And now he knows that maybe Thornchapel is a magic place, but it isn’t a safe place.
So what is it that bothers him so much about remembering that young boy? He doesn’t know, but he’s still grasping reflexively at those darts of memory as the car pulls onto the Thornchapel drive. As if remembering the boy who used to think the world was bigger than it was will help him be a man who knows for a fact it is.
He doesn’t wait for his driver to help him get his bag out of the trunk—he grabs it himself, thanks him, and gives him the time he’d like to be picked up early Tuesday. And then he makes for the house with long strides, feeling like he’s bleeding from the entry and exit wounds of remembering a time when he thought he was loved and Thornchapel was the best place in the world.
He find
