Nightrise Read Free

anything there to begin with. His face was the same. He had no eyebrows. There was no stubble on his cheeks or chin. His whole face looked like a mask stretched tight over a bone structure that kept it in a shape but allowed it to express no emotion at all. He had very small, very white teeth. They looked false.
    "He wants your card," the man next to him said. He spoke with a soft, rasping voice and a Southern accent.
    This man had hair, tangled and black, tied in a pony-tail — as well as a wispy little beard, sprouting in a triangle just under his lower lip. He was wearing plastic sunglasses that offered mirror reflections instead of his eyes. He smelled of cheap aftershave that was failing to hide the truth. He needed to change his clothes more. He needed to wash. It was impossible to say if he was younger or older than his companion. Both of them were ageless.
    Jamie realized that several seconds had gone by and nothing had happened. He swallowed. "A business card," he repeated.
    The silence stretched on. Jamie was about to move away. Surely he could find someone else who would cooperate? But then the bald man shrugged and reached into his jacket. "Sure," he said. "I've got a card."
    He took out a wallet, opened it, and removed a white card, balancing it for a moment between soiled, cracked fingernails, as if considering. Then he handed it to Jamie. Jamie held it in front of him. There was a name and, below it, a company.
    COLTON BANES NIGHTRISE CORPORATION
    Beneath that was an address and a telephone number. The letters were too small for Jamie to see in the half-light.
    The man was looking at him curiously, almost as if he were trying to see into him. With difficulty, Jamie turned back to the stage. He tried to speak but his mouth was too dry. He swallowed, then tried again.
    "Scott, can you tell me who this man works for?" he called out.

    Silence from the stage. What was happening now?
    Then Scott spoke. "Sure, Jamie. He works for the Nightrise Corporation."
    The man smiled. "That's absolutely right," he said loudly, so the whole theatre could hear. But his voice was almost taunting Jamie, as if he didn't care one way or another if the trick had worked. "The boy got it in one."
    There was even more applause this time. There were only forty-five people left in the theatre but they were genuinely absorbed. It was the only real mystery they had seen all evening. Days later, they would still be wondering how it was done.
    And none of them had guessed the simple truth, even though it was the only possible explanation and was staring them in the face. There were no microphones. There were no hidden signals. There were no codes or messages being sent from offstage. The trick was that there was no trick. The two boys could genuinely read each other's minds.
    But the Nightrise Corporation knew. That was why they had sent these men here tonight. To see for themselves.
    It was time for Scott and Jamie Tyler to disappear.
    TWO
    Backstage
    The performance was over. Scott and Jamie had half an hour until the next one began, so the two of them went back to their dressing room. A narrow, L-shaped corridor, lit by harsh neon tubes, ran all the way around the back of the stage with an exit door at the end. As usual, they had to pick their way past the costumes, baskets, and props that were already set out for the next performance. Swami Louvishni's bed of nails was propped up next to Zorro's chains and straitjacket. A papier-mé cow came next and then a broken piano missing most of its keys — these last two left over from some other show. On one side, a bare brick wall rose forty feet up to the ceiling — this was in fact the back of the stage. On the other, a series of doors opened into small, square rooms. The entire area smelled of fried food. The theatre backed onto a motel with its kitchen directly opposite. Often when the boys left, they would see the Filipino staff in their striped aprons and white paper hats, hanging around,