Still, Malorie would be worried.

Even a description might do it, Tom.

He tries to shake off thoughts of Malorie as Henry reads his mind again.

“A mother like the one you described upon entering my room sounds like one who is perhaps not made for the new world. Please, I don’t mean to offend when I speak this way, but I’ve always talked openly and honestly and I’m not going to change that now. It sounds to me your mother would be better off as a hermit.”

Tom thinks Henry’s exactly right. On the first page of the open notebook he reads:

THOUGHTS ON HOW THIS ALL BEGAN: HYSTERIA IN DROVES

Tom can’t tell if the words make him uneasy or if he’s just so excited to be here, talking to a stranger about the creatures, that his stomach is turning.

He reads on. But what he reads must be impossible. Henry writes as if he’s seen one, a creature, before.

Tom looks to him. To the big kid who is no longer smiling but whose face seems to be all eyes beneath the shadow of the upper bunk.

“No doubt some of the observations therein will be difficult to believe, given the upbringing you’ve had,” Henry says. “But the more you read, and the more you experience the concept that they are, in fact, observable, the less unfathomable they become. And isn’t that just it? Doesn’t your mother tell you that you can’t look at them because you can’t understand them, that your mind is too small to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Tom,” Henry says. He leans forward, his features emerging from those shadows. “I’m allowed. Do you know what that words means, given this context?”

Allowed. Tom thinks of the woman Athena Hantz in Indian River. She claimed to simply accept the creatures. Even to live with one. Has Henry done the same?

“Yes.”

Henry nods.

“And my permission doesn’t stem from some biological lottery.” He points a finger to his right temple. “It’s born up in here.”

Tom, electrified, understands.

“So,” Tom says, “then…you’ve seen one?”

Henry smiles. But his eyes do not.

“Many.”

For the first time in his life, Tom can’t believe his ears.

“What…” he starts, then he’s out with it. “What are they like?”

Henry holds Tom’s gaze for what feels like a long time. Tom expects the man to break out with enthusiasm, to stand up, to gesticulate as he describes them. Instead, it feels like something frosty occurs within Henry’s head, and his eyes go cold with it.

“Why don’t you try your glasses?” Henry says.