The boy who was being carried by Lucy Thompson that day was trying to tell Ronnie—so young and still trying to understand his power—that he needed to walk away, he needed to let Lucy have her boy, because that boy would grow up to be a great and watchful big brother who would be there to protect his little sister when the Hurting came to try and claim her.

The incomplete child had been trying to warn Ronnie, to stop him from doing what he had done, after all.

And Ronnie came awake knowing that he’d made a horrible, unforgivable mistake.

And there was no time to waste.

Ronnie?

He jerked his head up from his hands and blinked against the daylight.

—Sorry. I’m real tired.

‘S okay. He doesn’t want to talk to you, Ronnie. I’m sorry.

—Did he tell you? Am I right? Is this it?

Yes, Ronnie. It is.

He heard/felt something in Suzanne’s voice that made him anxious.

—What’s wrong, Suzanne?

I don’t want to tell you.

—Please.

No.

—I’ll love you. That won’t be any different. I’ll always love you.

I’ll love you too.

Ronnie waited until, finally, Suzanne said:

He said that if anything happens to his little sister, it’ll be because he wasn’t there to stop it, and it’ll all be your fault, Ronnie. I’m sorry, but that’s what he said.

—He said something else, didn’t he?

Yes.

—Tell me, Suzanne. Please tell me.

He said that if that happens, you’ll be no different from the monsters who Hurt all the others—but don’t you listen, Ronnie. He’s upset, he’s scared, and he’s just looking for someone to be angry with.

Ronnie shook his head.

—Uh-huh, Suzanne. He’s right.

It was a mistake, Ronnie. Anyone can make a mistake. You were only a little boy! You didn’t understand what was going on, what you were capable of.

—Don’t matter, Suzanne. I gotta go now. You go tell him that I’m real sorry, and that I’m gonna get to his little sister in time.

He did not even wait for Suzanne to say good-bye; he just closed off the sound of her voice and took off running. There was no room in his thoughts for anything other than finding that lady and her daughter.

The thread was choking him.

* * *

The carnival at twilight:

Wood shavings and sawdust that cling to the bottoms of shoes, neon signs that cast ghosts of random light from each booth, the colors blending to give the midway the mysterious glow of a dawn sky in another world, clusters of people moving by, some of them couples holding hands and kissing, some of them families looking harried but content, nonetheless, all of them looking in the same direction when they hear the cry of “We have a winner!” from one of the game booths, followed by the ringing of a bell, then there are the children with their clown-painted faces and wide eyes glittering against the lights, smiling as they’ve never smiled before, the epitome of joy and innocence and wonder, as a child’s face at a carnival should be, excited voices underscored by squeals of laughter in the distance and the thrumming music from a carousel. Take a deep breath, and there’s the cotton candy, the popcorn, the scents of cigarettes and beer and taffy, damp earth, hot dogs, and countless exotic manures from the animals in the petting zoo. Look up, and you can see the giant Ferris wheel that stands in the center of it all, the lights decorating its spokes streaking round and round in the night like a whirling ribbon of stars come down to earth for just this night.