Sondra jerked and both babies opened their eyes and regarded her solemnly. 'What was that?' she asked. Her voice was shaking.
For a moment the midwife said nothing, then the big woman folded her hands in front of her as though she were trying to pray unobtrusively. 'Something I've never seen on a newborn,' she said at last. 'Teeth.'
And now Sondra faced a new danger: Walters . There was something about him that reminded her of the twins' father, an elusive call to forbidden sexuality that she'd thought only one man, one creature , possessed.
'Open your legs.'
'No!'
'Bear my children.'
She gasped when someone touched her arm, then realized it was McShaw. 'Are you all right, Ms Underwood? You don't look like you feel very well.'
'I'm f-fine,' Sondra stammered. 'Tired, that's all. It's hard to get a good night's sleep with two crying babies.' She clamped her lips shut, abruptly afraid she was whining. It was another lie anyway; the twins never cried. Her sleep was broken by the stealthy creaking of the stairs in the hallway outside the apartment, a thousand phantom shadows in the corners of the dark rooms, the hushed rasp of steel fingernails along the bottom of the too-flimsy front door.
Walters nodded sympathetically and for a moment she had the absurd notion that he could read her mind. 'Of course,' he said. 'We understand.'
Sondra bit back a sharp remark and they both stood, as if some invisible puppet master had pulled the 'up' strings simultaneously. She found herself watching the subtle movement of muscles beneath the taut fabric of Walters's uniform, then flushed when her gaze travelled to his face and she realized he was watching her watch him. For the first time she noticed that his eyes were a strange yellowish colour unlike anything she'd ever seen, the stare of a lion surveying its prey.
'If you see him again, you call 911,' McShaw said. 'Plus we'll put your building down for a few extra drive-bys every shift, try to make the squad cars more visible. Until you give us something more concrete, that's about all we can do. I'm sorry.' The chunkier cop looked down at his clipboard and frowned. 'It doesn't seem like he's ever got close enough for you to get a solid description.'
Sondra opened her mouth, then shut it again when Walters ran his cat-coloured gaze across her. She'd been about to say He looks like him, and point to Officer Walters; horrified, she put a trembling hand to her mouth and prayed McShaw wouldn't see her shivering. Was there that much of a resemblance? No, of course not.
Of course not.
Open your legs.
Walters was the last of the two to go out the front door. She didn't know why the tense words came, but when he looked back at her, all she could say was, 'He wants the twins.'
He nodded. 'I know.' Before she could close the door, he reached back through the opening and placed his fingers lightly on her wrist — a speed search for the hot pulse of life just below the skin? — then glanced surreptitiously towards his partner's retreating back, as though he were her colleague in some great and secret conspiracy. 'I'll be in touch,' he whispered.
I will fill you with blood and fire.
Sondra slammed the front door and stood trembling with anticipation and terror.
The babies were bathed and fed and put down for the night. They lay crowded against each other in the playpen — she couldn't afford a crib — content and quiet, like two halves of a whole. Sondra watched them for a while, knowing they wouldn't close their eyes for hours, wondering what they'd be like when they grew up. Right now they were small for their age, but would they catch up later? Go through one of those amazing growth spurts that parents were always crowing about and paediatricians predicted with nauseating regularity? She wished she could think of a way to keep them small and safe for ever, by her side and without the sweet, dangerous offering of the rest of the world.
After a while she went into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her image was shell-shocked and pale, a thin face with prominent cheekbones and a nondescript nose, hazel eyes undercut with purple shadows of exhaustion. Budget shopping and constant worrying had made her gaunt and graceless, left her mouth an oversized flesh-coloured slash across the bottom part of her face. Even her brown hair was nothing special — cut to shoulder length, then falling into a stupid wave that made the ends go in all directions. What was it about her that drew them? Why her ?
'Because you are one among millions, Sondra.'
She spun with a slow-motion movement that felt like she was trying to turn underwater. 'You!'
Officer Walters gave her a handsome smile. 'I told you I'd be in touch.'
Sondra took a step backward, felt the sharp edge of the cheap drawer pull dig into her spine. For a moment she thought it was teeth and her knees tried to buckle; she locked her muscles and felt behind her for reassurance — an old, bent brass handle, that's all. 'How-how did you get in?'
'The door was unlocked.'
'That's impossible,' she said hotly. 'I didn't'
He was standing in front of her before she had time to form her next word, the width of the room no more than a blink between them. Whatever she was going to say broke off when his hand, cool and white and alarmingly powerful, reached up to cup her jaw. His thumb skated delicately along the line of bone, then skipped up to trace her lips. 'I think you left it open for me…'
'No!'
'Didn't you?' Walters leaned over her, his face only an inch away. His breath was thick and meaty but not unpleasant, a cool, unnatural draught against her cheeks. He looked different than he had earlier, as if the chunky, donut-plied town cop were only a costume he donned to give stereotypical service to the public job and complement his partner's rotund figure. The basic features were still there, but now he looked like a predator, something long
