The Servants of Twilight

Christine seemed surprised that they were still alive. She didn't have a robe, so she wrapped a blanket around herself and came into the kitchen looking like an Indian squaw. A beautiful Indian squaw." You didn't wake me for guard duty," she said.

"This isn't the marines," Charlie said, smiling, determined to avoid the panic that had infected them yesterday.

When they were too keyed up, they didn't act; they only reacted. And that was the kind of behavior that would eventually get them killed.

He had to think; he had to plan. He couldn't do either if he spent all his time looking nervously over his shoulder. They were safe here in Santa Barbara, as long as they were just a little cautious.

"But we were all asleep at the same time," Christine said.

"We needed our rest."

"But I was sleeping so deeply. they could've broken in here, and the first thing I would've known about it was when the shooting started."

Charlie looked around, frowning." Where's the camera? Are we filming a Sominex commercial?"

She sighed, smiled." You think we're safe?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

" We made it through the night, didn't we?"

Joey came into the kitchen, barefoot, in his underpants, his hair tousled, his face still heavy with sleep. He said, "I dreamed about the witch."

Charlie said, "Dreams can't hurt you."

The boy was solemn this morning. There was no sparkle in his bright blue eyes." I dreamed she used her magic to turn you into a bug, and then she just stepped on you."

"Dreams don't mean anything," Charlie said." I once dreamed I was President of the United States. But you don't see any Secret Service men hanging around me, do you?"

"She killed. in the dream she killed my mom, too," Joey said.

Christine hugged him." Charlie's right, honey. Dreams don't mean anything."

"Nothing I've ever dreamed about has ever happened," Charlie said.

The boy went to the window. He stared out at the parking lot.

He said, "She's out there somewheres."

Christine looked at Charlie. He knew what she was thinking.

The boy had thus far been amazingly resilient, bouncing back from every shock, recovering from every horror, always able to smile one more time.

But maybe he had exhausted his resources; maybe he wasn't going to bounce back very well any more.

Chewbacca padded into the kitchenette, stopped at the boy's side, and growled softly.

"See?" Joey said." Chewbacca knows. Chewbacca knows she's out there somewheres."

The boy's usual verve was gone. It was disturbing to see him so gray-faced and bereft of spirit.

Charlie and Christine tried to kid him into a better mood, but he was having none of it.

Later, at nine-thirty, they ate breakfast in a nearby coffee shop.

Charlie and Christine were starved, but they repeatedly had to urge Joey to eat. They were in a booth by one of the big windows, and Joey kept looking out at the sky, where a few strips of blue seemed like gaily colored ropes holding the drab clouds together. He looked as glum as a six-year-old could look.

Charlie wondered why the boy's eyes were drawn repeatedly to the sky.

Was he expecting the witch to come sailing in on her broom?

Yes, in fact, that was probably just what he was worried about.

When you were six years old, it wasn't always possible to distinguish between real and imaginary dangers. At that age you believed in the monster-that-lives-in-the-closet, and you are convinced that something even worse was crouching under your bed. To Joey, it probably made as much sense to search for broomsticks in the sky as to look for white Ford vans on the highway.

Chewbacca had been left in the car outside the coffee shop.

When they were finished with breakfast, they brought him an order of ham and eggs, which he devoured eagerly.

"Last night it was hamburgers, this morning ham and eggs,"

Christine said." We've got to find a grocery store and buy some real dog food before this mutt gets the idea that he's always going to eat this well."

They went shopping again for clothes and personal effects in a mall just off East State Street. Joey tried on some clothes, but listlessly, without the enthusiasm he had shown yesterday. He said little, smiled not at all.

Christine was obviously worried about him. So was Charlie.

They were finished shopping before lunch. The last thing they bought was a small electronic device at Radio Shack. It was the size of a pack of cigarettes, a product of the paranoid T0s and '80s that would not have had any buyers in a more trusting era: a tap detector that could tell you if your telephone line was being monitored by a recorder or a tracing mechanism of any kind.