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connected to him he had no idea, and every other memory of the first twelve years of his life was a mere sketch, an outline at best.
    Three years ago, however, Silas began to train himself to remember his dreams in vivid detail. He kept a tape recorder on his bedside table and switched it on the moment he opened his eyes every morning (or in the middle of the night, which was not uncommon for him). At first, he was frustrated. The memories were like watching someone else’s home movies: fleeting, seemingly unconnected images flickering on for a few seconds, then disappearing. Sometimes they returned the next night, sometimes not. But three months into his experiment, he realized that he was no longer seeing anything new in his dreams; he was watching reruns. Once he knew what he was looking for, the details began to emerge, first on the tape recorder and later on the canvas. His past was coming to life.
    His watch alarm buzzed at nine o’clock, snapping him out of his daydream. He went to the kitchen and changed the radio station to the call-in talk program
Tellin’ It Like It Is,
hosted by Howard Twopenny.
    A deep, authoritative voice filled the apartment, a far cry from the soothing sounds of Beethoven. Howard began with a plea to his listeners: “Folks, I have to tell you about a great new show on NTRP! It’s called
How Far Will You Go?
My producer Wally and I were watching it in the control room tonight before we went on the air, and we could…not…stop…laughing. I tell you, watching that enterprising young man finagle twenty grand out of that old bat…made me proud to be an American, I tell you. What does she need that kind of money for, anyway? You saw her. She’s got one foot in the grave already. She might as well give it to him now, am I right, listeners? Tell me what
you
think at 212-555-TELL. While we’re waiting for your call, let me tell you another story. I have some contacts at the NYPD who tell me another side to the story of Friday’s bank bomber—you know, the guy who turned himself into a human jigsaw puzzle? Turns out that while all the king’s horses and all the king’s men are still trying to put enough pieces together to identify Humpty Dumbbell, the loot itself actually survived the blast. It was all in a backpack picked up by some random bystander. Two hundred grand. And do you know what that…moron did? He turned it in to the cops. Let me say that again: He turned it in. Two hundred grand. People kill me. I told my kid that if he ever did anything that dumb, I’d send him off to live with my idiot brother and his seven kids in Alaska. Hey, we’ve got a caller….”

Cutting Howard off mid-sentence, his voice still hanging in the air, Silas returned to the classical station. He turned the volume down low and scrolled through the contacts in his phone, landing on
Mrs. Cardigan
and pressing the call button.
    “Have you seen Miss Huntley’s story about the new NTRP show?” he asked, filling a kettle for tea.
    “I have. Interesting girl. She may turn out to be quite useful. Anything new to report on the Wellbourne situation?”
    “Yes, ma’am. I found someone who’s perfect for the job. I’m certain of it. There’s something about this kid….”
    “You have my attention. Tell me about him. Or is it
her
?”
    “Him
. His name is Andover Llewellyn, goes by Andy. He’s the kid who almost got blown up in that bank heist on Friday.”
    “Oh?”
    “There’s more to the story. Somehow, he ended up with a bag full of the bank’s money, which he turned in the next morning. And then Melvin and I ran him through a little test, which he passed with flying colors. Now, are you ready for the strange part? Ironic, really.”
    “Is this where you tell me that he’s Howard Twopenny’s son?”
    Silas, who had been reaching for a mug in the cabinet above the sink, fumbled it, catching it inches before it smashed onto the counter. “How on
earth
could you possibly know