The Talisman

books are shut in double darkness – the darkness of the carton and the darkness of the cellar. He never looks at them again, just as he never goes in his father’s closet with the folding door again, and although he sometimes dreams that there is something under his bed or in his closet, something with flat yellow eyes, he never thinks about that green, sucker-covered hand again until the strange time comes to Thayer School and he bursts into unaccustomed tears in his friend Jack Sawyer’s arms.
    He has Had Enough, Forever.
    4
    Jack had hoped that with the telling of his story and the passing of his tears, Richard would return – more or less – to his normal, sharply rational self. Jack didn’t really care if Richard bought the whole nine yards or not; if Richard could just reconcile himself to accepting the leading edge of this craziness, he could turn his formidable mind to helping Jack find a way out . . . a way off the Thayer campus, anyway, and out of Richard’s life before Richard went totally bananas.
    But it didn’t work that way. When Jack tried to talk to him – to tell Richard about the time his own father, Phil, had gone into the garage and hadn’t come out – Richard refused to listen. The old secret of what had happened that day in the closet was out (sort of; Richard still clung stubbornly to the idea that it had been a hallucination), but Richard had still Had Enough, Forever.
    The next morning, Jack went downstairs. He got all of his own things and those things he thought Richard might want – toothbrush, textbooks, notebooks, a fresh change of clothes. They would spend that day in Albert the Blob’s room, he decided. They could keep an eye on the quad and the gate from up there. When night fell again, maybe they could get away.
    5
    Jack hunted through Albert’s desk and found a bottle of baby aspirin. He looked at this for a moment, thinking that these little orange pills said almost as much about the departed Albert’s Loving Mom as the carton of licorice whips on the closet shelf. Jack shook out half a dozen pills. He gave them to Richard and Richard took them absently. ‘Come on over here and lie down,’ Jack said.
    ‘No,’ Richard answered – his tone was cross and restless and terribly unhappy. He returned to the window. ‘I ought to keep a watch, Jack. If this sort of thing is going to happen, someone ought to keep a watch. So a full report can be made to . . . to . . . to the trustees. Later.’
    Jack touched Richard’s brow lightly. And although it was cool – almost chilly – he said: ‘Your fever’s worse, Richard. Better lie down until that aspirin goes to work.’
    ‘Worse?’ Richard looked at him with pathetic gratitude. ‘Is it?’
    ‘It is,’ Jack said gravely. ‘Come on and lie down.’
    Richard was asleep five minutes after he lay down. Jack sat in Albert the Blob’s easy chair, its seat nearly as sprung as the middle of Albert’s mattress. Richard’s pale face glowed waxily in the growing daylight.
    6
    Somehow the day passed, and around four o’clock, Jack fell asleep. He awoke to darkness, not knowing how long he had been out. He only knew there had been no dreams, and for that he was grateful. Richard was stirring uneasily and Jack guessed he would be up soon. He stood and stretched, wincing at the stiffness in his back. He went to the window, looked out, and stood motionless, eyes wide. His first thought was I don’t want Richard to see this. Not if I can help it.
    O God, we’ve got to get out of here, and just as soon as we can , Jack thought, frightened. Even if, for whatever reasons, they’re afraid to come straight at us .
    But was he really going to take Richard out of here? They didn’t think he would do it, he knew that – they were counting on his refusing to expose his friend to any more of this craziness.
    Flip, Jack-O. You’ve got to flip over, and you know it. And you’ve got to take Richard with you because this place is going to hell.
    I can’t. Flipping into the Territories would blow Richard’s wheels completely.
    Doesn’t matter. You have to do it. It’s the best thing, anyway – maybe the only thing – because they won’t be expecting it.
    ‘Jack?’ Richard was sitting up. His face had a strange, naked look without his glasses. ‘Jack, is it over? Was it a dream?’
    Jack sat down on the bed and put an arm around Richard’s shoulders. ‘No,’ he said, his voice low and soothing. ‘It’s not over yet,