The noise was driving her crazy. Amelia Reid leaned on her desk and clutched her head, wishing she could block out all the sounds assaulting her from different parts of the house. From the room next door came the thump of J.D.’s god-awful music, pounding like a demon’s heartbeat against her wall. And from the living room downstairs came the shout of the TV, its volume turned up to the max. She could deal with the music, because it was just noise, an irritant that chewed away at the farthest margins of her concentration. The TV, though, insinuated itself right into her mind because it was the voices of people talking, their words distracting her from the book she was trying to read.

In frustration, she slammed it shut and went downstairs. She found Jack in his usual position for the evening, slumped in the plaid Barca Lounger, a beer in his hand. His Royal Highness, farting in his throne. What awful desperation had driven her mother to marry him? Amelia could not imagine ever choosing such an option, could not even bear to contemplate a future with such a man under her roof, belching at her table, discarding his filthy socks like droppings on the living room floor.

And at night, to lie in bed with him, to feel his hands on her flesh… An involuntary sound of disgust escaped her throat, drawing Jack’s attention from the evening news. He looked at her, and his blank expression changed to one of interest, maybe even speculation. She knew the reason for it, and almost felt the need to cross her arms over her chest.

“Can you turn it down?” she said. “I can’t study.”

“So shut your door.”

“I did shut my door. The TV’s too loud.”

“It’s my house, y’know. You’re lucky I let you live here. I work hard all day. I deserve to relax in my own home.”

“I can’t concentrate. I can’t do my homework.”

Jack let out a half-belch, half-laugh. “A girl like you doesn’t need to blow a circuit in her brain. You don’t even need a brain.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Find a rich man, toss that pretty hair of yours, you got a meal ticket for the rest of your life She bit back an angry retort. Jack was baiting her. She could see that smirk on his lips, the thin mustache tilting up at one corner. He liked to get her angry, enjoyed seeing her upset. He couldn’t get her attention any other way, and Amelia knew he was titillated by any flash of emotion she displayed, even if it was rage.

With a shrug, she focused instead on the TV Icy withdrawal was the way to deal with Jack. Show no anger, no feelings at all, and it drove him crazy. It showed him exactly what he was: irrelevant. Inconsequential. Staring at the screen, she felt herself regain a measure of control over him. To hell with him. He couldn’t get to her, or at her, because she wouldn’t let him.

It took a few seconds for her brain to register the images on the screen. She saw a brown pickup being towed by a police truck, saw the blurred figure of a boy, face covered, as he was escorted into the Tranquility police station. When she finally understood what she was looking at, she forgot about Jack entirely.

“…the fourteen-year-old boy is currently being held for questioning. The body of forty-three-year-old Doreen Kelly was found this morning on a remote stretch of Slocum Road, east of Tranquility.

According to an anonymous eyewitness report, the suspect’s truck was seen weaving erratically on that same stretch of road around nine P.M. last night, and unspecified physical evidence has led police to take the youth into custody.

The victim, wife of Tranquility Police Chief Lincoln Kelly, had a long and troubling history of alcoholism, according to several town residents.

A new face appeared onscreen, a woman Amelia recognized as a cashier from Cobb and Morong’s. “Doreen was sort of the local tragic figure around here. She’d never, ever harm a soul, and I just can’t believe someone would do this. Only a monster would leave her out there to die.”

Now the TV showed a stretcher bearing a shrouded body being loaded into an ambulance.

“In a community already rocked by the tragedy of last night’s high school violence, this latest death is just one more blow to a town ironically named Tranquility…

Amelia said, “What are they talking about? What happened?”

Jack’s colorless eyes showed an ugly flicker of amusement. “Heard about it in town today,” he said. “That doctor’s kid is dead meat.”

Noah? Surely he’s not talking about Noah.

“Ran over the police chief’s wife last night, over on Slocum Road. That’s what some witness says.”

“Who’s saying that?”

Jack’s expression of amusement had spread to the rest of his face, tugging his lips into an ugly smile. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Just who did see it?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Oh! I almost forgot. That’s the boy you’re all sweet on, isn’t it? The one you think is something special. Well, I guess you’re right.” He looked back at the TV and laughed. “He’s gonna be real special in prison.”

“Fuck you,” said Amelia, and she ran out of the room and up the stairs.

“Hey! Hey, you come back here and apologize!” yelled Jack. “You show me a little goddamn respect!”

Ignoring the demands he was hurling after her, she headed straight into her mother’s bedroom and shut the door. If he’ll just leave me alone for five minutes. If he’ll let me make this one call…

She picked up the telephone and called Noah Elliot’s house.

To her dismay, it rang four times and then an answering machine picked up with a recording of his mother’s voice.

“This is Dr. Elliot. I’m unable to answer the phone, so please leave a message.

If this is an emergency, you can page me through the Knox Hospital operator, and I’ll return your call as soon as I can”

At the beep, Amelia blurted out: “Dr. Effiot, this is Amelia Reid. Noah didn’t run over that woman! He couldn’t have, because he was with-”

The bedroom door flew open. “What the hell are you doing in my room, you little bitch?” Jack roared.

Amelia slammed the phone down and turned to face him.

“You apologize,” said Jack.

“For what?”

“For cussing at me, goddamn it.”

“You mean for saying fuck you?”

His slap made her head whip sideways. She raised a hand to her stinging cheek, then she focused her gaze back on his. She stared at him for a moment, and something deep inside her, some core of molten steel, at last seemed to solidify. When he reached up to slap her again, she didn’t even flinch. She just looked at him, her eyes telling him that one more blow on his part would make him very, very sorry.

Slowly he lowered his hand, the blow never struck. He didn’t try to stop her as she walked out and went to her own room. He was still standing there, motionless, as she swung the door shut behind her.

Claire and Max Tutwiler stood in front of Lincoln’s desk, refusing to leave.

They had walked into the police station together, and now Max had his briefcase open, and as Lincoln watched in bewilderment, Max unrolled a topographical map and spread it across the desk.

“What’s this supposed to show me?” Lincoln asked.

“It’s the explanation for my son’s illness. For what’s happening in this town,” said Claire urgently. “Noah needs to be hospitalized. You have to release him.”

Reluctantly Lincoln looked up at her. Only twelve hours ago, they had been lovers. Now it was apparent he could barely bring himself to meet her gaze.

“He didn’t look ill to me, Claire. In fact, he almost outran us this morning.”

“The sickness is in his brain. It’s a parasite called Taenia so//urn, and during the initial infection, it can cause personality changes. If Noah’s infected, he needs to be treated. Taenia solium cysts cause brain swelling and symptoms of meningitis. That’s what I’ve been seeing in him these past few days. The irritability, the rage. If I don’t get him to a hospital, if he’s developed a cyst and it ruptures…" She stopped, struggling to hold back tears. “Please,” she whispered. “I don’t want to lose my son.”