the rest of the painting. She glanced at her daughter.
'Do you like this painting, babe?'
'I love it, Mommy. It makes me want to go and play and jump and stuff.'
Mission accomplished, Linda thought, happy and satisfied. She turned back to the painting and began coloring the leaves, over-bright.
Sarah watched her mother. She was aware of a deep feeling of happiness. She was a child, she lived in the now, and the now was very, very good.
Her mother stopped painting and went rigid. Her back was to Sarah. She stood there, unmoving, frozen in place.
'What's the matter, Mommy?'
Linda jerked at the sound of her daughter's voice and began to turn around in slow motion. Taffy-time. When her face became visible, Sarah jerked back in horror. Her mother was screaming a soundless scream, eyes wide, mouth open, teeth apart.
'M-m-mommy . . . ?'
Linda's hands flew up to the sides of her head. The paintbrush flew, speckling Sarah with blood as it spun through the air. Sarah could see the painting behind her mother. The leaves on the trees were burning.
The scream stopped being silent, a terrible sound, like someone had torn the roof off hell. It played in stereo, full of echoes and reverb and rage.
'What did you do! What did you do! What did you--'
Sarah woke up.
'What did you do!'
The scream was real. It was here, now, in this house. The Stranger?
The door to the bedroom was open.
'Dennis! Oh God! What did you do, Theresa?'
Sarah realized that Rebecca was the one screaming. Get out of bed, fraidy-cat. Theresa might need your help!
Sarah whimpered in terror, frustration, anger.
I don't want to have to be brave anymore.
Silence.
Too bad, fraidy-cat. That's the way it is now.
Sarah was weeping and shaking in fear, but she made herself get out of bed. Her legs belonged to someone else, they wobbled and shook.
She moved toward the door, but when she got to it, she froze. What if there are more
Out there?
What if Theresa's become a
Move it, fraidy-cat. You're six. Stop acting like a baby. Sarah made herself move forward, out of the room, into the hall. Her fear was so strong now that she began to sob.
'What did you do?' Rebecca continued to shriek.
Sarah's sobbing grew stronger as she forced herself to keep walking toward the sound of Rebecca's screams. Her nose began to run and the world blurred.
Don't want to go look! Don't want to!
The other voice was gentler now.
I know you're afraid. But you have to. For Theresa. She's your sister.
Sarah bawled, but nodded her head in response, and forced her feet to keep moving.
A moment later and she was in the doorway of Dennis and Rebecca's room. Theresa was there, sitting on the floor, her head down. She had a knife in her lap. It was coated with blood. Rebecca was naked on the bed, hysterical, her hands moving over Dennis in frantic motions. She was covered in blood too.
Dennis was still. His eyes were open.
Sarah realized in a flash that Dennis was
now.
'What did you
Sarah gasped.
Oh no. Theresa did this.
She ran over to the older girl, crouched down on her knees, and shook her.
'Theresa! What happened?'
The older girl's face was slack and pale, her eyes listless.
'Hey, little girl,' she whispered. 'Like I told you. He'll never bother you at night. Ever.'
Sarah recoiled in horror.
'Go call the police, Sarah.'
Theresa bowed her head and began rocking back and forth. Sarah watched her, confused and frantic.
What do I do?
The card. From the lady-policeman.
'What did you d-d-dooooooooooo?'
Call her, now.
As she ran from the room, she realized at some level that the eggshells and the danger were gone from this house. She wondered how this could be.
Many years later, she understood how that could be. By then, she had stopped believing in God.
29
CATHY JONES SAT WITH SARAH. THEY WERE IN CATHY'S PERSONAL car--Cathy wasn't on duty, but the girl had called her, so she'd come after calling it in to the station.
This is just fucking horrible, she thought to herself. She looked at Sarah. The girl's cheeks and eyes were red from crying.
Who can blame her? She checks in to a new home, and the fosterfather gets murdered by one of the other kids the first night. Jesus.
'Sarah? What happened?'
The six-year-old sighed. It was a heavy sigh, filled with a worldly weight that dismayed the young policewoman.
'Dennis came to visit Theresa in her bed. He did bad things. He said he'd come see me in my bed in a few years too.' Sarah's face crumpled. 'Theresa said that she'd never let him do that. That's why she killed Dennis. Because of me!'
Sarah threw herself into Cathy's arms and began to sob. Cathy froze. She was unmarried, she had no kids, she'd been an only child with an undemonstrative father. She gave herself an F in intimacy. Hug her, dummy.
She wrapped her arms around the six-year-old. Sarah started crying harder. Now say something to her.
'Shh. It's okay, Sarah. It'll be okay.'
It occurred to her that maybe Dad had had it right, being sparse with words of praise and comfort. Because she didn't think what she was saying was true, not at all, no, sir. She didn't think it was going to be okay. Not ever.
'The girl said that?'
Sarah's crying had died down to sniffles, and Cathy had left her alone while she went over to talk to the detective on the scene, Nick Rollins.
'Yes, sir. She said that this guy Dennis--the foster-father who got killed--came to visit the other girl in bed.'
