Tunnels 02, Deeper

herself to be led, Sarah lifted her head to look a the immense span of rock that stretched over the subterranean city. Smoke rose lazily from the stone canopy above, rippling slightly as the enormous vents around the walls fed fresh air into the cavern.
    Rebecca kept Sarah's hand clasped in hers, drawing her on. There was a clattering and another hansom cab drew up behind the one from which they had just dismounted. Sarah stopped, resisting Rebecca and turning to look back at it. She could just make out Joe Waites through the carriage window.
    She swung back to view the uniform row of houses stretching along the street. It was completely empty, which was unusual at this hour. Her unease grew again.
    "I didn't think you'd want people gaping at you," Rebecca said, as if she knew what was in Sarah's mind. "So I had the area cordoned off."
    "Ah," Sarah said quietly, "and he's not here, is he?"
    "We've done exactly as you requested."
    Back in the cat's chamber in Highfield, Sarah had insisted on one condition: She couldn't face seeing her husband, even after all this time. Whether it was because it would bring back memories of the dead baby or because she couldn't cope with her own betrayal and abandonment of him, she didn't know.
    She still hated him and, when she allowed herself to be brutally honest, still loved him, in equal measures.
    She walked as if she was in a dream. The appearance of her house was unchanged, as if she'd left it only yesterday and the last twelve years had never happened. After all that time on the run, living hand to mouth like some sort of animal, Sarah was home.
    She touched the deep cut on her throat.
    "It's all right, it doesn't look too bad," Rebecca said, squeezing Sarah's hand.
    There it was again: a Styx child, spawn of the worst filth imaginable, trying to comfort her! Holding her hand and acting like she was her friend . Had the world gone mad?
    "Ready?" Rebecca asked.
    The last time Sarah had seen the house, her dead baby had been laid out -- in that room there -- her eyes flicked up to the master bedroom, where she'd sat by the cot on that dreadful night. And down there -- she turned her attention to the living room window -- flashes of her past life came back: mending her son's clothes; emptying the grate in the morning; bringing her husband tea as he read the paper; and smiling at her brother Tam's deep voice, as if heard from another room, his laughter soaring as glasses clinked together. Oh, if only he was still alive. Dear, dear, dear Tam.
    "Ready?" Rebecca asked again.
    "Yes," Sarah replied decisively. "I am."
    They went slowly up the path, but as they reached the front door, Sarah shrank back.
    "It's OK," Rebecca cooed soothingly. "Your mother's waiting." She pushed through the door and Sarah followed her into the hall. "She's through there. Go and see her. I'll be outside."
    Sarah looked at the familiar green-striped wallpaper upon which hung the stern pictures of her husband's ancestors, generations of men and women who had never seen what she'd seen: the sun. Then she touched a smoky-blue shade on a lamp on the hall table, as if making sure that everything was real, that she wasn't in the throes of some bizarre hallucination.
    "Take as long as you want." With that Rebecca whirled around and, in prim steps, exited the house, leaving Sarah standing alone.
    She drew a deep breath and, walking stiffly as an automaton, made her way into the living room.
    The fire was lit and the room looked as it ever did, maybe a little more worn and discolored by smoke, but still warm and welcoming. She padded quietly over to the Persian rug and the winged leather armchairs, edging slowly around until she could see who was sitting there. She still thought that at any moment she'd wake and all this would be over, dimming in memory like any dream.
    "Ma?"
    The old lady raised her head feebly, as if she'd been dozing, but Sarah knew she hadn't when she saw the tears on her wrinkled cheeks. Sarah felt her body go limp with all the emotions that were sweeping through her.
    "Ma." Her voice gave out and all she could manage was a croak.
    "Sarah," the old lady said, and stood up with some difficulty. She raised her arms to Sarah, who saw she was still crying and couldn't stop herself, either. "They said you were coming, but I didn't dare hope."
    Her mother's arms were around her but the embrace felt frail, not the strong grip she remembered. They stood, holding each other, until her mother spoke.
    "I