"He wanted to speak to Dad," Frederick said. "He climbed out of me and wandered down through the tunnels into the spring pool. The goblin told us that he took off his clothes and waded in and started whispering." Like most of the boys, George had believed that their father was most aware in his very middle, where he could direct the echoes of the water's rippling, shape them into words and phrases in the hollow of the great cavern. "So the goblin saw it happen?" "No," Frederick said, and Edward began to cry again. "No. George asked him for some privacy, and so he went a little way up the tunnel. He waited and waited, but George didn't come back. He called out, but George didn't answer. When he went to look for him, he was gone. His clothes were gone. All that he could find was this." He scrabbled to fit his chubby hand into his jacket's pocket, then fished out a little black pebble. Alan took it and saw that it wasn't a pebble, it was a rotted-out and dried-up fingertip, pierced with unbent paperclip wire. "It's Dave's, isn't it?" Edward said. "I think so," Alan said. Dave used to spend hours wiring his dropped-off parts back onto his body, gluing his teeth back into his head. "Jesus." "We're going to die, aren't we?" Frederick said. "We're going to starve to death." Edward held his pudgy hands one on top of the other in his lap and began to rock back and forth. "We'll be okay," he lied. "Did anyone see Dave?" Alan asked. "No," Frederick said. "We asked the golems, we asked Dad, we asked the goblin, but no one saw him. No one's seen him for years." Alan thought for a moment about how to ask his next question. "Did you look in the pool? On the bottom?" "*He's not there!*" Edward said. "We looked there. We looked all around Dad. We looked in town. Alan, they're both gone." Alan felt a sear of acid jet up esophagus. "I don't know what to do," he said. "I don't know where to look. Frederick, can't you, I don't know, *stuff* yourself with something? So you can eat?" "We tried," Edward said. "We tried rags and sawdust and clay and bread and they didn't work. I thought that maybe we could get a *child* and put him inside, maybe, but God, Albert, I don't want to do that, it's the kind of thing Dan would do." Alan stared at the softly glowing wood floors, reflecting highlights from the soft lighting. He rubbed his stocking toes over the waxy finish and felt its shine. "Don't do that, okay?" he said. "I'll think of something. Let me sleep on it. Do you want to sleep here? I can make up the sofa." "Thanks, big brother," Edward said. "Thanks." # Alan walked past his study, past the tableau of laptop and desk and chair, felt the pull of the story, and kept going, pulling his housecoat tighter around himself. The summer morning was already hotting up, and the air in the house had a sticky, dewy feel. He found Edward sitting on the sofa, with the sheets and pillowcases folded neatly next to him.