Nightrise Read Free Page A

smoking.
    As they made their way backstage, there was a sudden whining and a dog bounded out of one of the doors. It was a German shepherd, ten years old and blind in one eye. It belonged to Frank Kirby, who used it when he was pretending to be Mr. Marvano, master illusionist. Twice a night, the dog sat behind a secret mirror, waiting to appear in the cage.

    Jamie leaned down and patted its head. "Good boy, Jagger," he said. The dog had been named after the lead singer of the Rolling Stones. Jamie didn't know why.
    "Hey—Jamie!"
    Frank Kirby was in his dressing room. Zorro was with him, sitting at a table with a glass and a half bottle of whiskey in front of him. Jamie hoped the escapologist hadn't drunk too much of it yet. One night Zorro had been handcuffed on stage, tied up, and locked into his chest…where he had promptly fallen asleep. He'd lost a week's wages for that. He and Kirby often hung out together. They were both divorced. They were both in their fifties. And —Jamie couldn't avoid the thought — they were both losers.
    "What is it, Frank?" Jamie asked. He leaned against the door and felt his brother brush past behind him.
    Scott hadn't stopped.
    "There's a rumor we may be moving." Kirby's voice was always hoarse. Smoking thirty cigarettes a day probably didn't help. "I hear maybe we're getting out of Reno. You know anything about that?"
    "I haven't heard anything," Jamie said.
    "Maybe you can ask your uncle Don. He never tells us nothing!"
    Jamie was tempted to say that Don White never told him anything either. But there was no point. Frank knew that anyway. So Jamie just shrugged and went into the room next door.
    Scott was already there, lying on the single bed with its dirty mattress and striped blanket. All the rooms were the same: completely square with a window looking out onto the parking lot, with the motel on the other side. Each one had a washbasin and a mirror surrounded by lightbulbs. In some of the rooms, the lightbulbs actually worked. Jamie glanced at his brother, who was staring up at the ceiling. There were a couple of old Marvel comics on the table and a half-empty bottle of Coke. That was it. The two of them never did anything between shows. Sometimes they talked, but recently it seemed to Jamie that Scott had begun to retreat into himself.
    "Frank thinks we may be moving," Jamie said.
    "Moving where?"
    "He didn't say." Jamie sat down. "It would be great to get out of here. Away from Reno."
    Scott thought for a moment. He was still gazing at the ceiling. "I don't see it makes much difference," he said at last. "Wherever we go, it'll only be the same…or worse."
    Jamie took a sip from the Coke bottle. The liquid was warm and flat. It was like drinking syrup. He turned his head and examined his brother, lying there on the bed. Scott had unbuttoned his shirt. It hung loose at the sides, exposing his stomach and chest. The shirts looked good on the stage but they were cheap, black nylon and made Scott and Jamie sweat. Scott's hands were loosely curled by his sides. At that moment he didn't look fourteen. He could have been twenty-four.
    Jamie often had to remind himself that the two of them were exactly the same age. They were twins.
    That much at least was certain. And yet he couldn't help thinking of Scott as his older brother. It wasn't just the physical difference between them. For as long as he could remember, Scott had looked after him. Somehow it had never been the other way around. When Jamie had his nightmares, lying in some run-down hotel or trailer in the middle of nowhere, Scott would be there to comfort him. When he was hungry, Scott would find food. When Don White or his girlfriend, Marcie, turned nasty, Scott would put himself between them and his brother.
    That was how it had always been. Other kids had parents. Other kids went to school and hung out with their friends. They had TVs and computer games and went to summer camp. But Jamie and Scott had never had any of it. It