For Bobby, just getting away from Harwich for a little while was an attraction. He had seen nothing suspicious since the star and the moon scribbled next to the hopscotch grid, but Ted gave him a bad scare while Bobby was reading him the Saturday newspaper, and hard on the heels of that came an ugly argument with his mother.
The thing with Ted happened while Bobby was reading an opinion piece scoffing at the idea that Mickey Mantle would ever break Babe Ruth’s home-run record. He didn’t have the stamina or the dedication, the columnist insisted. ‘”Above all, the character of this man is wrong,”‘ Bobby read. ‘ “The so-called Mick is more interested in night-clubbing than —”‘
Ted had blanked out again. Bobby knew this, felt it somehow, even before he looked up from the newspaper. Ted was staring emptily out his window toward Colony Street and the hoarse, monotonous barking of Mrs O’Hara’s dog. It was the second time he’d done it this morning, but the first lapse had lasted only a few seconds (Ted bent into the open refrigerator, eyes wide in the frosty light, not moving . . . then giving a jerk, a little shake, and reaching for the orange juice). This time he was totally gone. Wigsville, man, as Kookie might have said on 77 Sunset Strip. Bobby rattled the newspaper to see if he could wake him up that way.
Nothing.
‘Ted? Are you all r — ‘ With sudden dawning horror, Bobby realized something was wrong with the pupils of Ted’s eyes. They were growing and shrinking in his face as Bobby watched. It was as if Ted were plunging rapidly in and out of some abysmally black place . . .
and yet all he was doing was sitting there in the sunshine.
‘Ted?’
A cigarette was burning in the ashtray, except it was now nothing but stub and ash.
Looking at it, Bobby realized Ted must have been out for almost the entire article on Mantle.
And that thing his eyes were doing, the pupils swelling and contracting, swelling and contracting . . .
He’s having an epilepsy attack or something. God, don’t they sometimes swallow their tongues when that happens?
Ted’s tongue looked to be where it belonged, but his eyes . . . his eyes —
‘Ted! Ted, wake up!’
Bobby was around to Ted’s side of the table before he was even aware he was moving. He
grabbed Ted by the shoulders and shook him. It was like shaking a piece of wood carved to look like a man. Under his cotton pullover shirt Ted’s shoulders were hard and scrawny and unyielding.
‘Wake up! Wake up!’
‘They draw west now.’ Ted continued to look out the window with his strange moving eyes. ‘That’s good. But they may be back. They . . . ‘
Bobby stood with his hands on Ted’s shoulders, frightened and awestruck. Ted’s pupils expanded and contracted like a heartbeat you could see. ‘Ted, what’s wrong?’
‘I must be very still. I must be a hare in the bush. They may pass by. There will be water if God wills it, and they may pass by. All things serve . . . ‘
‘Serve what?’ Almost whispering now. ‘Serve what, Ted?’
‘All things serve the Beam,’ Ted said, and suddenly his hands closed over Bobby’s. They were very cold, those hands, and for a moment Bobby felt nightmarish, fainting terror. It was like being gripped by a corpse that could only move its hands and the pupils of its dead eyes.
Then Ted was looking at him, and although his eyes were frightened, they were almost normal again. Not dead at all.
‘Bobby?’
Bobby pulled his hands free and put them around Ted’s neck. He hugged him, and as he did Bobby heard a bell tolling in his head — this was very brief but very clear. He could even hear the pitch of the bell shift, the way the pitch of a train-whistle did if the train was moving fast. It was as if something inside his head were passing at high speed. He heard a rattle of hooves on some hard surface. Wood? No, metal. He smelled dust, dry and thundery in his nose. At the same moment the backs of his eyes began to itch.