sucked into the dune, but I doubt he knows why." He put his hand on my shoulders again. "And I wish to God that there was something you or I could have done for him, Sam. But there wasn't, you see. Not with these people. You might as well try to reason with a dinner napkin as try to reason with these people. They're not like the cop that stopped us; they're not like Al, or Phyllis. They're kind of like leftovers. Humanity's leftovers." He shook his head: "Madeline would shoot me if she heard me say that."
"You murdered that boy, goddammit!"
"No, Sam. He has merely become one of the missing. Thousands of people turn up missing every day. You know that. And some of them, like that boy, get pulled into sand dunes. Others get carried away, the way rabbits get carried away by owls. And others, a few others, get themselves stuck in the walls." He grinned slyly, as if keeping some dark secret from me. "They get put into the walls, Sam. And they stay there. With the dead! And no matter where they try to goâGood Lord, they could try to go into insanity, or into their pastsâthe dead go after them and drag them back."
"Well, dammit," I said, " I'm going to go and look for that boy."
"Of course you are, Sam. I can't stop you. But I can tell you what you'll find. You'll find sand, and sand fleas, a few beer bottles. You'll find gum wrappers, maybe a rubber or two. But you won't find that boy. He's one of the missing. He'll always be one of the missing. Like Amelia Earhart and Judge Crater and Jimmy Hoffa. They all got grabbed."
SEVENTEEN
Â
He was right. I found nothing. I looked for a good hour and a half. I dug furiously, and futilelyâbecause no matter how fast I dug, the sand on the slope of the dune filled the hole up even faster. And finally, I lay at the bottom of the dune with my eyes on a gull circling gracefully in the tight blue sky. Abner appeared above me.
I asked him, "Where are they, Abner?"
"Where are those people?" he said, and nodded. "They're still here."
"Then why don't they take me, dammit?"
He shrugged. "Or me, for that matter? Or that old woman with the fat dog? She comes by every day. So does the man with the metal detector." He sat down next to me, elbows in the dune, and leveled a quizzical gaze at me. "I don't know, Sam," he said.
"Why do some people get stung by bees and others don't? I really don't know. Maybe someday we'll both get stung."
"That's comforting," I whispered.
He smiled. "This is temporary, Sam. This⦠wild talent you've got. It's temporary." He paused. "Maybe that's not the right word, maybe temporary's not the right word. Transient's better. This wild talent you've got is transient . It comes and goes. One day you've got it, the next day it's gone. Sort of like herpes."
I let out a grunt of disbelief.
He went on, grinning, "And I got it from a woman named Barbara W. Barber two years ago on the Amtrak out of Bangor. Good Lord, Sam, she gave me this disease on the Amtrak out of Bangor. And I guess she gave it to me because she didn't like me, because I offended her." He idly scratched his nose. "And I gave it to you , Sam, because you're my friend and friends help each other." He stood, extended his hand. I shook my head. "No, let me be."
"Sure," he said. "You know, Sam, I think it's like walking into a closet by mistake. You see that you're in a closet, you look around briefly, and you walk out. But the hell of it is, there are so many damned closets to walk into." After a moment he went on, "Touch the air, Sam."
"Huh?"
"Lift your hand and touch the air."
I sat up. "Why?" I said.
"Just do it, please."
I did it.
"Good," he said. "Now tell me what you feel."
"Nothing," I answered. "I don't feel a thing. I feel the air."
"Close your eyes."
I closed my eyes.
"Now what do you feel?"
I reached, groped in the air.
"Gently, Sam."
I touched the air gently.
"Tell me what you feel."
"Dammit, I don't know." I paused. "I feel the air." Another pause. "No. I
"You murdered that boy, goddammit!"
"No, Sam. He has merely become one of the missing. Thousands of people turn up missing every day. You know that. And some of them, like that boy, get pulled into sand dunes. Others get carried away, the way rabbits get carried away by owls. And others, a few others, get themselves stuck in the walls." He grinned slyly, as if keeping some dark secret from me. "They get put into the walls, Sam. And they stay there. With the dead! And no matter where they try to goâGood Lord, they could try to go into insanity, or into their pastsâthe dead go after them and drag them back."
"Well, dammit," I said, " I'm going to go and look for that boy."
"Of course you are, Sam. I can't stop you. But I can tell you what you'll find. You'll find sand, and sand fleas, a few beer bottles. You'll find gum wrappers, maybe a rubber or two. But you won't find that boy. He's one of the missing. He'll always be one of the missing. Like Amelia Earhart and Judge Crater and Jimmy Hoffa. They all got grabbed."
SEVENTEEN
Â
He was right. I found nothing. I looked for a good hour and a half. I dug furiously, and futilelyâbecause no matter how fast I dug, the sand on the slope of the dune filled the hole up even faster. And finally, I lay at the bottom of the dune with my eyes on a gull circling gracefully in the tight blue sky. Abner appeared above me.
I asked him, "Where are they, Abner?"
"Where are those people?" he said, and nodded. "They're still here."
"Then why don't they take me, dammit?"
He shrugged. "Or me, for that matter? Or that old woman with the fat dog? She comes by every day. So does the man with the metal detector." He sat down next to me, elbows in the dune, and leveled a quizzical gaze at me. "I don't know, Sam," he said.
"Why do some people get stung by bees and others don't? I really don't know. Maybe someday we'll both get stung."
"That's comforting," I whispered.
He smiled. "This is temporary, Sam. This⦠wild talent you've got. It's temporary." He paused. "Maybe that's not the right word, maybe temporary's not the right word. Transient's better. This wild talent you've got is transient . It comes and goes. One day you've got it, the next day it's gone. Sort of like herpes."
I let out a grunt of disbelief.
He went on, grinning, "And I got it from a woman named Barbara W. Barber two years ago on the Amtrak out of Bangor. Good Lord, Sam, she gave me this disease on the Amtrak out of Bangor. And I guess she gave it to me because she didn't like me, because I offended her." He idly scratched his nose. "And I gave it to you , Sam, because you're my friend and friends help each other." He stood, extended his hand. I shook my head. "No, let me be."
"Sure," he said. "You know, Sam, I think it's like walking into a closet by mistake. You see that you're in a closet, you look around briefly, and you walk out. But the hell of it is, there are so many damned closets to walk into." After a moment he went on, "Touch the air, Sam."
"Huh?"
"Lift your hand and touch the air."
I sat up. "Why?" I said.
"Just do it, please."
I did it.
"Good," he said. "Now tell me what you feel."
"Nothing," I answered. "I don't feel a thing. I feel the air."
"Close your eyes."
I closed my eyes.
"Now what do you feel?"
I reached, groped in the air.
"Gently, Sam."
I touched the air gently.
"Tell me what you feel."
"Dammit, I don't know." I paused. "I feel the air." Another pause. "No. I
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