“Yeah,” I said through my panting breath. “We met once before.”
“That’s right. That’s right. I see you around too,” he said. “Walking to the school sometimes. With that girl, that pretty little black-haired girl . . .”
“Zoe,” I said.
“Zoe Miller, that’s right.” He nodded slowly. “Nice girl, seems like.”
“Yes, sir. She sure is.”
The old man chewed on his grizzled cheek some more, as if he had a very dry joke stuck in there, wanting to be told. “You’re the preacher’s kid, ain’t you? The one who stopped those fellas with all their guns.”
“Well . . . the police stopped them.”
“But you drove that bomb car into the river. That was nice going.”
I shrugged. “Thanks.”
“Bet your dad must’ve been proud of you.”
I laughed. “He said I must be the only kid in the world who could break into a mental hospital, steal a car, run from the police—and have it turn out to be the right thing to do.”
The old man in the pickup laughed too, a hoarse, wheezy laugh. “That’s good, that’s good. I like that. I like a man of God with a sense of humor. If God don’t have a sense of humor, we’re all in big trouble.”
“Yes, sir. I guess that’s right.”
The old man looked out through the pickup’s windshield at the road as if he were considering something far away. I thought he was going to drive off then. But he didn’t. He glanced over at me again and he said, “So tell me something.”
“Sure.”
“The way I heard it, there was some girl—some crazy girl in the mental hospital. Way I heard it, this girl was having visions about it all. She saw the things that would happen before they did.”
“Jennifer,” I told him. “And she’s not crazy. Anyway, I don’t like to call her that. She’s just . . . well, she’s just got a sickness, that’s all. And she doesn’t exactly have visions . . .”
“No?”
“No. She overheard her brother’s plans and that became part of her hallucinations.”
“Ah. Is that right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “There’s always some kind of explanation for things like that. It’s not a magical world or anything.”
“No?”
“That’s what my dad says.”
“Well, your dad sounds like a good fellow.”
“Yes, sir, he is.”
“And how’s she doing now? The girl in the hospital, I mean. This Jennifer.”
“She’s not in the hospital anymore,” I told him. “They gave her some medicine and she’s back home now. The medicine seems to help her a lot. She’s even started coming back to school sometimes.”
“Has she? Well, well. The things they’ve got these days. That’s good to hear. Must be tough for a girl like that to fit in, though. Tough for her to make friends and all.”
“She has friends,” I told the old man. “I’m her friend. Zoe’s her friend too.”
He made a sort of smacking sound with his lips. “Good deal then,” he said. “Good deal.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well,” he said, “you take care of yourself, son.”
“You too.”
“And keep on training. You’re gonna run a good race when the time comes. I’m sure of it.”
“Thanks.”
He put the truck in gear, and it made a loud grinding noise. And once again, so softly I could hardly hear him under that sound, the old man said, “Do right. Fear nothing.”
And the green pickup started to pull away at the same slow pace as always.
I stood there watching the truck pull away—and wondering if I’d heard the old man correctly. Because his words reminded me of something else now. I remembered how, after everything was over, after the police had questioned me and brought me home, after the newspapers and radio and TV had interviewed me, after the mayor had held a celebration and given me an award, I sat down alone with my dad in his study and told him everything that had happened from the beginning to the end. He wanted to hear it all, he said, step-by-step, from the very start of it. And so I told him, beginning with the day I played chicken with that oncoming freight. I told it to him pretty much as I’ve told it here.
And while I was telling him, a funny thing happened. I got to the part about the angel statue—the statuette of the archangel Michael on his shelf. And when I reached that part, my dad kind of blinked at me from behind his round glasses.
And he said, “What statue?”
And I said, “The one right over . . .” And I began to point at where the little statue was. Only it wasn’t there anymore. “It was right there,” I told my dad. “The archangel Michael. With his sword. It had this Latin writing on it: Recte age nil time.”
My dad shook his head. “No, I don’t . . . I don’t have a statue like that. I’ve never even heard that phrase before.”
“It means, ‘Do right; fear nothing,’ ” I told him.
“Yeah, I know what it means. But I’ve never had a statue like that. You must’ve seen it somewhere else.”
I started to say no—no, I knew it was here, it was right here. I was sure of it. And I was sure I hadn’t imagined it, because I didn’t know any Latin, and I couldn’t have made the phrase up myself.
But my dad was just as sure that he’d never had a statue like that.
And somehow, I’ve never been able to find the thing again.
As I watched the green pickup drive away, for some reason I found myself wishing I had asked the old farmer about the statue. For some reason—I’m not sure why—I thought he would have been able to help me understand it. I’ve never been able to make any sense of it myself.
But it was too late now. So I just stood there watching the pickup get smaller and smaller in the distance, trailing a cloud of dust behind it. Finally, it trundled out of sight over the rim of the hill.
And after a while, I started running again.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Alan J. Fridlund, Ph.D., a clinical psychologist and Associate Professor of Psychological and Brain Sciences at the University of California, Santa Barbara; and to George Bifano, D.O., a psychiatrist: both were tremendously patient and helpful with my questions about schizophrenia and mental illness.
I’m also grateful to champion runner Bob Lunn for helping me describe high school track events.
Of all the books and articles I read on mental illness, two books stand out for their harrowing firsthand accounts of what it’s like to suffer from these painful diseases: The Center Cannot Hold: My Journey Through Madness, by Elyn R. Saks; and A Shining Affliction: A Story of Harm and Healing in Psychotherapy, by Annie G. Rogers.
My thanks, too, to my wonderful editor at Thomas Nelson, Amanda Bostic, who is a joy to work with and to know. Likewise, my agent at Trident Media, Alyssa Eisner Henkin, who has been more helpful than I can say.
Finally, and always, my thanks to Ellen Treacy Klavan, who remains, after all these years, my muse, my song, my only ever love.
Reading Group Guide
Warning: Reading Group Guide contains spoilers!
Do not read until you have completed the novel.
1. Sam acknowledges that he didn’t always make the right decisions early on in the novel. What do you think would have happened had he not made those bad decisions? How would events have played out later in the novel? Have you ever had any bad decisions that might have led to something good? Was it worth the error in judgment?
2. What do you think is the true nature of Jennifer’s visions? Why do you think she chose to tell Sam about them? What do you think her brother thought of the visions?
3. Why do you think Sam was so certain that Jennifer’s warnings were true? Why do you think no one believed her even after her first one proved true?
4. Sam longs to be on the track team—to be a part of the popular group. How did that affect his decisions in the beginning of the novel? How did it chan
ge toward the end?
5. Who do you think the old man in the truck is? What is his significance?
6. Name the times when Sam had to remind himself to “Do right. Fear nothing.” How difficult was it for him to follow that mantra? What were some times in your life when you’ve had to remind yourself to “Do right. Fear Nothing.”?
7. When Joe advises Sam to tell his father everything that is going on with Jeff, Sam agrees that he should. But then he doesn’t because his father is distracted. What do you think would have happened had he been able to talk to his father that night? Have you ever dreaded having to tell your parents something? What made you face your fear and tell them? What were their reactions?
8. Do you have a mantra similar to Sam’s that you rely on when you have to make a tough decision?
9. Sam’s dad didn’t know what statue he was talking about. Do you think Sam imagined it? What other explanation could there be?
10. Do you think that the fact that Sam is a preacher’s kid has any effect on how he responds to Jennifer? How would you have responded to her?
11. There are a few times in the novel when the timing on an event is perfect, such as when the old man in the truck shows up when Sam is being beaten up. Do you think that was a coincidence?
About the Author
Andrew Klavan was hailed by Stephen King as “the most original novelist of crime and suspense since Cornell Woolrich.” He is the recipient of two Edgar Awards and the author of such bestsellers as True Crime and Don’t Say a Word.
Table of Contents
Part One: Dragnet
1 Under the Bridge
2 A Game of Chicken
3 The Red Camaro
4 Preacher’s Kid
5 A Couple of Cars
6 My Life as a Thug
7 Someone in the Woods
8 A Revelation
Part Two: The Thing in the Coffin
9 Going Home
10 A Marked Man
11 What Jennifer Saw
Part Three: The Castle of the Demon King
12 Track Day
13 Help Me!
14 A Demon of My Own
15 Something Terrible
16 Something Even Worse
17 Prime Suspect Me
18 Prophets and Madmen
Part Four: Buster
19 The Worst Night of My Life
20 Thief in the Night
21 Sales, J.
22 Running for It
23 What Happened in the Woods
Part Five: Madness
24 What If . . .
25 The Shed
26 “Explosion, 9:15”
27 Time Runs Out
28 Bomb
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Reading Group Guide
About the Author
Andrew Klavan, Crazy Dangerous
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