Public Secrets

children?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“No. Well, there’s some hate mail from time to time. Political stuff mostly. Pete has it screened.”
“We’d like to see everything that’s come in for the last six months.”
“That’s quite a bundle of mail, Lieutenant,” Pete told him.
“We’ll manage.”
Brian ignored them both and rose as the doctor came in. “Emma,” was all he said. All he could say.
“She’s sleeping. She has a concussion, a broken arm, and some bruised ribs, but no internal injuries.”
“She’s going to be all right.”

“She’ll need to be watched carefully for the next few days, but yes, the outlook is very good.”
He cried then, as he hadn’t been able to when he’d seen his son’s lifeless body, as he’d been incapable of doing when they’d taken his family from him and left him in the green-walled waiting room. Hot tears poured through his fingers as he covered his face.
Quietly, Lou closed his notebook and, motioning to the doctor, stepped into the hall. “I’m Lieutenant Kesselring. Homicide.” Again, Lou flashed his ID. “When will I be able to talk to the little girl?”
“Not for a day, perhaps two.”
“I need to question her as soon as possible.” He took out a card and handed it to the doctor. “If you’d call me as soon as she’s able to talk. The wife, Beverly McAvoy?”
“Sedated. Ten or twelve hours before she should come around. Even then I won’t guarantee she’ll be able to talk, or that I’ll be willing to allow it.”
“Just call.” He glanced back toward the waiting room. “I’ve got a son of my own, Doctor.”

E MMA HAD TERRIBLE dreams. She wanted to call out for her da, for her mum, but it was as though a hand were closed over her mouth, over her eyes. Great weights seemed to press her down and down.
The baby was crying. The sound echoed in the room, in her head, until it seemed as though Darren were inside her mind screaming to get out. She wanted to go to him, had to—but there were two-headed snakes and snarling, snapping things with black, dripping fangs all around her bed. Each time she tried to climb out they lunged at her, hissing, spitting, grinning.
If she stayed in bed, she’d be safe. But Darren was calling for her.
She had to be brave, brave enough to run to the door. When she did, the snakes disappeared. Beneath her feet the floor felt alive, moving, pulsing. She looked back over her shoulder. It was just her room, with toys and dolls tidily on the shelves, with Mickey Mouse smiling cheerfully. As she watched the smile turned into a leer.
She raced into the hall, into the dark.

There was music. The shadows seemed to dance to it. There were sounds. Breathing, heavy, wet breathing, snarls and the movement of something dry and slithering on the wood. As she ran toward the sounds of Darren’s cries, she felt the hot breath on her arms, the quick nasty nips at her ankles.
It was locked. She pulled and pounded on the door as her brother’s screams rose higher, only to be drowned out by the music. Under her small fists, the door dissolved. She saw the man, but there was no face. She saw only the glint of his eyes, the gleam of his teeth.
He started toward her, and she was more afraid of him than of the snakes and monsters, the teeth and the claws. Blind with fear, she ran, with Darren’s screams rising behind her.
Then she was falling, falling into a dark pit. She heard a sound, like a twig snapping, and tried to scream out at the agony. But she could only fall silently, endlessly, helplessly, with the music and her brother’s cries echoing in her head.
When she awoke, it was bright. There were no dolls on the shelves. No shelves at all, just blank walls. At first she wondered if she was in a hotel. She tried to remember, but as she did, the aching began—the hot, dull aching that seemed to throb everywhere at once. Moaning against it, she turned her head.
Her father was sleeping in a chair. His head was back, turned a bit to the side. Beneath the stubble of his beard his face was pale. In his lap, his hands were clenched into fists.
“Da.”
Already on the edge of sleep, he woke quickly. He saw her lying against the white hospital sheets, her eyes wide and a little afraid. The tears welled up again, clogging his throat, burning his eyes. He fought them with what little strength he had left.
“Emma.” He went to her, sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing his exhausted face against her throat.
She started to