The Dream Thief by Kerry Schafer Page A

and stopped outside one of the rooms.
    One look at his face, set and white, and I entered on my own, leaving him in the hallway. Mr. Alderson sat in a recliner, a brightly colored afghan covering his lap. His head was tilted back, his mouth open, and he was snoring. There was a smear of tomato sauce on his chin and his white hair stuck up in wisps on top of his mostly bald head. Air freshener halfway masked a smell I didn't want to think about.
    He'd been an outside man—suntanned and boisterous, always telling the world what to be and think. Now he looked small and frail. As usual, my perceptions are all wrong. I was standing there feeling sorry for him when his eyelids came up and his eyes—bluer than Will's—stared into mine.
    "Well, well, well. Jesse Davison. She said you'd come."
    My mouth drifted open.
    "Shut your mouth, girl, you'll let the bugs fly in." Feeble, wheezing laughter emanated from him.
    I couldn't help edging away toward the door. In that moment, possession didn't sound like an outlandish idea at all, and I seriously wondered if some demon was animating his almost-corpse for nefarious purposes.
    "Dad—"
    Will must have been listening on the other side of the door. He came in and reached for the old man's hand, but his father leaned back and spat at him. "Stay away from me. Don't know who you are but you've got no business with me."
    Heart heavy, I watched Will wipe the saliva from his cheek with the back of his hand, and realized it wasn't the first time. Old man Alderson's eyes glittered with a mixture of malice and confusion. "Where am I? Who is this man? Get me out of here."
    He was talking to me, and I answered him. "Lakeside Nursing Home. This is your son, Will, and you live here now."
    "Don't have a son. She said you would get me out."
    "She who?" But I knew. I knew without asking and was wishing, not for the first time, that I'd never, ever come back to this town.
    "Clarice. She said you'd come and that you'd get me out."
    "Sweet of her." I pulled up a chair and sat across from him, playing along. "What else did she tell you?"
    He grinned, cracked lips gaping over toothless gums, and when he spoke it sounded like a recitation. "For Jesse's ears only. Nobody else in the room."
    "Perfect," I said, not turning around to look at Will. "We're alone. Tell me."
    Leaning forward, he grasped one of my hands with his bony, crabbed fingers, and whispered loudly, "There are more. Look in the barn."
    "More what? Tell me what you know! What was she doing?"
    "For Jesse's ears only. Nobody else in the room."
    "Mr. Alderson, please—"
    "There are more. Look in the barn."
    He looked up and saw Will. "Who are you? Get out!" And then, once more, "Can you tell me where I am? What am I doing here?"
    His hand was still clamped around mine but I broke away and ran. Yes, I literally ran out of that room and down the hallway, with Will clattering behind me. Outside I didn't stop until I'd crossed the parking lot and had my hand on the truck, breathing the outside air in great gasps and trying not to puke. This time I didn't succeed.
    Will gets full points for staying with me until I'd thoroughly emptied my stomach of the last meal and what seemed like ten years of meals before it. When I was done, he said simply, "What?"
    I closed my eyes. My family had inflicted enough damage. So even though this time it was not my fault in any way, shape or form, I wasn't going to look at his face while I told him. About the samples in the test tubes, and the way they smelled of memories—summer, and love making, and the sawmill.
    When I was done he never said a word, just opened the truck door for me and waited while I got in.
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    I still didn't have keys to the padlocks on the barn. But Will and I had been kids here, running wild most of the time. One look at each other, and we were off to the lightning tree. The lowest branch was too high for me, but the spikes we'd pounded into the trunk so we could