“Enough,” Alexander said. “Give it to me, and I will end it quickly. I may even allow Morecambe to live on. Although . . . live isn’t quite the word now, is it? Actually, he has become quite the subject for study, hasn’t he?”

The old man drew in a breath, let it go with a long sigh. He closed his eyes and his head fell back. Rain ran in the lines of his face. He reached a weak hand toward his coat, trying to clutch protectively at the old robot inside. But he didn’t have the strength left. His hand fell back down.

Alexander bent to take the toy.

•  •  •

ALEX WAS STILL sitting in his room in the cottage by the sea, still staring at the toy robot in his hand. His mum and dad called in unison for him to come join them. Dinner was ready. Don’t let it get cold.

“Just a minute!” Alex shouted. He dimly remembered: he had cut his thumb on the old toy once. His blood had gone inside.

“By the pricking of my thumbs,” he murmured, wondering where he had heard that.

Another memory was coming now. There had been another boy who had cut his finger on this old toy robot once, too. Not long after Alex had. On the bus to school, that same morning. This other boy had grabbed the robot, and then his hand was bleeding, running red. What was his name?

Kenzie. Kenzie Mitchell.

The lighthouse lamp must have been turned directly toward the cottage, because the raindrops on the glass suddenly glowed with a fierce brightness. Alex stepped to the window and looked out.

There was a figure lying on the ground out there, blurry through the rain. He looked hurt.

Alex opened the window. “Grandad?”

He’d almost forgotten he had a grandfather. Alex looked back over his shoulder as his parents called again, sharper. His dad stood right behind the half-opened door now. He could see his shadow falling on the floor. All Alex had to do was close the window, walk over there, and he would be with him.

He turned toward the frail figure lying in the rain. A little white card had been left on the window ledge outside. Alex squinted to make out what was printed on it.

POWER

His dad wasn’t really there. He knew that.

Everything in him wanted to turn back, back to Christmas, back to his mum and dad. But instead, Alex looked straight into the harsh glare beaming at him from the lighthouse and stepped forward. The light surrounded him, blinding him. He walked farther into it, reached both hands out into the light, picturing a face.

“Come back out.” He sent the words out like a lifeline tossed into the sea. Hands touched his, he gripped them tight, then used all his strength to pull Kenzie gently back out from the light and into the room.

“Sorry, Kenzie,” Alex said.