8456893456983

He stopped on his way to her, halfway across the kitchen, his mouth falling open. “You . . . did you
just—”
“Yes,” she said. “I just read your mind. Although anyone could have guessed what you were
thinking that time, Daddy—it was all over your face. And it’s called shining, not mind-reading. I can
still do most of the things that used to scare you when I was little. Not all, but most.”
He spoke very slowly. “I know you still sometimes have premonitions. Your mom and I both
know.”
“It’s a lot more than that. I have a friend. His name is Dan. He and Dr. John have been in Iowa—”
“John Dalton?”
“Yes—”
“Who’s this Dan? Is he a kid Dr. John treats?”
“No, he’s a grown-up.” She took his hand and led him to the kitchen table. There they sat down,
Abra still holding Hoppy. “But when he was a kid, he was like me.”
“Abs, I’m not understanding any of this.”
“There are bad people, Daddy.” She knew she couldn’t tell him they were more than people, worse
than people, until Dan and John were here to help her explain. “They might want to hurt me.”
“Why would anyone want to hurt you? You’re not making sense. As for all those things you used to
do, if you could still do them, we’d kn—”
The drawer below the hanging pots flew open, then shut, then opened again. She could no longer
lift the spoons, but the drawer was enough to get his attention.
“Once I understood how much it worried you guys—how much it scared you—I hid it. But I can’t
hide it anymore. Dan says I have to tell.”
She pressed her face against Hoppy’s threadbare fur and began to cry.