Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
SUMMER 1980
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
TWENTY-SIX YEARS LATER SEPTEMBER 2006
Chapter 3
ONE YEAR LATER OCTOBER 2007
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Acknowledgements
ALSO BY DAVID ELLIS
Eye of the Beholder
In the Company of Liars
Jury of One
Life Sentence
Line of Vision
G . P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
Published by the Penguin Group
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Copyright © 2009 by David Ellis
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Published simultaneously in Canada
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ellis, David, date.
The hidden man/David Ellis.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-14021-5
I. Title.
PS3555.L59485H
813’.54—dc22
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For my beautiful Abigail
SUMMER 1980
1
ACT NORMAL, whatever that means. Normal. Like everyone else.
Not different. Not like a freak. Just another person at the park.
It was a beautiful day, a glorious weekend in June, so bright you had to squint, so mild you didn’t feel the air. The playground was a perfect chaos, abuzz with children’s high-pitched squeals and whining pleas, parents calling after them in scolding voices, various playground contraptions in full animation, like busy turbines propelling the jubilant park.
Audrey. That was the name they called her. A surge of vicarious joy, watching her, her purity, her unadulterated innocence before the world turns cruel.
I feel like you sometimes. Like a child still. A child trapped in a grown-up’s body.
Audrey. She wore pink overalls and a bonnet with polka dots. Her tiny forehead crinkled in concentration as she gathered the sand in her hands and watched, fascinated, as it dissipated through her fingers.
I know we have a connection, Audrey. I know we do.
Audrey. She looked around her, up at the sky, at the other children in the sandbox, at her mother, a range of emotions crossing her tiny little face as the toddler slowly discovered the world around her.
“Audrey.” Saying the name aloud was dangerous. Someone might hear.
Don’t dare get close. Her mother isn’t far away. They’ll know. They’ll read it on my face, what I feel for you.
“C’mon, sweetheart.” Her mother scooped her up in her arms. “Sammy! Jason! Jason, get Sammy. C’mon, guys.” The boys, older by a few years, were over on the swing set. They jumped off the swings and landed with a flourish. The mother led the boys, still holding Audrey—Audrey—as she walked away.
I will follow you, Audrey. I will see you soon.
2
MARY CUTLER’S HEAD jerked off the pillow. A mother’s reflex. She’d been a light sleeper since Sammy was born seven years ago. Probably some shift in the pressure in the house, some break in equilibrium, had stirred her. Probably that was all.