Like that bit about how when you step on a crack you break your mother’s back? Which made him wince at the recollection, because he’d lied to her, saying he’d never rattled off that rhyme. He’d said it while skipping along the sidewalk on Bank Street, but he’d done it without thinking about the words or what they meant. It was a silly rhyme, that’s all.

His mother must have already packed a lot of stuff before finding out that he had slipped out of the house in the night. And, pushing the various bags around, he found his mother’s clothes and the books she had brought up and her things from the studio. And, just like she’d said, there was a bag with some of his things in it. Some jeans and shirts and underwear. He pulled out one of each, and a pair of socks. Should he get changed here, in the car? He felt a little funny about that. Or he could do it outside of the car, right next to it. No one was going to see him. There was no one left in Lucknow, by the looks of things.

He stopped thinking about putting on fresh clothes and instead recalled something his mother had said. What was it, again?

When you hurt something that’s pretend, it makes the real thing feel the pain.

Charlie began to look through the other bags, at items that were not his. Things that belonged to his mother.

And then he saw the bag his mother had specifically mentioned. The one from Bloomingdale’s, with medium brown bag printed on the side.

When he looked inside, Charlie understood what it was his mother had been trying to tell him.

Fifty-Nine

“Let’s start with a drink,” said Nabler, who no longer looked like Nabler. He had transformed into the creature Annie had seen for an instant moments earlier, allowing himself to be seen as he truly was. He was pouring a greenish liquid into a long-stemmed glass.

“What is that?” Annie said.

“If you’re going to have questions every step of the way, this is all going to take a very long time.”

“It looks like a smoothie.”

“Sure,” Nabler said, the whiskers on his snout twitching. “Let’s call it a smoothie.”

She accepted the offered glass, brought the drink up to her nose, and gave it a sniff. Fruity, not half bad, but that didn’t mean it was going to taste good. She took the tiniest sip and made a face.

“Think of all the times you’ve made Charlie swallow something he didn’t love,” Nabler said. “Like broccoli or peas, or maybe a medicine he didn’t much care for. You told him it was good for him, or would make him all better.”

“This isn’t good for me and it won’t make me all better.”

“You say that now, but you wait.”