"I was in bed," she said flatly. "Something woke me up. The music. I
thought it was the music. I couldn't really hear it, but I could feel
it. The bass vibrating. I tried to guess what the song was, and what
people were doing. I couldn't wait until I was old enough to stay up
for the parties. I heard something. Something," she murmured, rubbing
an annoyed hand on the headache that was building behind her temple. "I
don't know what. But I-footsteps," she remembered abruptly,
and her heart began to thud against her ribs. "I heard someone coming
down the hall. I wanted it to be Dad or Bev. I wanted them to talk to
me for a while. Maybe I could con them into letting me go downstairs.
But it wasn't Dad or Bev."
"Easy." He could see the sweat heading on her brow, and rubbed her hand
between both of his. "Just take it slow."
"Darren was crying. I heard him crying. I know it. It wasn't a dream.
I heard him crying. I got tip. Alice had told me not to take Charlie
in, but Darren liked to sleep with Charlie, and he was crying. I was
going to take Charlie into Darren and talk to him for a while until he
slept again. But the hall was dark."
She looked around now, with the sunlight creeping into it from the
bedroom windows. "It was dark, but it wasn't supposed to be. They
always left a light on for me. I'm so afraid of the dark. There are
things in the dark."
"Things?" he repeated, his brows drawing together.
"I didn't want to go out in the hall, in the dark. But he kept crying.
I could hear the music now, as I stepped into the hall, into the dark.
It was loud, and I was frightened."
She started to walk then, dreamlike, toward the door. "I could hear
them, hissing in the corners, scraping along the walls, swishing on the
rugs."
"Hear what?" he said quietly. "What did you hear?"
"The monsters." She turned and looked at him. "I heard the monsters.
And ... I don't remember. I don't remember if I went to the door.
It was closed, I know it was closed, but I don't know if I opened it."
She stood on the threshold. For an instant she saw the room as she
remembered it-cluttered with Darren's toys, painted in bright, primary
colors. His crib, his rooker, his shiny new tricycle. Then the picture
dissolved into what was there.
An oak desk and leather chair. Framed pictures, glass shelves crowded
with bric-a-brac.
An office. They had turned her brother's room into an office.
"I ran," she said at length. "I don't remember anything except running,
and falling."
"You said you'd gone to the door. You told my father, when he saw you
in the hospital right after it happened, that you'd opened the door."
"It was like a dream. And now, I don't really remember at all. It all
faded away."
"Maybe it was supposed to."
"He was beautiful." It hurt too much to face the room. "He was
absolutely beautiful. I loved him more than anything or anyone.
Everyone did." Tears were blurring her vision. "I need to get out of