4

“Robin?” Ricky whispered as he pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. The night-light was out again, and swallowing his fear, he made himself bend down and feel for the wall socket next to the door where it was plugged in. Nothing to be afraid of in here.

His fingers found the socket but no night-light. “Robin!” he hissed.

No reply.

Robin, who loved to tease him by taking the little light and hiding it, seemed to be fast asleep. Ricky could see him buried under the blankets on the twin bed catercornered from his, and he was too angry at his brother to be afraid. “I’m turning on the big light, you turkey fart.”

He waited a second, heard no giggling from the bed across the room. If Robin were awake, he would have cracked up. Grandfather had talked about turkey farts last year at Easter after dinner and several beers with Daddy. The brothers had practically wet their pants with hysterical glee before Mom came in and let Grandfather have it for saying “fart” and Dad for letting him. Mom was really ticked.

“Turkey fart,” he said again, hopefully.

Nothing.

He flipped on the light switch, but Robin didn’t stir because he was completely hidden in his blankets. At least his rotten brother hadn’t figured out how to get up high enough to unscrew the overhead bulb, Ricky thought as he took off his costume and pulled on his pajamas. At least he hadn’t yet.

Holding his breath, Ricky tiptoed across the room to the window that overlooked the three-acre front yard and the oak tree. Carmen had promised to lock it, but he had to check, had to put his hand under the curtain and feel the latch, make sure it was turned. He didn’t even consider looking. Last year when he looked, he’d seen Big Jack looking back at him, scratching at the glass, tap tap tapping. Ricky come out and play . . . He shivered as he reached behind the curtain.

His fingers found the cold metal lock. Either Carmen had forgotten or Robin was messing with him again, because it wasn’t latched. Stomach churning, he frantically twisted the lock closed.

The job done, he suddenly felt proud of himself, and almost as brave as Thomas McEnery Piper, not only because he’d flipped the bird at the little jacks, and hadn’t panicked when the night-light disappeared, but because he’d calmly—well, pretty calmly—locked the window.

Smiling to himself, Ricky turned right and faced the foot of his brother’s bed. Robin was so balled up in covers that he couldn’t even see his hair. For a moment Ricky considered yelling boo and tearing the blankets from him. Maybe he’d get a glass of water from the bathroom so he could throw it on him.

No, he decided, he’d probably just end up getting in trouble. He’d cook up a safer trick tomorrow. Briefly he glanced at the wall of closets, saw with satisfaction that they were safely closed, then returned to his own bed, which was set against the inside wall as far as possible from the window and within reach of the overhead light switch. Last January Mom and Dad had redecorated the room. They put up wallpaper covered with drawings of sheriff stars, boots, six-shooters, lariats, and cowboy hats. Then they hung pictures showing cowboys, Indians, and lots and lots of horses. Ricky loved everything about the room except for the tree outside the window and the niggling fear that there might be a secret passage hidden in the closet somewhere.

There were all kinds of stories about the house and its hidden passages. His great-great-grandfather Conlin Piper—Thomas’s son, he realized with a little thrill—had come here from Scotland and built the first house in Santo Verde: this house. Grandfather had always laughed and said that old Conlin was too creative for his own good and that he’d built a hodgepodge of a house with a maze hidden inside it. Conlin Piper had been in the Royal Navy, and Grandfather claimed he’d found a pirate’s treasure, and had built the tunnels to hide his loot safely. Dad said the story about the loot was poppycock, but that the tunnels were real, and he’d even shown them the ones behind the built-in bookshelves on either side of the fireplace downstairs. One side was fake. The bookshelf turned around to reveal a little square room in which Conlin supposedly hid a deserter during the Civil War. Behind the other, though, was a dusty staircase, so low and narrow that a grown-up would have a hard time using it. It led straight up into utter darkness.

Yawning, Ricky pulled his yellow chenille bedspread down and climbed aboard, then crawled to the end of the bed, flicked off the light, and crawled back up, pushing his bare feet quickly, safely, between the clean white sheets.

Tonight he felt so brave that he didn’t pull the covers all the way over his head. He knew Big Jack was outside somewhere, but the window was locked, and before long, the clock would strike twelve and the creature would be gone for another year.

Lying there in the dark, he realized that he felt better than he ever had in his life, and it was all because he’d walked right past the greenjacks, refusing to listen when they called his name. Instead, he’d pretended to be Thomas and lifted his mask and stuck out his tongue. Later, he’d really, truly flipped the bird at one. He thought his ancestor would be proud of him tonight.

Outside, the wind picked up and oak twigs scratched at the window. Ricky shivered with sudden alarm: What if he’d made the greenjacks angry? They can’t do anything to you! Only Big Jack could hurt him, and he was locked out. Calm again, Ricky stretched and wiggled his toes, knowing for the first time in his life that things were going to be better now. Maybe the fear would never go away entirely, he thought sleepily, but he’d be like Thomas McEnery Piper and not be af—

“Ricky!”

His eyes jerked open.

“Ricky!” It was Robin’s voice, muffled and distant.

He’s still under the covers. Ricky realized that his twin was going to try to play a trick on him. Tonight it wouldn’t work, he thought smugly. Not tonight.

Outside, the wind howled and distant thunder rumbled.

“Ricky!”

“What?” he whispered.

“Ricky!”

“What?” he called, a little louder.

Something tapped on the window. Suddenly he felt cold.

“Ricky!” The tapping grew insistent. “Open up!”

He slid from the bed, hesitating at the light switch, deciding to brave the dark because Robin was making so much noise that their parents might wake up. If they saw the light on under the door, he’d get in trouble for sure.

He padded to Robin’s bed, paused, then poked his finger into the covers just as a brief flash of lightning lit the room. “Whatcha want, you pottyface?” He poked again, harder, and realized he felt nothing under the bedspread but a wadded-up blanket. Thunder boomed just outside. Ricky nearly jumped out of his skin. He glanced around nervously.

Tap tap tap. “Ricky!”

Just as the rain began to fall, he understood. His stinkpot brother got himself locked outside while trying to play a trick on him.

“Ricky!”

The storm noises would probably keep his parents from hearing anything, and the sudden delight he felt at having Robin’s trick backfire helped him fight down his nervousness about having to open the window again. Probably Robin was planning to scare him—he’d done it once before—by climbing out the window and pretending to be Big Jack.

The first time he’d done it, last March, Ricky’d been so terrified that he’d screamed. Mom and Dad had come running, and boy, did Robin get in trouble when they saw him sitting out there in that tree. Ricky had hidden under his covers and cried half the night, even though Robin kept trying to apologize. By the next morning, he wanted revenge, but he didn’t get any because he didn’t know how.

But oh boy, he sure knew how now. He’d let his twin sit out there all night. Or maybe an hour, anyway. Let him sit out there and get all wet, and then Robin would think twice before he tried to play another joke on him.

He fluffed up the lump of blankets Robin had left and returned to his bed, thinking that if his parents did come in, he’d just pretend to be asleep. Could he help it if he’d locked the window without knowing his brother was out there playing a trick on him? No, he couldn’t.

He sat on the edge of his bed.

Tap tap tap. “Ricky! Ricky! Wake up, dummy!”

He swung his feet up, slipped them between the cool sheets.

“Ricky! Let me in!”

“No way,” he whispered.

Then, abruptly, two words popped into his brain: Big Jack

“Cripes.” He slipped off the bed and walked quickly across the dark, shadowy room. He’d gotten so full of himself for being brave that he didn’t even think about the fact that it was Halloween night when he’d locked his brother outside. “Cripes,” he whispered again. Even rat-fink Robin didn’t deserve to get snatched by Big Jack. “Cripes.” He pushed the curtains open.

A skeletal face leered in through the glass, a green glowing face that grinned from ear to ear. With a small yelp, he jumped back. Then he heard Robin call his name again and saw his brother’s hand rap on the glass, and realized his turkey brother had tried to scare him with his own Halloween mask.

Drawing a deep breath, he undid the lock. Robin backed up a little way to a thicker part of the wobbly branch he sat on and waited while Ricky pushed open the window. Wind yanked leaves from the tree and splattered sharp raindrops against his face.

“You took my mask, you fart,” Ricky whispered. “I oughta leave you out here all night.”

Robin pushed the mask up on top of his head. “I thought you’d want Big Jack to trickertreat you, Ricky!”

“Shut up!” Ricky ordered, not at all amused. “Get in here.”

“Why? You scared old Jack’s gonna get in?” Robin grinned, full of the devil. “I’m gonna tell Mom you told me ‘shut up.’ ”

“You just said it, too.”

“Then I’m gonna tell her I saw you flip old man Clegg the bird.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“Did not.”

“I saw you.”

“I didn’t flip off Clegg, I flipped off—”

“Who? Huh? Who?”

Ricky shrugged, not wanting to say. When Robin was in the mood to tease, anything made him worse. “Come inside. Mom ‘n’ Dad are gonna wake up.”

“Good thing for you old man Clegg’s blind as a bat or you’d be nailed already. If you give me all your Tootsie Rolls, I won’t tell. You already owe me two and a half for earlier. Now I want ’em all.”

Carmen always said Robin was a Tootsie Rollaholic, and Ricky guessed she was right. “I’ll give you one more.”

“Three.”

“Two and that’s fi—”

Behind Robin, near the heart of the oak, a thin branch moved against the wind, bending itself around the trunk. Ricky felt his jaw drop open, and knew his brother said something, but didn’t understand the words.

Time slowed to a crawl as he watched the branch encircling the trunk. At the end of it were five long twigs, jointed and flexing like human fingers. A second branch, identical to the first, snaked around the trunk from the other side.

A creaking sound. Wind sighed. Rain in his face. Ricky’s ears filled with roaring blackness, and the same blackness appeared in spots before his eyes and filled his stomach with nausea. But he couldn’t look away.

“Hey, butthead!” Robin called. “Wake up!”

Time began to flow again. “Get inside,” Ricky ordered. “Now!”

“No way, José, not until you give. Three more Tootsie Rolls or I tell.”

“Come in now!”

Alien laughter exploded inside Ricky’s head, a gale of it, similar to the greenjacks’ windy cackling, but deeper, more powerful, a hurricane rather than a breeze. Oblivious, Robin continued his teasing, but Ricky couldn’t even hear him over the roar of Big Jack’s voice.

He leaned out the window as far as he dared and extended his arms to his brother. “Come on!”

Don’t be afraid of me, Ricky, I’m your friend.

Slowly, so slowly, the skeletal arms crept up around the oak, the stick fingers crunching as they gripped the bark. The thought of the creature hidden behind the trunk terrified Ricky, and he had to force himself not to turn and run.

I love you, Icky Ricky.

Then he saw it peering at him from behind the trunk. It was a skull, like a twisted burl of wood, human-sized, leering, grinning with wood-chip teeth, the eye holes so black, they seemed to suck light into them.

Icky Ricky, I want you, yes I do do do.

The laughter deafened him as the creature pulled its body higher, and higher. Ricky blinked, and in the instant his eyes were closed, Big Jack must have leapt, its sounds masked by the storm, for now it stood arrogantly on a thick limb a few feet behind Robin.

Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled.

Big Jack looked like it did last year, only clearer and closer, so close, too close. The monstrosity resembled a human skeleton, but with bones made of tortured bark and buckled wood. Naked white roots, like nerves, twisted through its limbs, and leaves and vines filled its chest, throbbing green tendrils that twined along its extremities like blood veins. One thick vine coursed up its neck, pulsing—jugular vine, Ricky thought, fighting the urge to laugh or scream or throw up, he didn’t know which. Big Jack opened its mouth, and wet waxy leaves crept from the corners of its smile, growing perceptibly, reaching toward him.

Toward Robin.

Horrified, Ricky jerked backward. His head thunked against the sash, but he barely felt it.

Robin pointed at him and began giggling.

He forced himself to lean forward again. “Robin, you jerk, get inside!”

“Why?” Robin grabbed the limb he balanced on with both hands and pushed his body up. “Wanna see me do a handstand?”

“No!”

“What’s the matter, little brother? Is bad old Big Jack out here?” His eyes twinkled. “It’s not midnight yet. I guess he’s around somewhere, huh?” He giggled.

“He’s behind you.”

Robin made a face. “Yeah, and so’s the tooth fairy.” He pushed up and down on his arms, doing the spider imitation.

It took all of Ricky’s courage to climb onto the windowsill.

Ricky, Ricky, be my friend, you won’t be afraid anymore.

Big Jack stepped closer.

Ricky balanced himself on the ledge, his outstretched fingers only inches from his brother. “Give me your hand,” he said, vaguely aware that tears were running down his cheeks and into his mouth.

“Cripes, Ricky, don’t cry, I was just fooling around,” Robin said. “I’ll come in. Jeez, I didn’t mean to—”

He froze as skeletal hands clamped down on his shoulders. He turned his head and saw the woody fingers, then slowly turned back to Ricky, no fun in his eyes now, only raw, incredulous horror. A soft moan escaped his lips.

Now or never, Ricky. Will you save your big brother? Now or never, Icky Ricky!

Ricky felt the thing trying to suck his will away with its charcoal eyes.

“No!” Carefully, his gaze never leaving Big Jack, Ricky climbed back through the open window, then wriggled back out, this time on his stomach. To keep from falling, he hooked his feet on either side of the window, then, inch by inch, pulled his upper body onto the nearest branch, not stopping until his body would stretch no farther.

His brother was within reach, but he was like a statue, his hands cemented to the branch, his body still raised above it as Big Jack’s viney claws dug into his shoulders.

Ricky slapped at his twin. “Robin! Give me your hand! Hurry!”

Dully, his twin looked at him, focusing only when Ricky grasped both his wrists and began yanking him forward. “Ricky—”

“Come on!”

Suddenly Robin let go. Ricky caught him and, with all his strength, began to pull him inside, realizing that his brother was paralyzed with fear. He grunted with effort, determined to win this battle with Big Jack. Robin cried out as the creature renewed its painful hold on his flesh.

Ricky struggled, gaining an inch, losing one. “I got you, I got you, I got you!” He repeated the litany as he worked, aware of Big Jack’s laughter in his head and of Robin’s shock-white face and fathomless eyes. “I got you!” Panting, Ricky held on. “Robin, I got you!”

Suddenly the monster released its hold. Ricky almost lost his balance as Robin fell from the limb, but he hung on to his brother’s wrists, his hands slippery in the rain, gulping air, struggling to keep his feet wedged safely inside the window. After an eternity, Ricky began to pull him up, his back and arms screaming with the effort.

Robin was a foot from the window, Ricky half-inside, when Big Jack struck, sweeping across Robin, its storm of laughter echoing madly in Ricky’s head. The sharp wooden hands grabbed Ricky at the elbows, pinching and holding until his fingers turned numb and started to open against his will.

Hey. Ricky, time to play!

Robin began to slip from his grasp. “No!” he cried, but his voice was lost in the howl of the storm. He watched in horror as Robin began to slip.

The wind screamed and then he saw Robin grab a branch two feet below. He hung on, then began pulling himself back up the tree.

And then Ricky couldn’t see anything because Big Jack was all over him, grabbing, touching, plucking at him. Wind swirled around them, wet and rotting and green like cold swamp water. It whistled among the bony branches with a life of its own, mingling with the laughter of the thing itself.

Big Jack dragged him out of the window and into the tree. It hugged him against itself, smothering him in its green darkness, bruising him on its bark and bones. It paused for an instant, staring into Ricky’s eyes until he thought he would faint. Its gaze drained him of his will while its arms crushed the life from him.

“No! Let him go!” Robin yelled from behind them.

Ricky only saw him for an instant, hanging on to the tree limb with one hand, pounding and pulling on Big Jack with the other. “Let him go!”

The thing paused, its grasp loosening slightly. Ricky drew a breath, coughing, and watched as Robin tore at Big Jack, ripping out the root nerves, yanking the blood vines. It seemed amused until the boy snapped off two of its gnarled toes. Then the swamp wind rose again, Big Jack’s howl of anger within it, a part of it.

“Punch him!”

Robin’s words startled him into action. Ricky fought, pulling and twisting the foliage guts, trying to break off ribs. The monster howled furiously as Robin attached himself to one of its legs and started ripping it apart.

Steeling himself, Ricky reached for Big Jack’s neck and wrapped his hand around the thick, pulsing jugular vine. He pulled.

Howling, Big Jack let go for a bare instant, but that was enough. Ricky sprang back, grabbing the tree trunk and regaining his balance. Something cold splashed across his face and mouth. It tasted of plants: Big Jack’s blood.

Ricky edged around the trunk as the thing reached for him, backed farther as he watched his twin do a monkey-climb right up the monster, ripping and tearing and shredding the vines as he moved. The thing put its arms around Robin as he reached its chest.

Two blocks away, the bells of Our Lady of Guadalupe began chiming the measure of prelude that would ring in the hour.

Midnight. The first bell rang.

Big Jack’s almost out of time! Ricky edged forward to help his brother, who still tore at the monster’s chest. “Get him, Robin!” he cried. “Hang on!”

Two chimes. With one hand, the thing shoved Robin’s head into its torso, smothering the flailing boy. Its laughter blended with the rain as it extended its other hand and beckoned Ricky closer. Come with me and I’ll let your big brother live.

Three. I’m supposed to die! Not Robin! Ricky stepped nearer.

“No!” Robin yelled, his voice muffled against the creature. He punched into the thing with all his might, over and over.

Four.

Green fluid still pulsed from the broken vine in Big Jack’s neck, and green slime dripped from its mutilated torso, but still it held Robin. The vines growing from its mouth began to twine around his face.

Five chimes. Big Jack extended its hand again. Come with me or he dies dies dies.

Six. He couldn’t let Robin die for him. Swallowing, Ricky reached for Big Jack’s hand.

“NO!” Robin screamed as the creature’s hand closed painfully on Ricky’s wrist.

Seven. Big Jack paused, glanced at Robin, then stretched out its other arm, holding the boy far away from its body. Suddenly it let go, but Robin was already clinging to the arm, hanging on as Jack tried to shake him off. Face smeared with green, eyes fierce, he screamed, “No!” and refused to fall.

Ricky twisted in Big Jack’s grasp, and suddenly the grip became so tight that he felt as if his bones were being crushed. He cried out, nearly fainting with the pain.

Eight. Robin swung across Big Jack’s body and grabbed the arm it held Ricky with. With all his might, he began to tear at Jack’s forearm, using every muscle in his hands and arms, using his teeth to bite, doing everything to make the monster let go of his brother. The monster tore at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Nine. The wooden wrist began to crack. Robin twisted the wood fiercely, and it broke. He ripped a vine with his teeth and the hand came off, still attached to Ricky’s arm.

Ricky staggered back against the tree trunk, breathing heavily, holding his wrist.

“You can’t have him!” Robin screamed.

Ten.

Big Jack pulled its mangled arm back and again shoved Robin’s head into the mass of oozing mashed foliage behind the ribs.

Eleven.

“Robin!” Ricky cried.

Robin’s mine, little Ricky, icky little Ricky. He can’t see like you can, but he’s mine now. Better watch out!

Twelve. Midnight, November 1.

The leaves on the vines growing from Big Jack’s mouth withered in an instant, turning brown and flying away on the breeze before the final bell finished echoing. Big Jack laughed again and let go of the oak, Robin trapped in its arms.

“No!” Ricky cried as they fell.

In the first minute of November first, Ricky stood in the branches of the old oak tree, barely aware of the rain beating monotonously against his face. He clung to the trunk and stared in shock at Big Jack’s body on the ground twenty feet below. He craned his neck, trying to see Robin, but the boy was lost in the rain, buried in the dark visceral vines of Big Jack’s remains.

The scene was lit by moonlight and the rainbow of Malibu lights that lined the paths crisscrossing the immense forest of a front yard, and as Ricky watched, a dozen little greenjacks gathered around the ruins of Big Jack. An instant later, a dozen more glimmering forms poured from the lifeless body of their king. A strong wind suddenly rose and the body began to break apart, the arms and hands and legs becoming nothing more than harmless twigs and branches. The roots and leafy vines crackled brown as they dried up and rode away on the wind.

Big Jack was gone for another year, and only the unmoving form of Ricky’s twin lay within the circle of little jacks.

“Robin.” Ricky moaned the name, and the greenjacks looked up at him briefly, then turned their attention back to Robin. They started to move around him. Ricky realized that they were fighting over his brother’s body.

He realized that Robin was unconscious, not dead, just like Thomas in Grandfather’s stories. That meant a greenjack could force Robin out and take his body—just as Big Jack had promised. Quickly Ricky started to climb down the tree. He had to get his twin into the house before they took him.

But the handholds ran out after a few feet, and it was too far to jump. “Robin,” he whispered. The jacks barely glanced at him as he crawled back up the tree and into his window.

Once inside, he glanced briefly down and saw that the circle of jacks was moving wildly, violently, melding, coming apart, melding again. Quickly he took the back stairs past Carmen’s room and down and around through the kitchen and dining room, not caring about the darkness, caring only about his brother.

Don’t let them get you, Robin, don’t let them get you!

He crept across the living room, avoiding the spots where the floorboards would creak. The drapes were drawn, and for once, he wished they weren’t. Don’t let them get you, don’t let them, don’t let them.

Quietly he reached up and pulled the wrought-iron bolt on the arched front door, then grabbed the handle and pressed the thumb latch. It clicked softly open. He waited a moment, then, slowly, silently, he pulled the heavy planked door open. His heart thumped as he got ready to run out and down the steps to the oak, to rescue Robin and carry him inside to safety.

“Hi, baby brother.”

“Robin!”

Bathed in the yellow glow of the porch light, Robin waited on the welcome mat, resting on his hands, peering up at him. He was soaking wet, and a small trickle of blood oozed from a cut hidden in his hair. Otherwise he looked fine. Below, at the bottom of the wide steps, the amorphous shifting shapes of the greenjacks cavorted and tumbled in the grass. I’m not afraid of them anymore. The realization astounded him even more than Robin’s amazing recovery. I’m not afraid. Suddenly he knew what it must feel like to be a grown-up. Smiling, he turned his attention back to his twin.

“Robin, you’re okay! I was afraid you were—”

“Dead?”

“Knocked out. I thought you were knocked out!”

“I was.”

His twin’s crooked smile made the hairs on the back of Ricky’s neck stand on end. Grandfather’s familiar words flitted through his mind.

. . . his father held a sword in his hand, ready to run the body through if his son had become a changeling.

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

“Nothing. Are you okay?”

“Okeydokey, icky Ricky.”

Stunned, he stared at his brother. Ricky knew, beyond all doubt, that he had never, ever told anyone about the name the jacks called him: It was too humiliating. His bladder let go. It didn’t matter. “What?” he whispered.

“I’m okay.”

“Did you hit your head?” he asked timidly, wanting to believe that he’d imagined his brother’s rhyming reply.

“Just a little. Just enough.” He crossed the threshold, his movements lacking their usual grace, and stared around the room as if it were something new. “Shut the door, Picky Ricky. Let’s go to bed.”

In shock, Ricky loitered a moment in the open doorway watching the greenjacks as they capered in the rain. One, dimmer than the others, did not jump or dance, but stood motionless under the tree, near the place where Robin had fallen. A chill raced up Ricky’s spine.

Robin? he thought hard at the figure.

And he thought he heard his name, called softly, but it was lost in the leaves that chattered in the breeze.

“What’s going on here?”

Ricky whirled at his father’s voice and saw his parents in their robes and slippers, standing at the bottom of the living room stairs. His dad’s arms were crossed, but his mother stepped forward quickly.

“You’re wet. You’re both wet!”

Immediately Robin began to cry. “I fell,” he sobbed.

“Fell?” Mom scooped him up, mindless of his wet clothes and the leaves and dirt sticking to him. “From where? Are you all right, honey?”

He threw his arms around her neck and clung, his face buried against her shoulder, sobbing and heaving as he never had before. It was a show. Ricky cringed, wondering what would come next.

“I fell out of the tree,” he wailed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Rick?” His father loomed over him. “What were you boys doing?” He looked him up and down, mouth set in a grim line.

“I—I—Robin went out the window and—” He silenced, knowing he shouldn’t tell the truth because they wouldn’t believe him.

“It’s all my fault,” Robin bawled.

Amazed, Ricky stared at him.

“I was playing a trickertreat on Ricky.” His voice hitched dramatically over a series of whimpers. “I . . . I wanted to scare him. I lost my balance, and Ricky tried to save me.”

“There, there . . .” His mother turned slightly, and Ricky could see Robin’s face over her shoulder.

His eyes were black as night, and his expression was gleeful and scary at the same time. The little-boy voice that issued from his mouth didn’t match the way he looked. “Oh, Ricky, I’ll always remember how you tried to save me.” His hand crept into his mother’s hair, bringing a lock of it to his face. He smelled it, smiling. Then, to Ricky’s horror, he stuck his tongue out and licked it. The smile broadened into a jack-o’-lantern grin, and all the while, Mom kept patting his back, unaware. Dad, not noticing, crossed to the open door and closed it.

“Ricky?” His mother said. “That was very brave of you to try to help your brother, especially when he played a bad trick on you.”

“I’ll pay you back, I promise,” Robin said. Slowly he extended his tongue and licked the satiny robe his mother wore.

“It’s okay,” Ricky said softly. “He bumped his head,” he added. “It’s bleeding.”

Oh!” Mom pulled Robin away from her, as Ricky hoped she would, and examined his head. “Frank, do you think we should take him to the hospital?” She glanced at Ricky. “Go on up and get dry and go to bed, honey. Everything will be all right.”

He left his parents discussing Robin’s bumped head as he trudged upstairs. At the top, he found Carmen staring down at the scene below. Silently she walked with him to his bedroom, then waited outside the door until he came out in fresh pajamas.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on, then.” She led him to her room around the corner, and they sat together on the little sofa bed she kept for when one of her sisters came to visit. “Okay, Ricky,” she told him. “Tell me. It will be our secret.”

He did as she asked, leaving nothing out because he knew she wouldn’t just tell him he was crazy.

She asked, “So you think your brother’s changed, Ricky?”

Confronted so bluntly, he had to stop and think. That was exactly what he thought. And he had proof because of the name: Icky Ricky.

He swallowed his pride and told her about the name.

“Maybe you said it in your sleep, Ricky.” She regarded him solemnly. “Do you think you might have?”

More than anything in the world, he wanted to believe that what Carmen suggested was true. “Maybe,” he said, knowing he hadn’t. Suddenly he realized he’d have to go back to his room soon and see his brother. That frightened him so much that his stomach hurt.

Carmen leaned over and kissed his cheek soundly. “It’s late. Let’s talk about it more tomorrow. You want to sleep here tonight, Ricky?” she asked, as if she knew what he was thinking.

He nodded gratefully.