He had a wife who was still sort of his responsibility, and when it came to his son there was no sort-of at all. Even thinking of Johnny was dangerous. Every time his mind turned to the boy, Clay felt a panic-rat inside his mind, ready to burst free of the flimsy cage that held it and start gnawing anything it could get at with its sharp little teeth. If he could make sure Johnny and Sharon were okay, he could keep the rat in its cage and plan what to do next. But if he did something stupid, he wouldn't be able to help anyone. In fact, he would make things worse for the people here.

Phoner: 'Blet ky-yam doe-ram kazzalah a babbalah!' Clay Riddell: 'I'll a-babbalah your a-kazzalah, you fuck!'

The phone crazies own the days; when the stars come out, that's us. We're like vampires. We've been banished to the night. Up close we know each other because …

The event that came to be known as The Pulse began at 3:03 p.m., eastern standard time, on the afternoon of October 1. The term was a misnomer, of course, but …

So he died, because for a split second he got brave. But not then. He died much later, after the split second of bravery had faded into long hours of wretched …

If fathers who fear fathering and run away from it could only see how little fathering is enough. Mostly, the father just needs to be there.

We've educated children to think that spontaneity is inappropriate. Children are willing to expose themselves to experiences. We aren't. Grownups always say th…