sense of dread
directly related to the St. Alwyn's tunnel. If this memory is correct,
I knew that April was going to have crossed Livermore Street in no more
than a minute, that she was going to ignore the safety of the detour
and walk into that tunnel, and that something bad waited for her in
there.
I was listening to "The Shadow," the only radio program that
actually scared me. Who knows what
evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows. After this
came a sinister, even a frightening, laugh. Not long before, Dad had
shown me a Ledger article
claiming that the real Shadow, the one the
radio series was on, was an old man who lived in Millhaven. His name
was Lamont von Heilitz, and a long time ago he called himself "an
amateur of crime."
I turned off the radio and then, sneakily, switched it back on again
in case Mom woke up and wondered what I was doing. I walked out of the
front door and jogged down the path to the sidewalk, where I began to
run toward Livermore Street. April was not waiting on the corner for
the light to change, which meant that she had already crossed Livermore
and would be in the tunnel. All I wanted was to get past the Idle Hour
unnoticed and to see April's slight blond figure emerging into the
sunlight on the far side of the tunnel. Then I could turn around and go
home.
I don't believe in premonitions, not personally. I believe that
other people have them, not me.
A stalled truck kept me from seeing across Livermore Avenue. The
truck was long and shiny, with some big name painted on its side, ALLERTON maybe, or ALLINGHAM . Elms still
lined Millhaven's streets, and
their leaves were strewn thickly in the gutter, where clear water from
a broken hydrant gurgled over and through them and carried a few, like
toast-colored rafts, to the drain down the street. A folded newspaper
lay half in, half out of the water; I remember a photograph of one
boxer hitting another in a spray of sweat and saliva.
At last the truck began to move forward, ALLERTON or ALLINGHAM with
it.
The truck moved past the front of the arched little bridge to the
St. Alwyn annex, and I leaned forward to see through the traffic. Cars
slid by and interrupted my view. April's pale blue dress was moving
safely through the tunnel. She was about half of the way down its
length, and had perhaps four feet to go before coming out into the
disappearing daylight. The flow of cars cut her off from me again, then
allowed me another flash of blue.
An adult-sized shadow moved away from the darkness of the wall and
moved toward April. The traffic blocked my view again.
It was just someone coming home through the tunnel— someone on his
way to the Idle Hour. But the big shadow had been moving toward April, not past her. I
imagined that I had seen something in the big shadow's hand.
Through the sound of horns and engines, I thought I heard a voice
rising to a scream, but another blast of horns cut it off. Or something
else cut it off. The horns stopped blaring when the traffic
moved—homeward traffic at six-fifteen on an autumn night, moving
beneath the elms that arched over Livermore and South Sixth Street. I
peered through the cars, nearly hopping with anxiety, and saw April's
oddly limp back. Her hair fell back past her shoulders, and the whole
streak of blond and pale blue that was her back went up . The man's arm moved. Dread
froze me to the sidewalk.
For a moment it seemed that everything on the street, maybe
everything in Millhaven, had stopped, including me. The thought of what
was happening across the street pushed me forward over the leaves
packed into the gutter and down into the roadbed. There was no traffic
anymore, only an opening between cars through which I saw April's dress
floating in midair. I moved into the opening, and only then became
aware that cars were flowing past on both sides of me and that most of
them were blowing their horns. For a moment, nearly my last moment, I
knew that all movement had ceased in the tunnel.
directly related to the St. Alwyn's tunnel. If this memory is correct,
I knew that April was going to have crossed Livermore Street in no more
than a minute, that she was going to ignore the safety of the detour
and walk into that tunnel, and that something bad waited for her in
there.
I was listening to "The Shadow," the only radio program that
actually scared me. Who knows what
evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows. After this
came a sinister, even a frightening, laugh. Not long before, Dad had
shown me a Ledger article
claiming that the real Shadow, the one the
radio series was on, was an old man who lived in Millhaven. His name
was Lamont von Heilitz, and a long time ago he called himself "an
amateur of crime."
I turned off the radio and then, sneakily, switched it back on again
in case Mom woke up and wondered what I was doing. I walked out of the
front door and jogged down the path to the sidewalk, where I began to
run toward Livermore Street. April was not waiting on the corner for
the light to change, which meant that she had already crossed Livermore
and would be in the tunnel. All I wanted was to get past the Idle Hour
unnoticed and to see April's slight blond figure emerging into the
sunlight on the far side of the tunnel. Then I could turn around and go
home.
I don't believe in premonitions, not personally. I believe that
other people have them, not me.
A stalled truck kept me from seeing across Livermore Avenue. The
truck was long and shiny, with some big name painted on its side, ALLERTON maybe, or ALLINGHAM . Elms still
lined Millhaven's streets, and
their leaves were strewn thickly in the gutter, where clear water from
a broken hydrant gurgled over and through them and carried a few, like
toast-colored rafts, to the drain down the street. A folded newspaper
lay half in, half out of the water; I remember a photograph of one
boxer hitting another in a spray of sweat and saliva.
At last the truck began to move forward, ALLERTON or ALLINGHAM with
it.
The truck moved past the front of the arched little bridge to the
St. Alwyn annex, and I leaned forward to see through the traffic. Cars
slid by and interrupted my view. April's pale blue dress was moving
safely through the tunnel. She was about half of the way down its
length, and had perhaps four feet to go before coming out into the
disappearing daylight. The flow of cars cut her off from me again, then
allowed me another flash of blue.
An adult-sized shadow moved away from the darkness of the wall and
moved toward April. The traffic blocked my view again.
It was just someone coming home through the tunnel— someone on his
way to the Idle Hour. But the big shadow had been moving toward April, not past her. I
imagined that I had seen something in the big shadow's hand.
Through the sound of horns and engines, I thought I heard a voice
rising to a scream, but another blast of horns cut it off. Or something
else cut it off. The horns stopped blaring when the traffic
moved—homeward traffic at six-fifteen on an autumn night, moving
beneath the elms that arched over Livermore and South Sixth Street. I
peered through the cars, nearly hopping with anxiety, and saw April's
oddly limp back. Her hair fell back past her shoulders, and the whole
streak of blond and pale blue that was her back went up . The man's arm moved. Dread
froze me to the sidewalk.
For a moment it seemed that everything on the street, maybe
everything in Millhaven, had stopped, including me. The thought of what
was happening across the street pushed me forward over the leaves
packed into the gutter and down into the roadbed. There was no traffic
anymore, only an opening between cars through which I saw April's dress
floating in midair. I moved into the opening, and only then became
aware that cars were flowing past on both sides of me and that most of
them were blowing their horns. For a moment, nearly my last moment, I
knew that all movement had ceased in the tunnel.
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