28.

On Saturday morning, Timothy awoke with the sun shining in his eyes. Everything was, and always had been, fine.

Moments later, after a good stretch, Timothy sat up in his bed and realized that everything was not fine. The week’s events came rushing back to him, and despite the revelatory light of the morning, he felt an awful dread, which grew when he heard the phone ringing.

Rushing downstairs, Timothy grabbed the handset from the side table in the front hallway. “Hello?”

“Timothy,” said an old woman’s voice. “This is Zilpha Kindred. Abigail’s grandmother. Sorry to call so early, but I need your help.”

Zilpha explained that the night before, Abigail had arrived home quite late, drenched from the rain. She’d apologized and asked if she could go to sleep early. Later, in bed, Zilpha was restless, so she went to get a glass of water. When she heard a sniffling noise outside the foyer, Zilpha opened the front door and found Abigail slumped against the wall. The elevator button glowed red. Zilpha led her back into the apartment. She asked Abigail what was going on. Breaking down, Abigail had told her everything.

“Everything?” Timothy asked.

“Everything,” Zilpha answered. “And there are a few things you should know too, Timothy.”

The night before, Zilpha had explained to Abigail that these odd occurrences were something they shared—that when Zilpha was young, she tried to stop a bad man from doing a bad thing. His name had been Christian Hesselius—the man Frances May had told them about. Now, somehow the bad man had returned to New Starkham to fulfill some kind of vengeance. The weirdest part? The bad man had died in an institution nearly fifty years ago.

“But how …?” Timothy imagined his shadow man as a ghost, a magician, a demon.

“I’m not exactly sure myself,” said Zilpha.

“Is Abigail okay now?”

“That’s why I’m calling, Timothy. Did she say anything about leaving New Starkham to go back to her father in New Jersey?”

“Yes, actually,” he answered quietly. “She told me she was thinking about it, but then changed her mind.”

“She left a letter on the dining room table this morning. She must have snuck out quite early.” Timothy felt his throat begin to close. “We can’t reach her father. Sarah has already left town to search for her. If you hear anything …”

“Uh-huh,” Timothy murmured, his mind racing with guilt for not following Abigail all the way home.

“I beg you to call.” Zilpha gave him her phone number, which he scribbled on a nearby scrap of paper. “And Timothy … trust me. After today, this will be over. I know everything must seem weird, but please … This is my mess, and I am handling it. Alone. Understand?”

“Okay,” he said. Even though Timothy now had a million more questions, he still managed to hang up.

When he had finally collected his thoughts, Timothy poured himself a bowl of cereal, ate quickly, then packed his swim bag, sticking Zilpha’s phone number in his pocket. If Zilpha didn’t want him thinking about Christian Hesselius, he had to do something else. Saturday-morning practice would be starting in less than a half hour. He left a note on the counter, telling his father where he had gone.

The air outside was brisk, but not cold. As Timothy made his way down the hill toward Edgehill Road and the mouth of the Dragon Stairs, he hoped he could stop worrying about what might be waiting for him in the locker room.

Luckily, when he arrived, several of his team members were still in the dim chamber, putting on their suits, and teasing each other with the threat of rat-tail whips. Timothy changed, then followed the rowdy group through the showers and down the long hallway to the pool.

Timothy tried to follow Thom’s practice to the minute. Whenever he swam toward the deep end, he couldn’t help imagining what Stuart had seen at the bottom of the pool. Under the diving platforms, he kept his eyes closed, and counted his strokes so he could find the wall.

“Nice work,” Thom called out to him, after the first one hundred yards. “I’ve never seen you swim so fast.” Timothy knew why: he’d never before felt like something was chasing him.

The more he thought about Zilpha’s call, the more anxious he became. Maybe if he walked to the Mayfair now, they could talk some more, sort this out together. She was an old woman. Abigail would have wanted him to help her grandmother, wouldn’t she?

From the shallow end, Timothy pushed off the wall, heading into a particularly strong free-style sprint. He had to beat the clock.

Head to Zilpha’s apartment, even though she’d asked him to stay out of it. That’s what he’d do. The route would be easy, up the southern slope, right past the college library—

Timothy felt a jolt, then jerked his body upright. Grabbing on to the closest lane line in the middle of the pool, he fought to keep from going under. The person swimming behind him just missed smacking him in the face with a butterfly upstroke. Timothy didn’t even notice.

The library.

The college had a library too.

Maybe they would have the answers he needed?

This way, Zilpha wouldn’t have to know.