through my notebook, checking for things that I might need: Cat Took’s telephone number, her mailing address. Where was Belden, Oregon?

“Are you gonna be all all right for a second by yourself, sport?” I asked David, leaning low to his ear. “I just need to run upstairs real quick.”

It felt awful to leave him, even just to go up to my apartment to grab my laptop.

Back in the house, I read through all of the e-mails I had sent over
the past few weeks, mining them for anything of value now that I had a better idea of what was going on.

I tried Dale again—still no answer. He was probably showing clients around a house and had his phone turned off.

I typed “Belden, Oregon” into Google. The first result was the website of an Oregon historical society, which made passing reference to Belden in a list of Oregon ghost towns.

Ghost town?

The next page had a few more details.

“The town of Belden, on the North Coast between Seaside and Cannon Beach, was once a thriving community, based on the profitable lumber industry, and included its own mill and deep water harbour with housing and services for those employed by both. This attempt to carve out a niche in the shadow of Astoria, only a few miles north and already established as a major shipping and lumber centre, was doomed to failure. Following the closure of the mill in 1911, most residents left town …”