“Abel said he was calling for Daddy.” Abel said he was calling for Daddy. The words reverberate like a warning. I had known that something was up. I’d known it from the start: that someone was playing me for a fool. But the memory of the kid’s eyes, large and full of hate, the sheer organic quality of his presence. It was him, wasn’t it? It was Abel all along. But how did it all fit together? “Hello again, Mr. Persons.” I spin about. Abel is standing about five feet away, arms crossed behind his back.
What is going on? Who is Abel really. Is he actually a child at all?
