He went through thinking about two things: the year 1977 and the men’s room on the main floor of the New York Public Library. He stepped into a bathroom stall with graffiti on the walls ( BANGO SKANKhad been there) and the sound of a flushing urinal somewhere to his left. He waited for whoever it was to leave, then stepped out of the stall.

It took him only ten minutes to find what he needed. When he stepped back through the door into the cave, he was holding a book under his arm. He asked Eddie to step outside with him, and didn’t have to ask twice. In the fresh air and breezy sunshine (the previous night’s clouds had blown away), Eddie took the bullets from his ears and examined the book. It was called Yankee Highways.

“The Father’s a library thief,” Eddie remarked. “You’re exactly the sort of person who makes the fees go up.”

“I’ll return it someday,” Callahan said. He meant it. “The important thing is I got lucky on my second try. Check page one-nineteen.”

Eddie did. The photograph showed a stark white church sitting on a hill above a dirt road. East Stoneham Methodist Meeting Hall, the caption said. Built 1819 . Eddie thought: Add em, come out with nineteen. Of course.

He mentioned this to Callahan, who smiled and nodded. “Notice anything else?”

Of course he did. “It looks like the Calla Gathering Hall.”

“So it does. Its twin, almost.” Callahan took a deep breath. “Are you ready for round two?”

“I guess so.”

“This one’s apt to be longer, but you should be able to pass the time. There’s plenty of reading matter.”

“I don’t think I could read,” Eddie said. “I’m too fucking nervous, pardon my French. Maybe I’ll see what’s in the lining of the bag.”

But Eddie forgot about the object in the lining of the pink bag; it was Susannah who eventually found that, and when she did, she was no longer herself.

Three

Thinking 1977 and holding the book open to the picture of the Methodist Meeting Hall in East Stoneham, Callahan stepped through the unfound door for the second time. He came out on a brilliantly sunny New England morning. The church was there, but it had been painted since its picture had been taken for Yankee Highways, and the road had been paved. Sitting nearby was a building that hadn’t been in the photo: the East Stoneham General Store. Good.

He walked down there, followed by the floating doorway, reminding himself not to spend one of the quarters, which had come from his own little stash, unless he absolutely had to. The one from Jake was dated 1969, which was okay. His, however, was from 1981, and that wasn’t. As he walked past the Mobil gas pumps (where regular was selling for forty-nine cents a gallon), he transferred it to his back pocket.