Springer grins and looks down at the baby in his arms. I see rotting black teeth. He smells of death and decay. He stares down at the baby as if he wants to tear into it with his teeth, devour it, consume it. And in that moment, I know I’m going to kill him.
I reach for my sidearm, but my fingers fumble the grip. I grapple with my holster. I know my .38 is there, but I can’t get my hand around it. My certainty that I have the upper hand evaporates. Ten feet away, Springer holds the baby by its tiny foot, dangling it over the manure pit. The infant’s face is red. His cries ring in my ears, shatter my heart.
“Don’t kill my baby!” I scream.
Then I’m running toward them, but I’m not moving. When I look down, I see that my feet are immersed in black muck. And I know I’m not going to get there in time to save the baby. Already I feel the horrific loss the child’s death will cause; it’s like a baseball bat slamming into my body. The terrible shock of that is almost too much for my mind to bear.
Don’t kill my baby!
It’s Salome’s voice screaming the words. I look around, but she’s not there. When I look down, I’m wearing her blue dress. Don’t kill my baby! It’s Salome’s voice, but my thoughts. It’s my heart that’s breaking. My life that will end with the death of that child.
Springer’s fist opens. The child flails, then tumbles headfirst into the black muck of the pit. I scream out a name I don’t recognize. Then I hear the terrible splash, and I tell myself my baby can’t be gone, because I know God would never be that cruel. Not twice in one lifetime.
Then I’m falling. Above me, I see the rafters of the old barn. I smell the stench of the liquid manure. I feel the methane gas stealing the oxygen from my lungs. Then the black ooze rushes up and slams into me, as cold and black as death. The noxious liquid sucks me down, like a huge, voracious mouth swallowing me whole.
Blackness closes over me, but it doesn’t silence the baby’s cries. Nothing will ever silence that tiny voice, because it’s inside me. Hearing those cries and not being able to reach the child is like dying a thousand tortuous deaths. I thrash and struggle against the muck. But it sucks me down, smothering and digesting me until I cease to exist.
“Kate.”
I’m still thrashing when I wake. Tomasetti is leaning over me. Even in the dim winter light slanting in through the window, I see concern on his face, and I realize I must have cried out. I blink at him, shaken and embarrassed. A cold slick of sweat covers my entire body. My hands and legs are shaking, and I can still feel the dark grip of the nightmare. For several disorienting seconds, I think I can still smell the muck of that terrible pit.
“Jesus.” Sitting up, I shove the hair from my face. “I’m sorry.”
“You okay?”
I draw a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Must have been a bad one.” He sets his thumb beneath my chin and forces my gaze to his. “If I ask you how often that happens, would you tell me the truth?”
“Probably not.”
“Kate…”
I look at him, not liking the way he’s staring back at me, as if I’ve just been diagnosed with some fatal affliction. “It’s been a while,” I say after a moment.
He nods. “You want to talk about it?”
I try to smile but don’t quite manage to. “Think you could check under the bed first?”
“There’s no monster here.”
“Just you.”
“A monster with a heart.”
That makes me smile, and I feel the dream tumble into the backwaters of my mind.
Dipping his head, he kisses me, and I’m amazed that such a small thing can have such a profound effect.
A glance at the alarm clock tells me it’s not yet 7:00 A.M. We have a few minutes, so I lie back and snuggle close to him. He puts his arm around me, and in that instant his embrace is the safest place in the world. I love the way his arms feel when they’re around me. I give him a condensed version of the nightmare. When I’m finished, we go quiet, thinking, listening to the rain outside.
“Sigmund Freud would probably have a field day with that,” I say after a moment. “You know, baby envy and all that.”
“Freud was full of shit.”
That makes me grin. “I’m glad I have you to help me keep things in perspective.”
“Probably just the case working on your mind,” Tomasetti says. “Mixing it up with your past. Stress does that.”
“My sister, Sarah, had a baby,” I blurt. “Two months ago. I don’t know why, but I haven’t been able to make myself go to see the new baby. I’ve driven by their farm, but I never go inside. I just … sit out on the road like some weird stalker. I know my not showing up is hurting my sister. And there’s a part of me that wants to see my little niece. But…”
Lying next to me, Tomasetti goes still. I sense his mind sifting through everything I’ve said, and I kick myself for unloading on him. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Kate.” He says my name with a slight reproof.
We fall silent. I can hear rain dripping off the eaves, slapping down on the ground. I know Tomasetti’s about to say something wise and profound. I know it’s going to hurt a little bit, but I’ll be better for it afterward. “This case has a lot of themes running through it,” he tells me. “Amish kids. The deaths of their parents. Babies. Pregnancy.” He pauses. “Might be dredging some things up for you.”
“I thought of that.”
“I know you have.”
“Salome is about the age my child would have been if I hadn’t—” Even after all this time, I have a difficult time saying the word, but I force it out. “Abortion,” I finish, but the word feels thick and greasy coming out of my mouth.
“Maybe dealing with these kids is bringing some of that back for you,” he says. “You didn’t get a chance to deal with it right after it happened.”
“Maybe.”
“Your new niece represents something you lost, Kate. Sometimes things like that are hard to face.”
He’s right, and the truth of his words hurts. But I don’t let myself flinch. I’m tougher than that, and I want him to know it. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Well, since you’re naked…” He smiles at me. “You know I will.”
“Don’t ever feel sorry for me. I think that’s the one thing I couldn’t stand.”
His expression turns puzzled. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you know what happened to me. Because I’ve … let you in. I mean, I’ve let you inside me. Inside my mind.” I swallow, not sure how much to tell him. Trust is so damn hard to come by. “My heart.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you. Not by a long shot.”
“You know a lot about me. Probably more than anyone else in the world.”
“I promise not to blackmail you.”
A tension-easing laugh bursts from my throat. Gathering my emotions, I punch his shoulder. “We’re having a serious talk here.”
He feigns offense. “I’m serious.”
Leaning close to him, I press a kiss to his mouth, then start to rise. “I’ve got to go.”
He stops me. Shifting in the bed, he turns me to him, then sets his hands on either side of my face. “I’ve let you inside, too, Kate. Don’t forget that. This relationship thing is a two-way street, and I’m right there with you.”
I blink at him, stunned, and a little bit thrilled. “So I could blackmail you, too?”
“You could, but then I’d have to kill you. That would be a shame, because I really like you.”