She sat down and sipped her tea.
22
Vicky shot up to a sitting position in bed. "Mommy?" she called softly. She trembled with fear. She was alone. And there was an awful, pukey smell. She glanced at the window. Something was there… outside the window. The screen had been pulled out. That's what had awakened her.
A hand—or something that looked like a hand but really wasn't—slipped over the windowsill. Then another. The dark shadow of a head rose into view and two glowing yellow eyes trapped her and pinned her where she sat in mute horror. The thing crawled over the ledge and flowed into the room like a snake.
Vicky opened her mouth to scream out her horror but something moist and hard and stinking jammed against her face, cutting off her voice. It was a hand, but like no hand she had ever imagined. There only seemed to be three fingers—three huge fingers—and the taste of the palm against her lips brought what was left of her Chinese dinner boiling to the back of her throat.
As she fought to get free, she caught a fleeting close-up glimpse of what held her—the smooth, blunt-snouted face, the fangs showing above the scarred lower lip, the glowing yellow eyes. It was every fear of what's in the closet or what's in that shadowed corner, every bad dream, every night horror rolled into one.
Vicky became delirious with panic. Tears of fear and revulsion streamed down her face. She had to get away! She kicked and twisted convulsively, clawed with her fingernails—nothing she did seemed to matter in the slightest. She was lifted like a toy and carried to the window—
—and out! They were twelve floors up! Mommy! They were going to fall!
But they didn't fall. Using its free hand and its clawed feet, the monster crawled down the wall like a spider. Then it was running along the ground, through parks, down alleys, across streets. The grip across her mouth loosened but Vicky was clutched so tightly against the monster's flank that she couldn't scream—she could barely breathe.
"Please don't hurt me!" she whispered into the night. "Please don't hurt me!"
Vicky didn't know where they were or in what direction they were traveling. Her mind could barely function through the haze of terror that enveloped it. But soon she heard the lapping sound of water, smelled the river. The monster leaped, they seemed to fly for an instant, and then water closed over them. She couldn't swim!
Vicky screamed as they plunged beneath the waves. She gulped a mouthful of foul, brackish water, then broke the surface choking and retching. Her throat was locked—there was air all around her but she couldn't breathe! Finally, when she thought she was going to die, her windpipe opened and air rushed into her lungs.
She opened her eyes. The monster had slung her onto its back and was now cutting through the water. She clung to the slick, slimy skin of its shoulders. Her pink nighty was plastered to her goosefleshed skin; her hair hung in her eyes. She was cold, wet, and miserable with terror. She wanted to jump off and get away from the monster, but she knew she'd go down under that water and never come back up.
Why was this happening to her? She'd been good. Why did this monster want her?
Maybe it was a good monster, like in that book she had, Where the Wild Things Are. It hadn't hurt her. Maybe it was taking her someplace to show her something.
She looked around and recognized the Manhattan skyline off to her right, but there was something between them and Manhattan. Dimly she remembered the island—Roosevelt Island—that sat in the river at the end of Aunt Nellie and Grace's street.
Were they going to swim around it and go back to Manhattan? Was the monster going to take her back to Aunt Nellie's?
No. They passed the end of the island but the monster didn't turn toward Manhattan. It kept swimming in the same direction downriver. Vicky shivered and began to cry.
23
Gia's chin dropped forward onto her chest and she awoke with a start. She was only half an hour into the movie and already she was nodding off. She wasn't nearly as wide awake as she had thought. She flicked it off and went back to the bedroom.
Fear hit her like a knife between the ribs as soon as she opened the door. The room was filled with a rotten odor. Now she recognized it—the same odor that had been in Nellie's room the night she had disappeared. Her gaze shot to the bed and her heart stopped when she saw it was flat—no familiar little lump of curled-up child under the covers.
"Vicky?" Her voice cracked as she said the name and turned on the light. She has to be here!
Without waiting for an answer, Gia rushed to the bed and pulled the covers down.
"Vicky?" Her voice was almost a whimper. She's here—she has to be!
She ran to the closet and fell to her knees, checking the floor with her hands. Only Vicky's Ms. Jelliroll Carry Case was there. Next she crawled over to the bed and looked under it. Vicky wasn't there either.
But something else was—a small dark lump. Gia reached in and grabbed it. She thought she would be sick when she recognized the feel of a recently peeled and partially eaten orange.
An orange! Jack's words flooded back on her: "Do you want Vicky to end up like Grace and Nellie? Gone without a trace?" He had said there was something in the orange— but he had thrown it away! So how had Vicky got hold of this one… ?
Unless there had been more than one orange in the playhouse!
This is a nightmare! This isn't really happening!
Gia ran through the rest of the apartment, opening every door, every closet, every cabinet. Vicky was gone! She hurried back to the bedroom and went to the window. The screen was missing. She hadn't noticed that before. Fighting back a scream as visions of a child's body smashed against the pavement flashed before her eyes, she held her breath and looked down. The parking lot was directly below, well lit by mercury vapor lamps. There was no sign of Vicky.
Gia didn't know whether to be relieved or not. All she knew right now was that her child was missing and she needed help. She ran for the phone, ready to dial the 911 emergency police number, then stopped. The police would certainly be more concerned about a missing child than about two old ladies who had disappeared, but would they accomplish anything more? Gia doubted it. There was only one number to call that would do her any good: Jack's.
Jack will know what to do. Jack will help.
She forced her shaking index finger to punch in the numbers and got a busy signal. She hung up and dialed again. Still busy. She didn't have time to wait! She dialed the operator and told her it was an emergency and she had to break in on the line. She was put on hold for half a minute that seemed like an hour, then the operator was back on, telling her that the line wasn't busy—the phone had been left off the hook.
Gia slammed the receiver down. What was she going to do? She was frantic. What was wrong at Jack's? Had he left the phone off the hook or had it been knocked off?
She ran back to the bedroom and jammed her legs into a pair of jeans and pulled on a blouse without removing her pajamas. She had to find Jack. If he wasn't at his apartment, maybe he was at Abe's store—she was pretty sure she remembered where that was. She hoped she could remember. Her thoughts were so jumbled. All she could think of was Vicky.
Vicky, Vicky, where are you?
But how to get to Jack's… that was the problem. Finding a cab would be virtually impossible at this hour, and the subway, even if she could find a stop nearby, could be deadly to a woman alone.
The Honda keys she had seen earlier! Where had they been? She had been cleaning in the kitchen…
She ran over to the flatware drawer and pulled it open. There they were. She snatched them up and ran out into the hall. She checked the apartment number on the door: 1203. Now if only the car was here. The elevator took her straight down to the first floor and she hurried out into the parking lot. On the way in this afternoon she had seen numbers on the asphalt by each parking space.