Jilly might not have recognized the young puzzle worker, but Dylan knew him well. The boy was Shepherd O’Conner.
33
Dylan remembered this puzzle, which possessed a significance so special that he could have painted it from memory with a considerable degree of accuracy. And now he recognized the source of the burnt-ocher light: a pharmacy-style lamp that usually stood on a desk in the study. The lamp featured a deep-yellow glass shade.
On those occasions when Shepherd’s autism expressed itself in a particular sensitivity to bright lights, he could not simply work a jigsaw puzzle in the reduced glare made possible by a dimmer switch. Although virtually inaudible to everyone else, the faint buzz of resistance produced by the restraint of electrical current in the rheostat shrieked through his skull as if it were a high-speed bone saw. Therefore, he resorted to the desk lamp with the heavily tinted shade, in which the regular bulb had been replaced with one of lower wattage.
Shepherd hadn’t worked a puzzle in the dining room in the past ten years, having moved instead to the table in the kitchen. This basketful of puppies had been the last jigsaw that he had finished in this room.
‘Shep is brave,’ the standing Shepherd said, but the younger Shepherd at the table didn’t look up.
Nothing that had happened heretofore had filled Dylan with a dread as terrible as the anxious fear that now seemed to shrink his heart. This time what lay ahead of him in the next few minutes was not unknown, as had been the case with all that had come before this, but in fact was known too well. He felt himself being swept toward that known horror as surely as a man in a small rowboat, on the brink of Niagara, would be helpless to avoid the falls.
From Jilly: ‘Dylan!’
When he turned to her, she pointed at the floor.
Under them lay a Persian-style carpet. Around each foot, the Persian pattern had been blotted out by a glimmering blackness, as though their shoes rested in pools of ink. This blackness rippled subtly but continually. When he moved one foot, the inky puddle moved with it, and the portion of the rug that had seemed to be stained at once reappeared unmarred.
A dining-room chair stood near Dylan, and upon touching it, he saw another ink like stain at once spread out from his hand across the upholstery, larger than his palm and fingers but conforming to their shape. He slid his hand back and forth, and the surrounding black blot slid with it, leaving the fabric immaculate.
Dylan could feel the chair under his hand, but when he tried to grip it firmly, the upholstery didn’t dimple. Applying greater force, he attempted to jerk it away from the table – and his hand passed through the chair as if it were an illusion.
Or as if he were a ghost with no material substance.
Aware of Jilly’s shock and continuing confusion, Dylan put one hand on her arm to show her that this inky phenomenon didn’t occur between them, only when they attempted to have an influence upon their surroundings.
‘The boy at the table,’ he told her, ‘is Shepherd when he was ten years old.’
She seemed to have worked that much out for herself, for she showed no surprise at this revelation. ‘This isn’t… some vision Shep’s sharing with us.’
‘No.’
Her understanding came as a statement rather than a question, as though she had begun to put the clues together before Dylan revealed the young puzzle worker’s identity: ‘We folded not just to California but also to sometime in the past.’
‘Not just sometime.’ His heart sank in dismay, though it wasn’t weighted by an overwhelming peril, for he was reasonably sure that nothing in this past place could harm them, just as they were unable to influence anything here; instead, his heart was weighed down with sorrow, and it sank in a familiar sea of loss. ‘Not just sometime. One night in particular. One awful night.’
More for Jilly’s benefit than to confirm his own perception of their situation, Dylan stepped to the dining-room table and swept one arm across it with the intent of spilling the jigsaw puzzle to the floor. He was unable to disrupt a single piece of the picture.