That was the weird thing about Phillip. He always seemed to have his finger on the pulse of his friends’ lives and psyches, always seemed to provide just the object or scrap of knowledge needed. He was one of those people who, by accident or design, were always in the right place at the right time. Phillip’s fiction ran toward hard-edged serial killer stories or sex-and-blood horror, and to Stormy’s way of thinking, his real life seemed to dovetail with like subjects far more often than should have been the case.

He’d always liked Phillip, but he had to admit, he’d always been a little afraid of him.

He looked down at the enclosed Xerox, started reading:

From Thomas Jefferson’s Diary:

April 15

I am Awake again well before Dawn because of that Infernal Dream engendered by the Figure Shown to Me by Franklin. It is the Fifth Time I have Had the Dream. Did I not Know Franklin so well, I would Believe Him a Practitioner of Witchcraft and the Black Arts.

The Doll, if Doll it Be, Appeared to be Made from Twigs and Straw and Pieces of Human Hair and Toenail. The Totality was Glued together by what seemed an Unsavory Substance that Franklin and I Took to be Dried Seed from the Male Sex.

Franklin Claims that He has Seen a Similar Figure in his Travels although He Cannot Remember Where. For My Part, I would Never have Forgotten such an Object or Whence I first Discovered It, as I Will Not Forget It Now.

Against My Wishes and Advice, Franklin has Taken the Doll into his House. He Intends to Keep It in his Study so that He may Perform some of his Experiments upon It. I Bade Him Leave it in the Spirit House in which He Discovered It, but Franklin is not a Man who Takes Readily to Suggestion.

I am Frightened for Franklin and, indeed, for All of Us.

At the bottom of the diary entry was a detailed piece of artwork in Jefferson’s own hand. A detailed rendering that was clearly identifiable and instantly recognizable.

It was a drawing of the house.

His plane landed at O’Hare just after noon, and Stormy immediately picked up his rental car and drove home.

He could not remember the last time he’d been to the old neighborhood or seen the old house, but it had obviously been a while. The street had changed completely. Redevelopment had obliterated an entire block, replacing old tenements with newer tenements. The tough Polish gang members who used to hang out on the street corners in front of the liquor stores had been replaced by tough black gang members who hung out on the street corners in front of the liquor stores. A lot of the buildings he remembered were either condemned or gone.