“Sure do. They were all the dreams you asked us to draw. That’s Ben Nichelini’s, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. Did you look at it before?”

“No, sir. Mrs. Novato said we weren’t to. She said we had to draw the pictures all by ourselves, without copying or anything.”

Neil handed the drawing over. Very softly, he said, “I want you to look at that picture really closely, Toby, and I want you to tell me if you see anything that you’re familiar with. Is there anything there that reminds you of someone or something you’ve seen before?”

Toby scrutinized the drawing with an intent frown. While he did so, Neil glanced across at Susan, and raised a finger to tell her that he would explain everything later. Susan watched her son worriedly, her flour-white hands clasped together in the lap of her apron.

Eventually, Toby handed the drawing back. He said in a small voice, “There’s a man who looks like the man I saw by the school fence.”

“Is that him?” asked Neil, pointing.

Toby replied, “Yes. But there’s something wrong with that picture.”

“Something wrong?” asked Susan. “What do you mean, honey?”

Toby said, “Allen’s not there. He should be there, but he’s not.”

“Allen? Then this man in the white coat—he’s not Allen?”

“No, sir. Allen’s this one.”

Toby looked through the drawings until he found the picture of the smiling cowboy with the pistol, the one who was standing up looking happy while all the other cowboys fell to the ground around him, pierced by Indian arrows.

“That’s Allen?” asked Neil. “How do you know?”

“I just do. That’s what he looks like.”

“But have you ever met him? Ever seen him before?”

Toby shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Did you dream about him?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what makes him Allen? How do you know this man isn’t Allen, or the man in the white coat isn’t Allen?”

“The man in the white coat is always asking Allen for help,” said Toby, straight-faced. “So he couldn’t be Allen. And anyway, Allen is just Allen. None of these other men are Allen.”

Susan and Neil looked at each other for a while, and then Susan said, “It looks like a dead end, doesn’t it? Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know,” answered Neil. “The whole damned thing is so meaningless.”

Susan waited a while longer, but outside it was beginning to grow dusky. After a few minutes she touched Neil’s hand and went back to her baking in the kitchen. Toby took his bulldozer upstairs to his bedroom, and Neil could hear him making motor noises all around the floor. The sweet aroma of apple cookies soon began to remind him that he hadn’t eaten yet, and that he was hungry.