'Look,' Trent said, holding the drill out so they could get a good look. 'This is what they call a needle-point drill bit. See how tiny it is? And since we're only going to drill behind the pictures, I don't think we have to worry.' There were about a dozen framed prints along the third-floor hallway, half of them beyond the study door, on the way to the closet at the end where the suitcases were stored. Most of these were very old (and mostly uninteresting) views of Titusville, where the Bradburys lived. 'He doesn't even look at them, let alone behind them,' Laurie agreed. Brian touched the tip of the drill with one finger, and then nodded. Lissa watched, then copied both the touch and the nod. If Laurie said something was okay, it probably was; if Trent said so, it almost certainly was; if they both said so, there could be no question. Laurie took down the picture, which hung closest to the small crack in the plaster and gave it to Brian. Trent drilled. They stood watching him in a tight little circle of three, like infielders encouraging their pitcher at a particularly tense moment of the game. The drill bit went easily into the wall, and the hole it made was every bit as tiny as promised.
The darker square of wallpaper, which had been revealed when Laurie took the print off its hook, was also encouraging. It suggested that no one had bothered taking the dark line engraving of the Titusville Public Library off its hook for a very long time.
After a dozen turns of the drill's handle, Trent stopped and reversed, pulling the bit free.
'Why'd you quit?' Brian asked.
'Hit something hard.'
'More metal?' Lissa asked.
'I think so. Sure wasn't wood. Let's see.' He shone the light in and cocked his head this way and that before shaking it decisively. 'My head's too big. Let's boost Lissa.' Laurie and Trent lifted her up and Brian handed her the Pen Lite. Lissa squinted for a time, then said, 'Just like in the crack I found.'
'Okay,' Trent said. 'Next picture.'
The drill hit metal behind the second, and the third, as well. Behind the fourth - by this time they were quite close to the door of Lew's study - it went all the way in before Trent pulled it out. This time when she was boosted up, Lissa told them she saw 'the pink stuff.' 'Yeah, the insulation I told you about,' Trent said to Laurie. 'Let's try the other side of the hall.'
They had to drill behind four pictures on the east side of the corridor before they struck first wood-lath and then insulation behind the plaster... and as they were re-hanging the last picture, they heard the out-of-tune snarl of Lew's elderly Porsche turning into the driveway. Brian, who had been in charge of hanging this picture - he could just reach the hook on tip-toe - dropped it. Laurie reached out and grabbed it by the frame on the way down. A moment later she found herself shaking so badly she had to hand the picture to Trent, or she would have dropped it herself.
'You hang it,' she said, turning a stricken face to her older brother. 'I would have dropped it if I'd been thinking about what I was doing. I really would.'
Chapter Three
Trent hung the picture, which showed horse-drawn carriages clopping through City Park, and saw it was hanging slightly askew. He reached out to adjust it, then pulled back just before his fingers touched the frame. His sisters and his brother thought he was something like a god; Trent himself was smart enough to know he was only a kid. But even a kid - assuming he was a kid with half a brain - knew that when things like this started to go bad, you ought to leave them alone. If he messed with it anymore, this picture would fall for sure, spraying the floor with broken glass, and somehow Trent knew it.
'Go!' he whispered. 'Downstairs! TV room!'
The back door slammed downstairs as Lew came in.
'But it's not straight!' Lissa protested. 'Trent, it's not...' 'Never mind!' Laurie said. 'Do what Trent says!'
Trent and Laurie looked at each other, wide-eyed. If Lew went into the kitchen to fix himself a bite to tide himself over until supper, all still might be well. If he didn't, he would meet Lissa and Brian on the stairs. One look at them and he'd know something was going on. The two younger Bradbury children were old enough to close their mouths, but not their faces. Brian and Lissa went fast.
Trent and Laurie came behind, more slowly, listening. There was a moment of almost unbearable suspense when the only sounds were the little kids' footsteps on the stairs, and then Lew bawled up at them from the kitchen: 'KEEP IT DOWN, CAN'T YOU? YOUR MOTHER'S TAKING A NAP!'
And if that doesn't wake her up, Laurie thought, nothing will.
Late that night, as Trent was drowsing off to sleep, Laurie opened the door of his room, came in, and sat down beside him on the bed.
'You don't like him, but that's not all,' she said.
'Who-wha?' Trent asked, peeling a cautious eyelid.
'Lew,' she said quietly. 'You know who I mean, Trent.'
'Yeah,' he said, giving up. 'And you're right. I don't like him.'
'You're scared of him, too, aren't you?'
After a long, long moment, Trent said: 'Yeah. A little.'
'Just a little?'
'Maybe a little more than a little,' Trent said. He winked at her, hoping for a smile, but Laurie only looked at him, and Trent gave up. She wasn't going to be diverted, at least not tonight. 'Why? Do you think he might hurt us?'