Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

listened carefully for a click of the padlock.
    It never came.
    She felt, already, as if she had betrayed him.

Escape
    P RUE CROUCHED THERE IN THE BLACKNESS, THE SOUND of her own breathing roaring in her ears like a hurricane.
    The twins were already fast asleep, snuggled in the corner with their rabbit skins. Luke’s footsteps receded into the night.
    Prue counted slowly to sixty, then pressed her ear to the door of the shack.
    Nothing.
    She eased the door open several inches and peered out into the darkness. She could see very little, only the fresh footprints in the sandy slope that marked Luke’s exodus. Overhead, in the eucalyptus trees, the wind made a sound like tissue paper being crumpled.
    She tugged the door shut again, wincing as it creaked, then knelt by the children and shook them gently. “Anna … Edgar … wake up, darlings.”
    The little girl stirred first. “What’s the matter?” she asked loudly.
    “Shhh,” said Prue. “We’ve got to whisper.”
    Edgar sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Where’s Dad?” he asked.
    “Uh … he’s out for a while.” She found the little boy’s jacket and helped him into it. “We’re going for a little ride. Won’t that be fun?”
    “Where?” asked Anna.
    “To my house,” said Prue. “You’ve never seen my house.”
    Edgar began whining. “I don’t want to! I’m sleepy!”
    Prue felt around in the shadows for Anna’s coat, her dread mounting every moment. Short of gagging the children, there was not much she could do about the noise. “We’ve got to be quiet, darling. Can you do that for Prue?”
    Edgar persisted. “Why do we have to go?”
    “Well … it’s a surprise … for Dad.”
    “What kind of surprise?”
    “You’ll see,” whispered Prue.
    The whimpering continued.
    “Don’t you want to see your mommy?” asked Prue.
    Edgar fell silent.
    “Don’t you?”
    “Is she at your house?” asked Anna.
    “She will be,” whispered Prue. “Very soon. C’mon now … let’s see how quiet we can be.”
She guided them up the slope into the dell, jumping at the sound of every twig that cracked underfoot. Once they entered the thicket of rhododendrons the darkness was so total that she was forced to find the way from memory.
    “I’m scared,” said Anna, clutching at Prue’s hand.
    “It’s all right, darling. It’ll only be dark for a little bit.”
    The child began to cry noisily.
    “Anna … please, darling … everything’s O.K. Edgar, tell your sister not to be scared.”
    Silence.
    “Edgar?”
    No answer.
    “Edgar! My God … Edgar, where are you?”
    Anna broke into a full wail. Prue knelt and scooped her into her arms, stroking her hair. “Shhh … it’s O.K., darling … it’s O.K. We’ve just got to find Edgar, that’s all.” She rose, holding the child against her chest, and retraced her steps along the invisible path.
    “Edgar!” she called, shouting in a whisper.
    “Where are you?” came a tiny voice.
    “Over here,” she said. Not the most useful piece of information, she realized.
    “Where?” cried the child.
    “Walk towards my voice, darling.”
    She was relieved to hear something moving through the underbrush, until she noticed the speed with which it was approaching. A branch cracked, then slapped her brutally across the face. She and little Anna shrieked together as an unseen form lunged through the bushes, knocked her to the ground and thrust a huge wet tongue in her ear.
    “Vuitton!”
    The wolfhound barked excitedly, grateful to be reunited with his mistress. In her consternation over Luke, Prue had completely forgotten about him.
    “It’s just my puppy,” she told Anna. “Are you all right, darling?”
    “I wanna go back,” sobbed the child.
    “It’s gonna be all right … I promise. Edgar … is that you?”
    A tiny hand was clutching at her leg.
    “Is that your dog?” asked Edgar.
    “Yes, darling. He’s a nice dog.” She staggered to her feet, holding the children’s hands. “We’re gonna be just fine now.”
    Where was the nearest telephone, anyway?
    The de Young Museum?
    If Luke was on his way to Halcyon Hill, somebody should warn Frannie Halcyon.

Crazy Talk
    I T WAS ALMOST NINE P.M. WHEN EMMA TOOK STOCK OF HER mistress and realized that something was wrong.
    “Miss Frannie?”
    The matriarch looked up with heavy-lidded eyes—a symptom that Emma had long ago learned to recognize. “Yes … Emma, dear?”
    “I brought you some hot milk,” scowled the maid. “I