Strangewood Read Online Free PDF Page B

come
back, to the place Thomas called home, only twice — for her mother's
funeral, and for Nathan's christening. They spoke perhaps half a dozen times a
year.
    Thomas loved his sister. He just didn't know her very well. Nor
had he made much of an effort to correct that situation. Writing was a solitary
profession, save for those friends he made in the business — with whom he
spoke almost exclusively on the phone or by E-mail — and his agent. Perhaps
that was part of the reason he had such a difficult time letting go of Emily
entirely. She was the only person left in his life who really, truly knew him.
    In his darker moments, Thomas wondered what it said about
him that they could no longer live together.
    Still, as long as he had his work, and he had Nathan, Thomas
was content. There were a great many things he wished he could change about his
life, but he had always assumed everyone had such issues. Yet, despite the
lonely times, life was a pleasure. All he had to do, in those dark moments, was
look into the eyes of his son.
     
     
    North Tarrytown had recently won the battle to rename itself
Sleepy Hollow, since local legend claimed that Washington Irving invented his
tales of the Headless Horseman, Rip Van Winkle, and other fabulous characters
there. Thomas had even attended Sleepy Hollow High, which had proudly worn its
own name long before the town followed suit.
    Thomas drove along Broadway through Sleepy Hollow and then
Tarrytown proper, glancing from time to time at the Tappan Zee Bridge,
stretching out across the Hudson River in the wan afternoon sunlight. Up the
hill to his left was Marymount College, where his mother had gone to school.
    Squinting against the late-day glare, Thomas snatched his
sunglasses from the dashboard and slipped them on. He glanced back over at his
son and saw that Nathan was still silently chatting away in some muttered
jabberwocky lingo to nobody in particular.
    At least, that was how it appeared. Thomas Randall knew
better. He knew just who his son was speaking to.
    Crabapple was Nathan's imaginary friend. From what Thomas
and Emily had been able to gather, the invisible amigo was an often cranky
little redheaded boy, two or three years older than Nathan. Crabapple had first
appeared not long after Thomas and Emily decided to separate. Imaginary friends
were not uncommon for children of his age, and even less so in cases where
domestic stress was involved. Or so the therapist, Dr. Morrissey, had said.
    "Nathan," he said again.
    The boy did not respond.
    "Nathan!" he said, a bit sharply, and put a hand
on his son's shoulder. Finally, Nathan turned to face him.
    "We almost there, Daddy?" Nathan asked, as if the
drive were taking forever.
    "You know where we are. We'll be there in five
minutes," Thomas replied, then smiled. "Does Crabapple want pepperoni
pizza too?"
    Nathan began to grin, the way he always did before accusing
his father of being "a silly man." But the grin quickly faded, and
Nathan began to frown.
    "Crabapple isn't hungry," Nathan asserted. "But
I am!"
    "Good, more for the two of us," Thomas said. "Why
doesn't Crabapple want to eat?"
    "He's just being a silly, Daddy," Nathan said. "He's
scared."
    "Scared?" Thomas asked, and it was his turn to
frown. He wondered if this was the source of Nathan's distraction. He knew
Sister Margaret would only have broached the subject if Nathan had indeed been
acting strangely. And she already knew about Crabapple, so it wasn't only that.
    "What does Crabapple have to be afraid of?" Thomas
asked. "Nobody can see or hear him except for you. And you'd never hurt
him."
    Five year old logic. Thomas always did his best to reason
with Nathan, but it was just too far back to remember. Five years old. What's
in your mind at that age? He couldn't recall.
    "I'm not the only one who can see him, Daddy,"
Nathan said gravely. "Crabapple's afraid they're going to hurt him, or
take him away forever."
    Suddenly, Thomas found himself profoundly