contraption, his Apple. Unlike Jack, Tom, and Mom, his eyes were blue, and he wore steel-rimmed glasses for reading. His formerly ful head of hair had
begun to thin on top.
“I just wrote this little program,” he said, pointing to the screen. “Watch.”
Jack caught a glimpse of a short column of text with lines like “N=N+1” and “Print N” and “GOTO” before Dad hit a key. Suddenly numbers began cascading down the left side of the screen:
1
2
3
4 …
And on and on, progressing from one-digit, to two-digit, and eventual y three-digit numbers.
“Neat!” Jack said. “When wil it stop?”
“Never—unless I tel it to.”
“You mean it’l count to infinity?”
“If I let it.”
“That’s great, Dad,” Tom said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “But what’s it good for?”
“Nothing. I’m teaching myself BASIC, and this is a demonstration of a program cal ed an infinite loop.” He patted his Apple. “Here’s the future, kids. I’ve
got forty-eight K of RAM—could have gotten sixty-four, but I can’t imagine ever needing thatmuch memory.”
Jack had some idea of what he was talking about—he’d been helping Steve Brussard build a Heathkit H-89 computer—but he had a lot to learn.
As Tom, Kate, and Jack returned to the kitchen, Tom whispered, “The future of what?Maybe if you’re a math geek, but for us normal folks?” He shook
his head. “Dad’s gone off the deep end.”
“Oh, yeah,” Kate said. “Like you’d know a thing about it.”
“Remember when he said Betamax would last and VHS would fade away? This is the same thing—a dead end.”
The crossing topics of computers and VCRs brought to mind the tape Jack had rented last month: Tron.Much of the film took place inside a computer.
The story was kind of boring but cool to watch.
“I think it’s neat,” he said.
Tom pointed to Jack. “Hear that? Miracle boy thinks it’s neat. I guess I’l have to revise my opinion.”
Then, with one swift motion, Tom swept Jack’s shel ed pistachios off the counter and popped them into his mouth.
“Hey!”
“What?” Tom said, chewing. “Were those yours?”
“You know they were!”
Jack raised a fist and started toward him—Tom was bigger but Jack didn’t care. Anger had taken control.
Kate stepped between them. “That was pretty lame.”
“What? They were just lying there.” He grinned at Jack over Kate’s shoulder. “Want ‘em back?”
Jack started for him again, but Kate held him back. He could have pushed her aside but no way he’d do that to Kate.
As Tom sauntered out, Jack said, “Bastard.”
“Don’t let Mom hear that,” Kate said.
“Wel , he is.”
“Immature is more like it.” She ruffled Jack’s hair. “You rocked his world when you were born. He was cock of the walk around here for ten years, and
then Mom’s ‘miracle boy’ arrived. I don’t think he’s ever gotten over it. A bad case of arrested development.”
“How about you?”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? You were a baby, a real, live baby. Suddenly I didn’t have to play make-believe with dol s anymore, I had the real thing to
care for. I was in heaven.” She hugged him. “I thought you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I stil do, Jackie.”
“Jack, Kate. Jack.”
6
Jack lay in bed reading a copy of TheSpider,a 1939 magazine with yel owed, flaking pages. Mr. Rosen at USED, where Jack worked part-time, had
stacks of old magazines and let Jack take home a couple at a time to read—”As long as you return them in the condition you received them.”
Jack had already read the half-dozen copies of TheShadowin the stacks. Lately he’d moved on to TheSpider—MasterofMen!,obviously a Shadow
rip-off, copying the slouch hat and the bil owing black cape, but a different kind of guy. Jack had thought the Shadow was cool, but the Spider was even
cooler. The Shadow fought mostly regular crooks while the Spider dealt with threats to the world. Like this issue: “King of the Fleshless Legion,” with al
sorts of skeletons on the cover and the Spider rushing in to save a woman locked alive in a coffin.
Neat.
He wished he could buy posters of these covers. Some of the posters he had now—especial y the one of Devo in their flowerpot hats—were getting
ratty. Besides, he hardly listened to Devo anymore. He certainly wasn’t going to replace his Phil ies pennant, not when they looked like they had a shot at
the World Series this year.
His beloved Eagles, however …
After that stupid footbal players’ strike last season they went a whopping three and six. Wasn’t easy being an Eagles’ fan these days. Maybe with
Vermeil out and that new coach—
He jumped as he heard a single knock on his door. He looked up and saw his father enter.
“How’s it going, Jack?”
“Fine.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “You sure? Finding that … body today isn’t bothering you?”
Jack realized this was a side Dad didn’t show much. He tended to be the stiff-upper-lip sort: If you fal down you pick yourself up and keep going without whining or complaining.
“Real y, I’m fine.”
In fact, what the bad guys were doing to the Spider and what he was giving right back to them had pretty much wiped the body from his mind.
“You going to be able to sleep okay?”
“Think so. I’m not scared, if that’s what you mean. It was gross, but I won’t be dreaming about him coming for me or anything like that.”
At least he didn’t think so. He figured if anything kept him awake it would be questions about who was dead and who had done it and why he was kil ed
and what sort of ritual was used. The last time he’d been too scared to sleep had been a couple of years ago, right after reading ‘Salem’sLot—afraid to
look at his window for fear he’d see Eddie floating outside it.
Dad patted Jack’s leg. “Good. But if you have any problems during the night, don’t be afraid to give a hol er.” His gaze drifted to the magazine. “Good
God, where’d you get that?”
Jack handed it to him. “Mister Rosen’s got a bunch.”
Dad stared at the cover, a smile hovering about his lips. “I used to read these as a kid.”
Jack did a quick calculation: They’d celebrated Dad’s fifty-third birthday last month, which meant he’d been born in 1930. So he would have been nine
when this issue was printed. Nine might have been kind of young, but yeah, he could have read this very copy. Jack knew his father had been a kid once,
but this made his childhood … real.He suddenly saw Dad in a new light.
“Did you like them?”
“You kidding? Doc Savage, the Shadow, and this guy … I loved them.” He flipped through the yel owed pages. “Can I borrow this?”
Jack was only halfway through the story and didn’t want to give it up. He reached into his nightstand drawer and pul ed out another issue he’d already
finished.
“How about this one?”
Dad grinned at the cover: High atop the George Washington Bridge, the Spider battled with a guy in some sort of diving suit over a girl in a shredded
red dress.
“‘Slaves of the Laughing Death.’ I love it.” He rose and slapped Jack on the leg. “Thanks. This’l bring back old memories. And I think you’l be just fine
tonight.”
Jack thought so too. But he was concerned about the magazine. Mr. Rosen would have his hide if it came back damaged.
“Just return i
t in the condition you got it.”
1
“No matter what I do, I can’t get it open.”
Jack could sense Weezy’s frustration. It fil ed her bedroom like a storm cloud. He and Eddie knelt on the floor with the black cube from the mound between
them. Weezy sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her hands together. Jack had told them about the ritual murder story from the sheriff’s office. Usual y that
kind of thing would grab Weezy’s attention like one of those leg-hold traps they’d seen yesterday, but she seemed completely focused on the cube. The Cure’s Pornographywas running in her eight-track player and, as usual, the
whiny voice was grating on Jack’s nerves.
“Can’t you play something else?”
Her smile had no humor in it. “You’d like Siouxsie and the Banshees better? Or
how about Bauhaus?” Her taste in music matched her taste in clothes
and posters.
He found the black-and-white Bauhaus poster of some shirtless guy hanging by
his hands a little too weird. Give Jack the Spider plugging hot lead into mad vil ains any day.
Jack winked at Eddie. “I know she’s got Flashdancehidden around here
somewhere.”
Eddie picked up right away. “She must. I’ve heard it through the wal .” He began
to sing. Badly. “‘She’s a maniac, maaaaaniac—’”
Weezy tossed a pil ow at him. “You lie!And what have you been told about
that?”
Eddie looked puzzled. “What?” Then a light seemed to go on. “Oh, hey, I wasn’t
thinking.”
Weezy only glared at him.
Jack didn’t know what was going on between these two, but doubted it had
anything to do with Flashdance.He tried to bring the talk back to music. “Bauhaus, then,” he said. “Anything but this.”
As she popped out the Cure cassette—thank you, God—he picked up the cube
and turned it over in his hands.
“Can’t open it, eh? What’ve you tried?”
Eddie said, “Anything toolacious. Knife, fork, screwdriver, razor blade,
chisel—you name it. Even a hammer. I’m ready to get my dad’s electric dril .” “Real y?” The glossy black surface looked unmarred. “How come it’s not al
scratched up?”
“Because it doesn’t scratch,” Weezy said, returning to the edge of her bed. “No
matter what we do to it.”
“Bela Lugosi’s Dead” began to play. Jack kind of liked this song. “Maybe it doesn’t open. Maybe it’s just a solid cube of—what did you cal it
yesterday?” “Onyx.”
“What’s onyx?” Eddie said.
“A kind of black stone.”
Eddie snorted. “Black, huh? Figures you’d know about it.”
Weezy gave him a gentle kick. But Eddie had a point. Weezy was into dark—dark
clothes, dark music, dark books. She even kept her shades drawn to
make her room dark. The bright morning sun outside had been locked out. At
least she didn’t have black sheets, although her bedspread was dark
purple. Half a dozen gargoyles peered down at them from her shelves. “It’s not solid,” she said. “Give it a shake.” Jack did just that—and felt something
shift within. Not much. Just the slightest bit, but enough to tel it was
hol ow.
For no particular reason, he dug his thumbnails into the faint groove along one
of the edges and—
The sides of the cube fel open and it tumbled to the floor where it flattened out
in a crosslike configuration.
But what captured and held his attention in an icy grip was the black pyramid
inside—but not like any pyramid Jack had ever seen.
Weezy was off the bed and on the thing like a cat on a mouse. She grabbed it
and held it up, turning it over and over.
“I knew it—I knewit!” Then she looked at Jack, frowning. “How’d you get it
open?”
He shrugged. “I just—”
“Doesn’t matter. What’s important is it’s open.”
But it mattered to Jack. He hadn’t done anything special, just edged his
thumbnails into the—
“Some kind of pyramid,” Eddie said. “Maybe it’s Egyptian.”
“No, the Egyptian pyramids are four-sided. This has six. And it’s engraved with
these weird-looking symbols.”
“Let’s have a look,” Jack said. When Weezy hesitated, he added, “What? Afraid
I’l steal it?”
She flashed a nervous smile as she handed it over. “Don’t be sil y.” But Jack could tel she didn’t want to let it go.
The pyramid felt cold against his skin, and Weezy was right: The symbols, a
different one carved into each face, were kind of weird. Not exactly
hieroglyphics, but not like any letters he’d ever seen either. He upended it and
checked the base. Yep. Another symbol there too.
“Maybe there’s something in this as wel . Maybe it’s like one of those Russian dol
s, you know—”
“Matryoshka,” Weezy said. “A nesting dol .” How did she knowthis stuff? Jack searched the surface for a seam but came up empty.
“Looks like this is it.”
“Check this out,” Eddie said, pointing to the flattened box. “There’s something
carved on this too.”
Jack looked and saw what he meant. Some sort of grid had been carved inside
the crosspiece of the T.
Eddie echoed Jack’s sentiments when he said, “What’s al this mean?” Jack looked at Weezy, who had retrieved the pyramid and was studying it like a
jeweler grading a diamond. Al she needed was that little magnifying
eyepiece. What was it cal ed? A loupe. Right.
“Ever see anything like this in any of your secret histories?” He waved at her
sagging bookshelf. “One of those books hasto—”
She was shaking her head. “Nothing like this at al . Trust me. I know those
books by heart.”
“Then we’ve got to ask somebody.”
“No-no-no!” She clutched the pyramid to her chest. “They’l say it’s evidence and
take it from us.”
“We don’t have to mention it’s got anything to do with the body. We’l just say we
found it somewhere in the Pines and leave it at that.”
“Okaaaay,” she said slowly. “Let’s say we do that. Who can we show it to?”
A name popped into Jack’s mind immediately. “Mister Rosen.”
Weezy made a face. “He’s just a junk dealer.”
“Yeah, but it’s oldjunk. He knows everythingabout old stuff. You even got some
of your weirdo books from him, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts. If he can’t help us, he’l know someone who can.”
“Okay. But first …”
She jumped up and hurried from the room, taking the pyramid with her. “Hey, look,” said Eddie, holding up a reassembled black cube. “I got her back
together. The sides just clicked into place. Simplacious.” He started
prying at the edges. “But I can’t seem to get her open again.”
Jack showed him where to position his thumbnails but, try as he might, Eddie
couldn’t get it open.
“Here. Let me have that.”
He took the cube, positioned his thumbnails the way he’d shown Eddie, and
pried.
The box popped open.
“How do you dothat?” Eddie said. Jack had no idea.
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