Sleight Read Free

academic life. My injuries and, from the school administration’s point of view, psychological trauma, had bought me a lengthy leave of absence.
    Maddy’s move had been both devastating and cruelly swift. I mean, one day we were hanging out and the next she, her folks and her little sister were packed in the car and I was waving goodbye from the curb in front of her parents’ building. I could see Maddy’s tear-stained face looking back at me until the car turned a corner, and then she was gone.
    Her parents had originally agreed to let her stay through the end of the school year, but the mess at school, my getting kidnapped and being the last person to see Justine had soured them on letting her hang out with me any longer than necessary. As we had stood on the street saying goodbye she’d promised to come back for a visit as soon as possible, but her parents had been pretty quiet when she’d said it. My unfortunate talent for getting into serious trouble had not endeared me to the McIntyre parental units. We had initially texted every day but it was a tease. It made her seem close when she really wasn’t.
    Kenwoode stood to one side, tapping his foot and motioning me forward with an open hand. He seemed irritated by my distracted attitude. I held my tongue. Without saying anything I walked slowly to the bed. The lights were off and the curtains pulled so the only illumination in the room was what little light spilled in from the hall. As I approached Mr. Goodturn I noticed that the clock with the three monkeys, an antique that was Mr. Goodturn’s favorite trinket, was sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. It looked ridiculously out of place and awkward as it was much too big for the small surface it was sitting on. Kenwoode must have brought it up recently because it hadn’t been there the night before when I’d read to Mr. Goodturn. I saw that the second hand on the clock was moving; which was odd, because it had stopped working weeks ago.
    In the shadows I could just barely make out the features on Mr. Goodturn’s face. It was subtle but he looked more present somehow. Less waxy and slack. While I looked down on him, fighting back a tear, his eyelids opened slowly, like a garage door rolling up. They were unfocused and staring straight up at the ceiling, but once the lids had risen completely his eyes slowly slid toward me. My arms broke out in gooseflesh.
    Reaching out a hand I placed it on his arm. His skin was chilled from the ice bags that were nestled around him and it felt like touching a corpse.
     
    No more ice.
     
    I almost fell down. One of my knacks was the ability to carry on a conversation on a private mental frequency, but in my experience, other than one particular instance, all contact of this kind had to be initiated by me. During the years I had known Mr. Goodturn he and I had never communicated in this way.
     
    Mr.G?
     
    Yes.
     
    Are you going to be okay?
     
    Need something.
     
    Anything! What?
     
    Breno.
     
    Just like that the conversation shut off and his eyes slowly closed, like the sun dipping below the horizon.
     
    Mr. Goodturn? Can you hear me? What about Breno? What is it? How can I help you?
     
    There was no response and I looked over my shoulder at Kenwoode. He gave no indication that he had been aware of the silent conversation. He gazed at me expressionlessly.
    “Has he said anything? Did you talk to him?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “I’ve only noticed that his eyes have opened, which I take as a good sign. He hasn’t moved and he hasn’t made a sound.”
    Not really an answer I thought. Not for the first time I wondered what the connection was between Mr. G and Kenwoode. Friends? Colleagues? It was also an unanswered question as to whether Kenwoode was a member of the loosely connected community of Naturals that possessed knacks. The only related comment he had made had been about how Mr. Goodturn’s slowing knack might have saved him. I hadn’t offered