Was it too cold; was it too windy? But I hate to think about them being sick or to baby them about being sick, and I know why now. It was because of Carl and the way he examined them… and me. He was sick. I know that now. But that's why I let Missy out. It was damp and too cold for her. But I thought just half an hour. And it was because of that. And I got her red mittens, the ones with the smile faces, and I told her to be sure to keep them on because it was so cold. I remember thinking that for a change she had a matching pair. But she did lose one by the swing. Oh, God, Dorothy, if I hadn't let them out! If I had kept them in because she was getting sick… But I didn't want to think about that… Dorothy -'
Nancy spun around at Dorothy's strangled cry. Dorothy's face was working convulsively. 'What did you say?' she demanded. 'What did you say… about the mittens?'
'I don't know. Do you mean – that she lost one – or that they matched? Dorothy, what do you mean?… What do you know?'
With a sob, Dorothy covered her face. '1 know where they are. Oh God, I know… and I was so stupid. Oh, Nancy, what have I done? Oh, what have I done?' She reached into her pocket and pulled out the mitten, it was there… this afternoon on the floor of the garage… and I thought I'd kicked it out. And that awful man… I knew there was something about him; the way he smelted so sour… so evil… and that baby powder. Oh, my God!'
Nancy grabbed the mitten. 'Dorothy, please help me. Where did you find that mitten?'
Dorothy sagged limply. 'At the Lookout, when I was showing it today.'
'The Lookout… where that Parrish man lives. I don't think I've ever seen him except from a distance. Oh, no!' In an instant of total clarity, Nancy saw truth and realized it might be too late. 'Dorothy, I'm going to The Lookout. Now… the children are there. Maybe. Maybe I'll be in time. You go for Ray and the police. Tell them to come. Can I get into the house?'
Dorothy's shaking stopped. Her voice became as calm as Nancy 's. Later – later, for the rest of her life – she could indulge in self-recrimination… but not this minute. 'The kitchen door has a bolt. If he put it on, you can't get in. But the front door, the one on the bay side – he never uses it. I never gave him a key. This will open both locks.' She dug into her pocket and came out with a set. 'This one.'
She did not question Nancy 's decision to go alone. Together the women raced out the back door towards the cars. Dorothy let Nancy pull out first. She caught her breath as Nancy 's car lurched, skidded and then righted itself.
It was almost impossible to see. The sleet had formed a thick ice shield against the window. Nancy rolled down her side window. Glancing out of it, squinting against the pelting sleet, she raced the car down the road, across Route 6A and down the street that led to the cut-off for The Lookout.
As she started up the winding incline, the car began to slip. She floored the gas pedal and the front wheels skidded, twisting the car on the icy road. Nancy jammed on the brake. The car spun around. Too late, she tried to right it. A tree loomed ahead. She managed to yank the wheel in a half circle. The front end of the car pulled to the right and with a grinding crash hit the tree.
Nancy was thrown forward, then snapped back. The wheels were still spinning as she pushed open the door on the driver's side and stepped out into the pelting sleet. She hadn't put on a coat, but she barely felt the sleet go through her sweater and slacks as she tried to run up the precarious hill.
At the approach to the driveway, she slipped and fell. Ignoring the sharp pain in her knee, she ran towards the house. Don't let me be too late. Please don't let me be too late. Like clouds breaking before her vision, she could see herself staring down at the slabs at Lisa and Peter… their faces white and bloated from the water… the bits of the plastic bag still sticking to them. Please, she prayed. Please!
She got to the house and steadied herself against the shingles as she ran around it towards the front entrance. The key in her hand was wet and cold. She grasped it tightly. The house was completely dark except for the top floor. She could see a light coming through the shade of one of the windows. As she rounded the house, she could hear the harsh crashing sounds of the bay as the waves broke against the rocky shore. There was no beach – just piles of rock. The beach was over to the left.
She hadn't realized this property was so high. You could probably see the whole town from the back windows.
Her breath was coming in deep, sobbing gasps. Nancy felt her heart pounding. She couldn't breathe from running in the cold wind. Her numbed fingers fumbled with the key. Let it turn; please, let it turn. She felt resistance as the rusty lock grabbed at the key, then held it, and finally the lock turned and Nancy pushed open the door.
The house was dark – so terribly dark. She couldn't see. There was a musty smell, and it was so quiet here. The light had come from the top floor. That was where the apartment was. She'd have to find the stairs. She resisted the impulse to shriek Michael's name.
Dorothy had said something about two staircases in the foyer past the big front room. This was the front room. Uncertainly, Nancy started forward. In the pitch darkness, she reached her hands in front of her. She mustn't make noise; mustn't give warning. She tripped, fell forward and recovered herself by grabbing something. It was the arm of a couch or chair. She felt her way around it. If only she had matches. She strained to hear… Had she heard something… a cry… or was it just the way the wind howled in the fireplace?
She had to get upstairs… had to find them. Suppose they weren't there?… Suppose she was too late?… Suppose it was like last time? – with those little faces so quiet, so distorted… They had trusted her. Lisa had clung to her that last morning. 'Daddy hurt me' was all she would say. Nancy was sure that Carl had spanked her for wetting the bed… had cursed herself for being too tired to wake up. She hadn't dared to criticize Carl… but when she made the bed, it wasn't wet; so Lisa hadn't wet the bed. She should have told them that at the trial, but she couldn't. She couldn't think, and she was too tired… and it didn't matter any more.
The stairs… That was a post under her arm… The stairs… three flights… Walk on the side… Be quiet. Nancy reached down and yanked off her sneakers. They were so wet they'd made a squishing noise… Important to be quiet… Have to get upstairs… Mustn't be too late again… Last time too late… Shouldn't have left children in car… Should have known…
The stairs squeaked under her foot. Mustn't let him panic… Last time he panicked… Maybe Michael's call panicked him… Last time they said the children hadn't been thrown in the water till after they were dead… But Michael was still alive just a few minutes ago… Twenty minutes ago… and he thought Missy was sick… Maybe she was sick… Have to get to her… The first flight… Bedrooms on this floor… but no light, no sound… Upstairs two more flights… On the third floor there was no sound either.
At the base of the last staircase, Nancy stopped to control her harsh breathing. The door at the head of the
stairs was open. She could see a shadow against the wall caused by a thin flicker of light. Then she heard it… a voice – Michael's voice… 'Don't do that! Don't do that!'
She ran up the stairs blindly, furiously. Michael! Missy! She hurried, not caring about the noise, but her thick socks didn't make noise. Her hand grasping the banister was silent. At the top of the stairs she hesitated. The light was coming from down the hall. Silently, swiftly she hurried through the room, the living-room probably, that was shadowy and quiet, towards the candlelight in the bedroom, towards the gross figure with its back to her that was holding a small struggling figure on the bed with one hand, giggling softly as with the other he pulled a shiny plastic bag over a blond head.
Nancy had an impression of startled blue eyes, of Michael's blond hair matting on his forehead, of the way the plastic clung to his eyelids and nostrils as she cried, 'Let go of him, Carl!…' She didn't know she'd said 'Carl' until she heard the name come from her lips.
The man spun around. Somewhere lurking in that gross mass of flesh, she could see eyes that darted and burned. Nancy had an impression of the plastic clinging, of Missy's tousled figure lying on the bed, her windbreaker a bright red heap beside her.
She saw the look of stupefaction replaced by cunning. 'You.' The voice she remembered. The voice that over seven years she'd tried to blot out. He started towards her menacingly. She had to get around him. Michael couldn't breathe.
He lunged for her. She pulled away, feeling his thick grasp on her wrist. They fell together, clumsily, heavily. She felt his elbow dig into her side. The pain was blinding, but his grip relaxed for an instant. His face was next to hers. Thick and white, the features bloated and broadened, but the sour, dank smell… the same as it had been before.
Blindly, she reached out with all her force and bit the thick, jowly cheek. With a howl of rage, he lashed out, but
