He’d been working up the courage for a few days and was now determined to find Charlie. The vendor was the one person who could tell him where he might be able to find Jack. And if he found Jack, maybe he could learn more about the fire and Jack’s grandfather’s theories about time. Adam had memorized the Midtown cross streets where the vendor’s newsstand had been situated: 57th and 6th Avenue, not far from Central Park. He could only hope it was still there. He knew that thirty-one years had passed, and the probability was slim, almost impossible. But then again, many impossible things had happened in the past week.
As Adam squeezed past legs and ducked under arms inside the train car, he decided his uncle had forgotten to mention one more rule.
5. Avoid the subway during rush hour, or else you’ll get squished like a sandwich.
Adam spent twenty minutes being shoved and jostled before he finally reached his stop. He hurried outside and gulped in the fresh, early evening air. Then he headed down the street where Charlie’s newsstand had been thirty-one years ago.
To his great surprise—or, rather, he wasn’t too surprised, because nothing was surprising these days anymore—the newsstand was still there. And sure enough, hunched behind the window was Charlie, eye patch and cigar and all, looking three decades older. This time, the bald vendor wore a gray windbreaker instead of a leather jacket, and deep lines creased his forehead as he read the newspaper.
Adam timidly approached the man. He had to clear his throat and say hello several times before Charlie heard him.
“Speak up, will ya?” Charlie put down the newspaper and peered over the window. “Whaddya want?”
“You’re—you’re Charlie, right?” Adam explained how he was looking for someone who’d visited Charlie’s newsstand as a kid. “It’s this boy, Jack. He wore an aviator helmet. You knew him thirty-one years ago…” He trailed off after seeing no change in Charlie’s clueless look.
Charlie squinted his one eye. “What’s your name again?”
“I’m…um…you don’t know me.”
Charlie suddenly let out a shout of recognition. “You’re that kid who disappeared into thin air!”
Several passersby glanced back at the exclamation. Adam stuffed his fists into his jacket, embarrassed.
Charlie had turned pale. His cigar dropped out of his mouth. “I remember you,” he said shakily. “Scared the living daylights out of me and your friend after you pulled that magic act. My wife wouldn’t believe me when I told her. Thought I was tryin’ to be funny. You some sort of ghost, boy?”
Adam shook his head. “So do you remember Jack?”
“That was a long time ago. Haven’t seen ol’ Jack in ages.”
Adam’s heart fell. “Thank you anyway.”
Back at the newsstand, Charlie scratched his head. How odd that the vanishing boy had appeared at his newsstand after so many years. The boy didn’t look any older either, if his memory was correct. Then again, most kids looked the same to the vendor: delinquents who wrecked his property and swiped candy and magazines.
Charlie chewed on his cigar. He probably should’ve told the boy about the stranger who had approached the newsstand a few months ago. The street vendor vividly remembered the man. An uneasy feeling crept up his neck even as he recalled the incident.
The stranger had worn a black suit and had two sharp eyebrows and a pointy chin. He’d arrived at the counter early one morning in late July, clutching a spiral notepad in his long fingers. Charlie remembered thinking the stranger probably needed to see a doctor—he had sickly pale skin, paler than any he’d seen, and a sort of crazed look in his black eyes.
“Are you Charlie?” the stranger had hissed softly.
“Yep. What can I get for ya?”
The stranger flipped to a page in his notepad. “In August of 1968, you and another eyewitness saw a boy vanish into thin air from this very spot. Is this correct?”
Charlie had to consider this for a few moments before he remembered. “Oh, yeah. Thought I imagined it. Scared the heck out of me. Probably a kid magician.”
The stranger’s dark eyes had glinted in the sunlight. “What was his name?”
“How should I know? I ain’t the kid’s babysitter.”
“Can you describe the boy? Dark hair, gray eyes, short, perhaps?”
“You’re asking me about some random kid I met thirty-one years ago?”
“Not every kid vanishes into thin air,” replied the stranger pointedly.
“I don’t answer questions, I sell stuff.”
“I should warn you, it’s best to cooperate.”
“Who even are you?”
The stranger’s thin lips curled into a sneer. “Ah-ah. I’m asking the questions here, and I suggest you answer them. Think of your poor wife.”
Charlie stiffened.
“It’s not easy for you two to make ends meet, is it?” continued the stranger. “Struggling to retire with barely any savings. Imagine what would happen if you ended up losing this newsstand.”
“Are you threatening me?” Charlie demanded, cracking his knuckles. No skinny, pale man in a suit intimidated him. But the stranger didn’t even flinch.
“Try to remember.” The stranger’s eyes flicked over the bootlegged CDs on the stand. “Or else I’ll let the authorities know about your illegal goods…”
Charlie fumed, but the thought of his wife stopped him from climbing over the window to pummel the smirk right off the guy’s pointy face.
“All I remember is the kid was small,” said Charlie. “Looked eight or nine or so. Might’ve had dark hair.”
“And his home? Where was he from?”
“I assume he’s from the city, Your Royal Inquisitor,” Charlie growled.
“Try to remember any additional details.”
“That’s all I got. How about you scram?”
The stranger simply sneered and eyed the CDs again.
Charlie closed his eyes and racked his brain. He could make up something, but he had a feeling the stranger would catch on if he told anything less than the truth. As a matter of fact, he did remember a bit about the boy. As the stranger had pointed out, it wasn’t every day that he met someone who vanished into thin air.
“Think the kid mentioned at one
