They walked to the station wagon without saying a word. Sam dragged two paces behind his father, steering clear of the firing zone. The air was thick. The storm was moving toward them quickly. Sam could taste it at the back of his throat.
The car ride was torture. Sam’s father refused to look at him, let alone say a single word. Sam felt as if his head were on the chopping block and that at any second a razor-sharp axe was going to drop. He opened his mouth once to speak, but then thought better of it. Instead, he studied his father for a moment, then leaned back into the cool leather seat and closed his eyes.
As the car sped up the Tenth Line, Sam’s mind drifted. Bobby. No one ever calls Mr. Perfect Bobby. No one that doesn’t have a death wish, that is.
Something was worming its way through Sam’s subconscious, struggling to free itself. Bobby. That name. That person riding the bike … the Kronan …
Sam opened his eyes. The Volvo was headed uphill. They were at the spot where he’d last seen Javon, where he’d first seen the riderless bike.
He had so many things he wanted to say to his father that he didn’t know where to start. “Dad,” he began tentatively.
His father didn’t respond. He merely stared out the windshield at the country road and beyond it.
Sam took a deep breath and tried again. “Dad?”
It was as if he wasn’t there.
The third time Sam couldn’t contain himself. The questions gushed out of his mouth as the dam he’d built in his mind burst. “Dad, remember that bike we saw coming down the hill? Do you remember it? Was it a red bike? An old bike? Did it have the word Kronan written on the crossbar? Did it look like something Grandpa would have ridden?”
Sam wasn’t expecting what happened next. His father slammed a foot down so hard on the brakes that the car screeched to a sudden halt in the middle of the road. Luckily, Sam had his seat belt on or he’d have gone right through the windshield. His father threw the car into park and drilled Sam with bloodshot eyes. For a moment Sam didn’t recognize his father. His face was distorted with something more than rage.
“Who told you about it?” His voice was deep and gravelly.
Sam was wide-eyed. Who is this guy?
His father leaned in closer. “Who told you?” Spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth.
Suddenly, Sam was reminded of the frothing Doberman on Cody’s blog.
“I’m only going to ask you one more time, Sam,” Robert said, trying to force calmness into his voice. The effect was opposite. It was like a quiet hysteria.
It’s as if he’s under some kind of evil spell . . . a witch’s spell! The witches of Sleepy Hollow!
“How do you know about the Kronan? Who told you? Was it that Barns boy? What lies has he been telling you about me?”
“I … I don’t know what you … you mean, Dad,” Sam stammered. Instinctively, he undid his seat belt and pressed his back against the passenger door.
The Tenth Line was dead. Darkness loomed. The headlights, beaming straight ahead, sliced through the gloom. Sam kept glancing up the road, hoping another car would approach and force his father’s attention back to the road, snap him out of this spell, but none came.
“I know you know something, Sam. I see it in your eyes. Every time you look at me. I see it. You know. You know everything. Don’t lie to me.”
Lightning flashed, igniting a flame in his father’s eyes that glowed long after the brightness had disappeared.
“I … I really don’t know what you mean, Dad. I … I just wanted to know about the bike.”
“That’s it! That bike. How do you know about it?”
Thunder groaned.
“You know how I know about it.” Sam tried to sound casual, but his heart pounded against his ribs like a jackhammer. He was scared and furious at the same time. What was his father accusing him of? Why didn’t he trust him?
“I saw it, Dad. Don’t you remember? We both saw it. Coming down the hill at us. Right here. The day we moved to this stupid place.”
Sam’s father scrunched his eyes and ran shaking hands through his hair as though he were thinking really hard about something. “Now this is the part I don’t understand.” His father stared through the windshield into the darkness. “The bike we saw coming down this hill was just a regular bike, Sam. One of those new bikes kids ride today. Not the Kronan. Who told you about the Kronan?” He pounded his fists into the steering wheel, and the horn blared.
“It’s like I told you, Dad. I saw it here. Right here.”
“You’re a liar! I didn’t bring you up to lie! I didn’t raise you to kick in lockers or get into trouble at school or —”
“No, you raised me to be perfect — like you!” Sam had reached his limit. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. “Don’t you know how hard it is to try to be perfect every second of every single day?” Tears welled in his eyes, and he felt his cheeks burn. “I’m sick of having to do everything you want me to do. I’m sick of having to be perfect. And I’m sick of you!”
Robert reached for Sam, but his seat belt yanked him back. Suddenly, Sam knew he had to get out, had to get away. He threw open the door and fled into the field toward a cluster of trees. Sam could hear his father yelling at him to get back into the car, but he kept running with long, gangly strides, stealing quick glances back as flashes of lightning lit up the Volvo and the figure of his father beside it.
Thunder rumbled again, this time louder and closer, and the clouds split open. As Sam raced through the mud and brush, drops of cold rain pelted his face. Tall grass slowed him, but he pushed himself harder, ducking into the woods and pressing against the trunk of a huge maple. His heart thudded against his ribs. His mind was a jumble of thoughts. What was he going to do? Where was he going to go?
Sam heard his father’s voice rise over the storm. “Sam! Sam! Get back here! Sam!”