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'Only the guy wasn't calling himself Sunlight Gardener when he used to e and see my father。 His name 。 。 。 I can't quite remember。 But it was something like Banlon 。 。 。 or Orlon 。 。 。'
'Osmond？'
Richard brightened。 'That was it。 I never heard his first name。 But he used to e once every month or two。 Sometimes more often。 Once he came almost every other night； for a week； and then he was gone for almost half a year。 I used to lock myself in my room when he came。 I didn't like his smell。 He wore some kind of scent 。 。 。 cologne； I suppose； but it really smelled stronger than that。 Like perfume。 Cheap dime…store perfume。 But underneath it…'
'Underneath it he smelled like he hadn't had a bath for about ten years。'
Richard looked at him； wide…eyed。
'I met him as Osmond； too；' Jack explained。 He had explained before…at least some of this…but Richard had not been listening then。 He was listening now。 'In the Territories version of New Hampshire； before I met him as Sunlight Gardener in Indiana。'
'Then you must have seen that 。 。 。 that thing。'
'Reuel？' Jack shook his head。 'Reuel must have been out in the Blasted Lands then； having a few more radical cobalt treatments。' Jack thought of the running sores on the creature's face； thought of the worms。 He looked at his red； puffy wrists where the worms had bitten； and shuddered。 'I never saw Reuel until the end； and I never saw his American Twin…ner at all。 How old were you when Osmond started showing up？'
'I must have been four。 The thing about the 。 。 。 you know； the closet 。 。 。 that hadn't happened yet。 I remember I was more afraid of him after that。'
'After the thing touched you in the closet。'
'Yes。'
'And that happened when you were five。'
'Yes。'
'When we were both five。'
'Yes。 You can put me down。 I can walk for a while。'
Jack did。 They walked in silence； heads down； not looking at each other。 At five； something had reached out of the dark and touched Richard。 When they were both six
（six； Jacky was six）
Jack had overheard his father and Morgan Sloat talking about a place they went to； a place that Jacky called the Daydream…country。 And later that year； something had reached out of the dark and had touched him and his mother。 It had been nothing more or less than Morgan Sloat's voice。 Morgan Sloat calling from Green River； Utah。 Sobbing。 He； Phil Sawyer； and Tommy Woodbine had left three days before on their yearly November hunting trip…another college chum； Randy Glover； owned a luxurious hunting lodge in Blessing…ton； Utah。 Glover usually hunted with them； but that year he had been cruising in the Caribbean。 Morgan called to say that Phil had been shot； apparently by another hunter。 He and Tommy Woodbine had packed him out of the wilderness on a lashed…together stretcher。 Phil had regained consciousness in the back of Glover's Jeep Cherokee； Morgan said； and had asked that Morgan send his love to Lily and Jack。 He died fifteen minutes later； as Morgan drove wildly toward Green River and the nearest hospital。
Morgan had not killed Phil； there was Tommy to testify that the three of them had been together when the shot rang out； if any testimony had ever been required （and； of course； none ever was）。
But that was not to say he couldn't have hired it done； Jack thought now。 And it was not to say that Uncle Tommy might not have harbored his own long doubts about what had happened。 If so； maybe Uncle Tommy hadn't been killed just so that Jack and his dying mother would be totally unprotected from Morgan's depredations。 Maybe he had died because Morgan was tired of wondering if the old faggot might finally hint to the surviving son that there might have been more to Phil Sawyer's death than an accident。 Jack felt his skin crawl with dismay and revulsion。
'Was that man around before your father and my father went hunting together that last time？' Jack asked fiercely。
'Jack； I was four years old…'
'No； you weren't； you were six。 You were four when he started ing； you were six when my father got killed in Utah。 And you don't forget much； Richard。 Did he e around before my father died？'
'That was the time he came almost every night for a week；' Richard said； his voice barely audible。 'Just before that last hunting trip。'
Although none of this was precisely Richard's fault； Jack was unable to contain his bitterness。 'My dad dead in a hunting accident in Utah； Uncle Tommy run down in L。A。 The death…rate among your father's friends is very fucking high； Richard。'
'Jack…' Richard began in a small； trembling voice。
'I mean it's all water over the dam； or spilled milk； or pick your cliché；' Jack said。 'But when I showed up at your school； Richard； you called me crazy。'
'Jack； you don't under…'
'No； I guess I don't。 I was tired and you gave me a place to sleep。 Fine。 I was hungry and you got me some food。 Great。 But what I needed most was for you to believe me。 I knew it was too much to expect； but jeepers！ You knew the guy I was talking about！ You knew he'd been in your father's life before！ And you just said something like 'Good old Jack's been spending too much time in the hot sun out there on Seabrook Island and blah…blah…blah！' Jesus； Richard； I thought we were better friends than that。'
'You still don't understand。'
'What？ That you were too afraid of Seabrook Island stuff to believe in me a little？' Jack's voice wavered with tired indignation。
'No。 I was afraid of more than that。'
'Oh yeah？' Jack stopped and looked at Richard's pale； miserable face truculently。 'What could be more than that for Rational Richard？'
'I was afraid；' Richard said in a perfectly calm voice。 'I was afraid that if I knew any more about those secret pockets 。 。 。 that man Osmond； or what was in the closet that time； I wouldn't be able to love my father anymore。 And I was right。'
Richard covered his face with his thin； dirty fingers and began to cry。
6
Jack stood watching Richard cry and damned himself for twenty kinds of fool。 No matter what else Morgan was； he was still Richard Sloat's father； Morgan's ghost lurked in the shape of Richard's hands and in the bones of Richard's face。 Had he forgotten those things？ No…but for a moment his bitter disappointment in Richard had covered them up。 And his increasing nervousness had played a part。 The Talisman was very； very close now； and he felt it in his nerve…endings the way a horse smells water in the desert or a distant grass…fire in the plains。 That nerviness was ing out in a kind of prancy skittishness。
Yeah； well； this guy's supposed to be your best buddy； Jack…O…get a little funky if you have to； but don't trample Richard。 The kid's sick； just in case you hadn't noticed。
He reached for Richard。 Richard tried to push him away。 Jack was having none of that。 He held Richard。 The two of them stood that way in the middle of the deserted railroad bed for a while； Richard's head on Jack's shoulder。
'Listen；' Jack said awkwardly； 'try not to worry too much about 。 。 。 you know 。 。 。 everything 。 。 。 just yet； Richard。 Just kind of try to roll with the changes； you