"Then in September we'll start you in school," said Brennan.

This statement made no impression upon young James Holden whatsoever. He
had no intention of enduring this smothering by overkindness any longer
than it took him to figure out how to run away, and where to run to. It
was going to be a difficult thing. Cruel treatment, torture, physical
harm were one thing; this act of being a deeply-concerned guardian was
something else. A twisted arm he could complain about, a bruise he could
show, the scars of lashing would give credence to his tale. But who would
listen to any complaint about too much kindness?

Six months of this sort of treatment and Jimmy Holden himself would begin
to believe that his parents were monsters, coldly stuffing information in
the head of an infant instead of letting him grow through a normal
childhood. A year, and Jimmy Holden would be re-creating his father's
reverberation circuit out of sheer gratitude. He'd be cajoled into
signing his own death-warrant.

But where can a five-year-old hide? There was no appeal to the forces of
law and order. They would merely pop him into a squad car and deliver him
to his guardian.

Law and order were out. His only chance was to lose himself in some gray
hinterland where there were so many of his own age that no one could keep
track of them all. Whether he would succeed was questionable. But until
he tried, he wouldn't know, and Jimmy was desperate enough to try
anything.

He attended the funeral services with Paul Brennan. But while the pastor
was invoking Our Heavenly Father to accept the loving parents of orphaned