She shuddered and tried to look away, but the darkness held her until the truck turned a corner and her husband and her old life disappeared. She was breathing heavily and she reached out to hold Billy’s hand, to reassure him. Daddy was fine, she said. He just had a fall.

She pictured Hopewell coming after them and started to shake. He would be relentless, she thought. Ferociously single-minded.

The only thing left between them, the eye.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2: FALLING SKY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Frank was in the one place where he felt truly alone: the woodshed. He whistled through his teeth as he brought the axe crashing down on another log, splitting it in two. His skin would smell of freshly chopped wood for days.

He raised his goggles and wiped a rill of sweat from around his eyes. His back was beginning to ache. He’d work his way through another cord or two and then he’d have to call it a night. He glanced down at the axe and saw a single bead of tree sap. He watched it for a moment, feeling uncomfortable. The sap bled down the edge of the blade and gathered on the chopping block like glue. He bent down and used his glove to wipe it away.

There was a gentle knock at the shed door.

“Daddy?” a small voice said.

Frank unlatched the door and saw Jacob standing there in his Star Wars pajamas and red Wellington boots. He saw Cindy in the distance, standing on the patio, waving to him. In the gloom she was no more than a dark silhouette. Her features had been completely rubbed away. It occurred to Frank that it could have been anyone waving to him from the patio. He waved back and the figure disappeared inside the house.

“Hello, little man,” Frank said. “Come to chop a little firewood?”

Jake shook his head solemnly. “Mommy said you have to stop now. It’s getting dark.” He looked behind him to make sure this was still the case. “She says if it gets too dark, you’ll chop off a toe.”

Frank stared at his son; Jake looked so appalled by this prospect, Frank could barely contain his amusement.

“Good point, kiddo,” he said. “But what if I do this?” He took a box of matches from his pocket and lit a Coleman lantern that was suspended from the roof. The woodshed was illuminated by a warm light.

“See,” Frank said, easing the boy inside. “Problem solved. No toes chopped off tonight, Jake, I promise.”

The boy looked unconvinced. He stared at his father and twisted his hands; he seemed confused, wary of the dusty goggles and the heavy gloves and the acidic sweat that had altered his father’s reassuring smell. Frank looked at him and frowned. He was surprised to discover that his son was afraid.