Nightrise

Jamie nodded. 'You don't have to worry about me. You can leave me here if you want to."
    "No. I'll come in too."
    She was determined. Jamie shrugged and opened the door. He had known it wouldn't be locked. It never was. There was nothing worth stealing in the house and none of the furniture belonged to them anyway.

    Don had rented the place through an agency. The owners were in another state, and whoever they were, they certainly hadn't been houseproud. The carpets were thin, the wallpaper was peeling, and the lightbulbs hung without any shades. The two boys had mattresses on the floor in one of the rooms upstairs. Don and Marcie had a sagging bed next door. In the kitchen, there was a table and four chairs.
    That was about it. The house was little more than a shell. If it had been abandoned altogether, nobody would have noticed any difference.
    "…With less than five months until election day and still no lead opening up between the two candidates, the pressure is most definitely on. Who will be the next president of the United States? It seems that only time will tell. This is Ed Radway, reporting from Phoenix, Arizona…"
    There was no audience in the room for the newscaster, who chatted on regardless, searching for eye contact with two empty seats.
    "This is where you live?" Alicia couldn't keep the dismay out of her voice.
    "We just rent it," Jamie explained. He was feeling ashamed although he had no reason to. 'You don't have to stay," he added.
    "Excuse me! Are you still trying to get rid of me?"
    "No."
    But he was. He didn't like anyone seeing him here. He didn't like admitting that this was where he lived.
    Alicia was looking at him and Jamie realized that he had barely spoken to her since they had left Reno
    — and when he had, it was only to be rude. And yet what she had said back at the hotel was true. She had rescued him. She had risked her life, driving through gunfire. And he hadn't even thanked her. "I'm sorry," he said.
    "Forget it." Alicia looked around her. 'You're right. It doesn't, look like there's anyone at home. What does this woman — Marcie — do for a living?"
    "She doesn't really do anything."
    "So how did you…?"
    But Alicia never finished the question. They both saw it at the same time. The image on the television had changed. A thin boy with long, dark hair was facing them. With a strange jolt, a sense of unreality, Jamie realized he was looking at his own image.
    "…wanted in connection with the murder of his legal guardian, Don White," the reporter was saying.

    The picture divided into two. Jamie and Scott, side by side. They were obviously twins, but on the television screen they didn't look so identical.
    "Scott and Jamie Tyler are identical twins. Although they are only fourteen years old, they are said to be armed and dangerous. The public is urged not to approach them."
    "This is crazy…" Jamie whispered.
    "Shh!" Alicia was staring at the screen.
    The picture changed to the Reno Playhouse. There must have been four or five reporters standing outside, each one with his or her own personal microphone and cameraman, clamoring for attention.
    Their voices could be heard in the background as the local reporter — a blond, excited-looking woman
    — told the story.
    "Scott and Jamie Tyler were performing here, at this theatre in downtown Reno," she was saying. "They were part of a so-called mind-reading act that used simple trickery to fool their audience. According to witnesses, both boys were heavily involved in substance abuse, and last night it seems they lost control, stealing a gun from their guardian, Don White, and turning it against him…"
    "It's all lies!" Jamie exclaimed. He turned to Alicia, suddenly afraid that she wouldn't believe him.
    "What she's saying. None of it's true!"
    "Jamie —"
    "He didn't even have a gun —"
    "Listen to me, Jamie —"
    But at that moment, there was a blast of sirens outside the house that could mean only one thing: The police had arrived.
    As far as Jamie was concerned, it was all just another bad dream, worse even than the one he'd had the night before. It seemed to him that one impossibility after another was piling up on him, and he almost expected the gray figure from his dream to jump out at him from behind the sofa just for good measure.
    He heard the screech of tires, the sound of cars pulling up in the street. At the same time, the squawk of radio transmitters filled the air. Doors opened and slammed shut. Somebody