THE ANGER CARRIED him as far as the water’s edge before dumping him back on his own two feet. It had hurried him down the stairs and bustled him out into the garden through the main door, but now he felt it let go its grip. He stood for a moment, staring across the lake towards the water-sports club, confused that his temper had so suddenly cooled. Maybe it was the wind.
He panted heavily, as though he was trying to catch his breath. Did he really want to disobey his father? Was it so important to be so defiant? He looked back at Mourn Home. Then turned to face the lake again.
There were three bright sails out there this morning: one small boat cutting through the water east to west and two windsurfers who had the gusts at their backs as they skimmed and leaped over the chop. It had stopped raining. For the briefest of moments the sun broke through a tear in the clouds. Its thin rays sharpened the edges of the water. The white tips of the shallow waves glittered like myriad knives. And the Hundredwaters threatened, was boastful of its danger.
Don’t fall in.
But that was ridiculous. That was his father talking. That was sixteen years of conditioning, sixteen years of having the legend pounded into him. All his life he’d been told how unsafe it was to go near the water. He shook his head as if to dislodge all that talk. It was just a lake. There were lots of lakes in the world, just like this one. It was no more dangerous than any other.
Because I don’t believe in monsters.
He didn’t have to dig too deep to stir up the anger and resentment again. Right now it was the most important thing in the world to do what he wanted to do. And he wanted to go to WetFun. So he turned his back on the house and pushed himself on around the shore.
It might have only been a fifteen-minute walk from Mourn Home but Tim had never set foot on WetFun property before. Yes, he’d wandered as close as he dared (as close as he thought he could get away with without being spotted and bollocked by his dad) but this was his first step across the invisible border and onto forbidden soil, as it were. And during the short walk he checked over his shoulder eight, ten, twelve times, cautiously looking back at the house.
The building site for the new hotel was cordoned off behind a temporary chain-link fence. The JCB was idle, but it had already ripped up a sizeable patch of land – large enough to prove the extent of Vic Stones’s ambition. The doors to the three grey metal storage sheds where Roddy Morgan spent so much of his time with a screwdriver or whatever were padlocked up and Tim was happy to guess it probably meant Roddy wasn’t around today.
But this was WetFun, this was enemy territory. Was he a different person now that he was here? He doubted it. Perhaps the lack of ringing alarms exposing his presence was an anticlimax. Or maybe it was for the best. He was certainly wary of the clubhouse. If there just happened, by chance, to be anyone who might recognize him sitting at the bar, gazing out at the lake through those huge plate-glass windows, he’d be hard to miss. It wasn’t like there was a summer crowd of trippers he could lose himself amongst. The kiosk where ice creams were sold and fishing rods rented during high season was closed for winter. A speedboat, looking to Tim’s eyes like a sleek, silver bullet of a machine, rested on its trailer high up the shore. He couldn’t help thinking it seemed unnatural on dry land somehow, as it waited impatiently for a water-skier brave enough to hang on. It was a little disappointing that the one time he’d managed to pluck up the courage to come here was the time when so little was going on. The only activity this morning was happening around the two narrow jetties where the small sailboats were tied up.
At the near jetty was a group of about fifteen little kids who appeared to be part of a sailing club. They all wore matching orange and yellow life jackets and were gathered around a small dinghy that had been dragged onto the pebbly shore, high up out of the water. Two of the group sat inside the boat practising with the sail, following the shouted orders of one of the adult instructors. They seemed to pass the test because as Tim approached they were allowed to clamber out, and then the whole group trooped off along the jetty to the dinghies moored there. Everyone called enthusiastically to bagsy the boat they wanted – obviously excited to be having a go at the real thing. And Tim couldn’t ignore the flicker of concern he felt at the thought of them out on the lake, but he managed to push it deep down. It was that sixteen years of brainwashing again.
He hurried past the end of the jetty, skirting round the practice dinghy, not looking at them.
Jenny and the two students were at the foot of the second, further jetty, where maybe as many as a dozen small motorboats were tied up. Tim wanted his sister to see him, wanted her to be as impressed with his defiance as he had been with hers. He waved at them.
They didn’t see him at first. They seemed to be having too much fun to notice him. Gully was wearing a life jacket and his hair was already sticking up in wet spikes, as though he’d only just jumped off the jet-ski that was beached on the shore close by. He threw back his head as he laughed loudly at some great joke or other his friend had come out with, and Tim was eager to be involved. He reckoned they’d be trying every trick they knew to persuade Jenny into having a go on the back of the jet-ski. But she was shaking he head, holding up her hands in a warding-off gesture. No. She was probably telling them she’d never go out on the water.
Tim was thinking, I’ll have a go. He glanced back yet again at Mourn Home to make sure there was no one watching. Ask me. I don’t care. I’ll have a go, he boasted to himself.
The squealing of one of the young kids caught his attention, although he couldn’t see exactly which orange and yellow life jacket was making the fuss. An instructor shouted for everyone to concentrate, be sensible. It didn’t look as though anybody had fallen in – just over-excitement. And Tim hoped the adults were as in control as they thought they were.
As he turned back to the second jetty he saw Gully suddenly reach out and grab his sister. Jenny tried to push him away. But then Scott also had a hand on her arm. Tim heard her shout and swear and knew she wasn’t having fun any more. The students overpowered her, pinned her arms by her sides, dragged her onto the wooden jetty and out over the water.
‘Hey!’ he called, forgetting instantly about the young kids. ‘Leave her alone.’ He hurried towards them. He didn’t run; he didn’t think they’d actually throw her in. No way would they go that far.
Jenny was arguing and struggling. They jostled her along the jetty between the motorboats moored on either side. Tim still didn’t quite run. He thought the students were just acting up, teasing her, and he didn’t want to look like an over-protective brother – or worse, a foolish killjoy. He reached the foot of the jetty himself and saw that they had her teetering over the very end. He heard Scott say something about monsters and the Mourn, taunting her, holding her so her toes literally dangled in thin air.
Gully said, ‘Come on the jet-ski with me or we’ll chuck you in.’
Tim started out over the water himself, annoyed at their spitefulness, yet still not believing they were doing any more than winding her up. ‘Leave her alone. You’re not funny.’
Gully finally noticed him and said something to Scott that Tim couldn’t quite catch. Scott glanced back over his shoulder, saw Tim jogging along the jetty towards them, grinned and winked. Quickly, roughly, he tipped Jenny backwards into his arms, holding her off-balance by the wrists. Gully went for her ankles. She struggled and one of her trainers popped off, but he still managed to sweep her up off her feet. Under different circumstance they could have been friends about to give her the ‘bumps’ on her birthday. But it had clearly long stopped being a game for Jenny.
She bucked and shrieked. Too late Tim heard her real fear.
‘Don’t!’ He raced towards them. ‘No!’
But on the count of three they threw her over the edge.
‘Jenny!’
His immediate impulse was to catch her and he leaped forward, but it was a vain hope. She twisted in the air like a cat, as though she was going to land on all fours. And she fell out of sight below the end of the wooden jetty. She didn’t stop screaming until she hit the water.
‘Jenny!’
He barged between the guffawing students and teetered on the edge himself as he looked down. She’d gone all the way under. The water had swept back over to fill and cover the splash she’d made.
‘She can’t swim, you bastards!’
He was horrified. He couldn’t see her. She’d gone all the way under. Everything his father had ever said and warned and threatened rushed through his head. He was frantic. He knew he should go in after her. He knew he should fetch Bill. He didn’t dare do either.
‘She can’t swim!’
His brain seemed to slip out of synch somehow and he was aware of all sorts of different things at once – like the kids at the sailing school all watching, like the grey sky and sharp wind, like the students laughing – and time seemed to have slowed down, yet his thoughts were racing, trying to come up with some kind of reasonable explanation for what was going on that didn’t end in catastrophe. Jenny was in the Hundredwaters. Stay away from the water, their father had always told them. But Jenny had gone all the way under.
And he didn’t dare go in after her.
‘JENNY!’
Suddenly she burst up to the surface, spluttering, floundering, gasping for breath. She flailed her arms for something solid to grab hold of and slipped under again. Tim kept shouting her name. He sprawled flat on his belly, reaching for her, but the jetty’s wooden platform was too high above the water. He could see the churning, frothing waves she was making as she fought. But he still couldn’t go in after her.
Again she broke the surface and this time managed to get her feet underneath her. She staggered, spitting and coughing. Thankfully the lake was nowhere near as deep here as it was around the feeding pier at Mourn Home; it only came to her shoulders, although whenever she moved it splashed up around her mouth. She held her arms out in front of her – Tim guessed she was on her tiptoes – her hair plastered across her white, frightened face. He tried reaching for her again and when she gripped his hand the icy cold of her skin shocked him.
He knew he’d never be strong enough to pull her back up onto the jetty. ‘You’ll have to go round. Jenny, listen. You’ll have to walk round and up the shore.’
‘Go in and get her,’ Gully said from behind him. ‘It’s not deep.’ He even nudged him with his foot as though he was considering kicking him in as well.
Tim savagely shoved the foot away. ‘Get off me, you bastard!’
Scott just laughed. ‘Go on. Dive in and save her. Quick before the monster comes!’
Gully started humming the Jaws theme tune.
Jenny was shivering and white; she wouldn’t let go of Tim’s hand – he was at full stretch just to be able to reach her. She was desperate to scrape her hair out of her eyes and she spluttered and coughed as the water splashed around her mouth and nose. She was turning this way and that, her eyes wide, searching the water frantically. Because she would also have their father’s words running through her head. Never go in the water. She’d had sixteen years of listening to the legend exactly the same as Tim had.
‘You’ve got to go round.’ He tugged on her hand to try and get her moving. The kids from the sailing school were all staring; one of the instructors shouted to ask if everything was okay. ‘Come on, Jenny. You’ve got to get out.’
‘You go in and get her,’ Scott said. ‘Why don’t you help her?’
Tim didn’t understand how they could be so flippantly cruel, because one look at Jenny’s face was surely enough proof for anybody to believe just how terrified she was. He found it impossible not to glance out at the deeper water.
‘Come on, Jenny. Please.’ He was begging her. He yanked on her freezing hand.
‘Just get out of my way,’ Gully said. He knocked Tim to one side as he took a two-step run-up and jumped off the jetty himself. He curled into a bomb before he hit the water, making the biggest splash he possibly could.
Jenny shrieked. Tim leaped back so he wouldn’t get showered by cold, dirty lake water. Scott thought it was the funniest thing in the world.
Gully surged up to the surface. The wave he caused would have swamped Jenny again if he hadn’t swept her up in his arms. Like all the best movie heroes he waded towards shore with her clinging to him.
Tim hurried down the jetty to the pebbly beach. ‘Are you okay? Jenny?’
Once on dry land she squirmed and writhed in Gully’s arms, so he had drop her onto her own feet straight away.
‘Hey, you’re a hero,’ Scott told him.
He squirted a mouthful of water in a long jet. ‘Yeah. I know.’ He grinned widely. It was all just one big game. He probably didn’t even realize how frightened Jenny really was.
Tim took his coat off and put it over her shoulders. ‘You’re okay, yeah? You’re all right?’
‘. . . freezing . . .’ she told him in a small voice. She was dripping, teeth chattering. Water ran in quick little rivulets down her forehead and face. She looked back yet again at the water, as if expecting the Mourn to swish by, just missing her, like monsters did in the movies. And she took a quick couple of steps further up the shore.
He tried to rub a bit of heat into her. ‘We’d better get home; get you warm.’
She nodded, shuddering violently with the cold, wiping the water from her eyes again and again.
Gully had a stupid smirk all over his face. ‘We had to do it,’ he said. He swept his dripping hair back off his forehead. ‘To prove to you there’s nothing to worry about. And now you know that nothing’s gonna get you, you can come out on the back of the jet-ski with me.’
‘Just piss off,’ Tim told him.
Scott stepped in front of them. ‘Hey, is that all the thanks he gets for saving your sister when you were too chicken-shit to do it yourself?’
Tim tried to pull Jenny away, but she wouldn’t let him.
‘Why did you do it?’ she asked, honestly wondering.
‘We were messing about,’ Gully said, defensive now. His grin slipped; he was shivering too. ‘It was just meant to be a joke.’
‘You knew I was frightened, and you still threw me in.’
‘Didn’t think you’d really freak out.’ He rolled his eyes, tried to laugh. ‘It was just a joke.’ He wrapped his arms around himself as he shuddered with the cold.
‘Yeah. Very funny.’ She turned her back on him.
Tim held his arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on.’ He led her away, ignoring Gully’s protestations.
‘Don’t you want this?’ Scott held out Jenny’s lost trainer.
Tim snatched it from him but pulled his sister away before she had a chance to put it back on.
‘Don’t tell Mum and Dad.’
Tim shook his head. They hurried past the stares of the kids in the sailing club and he kept his arm around her shoulders, trying to cuddle some warmth into her. She was shivering violently so he forced her to jog most of the way home. She was a mess. Her hair hung in ropes, she smelled of cold and dirty water and her trainers squelched with every step. He felt guiltier than he had ever done in his life before because he’d not even got the toe-tip of his own trainers damp.
The Feed was over for another week; there was no sign of the guests, the Fearful or their parents so they managed to slip inside through the main entrance and went immediately to Jenny’s bedroom. Anne was probably driving Nana Dalry home while Bill would be around the far side of the lake.
Jenny’s room was on the floor below Tim’s and although it was smaller it was a heck of a lot tidier – he often wondered how she managed it. It must have been a couple of months since the last time he was in here and he noticed she’d recently taken most of her cheesy band posters down. They’d been replaced by more arty stuff: a New York skyline, a print of a famous painting he recognized but couldn’t name. Her bookshelf was also full of books he’d never seen before. He was embarrassed by the childish mess of his own room all over again. How much proof did he really need that Jenny was growing up quicker than him?
He didn’t know whether or not she actually wanted him hanging around right now but he wasn’t about to leave. He wanted to talk to her even if she didn’t want to talk to him. His head was spinning with all the things he wanted to say.
He stood at her single window as she changed. The view wasn’t quite as impressive as from his room: her window faced south-west, onto the stretch of shoreline and lake which included the Mourn Stone, the feeding pier and the ragged curve of the water towards the woods. As he stood there he saw their father emerge from the trees, heading back this way.
‘Looks like we only just made it in time,’ he said. ‘Another ten minutes and we would have walked right into Dad.’
Jenny pulled on a jumper and also looked out. ‘Do you think he saw what happened?’
‘Even if he did, we were all the way over on the other side and he wouldn’t have been able to tell it was us.’
Jenny nodded, but still seemed worried.
‘Are you okay?’ It was maybe the tenth time he’d asked. And when she nodded again he said, ‘You’re sure, yeah?’ It was guilt making him keep on asking.
She sat on her bed, pulled her knees up under chin and wrapped her arms around them as if she was still cold.
‘Why did they do it? I didn’t think they would. I can’t believe they just threw you in like that.’ Tim couldn’t settle. He hovered at the window. Then, with a tut and sigh, he moved over to sit at her desk, where he swivelled back and forth on the thinly cushioned seat as though he was uncomfortable. ‘I don’t get why they did it.’
‘Because they’re wankers,’ Jenny said.
He got up again, walked over to her new bookshelf, began prodding and poking at her books. He couldn’t help but feel impressed with her. She’d been bullied, terrorized and freezing cold, and not once had she cried.
‘Because they don’t care about anybody else and think they can get away with doing anything they want,’ she said.
‘But why did you go with them in the first place?’
‘You knew I fancied Gully. And he was paying me attention. How many boys do you know around here who bother paying me any attention?’
‘Going to WetFun, though? Dad would—’
‘I wanted to see what was happening at the building site. I wanted to see how big the hotel was going to be.’
‘Massive. Bigger than this place.’ He was back looking out of the window. Bill was halfway home along the shore already.
‘So what made you come to WetFun? Did you fancy Gully as well?’
He almost laughed, but not quite. ‘I’d had an argument with Dad. I wanted to be a rebel like you.’
‘What were you arguing about?’
‘Next Saturday.’
‘Your Carving?’
He nodded slowly, not wanting to elaborate – he’d learned his lesson trying to talk to Sarah and his father. And just looking around Jenny’s room proved how big the distance between the two of them had become, twins or not.
‘You’re nervous about becoming the Mourner?’
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s all messed up anyway.’ He saw the way she was looking at him and her sympathy embarrassed him. ‘And anyway, shouldn’t it be me comforting you?’
She managed a small smile at this. But it only made him feel guilty again because he was so completely dry.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have tried to save you. I should have jumped in to, you know . . . I should have been in the water to help you.’
She sat up straighter, sucked in a big breath. ‘First off: the feminist in me would have something to say about the man always thinking he has to save the woman, and about male dominating behaviour.’ She didn’t give him the chance to ask if she was joking. ‘And secondly: I don’t blame you for not wanting to dive headfirst into the Hundredwaters. It’s the Hundredwaters. It’s where the Mourn is. Gully’s just too stupid to care.’
Through the window Tim watched as their father stopped and shielded his eyes with one hand, scanning the lake, probably making sure there was no problem with the kids’ sailing school. He had his back to her when he said, ‘That’s the problem. Up until Gully and Scott chucked you in I’d convinced myself the Mourn didn’t exist.’
He was at the bookshelf again, purposely looking at the books and not at her. ‘It’s why I don’t want to be the Mourner. One of the reasons, anyway.’
The silence that greeted his admission felt horribly heavy. He fidgeted. Said too much. Shitshitshit. He hadn’t meant to say anything. ‘Don’t tell Dad. You won’t, will you?’
There was an audible clunk as Jenny managed to close her mouth. At last she said, ‘He’s going to find out sooner or later.’
‘Later would be great,’ Tim said with a failed chuckle. He shrugged a single shoulder. ‘I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t really want to listen.’
‘I mean, I knew you were worried about becoming the Mourner, but I just thought you were nervous. I didn’t realize . . .’ She shook her head, obviously taken aback. ‘You really don’t believe in it?’
‘I didn’t think I did. I kept telling myself I didn’t. But then I didn’t dare jump into the lake to help you. Everything Dad had ever warned us about just kept running through my head.’ He was miserable and ashamed when he admitted: ‘I was too scared to help you.’
‘So you do believe in it?’
‘I don’t know.’ He slumped down onto the bed beside her, leaned back against the wall. ‘I honestly don’t know what to think any more.’ He went on, ‘When you were in the water, did you . . .? Did you see it?’
‘No.’
‘But was it there? Did you feel it? You know, sort of sense it?’
‘Maybe. I kept thinking it was behind me, getting closer. Although part of my head kept saying it wouldn’t attack me because we’d just had a Feed.’
‘But it could have just been your imagination, couldn’t it?’
‘Maybe.’ She changed the subject. ‘And you really don’t want to be the Mourner?’
‘If I don’t think the Mourn’s real, there doesn’t seem much point, does there? But you’ve got to admit, it’s probably the worst job in the world anyway, isn’t it? Spending most days with a spade and sack collecting dead stuff, and having everyone laughing at you behind your back all the time.’ He wanted to explain it to her as best as he could. ‘I love Dad,’ he said. ‘I just don’t want to be Dad.’ He was worried by the look on her face. ‘You promise you won’t tell him?’
She shook her head.
But he didn’t know what that meant. Did she mean no, she wouldn’t tell him or no, she didn’t promise?
She asked: ‘Are you sure it’s not just because of Roddy Morgan?’
‘Well, stuff like yesterday kind of helped me make my mind up, obviously.’
‘But it’s such a special thing to do,’ Jenny said. ‘When I was little I always used to hide under the covers when I went to sleep, because I was scared that if the Mourn looked in through my window and saw me, it would come and get me. I knew it would never eat you, because you were going to be the Mourner, but what was to stop it eating me? I was just an extra. That was how I felt, being your twin. Then I remember there was a really loud storm outside and I was curled up under my sheets listening to it. I suddenly realized that Dad’s job was to stop the Mourn from attacking the town, and I was part of the town, wasn’t I? So I stuck my foot out – and nothing happened. And so I poked my head out. Dad would never let the Mourn get me because that was what Dad did. Other dads worked in shops or offices, but my dad kept me and everybody else safe. So I kicked back all my blankets and lay in the dark for ages, just listening to the wind and the rain. And nothing happened to me. I knew I’d always be safe because Dad did what he did.’
‘Okay, that’s all great, but—’
‘No; listen. I worried at some point about him not always being around, but I soon realized that when Dad wasn’t here, you would be. And I began to think what a fantastic thing it must be to be the one person who could make everybody else sleep safe at night. That’s what the Mourner does, that’s why it’s such a special job. It must be great to read the list of names at the Feed and know it’s you who’s keeping those people safe. For me it feels good just to be one of the Fearful and know I’m doing my bit to help others too.’
Tim thought about it. After a while he asked: ‘Is that all true?’
His sister nodded. ‘Cross my heart.’
‘Maybe it’s you who should be the Mourner, then.’
‘Don’t be stupid! There’s no girls’ names on the Mourn Stone, is there? There’s never been a woman Mourner – it’s always first-born sons.’ She pulled a face. ‘But I’m sixteen next week too, don’t forget. And I’ve got no idea what I’m meant to do, or where I should go, or anything. At least you’ve got something to do with your life – something that matters. You’re lucky; there aren’t many sixteen-year-olds who can say that.’
Tim was sceptical. ‘But if the Mourn isn’t real, then it’s all just a massive waste of time, isn’t it?’
‘Why don’t you think it’s real?’
‘Because I’ve never seen it.’
‘So?’
‘So everything. I want some proof. Where’s the proof?’ He was annoyed she couldn’t see it from his point of view.
‘This house is proof, isn’t it? And the Fearful. And Old William’s diary. Even Dad’s proof, because of what he does.’
‘But he’s never seen it either!’
‘Exactly. What more proof do you need? Why would all this be here if it was all just a story? There’s over three hundred years of proof, isn’t there?’
He jumped up off the bed, feeling twitchy all over again, and stalked over to the window. He saw that Bill was almost home. ‘So you’re saying you don’t care what Gully and Scott, or Roddy Morgan, or whoever else are all saying behind your back.’
‘No.’
He searched her face, looking for the lie he thought must be there. He couldn’t find it, which agitated him further.
‘I’m glad I’m different to them; I don’t want to be anything like them,’ she said.
‘Yeah, well, like I said yesterday, nobody calls you Monster Girl, do they?’ He didn’t let her answer. He paced the room. ‘It’s just after what happened yesterday. It’s just everything. I hate it. It’s just so shit, isn’t it? And look at today. It’s getting worse, isn’t it? I’m up to here with it – everybody always having a go. All because of the Mourn, and I didn’t ask to be its keeper or anything; why get at me all the time?’
‘It wasn’t about you. They threw me in the lake, not you.’
‘I know, but—’
‘They didn’t do it to get at you. Not everything that happens around here is about you.’
‘But they’re probably laughing right now, aren’t they? Thinking they’re funny. Having a laugh at all of us, but I’m the one who’s got to be the Mourner, and I didn’t ask to be.’
‘And I never asked to be your sister either.’
That confused him. ‘So?’
‘So I’m fed up of hearing about you all the time. I said it’s my birthday too next Saturday, didn’t I? Have you bought my present yet? What have you got me?’
Tim hadn’t got her anything – because he’d not even thought about it. He knew she could tell by the look on his face.
‘How many people came up to me this morning to tell me they’re looking forward to my birthday, do you think? How many people will remember, or even know it’s my birthday too?’
‘Well, maybe you really should be the Mourner, then. I’ll go ask Dad now, shall I? You know, see if it’s okay with him?’
She tutted. ‘Grow up.’
That hurt. He remembered what Bill had said to him earlier. ‘You grow up!’ It was such a feeble retort but the anger had flared inside him again. ‘You grow up! I’m not the one who believes in monsters, am I?’
‘So why were you too scared to jump into the lake?’
He slammed the door on his way out.
Then instantly regretted it. Tentatively he poked his head back inside her room. ‘You’re not going to tell Dad, are you?’
‘Get out!’ She hurled a book at him, and only just missed.
His head fizzed. He felt hopeless with confusion. Had he been kidding himself when he’d said he didn’t believe in the Mourn? Maybe he did believe.
Did he?
Maybe.
Would it help if he knew for certain? Would it be easier to be the Mourner if it was proved to him that the Mourn was real? His spinning mind fixed on this. He might be happy to do the worst job in the world if he truly believed in the Mourn. He could make himself happy to do it.
To his anxious, muddled mind this thought seemed to make perfect sense. He clung to it. Everything would be simpler, easier, happier if he knew for definite the Mourn was real.
It couldn’t be so wrong to want some proof, could it? How could he be expected to dedicate his whole life to something he’d never seen? He was just a bit different from Jenny and their father. He needed proof.
He doubted he’d find it in Old William’s diary and knew it was something Bill could never give him, because it came back to the same point over and over again: Bill had never seen the Mourn.
But as he stood there he realized there was somebody who claimed he had.