Hearts in Atlantis(15)

'Low,' Bobby said - it was not quite a question.

'Low,' Ted repeated, and nodded emphatically. He sipped rootbeer, looked away toward the sound of the eternally barking Bowser . . . and remained that way for several moments, like a toy with a broken spring or a machine that has run out of gas. 'They sense me,' he said. 'And I sense them, as well. Ah, what a world.'

'What do they want?'

Ted turned back to him, appearing startled. It was as if he had forgotten Bobby was there . . . or had forgotten for a moment just who Bobby was. Then he smiled and reached out and put his hand over Bobby's. It was big and warm and comforting; a man's hand. At the feel of it Bobby's half-hearted reservations disappeared.

'A certain something I happen to have,' Ted said. 'Let's leave it at that.'

'They're not cops, are they? Or government guys? Or - '

'Are you asking if I'm one of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted, or a communist agent like on / Led Three Lives? A bad guy?'

'I know you're not a bad guy,' Bobby said, but the flush mounting into his cheeks suggested otherwise. Not that what he thought changed much. You could like or even love a bad guy; even Hider had a mother, his own mom liked to say.

'I'm not a bad guy. Never robbed a bank or stole a military secret. I've spent too much of my life reading books and scamped on my share of fines - if there were Library Police, I'm afraid they'd be after me - but I'm not a bad guy like the ones you see on television.'

'The men in yellow coats are, though.'

Ted nodded. 'Bad through and through. And, as I say, dangerous.'

'Have you seen them?'

'Many times, but not here. And the chances are ninety-nine in a hundred that you won't, either. All I ask is that you keep an eye out for them. Could you do that?'

'Yes.'

'Bobby? Is there a problem?'

'No.' Yet something nagged at him for a moment - not a connection, only a momentary sense of groping toward one.

'Are you sure?'

'Uh-huh.'

'All right. Now, here is the question: could you in good conscience - in fair conscience, at least - neglect to mention this part of your duty to your mother?'

'Yes,' Bobby said at once, although he understood doing such a thing would mark a large change in his life . . . and would be risky. He was more than a little afraid of his mom, and this fear was only partly caused by how angry she could get and how long she could bear a grudge. Mostly it grew from an unhappy sense of being loved only a little, and needing to protect what love there was. But he liked Ted . . . and he had loved the feeling of Ted's hand lying over his own, the warm roughness of the big palm, the touch of the fingers, thickened almost into knots at the joints. And this wasn't lying, not really. It was leaving out.

'You're really sure?'

If you want to learn to lie, Bobby-0, I suppose leaving things out is as good a place to start as any, an interior voice whispered. Bobby ignored it. 'Yes,' he said, 'really sure. Ted . . . are these guys just dangerous to you or to anybody?' He was thinking of his mom, but he was also thinking of himself.

'To me they could be very dangerous indeed. To other people - most other people - probably not. Do you want to know a funny thing?'

'Sure.'

'The majority of people don't even see them unless they're very, very close. It's almost as if they have the power to cloud men's minds, like The Shadow on that old radio program.'

'Do you mean they're . . . well . . . ' He supposed supernatural was the word he wasn't quite able to say.

'No, no, not at all.' Waving his question away before it could be fully articulated. Lying in bed that night and sleepless for longer than usual, Bobby thought that Ted had almost been afraid for it to be spoken aloud. 'There are lots of people, quite ordinary ones, we don't see. The waitress walking home from work with her head down and her restaurant shoes in a paper bag. Old fellows out for their afternoon walks in the park. Teenage girls with their hair in rollers and their transistor radios playing Peter Tripp's countdown. But children see them. Children see them all. And Bobby, you are still a child.'

'These guys don't sound exactly easy to miss.'

'The coats, you mean. The shoes. The loud cars. But those are the very things which cause some people - many people, actually - to turn away. To erect little roadblocks between the eye and the brain. In any case, I won't have you taking chances. If you do see the men in the yellow coats, don't approach them. Don't speak to them even if they should speak to you. I can't think why they would, I don't believe they would even see you - just as most people don't really see them - but there are plenty of things I don't know about them. Now tell me what I just said. Repeat it back. It's important.' 'Don't approach them and don't speak to them.' 'Even if they speak to you.' Rather impatiently. 'Even if they speak to me, right. What should I do?' 'Come back here and tell me they're about and where you saw them. Walk until you're certain you're out of their sight, then run. Run like the wind. Run like hell was after you.'

'And what will you do?' Bobby asked, but of course he knew. Maybe he wasn't as sharp as Carol, but he wasn't a complete dodo, either. 'You'll go away, won't you?'