the door on her car, even though she was too far away to actually reach it.
At that instant, she caught another glimpse of Natasha, smiling at her mother with childish glee, waving her hands in the air at whatever imaginary things babies wave their hands, perhaps thinking that this was all some kind of fun game that Mommy had made up to amuse her.
That was when Annie went down.
The front of her car slammed against her left hip. A split-second later, both she and her car smashed into the side of the truck. Although she felt like she was flying gracefully through space, Annie was in fact spinning wildly, like a rag doll discarded by an angry toddler. She was only dimly aware of her own bones cracking.
The next second or so was filled with the smells, textures, and tastes of tire rubber and concrete.
And then...blackness.
* * *
Neal awoke in the bed with a start.
He sat up, gazing out into the darkness. His mind felt like mush. What time was it? What
His foot was throbbing...and his shoulder...
Neal remembered the note on the refrigerator, then peered over at the door to the living room. It was open, but the entire apartment was dark.
Where the hell were his wife and daughter?
Gritting his teeth in pain, Neal eased himself out of bed and fumbled around in the blackness until he found the light switch. His foot throbbed as if about to explode.
“Annie?” he called out into the living room, thinking maybe she and Natasha were asleep on the couch. But he could see that they weren’t there.
Neal sighed miserably. His mind was still a little fuzzy from the pain killers, but most of the effects had worn off. He turned around and peered across the room, at the night stand. The clock said 11:38.
“Damn,” he muttered, holding his hand to his dully-aching head. He hadn’t meant to sleep so long.
Then noticed something else—the phone was off the hook.
Maybe something had happened to Annie and Natasha. With the phone off the hook, nobody could get through...
Feeling a groggy sort of panic, Neal limped back across the room and clumsily placed the receiver back in its cradle. As he did this, he noticed something else...things were missing from the room. All of Natasha’s toys were gone. The fish-mobile above her crib, some pictures of Natasha that were on the dresser, Annie’s small library of baby books...
Maybe someone had broken in...
The phone rang.
Neal turned and stared at it, confused. With an unexplainable sense of dread, he slowly reached for the receiver.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Neal limped through the main entrance of the Sandy Springs hospital, almost unaware of the pain in his foot, and asked where intensive care was located.
“Sixth floor,” a nurse told him.
Neal limped down the long hallway in a semi-daze, feeling as if he were still dreaming. The bright fluorescent lights and white uniforms and wheelchairs and medicinal smells made him only think of catastrophe and death. Why hadn’t he noticed that the phone was off the hook before he had fallen asleep? The hospital had been trying to call him since six o’clock, when the ambulance had arrived at the emergency room.
He stepped onto the elevator and punched the “6” button, then leaned against the panel to give his foot a rest. At least Natasha was all right, that much he knew. But they would only say that Annie was in a “guarded” condition and that he should
