Read The Darkening Dream for Free Online Page A

the student body exchanged rumors.
    “Quiet, please… Quiet! Thank you. Memorial services will be held at the Tabernacle Third Congregational on Wednesday…”
    “Do you think they’ll let us see Charles at the funeral?” Emily whispered.
    The girl looked so young and innocent. Her long blond hair was like her sister’s, and her skin almost a crystalline glaze. Even at fourteen, she was heartrendingly fetching.
    “Don’t be morbid, Emily,” Anne said. “They won’t have an open casket.” She turned to Alex. “It’s not something Congregationalists usually do.”
    Charles had been Emily’s friend. But condolences always lay awkwardly on Alex’s tongue, making him think he should feel more than he did.

    Thirty-odd desks were bolted to the floor in Alex’s first class, all facing the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Fletcher nested behind this inglorious failure of the cabinetmakers’ art, plump, wearing a pleasant expression and a ridiculous tweed hat.
    He spied Sarah in front, next to the casement windows that showcased a brick wall. Alex’s assigned desk was in the back, but the one behind her was empty.
    “Is this seat free?” he asked as he approached from behind.
    “I’m sorry,” she said in falsetto. “It’s reserved for Mr. Palaogos. Most people are intimidated so close to the front.”
    She’d remembered his surname.
    “I’m not.” He took the seat. “And I’m happy to see you again. I didn’t notice you at the assembly.”
    She turned her head so he was speaking to her profile. It was a nice profile.
    “I ditched,” she said. “I suspect Mr. Burnsworth had no brilliant new wisdoms.” Alex saw half a smile.
    “The man could bore paint off a wall.”
    They both laughed.
    “Have you learned anything else about the poor boy’s murder?” Sarah asked. “The newspaper didn’t say anything new.”
    Alex had a sudden urge to share some details from his conversation with Grandfather. A lifetime of family secrecy clashed with his desire to say something, anything, that might impress her. He shrugged — mentally. Hubris led only to nemesis .
    “The funeral’s on Wednesday,” he said. “Emily’s going. I assume you know her?”
    “Of course, ninny, only since she was two.” From her, the insult was endearing. “Their church is a peculiar place. Reserved and cold, so unlike the Williams themselves. Basically, it’s Puritan. They changed the name, but it’s the same congregation. And the pastor, he’s actually descended from the minister who tried the Salem witches! Isn’t that creepy? But then I’m not Christian, so I can’t help thinking of Torquemada.”
    Alex’s head began to buzz. Sarah was pushing a lot of information at him, and her soapy smell was distracting, took the edge off his thinking. If not a Christian, what was she?
    “I don’t know much about American churches,” he told her. “But if you need information on fussy Orthodox patriarchs, I’m your man. Tales of old martyrs are my grandfather’s idea of bedtime stories.”
    Sarah raised the eyebrow he could see. “The man sounds more and more interesting. Nothing like thumbscrews and hot pokers to send you off to sleep.”
    “Well, now—”
    A boy kicked his desk. “Wop, you sitting behind the Christ-killer?”
    This sort deserved to be stomped faster than an Athenian roach. Alex stood up.
    “Apologize to the lady,” he said.
    It happened fast. The bully shoved Alex’s shoulder with his palm.
    He shoved back. Hard. Caught off guard, the boy tumbled backward into a bolted desk, couldn’t regain his balance, and crashed to the floor.
    Everybody in the class erupted in laughter.
    Except for the bully and Mrs. Fletcher.
    Which was how Alex ended up having a private audience with Principal Burnsworth.

    After what amounted only to a stern warning, Alex found Sam in the cafeteria waiting for his plate of overcooked food. In Greece, nothing was so organized or institutional. Today Alex received split pea soup,