“You got this by . . . what? Watching it over and over? Rerunning it like a movie?”
“The NO TRESPASSING sign was easy, but the stuff about Organic Industries and the ethanol plant, yeah. Can’t you do that?”
“I never tried. Maybe once, but probably not anymore.”
“I found Freeman, Iowa, on the computer,” she said. “And when I ran Google Earth, I could see the factory. Those places are really there.”
Dan’s thoughts returned to John Dalton. Others in the Program had talked about Dan’s peculiar ability to find things; John never had. Not surprising, really. Doctors took a vow of confidentiality similar to the one in AA, didn’t they? Which in John’s case made it a kind of double coverage.
Abra was saying, “You could call Bradley Trevor’s parents, couldn’t you? Or the sheriff’s office in Canton County? They wouldn’t believe me, but they’d believe a grown-up.”
“I suppose I could.” But of course a man who knew where the body was buried would automatically go to the head of the suspect list, so if he did it, he would have to be very, very careful about the way he did it.
Abra, the trouble you’re getting me into.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
He put his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t be. That’s one you weren’t supposed to hear.”
She straightened. “Oh God, here comes Yvonne Stroud. She’s in my class.”
Dan pulled his hand back in a hurry. He saw a plump, brown-haired girl about Abra’s age coming up the sidewalk. She was wearing a backpack and carrying a looseleaf notebook curled against her chest. Her eyes were bright and inquisitive.
“She’ll want to know everything about you,” Abra said. “I mean everything. And she talks.”
Uh-oh.
Dan looked at the oncoming girl.
(we’re not interesting)
“Help me, Abra,” he said, and felt her join in. Once they were together, the thought instantly gained depth and strength.
(WE’RE NOT A BIT INTERESTING)
“That’s good,” Abra said. “A little more. Do it with me. Like singing.”
(YOU HARDLY SEE US WE’RE NOT INTERESTING AND BESIDES YOU HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO)
Yvonne Stroud hurried along the walk, flipping one hand to Abra in a vague hello gesture but not slowing down. She ran up the library steps and disappeared inside.
“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Dan said.
She looked at him seriously. “According to Abra’s theory of relativity, you really could be. Very similar—” She sent a picture of pants flapping on a clothesline.
( jeans)
Then they were both laughing.
9
Dan made her go over the turntable thing three times, wanting to make sure he was getting it right.
“You never did that, either?” Abra asked. “The far-seeing thing?”
“Astral projection? No. Does it happen to you a lot?”
“Only once or twice.” She considered. “Maybe three times. Once I went into a girl who was swimming in the river. I was looking at her from the bottom of our backyard. I was nine or ten. I don’t know why it happened, she wasn’t in trouble or anything, just swimming with her friends. That one lasted the longest. It went on for at least three minutes. Is astral projection what you call it? Like outer space?”
“It’s an old term, from séances back a hundred years ago, and probably not a very good one. All it means is an out-of-body experience.” If you could label anything like that at all. “But—I want to make sure I’ve got this straight—the swimming girl didn’t go into you?”
Abra shook her head emphatically, making her ponytail fly. “She didn’t even know I was there. The only time it worked both ways was with that woman. The one who wears the hat. Only I didn’t see the hat then, because I was inside her.”
Dan used one finger to describe a circle. “You went into her, she went into you.”
“Yes.” Abra shivered. “She was the one who cut Bradley Trevor until he was dead. When she smiles she has one big long tooth on top.”
Something about the hat struck a chord, something that made him think of Deenie from Wilmington. Because Deenie had worn a hat? Nope, at least not that he remembered; he’d been pretty blitzed. It probably meant nothing—sometimes the brain made phantom associations, that was all, especially when it was under stress, and the truth (little as he liked to admit it) was that Deenie was never far from his thoughts. Something as random as a display of cork-soled sandals in a store window could bring her to mind.
“Who’s Deenie?” Abra asked. Then she blinked rapidly and drew back a little, as if Dan had suddenly flapped a hand in front of her eyes. “Oops. Not supposed to go there, I guess. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Let’s go back to your hat woman. When you saw her later—in your window—that wasn’t the same?”
“No. I’m not even sure that was a shining. I think it was a remembering, from when I saw her hurting the boy.”