If Trevor could come here, then surely he could go in the other direction, and that was urgently necessary, obviously.He paced, he looked for some sign of the gateway. Martin was out there right now in those deadly woods, and somebody had to save the guy, and Wylie thought it might as well be him.He could bring Martin across. If nobody over there wanted him, he could live here. Impractical though he was, professorial in a way that Wylie found infuriating, nevertheless the guy didn’t deserve this to happen. His own son, doing that to him? Good God.Why would they save him, then just discard him? And how could Trevor-too gentle to hunt birds, for the love of Pete-ever be that hard on his dad?Over there, it was storming. Over here, the sky was clear. The moon near the half rode high. It was close on to midnight, and from the house he could hear Brooke singing. She’d once had vocal ambitions, but life and children and a certain lack of volume had kept her away from an operatic career. Her voice was too delicate for the stage, but on a quiet night like this one, it was an angelic wonder.He knew that she was sitting in a window looking at the moon, waiting for her man to return.
