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"I still can't believe it," he said shaking his head, but not as vigorously.

"Perhaps he means to tell you the truth someday. but I didn't want to take the chance of his never telling you. I couldn't leave here like that. I'd be thinking about it all the time, worrying about vou."

He glared angrily into the darkness. Then he threw off his blanket.

"I want you to show me this stuff right now," he said. "I'm sure it's a mistake. I'm sure."

"All right," I said. "I will."

He got up, found his pants and slipped them on. He didn't put on his shoes and socks, however, or a shirt.

"Let's go," he said. "and very quietly. I don't want us waking them up if we can help it."

"I don't want us waking them up either," I said, but not because I would feel bad about disturbing their rest.

We left his room and moved very quietly down the hallway to the stairs. At the top, we stood and listened to be sure they were asleep. The house seemed very quiet, but a house like this was never completely quiet. Its shutters tapped in the wind. Its ceilings and floors creaked and the pipes moaned in the walls. Things scurried about in the shadows.

A thick candle burned on a table in the kitchen and the glow of that threw shadows over the walls, shadows that moved and trembled with the flickering flame. I felt every muscle in my body tighten. When I looked at Harley. I saw how anger had filled his eyes and tightened his jaw. I knew that for now most of that anger was directed toward me. With all his heart, he wanted me to be wrong. Seeing such fury in his eyes made me almost wish I had left without telling him.

"I'm better off without the crutch," I told him. "Ill use the banister and just limp."

He nodded and we started down. The steps became little tattletales moaning and groaning under our careful footsteps. After one in particular sounded as if it might give way completely, we both paused to listen and see if we had been heard.

Harley nodded and we continued to the bottom of the stairs and then down the hallway to the basement door. He looked at me and then he opened it and I showed him the light switch. He flicked it and the light, as poor as it was, made us squint for a moment.

"It's all right there in those cartons at the bottom." I said softly.

He started down and I followed. He stopped to look at the picture on the wall.

"I think that really is your father." I said. He glanced at me and back at the picture. "I don't see much difference."

"Okay, Harley." He would see what he wanted to. I thought, until he was forced to see the truth. "Look in the second carton on the right. I left it all on top," I said.

He went to it and squatted. I joined him, making myself as comfortable as I could under the circumstances and watched as he read the news clipping. His eyebrows lifted and fell with the revelations. Then he shook his head.

"I don't understand this," he muttered. "Why pretend to be my father?"

"Like I said, maybe he's ashamed of it all. Maybe he thought he could do something nice. Maybe..."

We heard the door above slam closed and both looked up the stairway.

"What was that?" he asked.

He stood up and helped me to my feet. We heard a loud scraping noise and a bang against the wall and the door.

"What's going on?"

He hurried ahead of me up the stairs and tried the door. It didn't budge an inch.

"It's locked or blocked." he reported as I came up behind him.

"Bang on it. Maybe Suze found it open and just closed it." I said.

He nodded and pounded on the door.

"Hey," he called. "We're down here. Open the door. Hey!"

We waited and listened. There were some footsteps in the hallway and then. silence.