The Broken

the decaying clothes of cobwebs and dust. Though the decoration was eclectic, it appeared to be mainly Victorian. Freshly cut flowers stood suspended in an ornate crystal vase on top of a small, two-person table. A matching pair of cherry bookshelves with identical fronts of pressed glass paneling housed an expansive collection of antique books.

  He bent down and retrieved a newspaper off an antique coffee table and noticed that somebody had turned to the obituary section. At first he didn't give it a second thought, assuming Mrs. Kidacki was most likely searching for somebody she knew. But when he turned to the next section, he found another obituary page. After a quick search, he soon realized the entire stack of papers represented a long list of dead people.

  Just as Link had restored the papers to their original location on the coffee table, Mrs. Kidacki appeared out of nowhere. "Here you go, dear," she said, offering him a plate of molasses cookies. "Still warm and gooey. Hope you like molasses."

  "How'd you do that?"

  "Do what, dear? Make cookies?"

  Link shook his head. "How'd you appear in front of me like that?"

  The old lady tisked quietly. "Oh my, you have had a rough day. A woman at my stage in life doesn't just appear. I'm afraid everything takes more work these days. Perhaps you were just preoccupied with something else." She eyed the stack of obituaries for the briefest of moments. "Don't worry. Happens to me all the time."

  Mrs. Kidacki examined Link like she was searching for the best cantaloupe at the supermarket. Link returned her gaze and found the continued silence to be painfully uncomfortable. Again Mrs. Kidacki smiled. "You don't like molasses cookies? Is that it?"

  "What? Oh, yes, ma'am. I mean, no, ma'am. That is, I like them. I just don't have much of an appetite. That's all." He hated when he lost track of a conversation. Actually, he hated feeling stupid for any reason. "I like your house," he said, doing his best to play it off. "For such a large space, it's very quaint."

  She beamed at the compliment. "What a kind thing to say." She did a quick scan of the room and sighed. "I certainly have enjoyed this place. It's been a good home. All the same, everything good eventually changes. Only time will tell if that change will be for the best."

  Link had no idea how he should respond to such a comment and wondered if it was time for the old lady to take her medication. He stood to leave. He wanted to make certain he got home before his dad. The last thing Link felt like dealing with right now was another breakdown by his father. "Thanks for the cookies, ma'am. I'd better be going."

  "But you haven't eaten a thing. Why not take them with you? With all you have to face at home, I bet a snack will do you good."

  Why did all the women in this ridiculous town either yell at him or bake him cookies? The people around here were total whack-a-doodles. Link stacked two cookies in the palm of his right hand. "Thanks again," he said already out on her front porch.

  "Anytime, young man. Oh, and Lincoln," the old lady's face grew serious as she same into the door frame. For the first time, Link sensed how old she really was. How could he have possibly been worried? This wrinkly fossil probably wasn't even capable of hurting him.

  "Before you go," she continued. "I feel I must tell you something."

  "Yes?" Link said.

  She seemed to struggle as she thought of the right words to say. "It is my belief that the things in your life do not change for the benefit of good or evil. They simply change because it is in their nature to do so. The pendulum of the universe may swing wide, but one day it must also swing back or cease to be what it is altogether. People are no different. Allow them the same freedom you give all things, and one day they too will return. After all, some things are not what they first appear to be." With another smile, she winked at him and closed the door.

  Link raised his arm to ring the doorbell but stopped. For some reason, even though her words were vague and convoluted, they hadn't sounded like gibberish. Instead, they volleyed back and forth in his mind, searching for something with which to connect. He lowered his arm as her words slowly sunk in. He had heard those words like those before. He would never forget them because they had been one of the last things his mother had ever said.

  In that same instant, an even more disturbing thought occurred to him. How had the old lady known his full name? Outside of his parents, nobody knew his middle name, not even his little brother.

  23

  Psycho Path and Presidential

  When he reached his home, Link peered into the garage, hoping it would be empty. He knew he had crossed the line with his father earlier. The harsh words of his dad's rebuke and the subsequent meltdown still clawed at his conscience. Conflict resolution had never been a skill Link had used in his previous dealings with his father. He had no idea what to say.

  Still holding the cookies, Link fumbled in his pocket for the house key. Trying to juggle the cookies and his school bag as well as the keys, he contemplated holding the cookies in his mouth for a second. He was about to slide it into the lock when he spied a dab of pink frosting smeared on the backside of his hand. His mouth watered, and his belly grumbled as his appetite returned in full force. Desperately wanting to taste one of the cookies, Link hesitated, unable to shake the visions of crazy old ladies putting arsenic into the treats of unsuspecting victims.

  Resisting the temptation while he opened the door, Link shook his hunger aside, ran down the stairs to his room, and placed the cookies on the bedroom dresser. He picked up the new camera. Maybe if he helped his dad with some photos of the neighborhood houses, things would return to normal. Who was he kidding? Things hadn't been normal since his mother had died. But at least things might become livable.

  Outside, Link racked his brain, trying to remember what houses his dad had mentioned as ones he was trying to sell. At the time, he had only half listened because he had been consumed by curiosity about what lay hidden in the hatch. He still had a couple hours of usable light. Now, if he could only remember where it was he needed to go.

  It only took him about a half hour of searching before he found something interesting. Link came to a colonial-style home with wraparound porches and exquisitely manicured hanging baskets that overflowed with an assortment of lipstick-pink petunias and variegated vinca vines.

  Though it wasn't even for sale, something about the house made him curious. Link looked with fond admiration at the fruit of his exploration then slapped his forehead with annoyance. What was he thinking? He had been so enthralled with the prospect of finding houses for his father that he'd neglected to test whether or not the camera even worked.

  He drew his index finger across the rotating dial and switched the camera on. Various numbers and symbols sprung to life on the digital display. How could he have failed to notice this before? If the camera had a display like this, it wasn't nearly as old as he had first estimated. Not that it mattered. Reading the display was like translating a book written in Korean. Link became lost in a labyrinth of unfamiliar numbers and symbols. One of the symbols actually appeared to be Greek. What in the world was this thing?

  He examined the rest of the display, searching for a symbol he could decipher. Suddenly, his heart swelled with excitement. Surrounded by brackets in the bottom right hand corner of the screen was the number six. Someone had already taken six pictures with this roll.

  His head spun at the myriad of possible pictures conceivably trapped on the roll of film. What if the person who had previously lived in the house was a murderer and had used the camera to take pictures of his victims? These pictures could be the last remaining evidence of his crimes. Worse yet, what if the killer wasn't dead and was only biding time, laying low from the police? If, upon his return, the killer discovered the camera missing...

  Link refused to finish the thought. He was being unreasonably morbid again. How many axe murderers did he think were seriously interested in cameras? Someone would have to be quite into it to get a film model with a digital display like this. They were probably just pictures of
a family vacation or a little kid's soccer game. He had already proven that in this neighborhood he was more likely to be offered cookies than hunted down by a serial killer.

  Besides, Link had to keep his eyes on the prize. He needed to help his dad if for no other reason than to avoid witnessing another breakdown ? or worse, talking about the first one. After convincing himself that the risk of the psychopath scenario was as likely as being elected president tomorrow, he decided to get on with taking pictures.

  If real danger was likely, surely the universe would have provided some sort of sign. Link knew what his dad would have done in a situation like this. Though Link lacked any genuine faith in a personal deity, he did feel as though there was substantial evidence to prove that something enjoyed perpetually pissing on his parade. So, in a show of mock reverence, Link prayed to the universe.

  "Dear Universe," he said in a hushed tone. "If the path I am choosing contains any real danger, please give me a sign."

  Link waited for lightning to strike him down or a steamroller to flatten him in the middle of the street. When he heard no gunshots and sensed no impending tragedy, he grew more confident with this current line of reasoning and chose to continue on his original mission. If he couldn't figure out which house he was looking for, maybe he