Alex Read Online Free PDF

went off the road, Dad!"   When he was really tired, these pretend disasters truly alarmed him.   He looked like that now.
    "I know.   I know, honey, but I can't help."  
    Alex didn't repeat his complaint.   He didn't throw a tantrum.   His face just fell, disbelieving and hurt, the way it would when he'd ask his father to play with him and Ian said he was too busy.   It was a look of absolute dejection, and it wrung Ian's heart.
    "Alex... god, I would help if I could.   But Donnie..."   He pointed at the red car, impossibly visible in the room's blackness, lying on its side on the carpet.   Off the road.   "Donnie isn't real, Alex.   He's not real."  
    Alex looked up, and he was wearing pajamas - the plaid, flannel two-piece Alina's mom had bought him just before he'd gotten strep throat last year.   His cheeks were flushed; fever glittered in his eyes.   Ian knew what he was going to say before his mouth opened.   He remembered it distinctly.  
    "I need a hug," Alex moaned.  
    Ian couldn't resist that request.   He would have died to honor it.   He lurched forward, arms open, but his son was gone.
    20
     
    He went through the charade of bedtime: took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, climbed into bed and lay there for an hour.  
    Finally he threw off the blankets and stalked, naked, into the hall.   Peered into Alex's dark room and found it empty, except for the boxes standing silent vigil.  
    In the living room, he turned on the TV, then slunk into the kitchen to make some coffee.   He appeared numb.   But his thoughts were churning.  
    Do I believe in ghosts?   He had, once, when he was young.   When he had still believed in God and UFOs and Santa Claus.   Before he had gained a healthy respect for rational thought.  
    Rationality would indicate he was going mad.   Unless...
    Can other people see him?   Does Alina ever see him?   If he had truly come back to haunt his dad, wouldn't he haunt her, too?
    No.   She wasn't the one who had told him to call.   She had even been upset with Ian for having the talk about strangers.   She had thought it was too early; she didn't want to scare him.
    An old, reflexive fury kicked in his chest at the thought.   He closed his eyes and waited for it to pass.
    That left other people.   And no, no one else had ever seen him - but Ian had also only seen him when he was alone.   At home, and at the hotel.  
    His knowledge of schizophrenia was just this side of complete ignorance, limited to horror movies and A Beautiful Mind.   But he remembered a scene where Russell Crowe had thought he was getting better, and then he found a shack where all his imaginary friends had set up shop.   He'd been alone.  
    Fuck.   If he was going crazy, he had to tell someone.   But didn't they say that if you know you're going crazy, you aren't?  
    Was that true?
    He went to the basement door and put his hand on the knob, ready to go downstairs and do some amateur online research.   Then he wheeled back toward the living room.  
    Fuck it .  
    He didn't want to know.  
    21
     
    Jack McCoy delivered his closing arguments.   He swayed the jury.   The bad guy went to jail.  
    As the credits streaked past in a tiny corner, the next episode began.   Ian flipped the channel; he didn't want to watch another murder.
    But the next station was worse.   Instead of a fictional tragedy, he was confronted with a real one.  
    "- missing since April first,"the voiceover was saying.   A grainy image of Silvia Kalen's face filled his screen.   "We are offering a one hundred thousand dollar reward for any information leading to her whereabouts or status."
    She was pretty, smiling, all dimples and dancing brown eyes and dark curls.  
    "Bitch," Ian murmured.  
    "Please call 888-55-KALEN if you have any information.   That's 888-55-KALEN."
    Missing since April 1st.   And since her father was Jarrid Kalen, a man who could afford to do things like buy airtime on cable