He was back in Chicago standing along the sidelines of an athletic field, and watching a group of adolescent boys in football jerseys crashing against each other. He was a years younger Sam, coaching the football team at Todd's middle school.

He scanned the crowd of boys on the field and realized that Todd was not among them. That was curious since he remembered Todd never missing a practice. He walked over to the young players in their huddle, his whistle glimmering and bouncing against his chest.

"Hey guys, where's Todd? Has anybody seen Todd Manning?"

George Pisner, a slight, blonde-headed boy that Sam remembered well, spoke up. "Todd can't play today, Coach."

"Why not?"

"He's been bad."

Inside the dream, fear gripped Sam's heart.
Outside the dream, his body broke into a cold sweat that dampened his blankets.

"What do you mean, bad?" Sam asked.

The kid just shrugged, but Sam could see faint fear in the child's blue eyes.

"Coach! Coach! Help me! Please, help me!"

Sam, immediately recognizing the voice as belonging to the child Todd, whirled around, but the boy was nowhere to be seen.

"Todd! Todd! Where are you? I'm coming, pal. Just tell me where you are!"

"Sam! Help me! He's hurting me!"

The voice seemed to come from all around him. Sam didn't know which way to go so he just started running, his head whipping in all directions to try to locate the direction of the young boy's voice. The clipboard dropped from his hand to the dewy grass.

"Todd! Todd!"

Sam could hear Todd crying.

Inside of the dream, he could hear his own pants of exertion mixing with his sobs.
Outside of the dream, tears rolled down his face and mingled with his sweat.

He suddenly found himself outside of Todd's old house. He was wearing the casual sweater and jeans that he'd been wearing the night he visited Todd on his fourteenth birthday. In his hands was the birthday present that he'd lovingly, if clumsily, wrapped himself: a new football uniform. He heard Todd screaming from inside. He rushed to the window and saw Todd yelling at his father and trying to strangle him with his small, boyish hands.

"Todd no!" Sam cried and ran to the front door, dropping the present in the dirt. He tried the door, but couldn't budge it. He threw himself at the door, but it wouldn't move. He ran back to the window to break it in and for a minute, his eyes wouldn't adjust to what they were seeing.

Inside of the dream, Sam screamed Todd's name.
Outside of the dream, Sam screamed Todd's name.

In the house, the situation had been reversed. Now it was Peter strangling Todd. The young boy's face was turning blue, his tongue lolling red and bloated from his mouth.

Around Peter's hands, Sam could hear him croaking, "Why didn't you help me, Sam? Why didn't you save me?" And his eyes closed.

"No! You bastard!" He screamed as Peter Manning smiled triumphantly.

"No!" He sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes wide open. Sweat and tears drenched his body. His head whirled around, assuring himself of where he was. Back home, safe in his bed. But he knew now that he would never be safe from the guilt of not trying, at least, to take Todd away from Peter Manning when he could still save him. It would haunt him even in his dreams.

"I'm sorry, Boomer," he whispered into the darkness. "God pal, I'm so sorry."

In the darkness, he cried, and sleep did not come again for the rest of the night.

Back to Part SIX

Forward to Part EIGHT

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