Later that evening...

We're pulling out of the stadium parking lot when Mom says, "Look in my purse, Tansy. The lady who works at the pharmacy gave me your pictures."

"Mary Jane?" I take her purse when she hands it back between the seats.

"She apologized for not calling you earlier so that you could get them. Apparently she got in late yesterday, and she's been busy today. It slipped her mind."

I turn on the overhead light, find the photo envelope, and shuffle through pictures of our house, the land around it, Papa Dan at the windmill, until I find the one I want. The photo is in full color as it should be, since my camera was loaded with color film. Papa Dan peers up into the mulberry tree—not some boy dressed like he's out of the past. And no phantom sits on the tree bough, either.

When we get home, I go straight to my room. Tossing the envelope onto my bed, I head for my closet, slide hangers across the metal bar, trying to push thoughts of the photograph out of my mind so I can decide what to wear to school in the morning. I don't want to call too much attention to myself, though I'm pretty sure there's no escaping it, no matter what I choose. I decide on my newest pair of jeans, a dark purple T-shirt, and my plaid Converse sneakers with the yellow laces. From an overhead shelf, I grab one of Papa Dan's berets. Probably a big mistake, I know, but I can't help myself. I didn't wear a hat tonight, and I felt a little lost without it. I have to be me, and wearing my grandfather's hat will be the next best thing to having him with me.

'I'm wondering if Tate will like it as much as he did the fedora'. I ask myself, but I couldn't care less. So I quickly brush the thought off and gather Henry's treasures and the envelope of photographs and take them up to the turret.

I think right after what happened after we've moved here, my mind needs a distraction. And it is on Tate that my brain wants to focus on. The guy has good looks. 'Yeah' , I thought. '...and a drop dead gorgeous body too!' I blushed when I think about his six-pack-abs, well-toned biceps and triceps, and his shard-angled face. His — 'Okay, Tansy that's enough!'

I walk to the second window, sit on the sill, and place Henry's treasures and the photo envelope beside me. Lifting the crystal, I turn it left then right, hoping the cut glass might catch the overhead light and scatter colored dots across the walls like it did in the cellar. When it doesn't, I set it down and open the pocket watch. The hands are stopped at 12:22, the same time they showed when I first found the watch. Strange. I remember setting the timepiece to the correct time and winding it. I lay the watch on the sill alongside the crystal and the photographs.

And then, my thoughts drift to school, to the Watermelon Run, to Tate and his father. I feel tugged one way and then another. I hate being alone, but why try to make new friends when I'll be leaving soon? Besides, the idea of trying to fit in with the crankhead kids here makes me sick to my stomach. They all seem so tightly bound to one another, I doubt there'd be room for me, even if I wanted to join their clique. And, thanks to Hailey and Colin, I don't trust friendships anymore. How can I be so sure who's real and who isn't?

I touch Henry's watch and wonder about Cedar Canyon High. What's it like beneath that red tile roof? Behind those old brick walls with their curlicue trim? Beyond the arched marble columns and the heavy double doors? I guess it doesn't matter. I've had a lot of experience being the new girl at school. I know the routine. Pretend not to care what they think. Smile, but only if someone smiles at you first. Blend in the best you can. I hope Tate is in some of my classes. At least he'll be a friendly face. A sexy one, too! (^,~) now that's for sure!

Only a sliver of moon shines tonight—a toenail moon, Papa Dan used to call it. Henry's journal lies in my lap. I run a finger along the leather binding and peer into the night. My breath catches when I see someone standing beside the storm cellar, looking up at the turret window. At me. Pushing to my feet, I press my hands against the window and look closer, but the person moves quickly out of sight. I step to the side of the window, too, take a deep breath and hold it, risk another peek. Shadows have swallowed the person I saw or think I saw.

Trembling, I turn away from the window, sit on the floor, open Henry's journal to the page I've marked with a ribbon, and read….

Clock is ticking,

Trimming, tricking

Night to day and day to night

Sun is rising,

I'm despising

Pain ahead, the same old fight

Footsteps clicking,

Children kicking

Stones along the rotting walk

Laughter pealing,

I am feeling

Eyes that follow, words that stalk

Leaves are falling,

Someone's calling

Someone's name: could it be mine?

Lies are spreading,

I am dreading

Empty smiles, the same old lines

I am fading,

Dissipating,

They can't see me, they don't know

I am ending

Breaking, blending,

Soon, so soon now, I will go

Clock is ticking,

Ticking, tricking

Night to day and day to night

Moon is rising,

No disguising,

Darkness brings a whole new light

Darkness. I turn to look out the window again. Henry once sat here, too; I sense it. I can feel it. Watching the night and searching for something…or someone…in the shadows. But whoever was it, I don't know.

Outside the window, the insomniac bird begins its nightly serenade, his lonely song more faint than usual since the windows up here are closed. I take out the color snapshots again. On top is the picture of Papa Dan beside the mulberry tree, squinting up through the thick lenses of his glasses at the leafy green branches. Was Henry the phantom image I know I saw in the mulberry tree, even though it doesn't show up in the photo? Or is he the boy I saw peering up at the branches? Was it Henry I saw a moment ago in the shadows outside, staring up at me?

After studying the snapshot a long time, I lay it aside and pick up Henry's pocket watch, close it, trace the engraving on the back with my thumb. I wrap my fingers tightly around it and lift the crystal with my other hand for a closer look. The cut glass catches the overhead light, releasing a shimmering prism of radiance that reflects off the shiny surface of the picture with the same luminous intensity as the sunbeam that touched Papa Dan by the windmill.

The image in the photograph shimmers, shifts, fades to black-and-white. My hand trembles, and I drop the crystal as the scene in the snapshot suddenly broadens and surrounds me…

…I stand in snow across from the still figure of the guy looking into the tree. His squinting eyes are exactly like my grandfather's, his face like photographs I've seen of Papa Dan as a boy. A sparrow hangs motionless above his head.

Henry's pocket watch presses against my palm. I spread my fingers, and the cover pops open. The hands have moved to 8:15.

THUMP, thump. THUMP, thump THUMP, thump

My heartbeat is the only sound I hear. No wind blows, but the air is so cold that goose bumps scatter up my arms. I exhale, and a white puff of breath suspends in front of my face like a tiny, low-hanging cloud. I step closer to the tree where the phantom guy sits as still as a doll upon a gnarled, barren branch, his black button eyes staring down at me. His face is no longer blurred. Startled by his uncanny resemblance to Tate Hudson, I back up, whirl around, come face-to-face with the teenaged version of Papa Dan. Hysteria spirals up inside of me, twisting like a tornado, swelling. I reach my hand toward my boyish grandfather but stop short of touching his face.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump,thump.

The house looms in front of me, the paint no longer chipped and peeling. I tilt my head back to look up at the turret, feel dizzy, and close my eyes—

"Tansyyyyyyyyyyyy!" Mom calls from somewhere far off, and I feel myself sucked back into the turret. "Hailey's on my cell phone. She said you haven't been answering yours."

Opening my eyes, I jump to my feet, but my knees feel like putty, so I immediately sink to the floor and prop my elbows on my knees. Shivering uncontrollably, I cover my face with my hands and surrender to a bone-deep chill. "Ohmygod, OHMYGOD!," I whisper, rocking back and forth. What just happened? The air in the room is still, but a cold wind swirls inside me, murmuring an answer that I can't hear.

"Tansy?" Mom yells louder. "Hailey—"

"Tell her I'm in the shower!" I howl back, my voice unsteady and raw. Realizing that I'm clutching Henry's watch so tight that my nails are digging into my palm, I splay my fingers to find the cover open, though I know I closed it only moments ago.

The hands on the face read 8:15.