The Road to Amber Read Online Free PDF Page B

in his sleep on a bench. I’m getting a black ten-speed that’ll be sent over this afternoon.”
    “Don’t start on that business again, David. You know it bothers Uncle Matt.”
    “Just wanted you to know the bike was coming.”
    “Nobody’s been here this morning. Nobody’s been out and back in. You miss your folks. It’s natural you have these dreams around your birthday.”
    “And I get presents.”
    “Hard for us to know, since you weren’t with us last year.”
    “Well, it’s true. Morrie always gives me something. Dad could have told you.”
    “Maybe,” she said. “But it’s strange that Morris has never gotten in touch with us.”
    “He travels a lot.”
    She turned away, began making French toast.
    “Just don’t mention him around Matt.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I asked you not to, okay?”
    I nodded when she glanced my way.
    The doorbell rang that afternoon, and when I opened the door it was there: a bike with a paint job so dark and shiny that it looked like a series of black mirrors. I couldn’t find a manufacturer’s name on it, just a silver-edged plate on the handlebar post in the shape of a small black heart. The note tied to the bar said, “Happy Birthday, David. His name is Dorel. Treat him well and he will serve you well.—M.”
    It was a long time before I knew exactly what that meant. But the first thing I did, of course—after removing the tag and handing it to Uncle Matt—was to take it down the steps, mount, and ride off.
    “Dorel,” I said softly. “He told me you’re called Dorel.” Was it my imagination, or did a brief vibration pass through that midnight frame just then?
    Everything Morrie gave me had a special character to it—like the Magic Kit I had gotten last year, with the Indian Rope Trick I never used (I’m not a good climber) and the Five-Minute Time Warp which I never found any use for. I keep it in my pocket.
    “My name’s David,” I continued. “You’re beautiful and you’re fast and you’re easy to steer. I like you a lot.”
    It was as if I were going downhill all the way to the corner and back.
    When I parked Dorel on the porch again, Uncle Matt was waiting right inside the door. “I just heard on the news,” he said, “that the night watchman at the mall was found dead this morning, of a heart attack.”
    “I know,” I said. “I told Aunt Rose about it earlier.”
    “How did you know about it?”
    “I was there, before the mall opened, with Morrie. He got us in, and I picked out the kind of bike I wanted.”
    “How did he get you in?”
    “Uh, I don’t really remember the details.”
    Uncle Matt scratched his chin through his beard and narrowed his gray eyes behind his thick glasses. They looked a lot like my eyes, and—I suddenly remembered—my dad’s.
    “What’s he look like, anyway—your godfather?” he asked.
    “I shrugged. It was hard to remember just what he looked like. “Kind of thin. He has dark hair, I think. And a real nice voice. Makes you want to do whatever he says.”
    “That’s all?”
    “I guess so.”
    “Damn! That’s no description, David. That could be almost anybody.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    He reached out and squeezed my shoulder as I began to draw back.
    “I didn’t mean to yell at you,” he said. “It’s just that the whole business is kind of—unusual. Not to speak ill of my own brother, but it’s no secret that your father was a heavy drinker. Especially there at the end. It’s why your mother left him. Probably what killed him, too.”
    I nodded. I’d heard—or overheard—all this before.
    “He told a bizarre story of the way he met your godfather. Sounded like something a paranoid Trotskyite drunk might come up with, and I didn’t believe a word of it. Still don’t.”
    I stared at him. I knew what a paranoid was, also. And two out of three wasn’t bad.
    “I don’t remember the story,” I said, “if I ever knew.”
    Uncle Matt sighed, and told me the tale.
    My father