8456893456983

Written neatly on his blackboard was this:
cadabra@nhmlx.com
He puzzled over her screen name for a few seconds, then got it and laughed. “Good one, kid, good
one.”
He powered up his laptop. A moment later, he was looking at a blank email form. He typed in her
address and then sat watching the blinking cursor. How old was she? As far as he could calculate by
their few previous communications, somewhere between a wise twelve and a slightly naïve sixteen.
Probably closer to the former. And here he was, a man old enough to have salt speckles in his stubble
if he skipped shaving. Here he was, getting ready to start compu-chatting with her. To Catch a
Predator, anyone?
Maybe it’s nothing. It could be; she’s just a kid, after all.
Yes, but one who was damn scared. Plus, he was curious about her. Had been for some time. The
same way, he supposed, that Hallorann had been curious about him.
I could use a little bit of grace right now. And a whole lot of luck.
In the SUBJECT box at the top of the email form, Dan wrote Hello Abra. He dropped the cursor,
took a deep breath, and typed four words: Tell me what’s wrong.
6
On the following Saturday afternoon, Dan was sitting in bright sunshine on one of the benches outside
the ivy-covered stone building that housed the Anniston Public Library. He had a copy of the Union
Leader open in front of him, and there were words on the page, but he had no idea what they said. He
was too nervous.
Promptly at two o’clock, a girl in jeans rode up on her bike and lodged it in the rack at the foot of
the lawn. She gave him a wave and a big smile.
So. Abra. As in Cadabra.
She was tall for her age, most of that height in her legs. Masses of curly blond hair were held back
in a thick ponytail that looked ready to rebel and spray everywhere. The day was a bit chilly, and she
was wearing a light jacket with ANNISTON CYCLONES screen-printed on the back. She grabbed a
couple of books that were bungee-corded to the rear bumper of her bike, then ran up to him, still with
that open smile. Pretty but not beautiful. Except for her wide-set blue eyes. They were beautiful.
“Uncle Dan! Gee, it’s good to see you!” And she gave him a hearty smack on the cheek. That hadn’t
been in the script. Her confidence in his basic okayness was terrifying.
“Good to see you, too, Abra. Sit down.”
He had told her they would have to be careful, and Abra—a child of her culture—understood at
once. They had agreed that the best thing would be to meet in the open, and there were few places in
Anniston more open than the front lawn of the library, which was situated near the middle of the
small downtown district.
She was looking at him with frank interest, perhaps even hunger. He could feel something like tiny
fingers patting lightly at the inside of his head.
(where’s Tony?)
Dan touched a finger to his temple.
Abra smiled, and that completed her beauty, turned her into a girl who would break hearts in
another four or five years.
(HI TONY!)