Lair of Dreams

“Sometimes men got to have their secrets. Am I right?”



“Right.”



“So what we gonna do is, we gonna have a little secret ’tween us men right now, all right? Now, you can’t be telling your auntie ’bout none of this. This is men talk!”



“All right,” Isaiah said, sounding pleased again.



“Shake on it,” Bill said and took the boy’s small, soft hand in his own rough, weathered one. “Old Bill thinks you oughta be working on your special gift. Making it stronger. And I’m gonna help you come into your gifts right. What you say to that?”



Isaiah was all balled up. After he’d recovered from his fit, Isaiah had gone to church with Octavia to see Pastor Brown, who had prayed over him, and they’d made Isaiah promise that he’d never use his powers again. But now here was another grown-up, Blind Bill, asking him to open it all back up. Isaiah didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore.



“Auntie told me not to,” was all he said, as if that could settle the matter.



Bill took a deep breath through his teeth and whistled it out, thinking about just what to say next. “Your auntie is a good woman. A smart woman. I wouldn’t never go against her. I just want to make sure whatever Sister Walker done to you is all gone, you see? Want to make sure there’s nothing that the pastor and prayer didn’t get rid of. Understand?”



“You think something bad could be hiding inside me, left over from Sister Walker?” Isaiah asked, his voice quavery.



“No need to be scared, son. I’ll protect you. I’ll take it on, as if I was your daddy. Once the bad’s gone, you’ll have your gifts back, good as new, fresh as Eden. You reckon that’s all right, then? If I watch over you and promise to keep you safe like your daddy would do if he were here?”



Isaiah swallowed hard against the ballooning in his throat. Sometimes he couldn’t even remember his daddy’s face, and when that happened, it was like he was losing a part of himself, like waking from a good dream and trying desperately to go back into sleep and grab the ribbon’s end of that other world as it slips away for good. He dug his fingernails into the soft pillowing of flesh at the base of his thumb. “I reckon that’d be okay.”



“Good, good. Let’s go on up to the graveyard. Ain’t far from here.”



Isaiah led Bill the few blocks to the cemetery, where they found a mausoleum with an open door and went inside.



“Spooky in here,” Isaiah said, his voice echoing a bit in the space.



“Can’t have nobody watching us,” Bill explained. “Here. Take hold o’ my hands, now,” Bill said, and the boy laid his own palms, soft and unformed, against the rough calluses of Bill’s. “You good, little man?”



Isaiah nodded, then remembered Bill’s blindness. “Yes, sir,” he answered.



“All right, then. No tickling now. ’Cause I’m real ticklish!” Bill reached out and tickled Isaiah under the chin, making him laugh. The boy sounded happy enough. Good. Bill needed him relaxed. He took the boy’s hands again. “Let’s start easy. Gonna make a connection with me, now. You tell me if you see a lucky policy number for your old Uncle Bill, and if I win some money, I’ll buy you a new baseball. Just close your eyes.”



Isaiah took his hands away. “I’m scared.”



“Nothing to be scared of. I’ma take care of you.”



Isaiah put his hands back.



“Nice and easy now. Just a little taste…”



There was nothing but the sound of leaves skittering across the tombstones. And then, suddenly, a pull on Isaiah’s fingers, like the first nibble of a fish on a baited hook. The connection trickled up Bill’s arm, warming into a pleasant, electric buzz under the skin. The boy’s body stiffened, but his voice had the calm of a sleepwalker. “I see a house and long road. A lot of sky.”



“Yeah? You see a number, little man?” Power flowed from Isaiah’s body to Bill’s. He had to be careful not to drain the boy. He just needed a number.



“A tree.” Isaiah jerked. He sounded a little scared. “Tree.”



“You ain’t scared of no tree, is ya?” Bill said, impatient.



Isaiah twitched twice, yanking on Bill’s grip. Dammit. He couldn’t stay too much longer or he might hurt the boy. But Dutch needed Bill’s money, and that meant Bill needed a number.



“What about a number? What numbers you see?”



Isaiah’s whole body trembled. Bill could feel it traveling up his arms.