Caroline woke up slowly, her mind foggy, strange dreamlike images swirling through her mind. Tony was there, and Virginia Estherbrook, and Melanie Shackleforth and all the other neighbors. But they didn’t look right — they were dressed in old-fashioned clothes, and they looked younger than they were.
Then, as rifts in the fog appeared, she began to catch glimpses of what had happened. It wasn’t a dream at all — she’d been in Tony’s study, searching through his desk and—
— and he’d almost caught her!
The memory of the fear she’d felt when she couldn’t get the study door re-locked even as her husband was coming through the front door sent a chill through her, and she reflexively snuggled deeper into the warmth of the bed.
But why had she been so afraid of him? All she’d found were pictures of the neighbors. Then, as more of the curtains of fog began to fall away, she remembered the other pictures — the pictures of children, even her children. Dozens of them, some with faces circled as if they’d been chosen for something.
Chosen for what?
But an answer was obvious, even through the remnants of mist that still clouded her mind, making her thoughts sluggish and so tenuous they slipped away before she could quite grasp onto them: Tony was some kind of pervert.
Could that really be the truth?
Had she married a child molester, and brought her children — Brad’s children — into his home?
Was that why Ryan hated him — because he’d sensed that there was something wrong? But that couldn’t be it — Ryan’s dislike for Tony hadn’t been instant; it had grown as her own relationship with Tony began to grow, and as Tony had begun to slip into the position in Ryan’s life that had been occupied by his father. Surely it was nothing more than the natural resentment felt by any boy whose father is being replaced by a stranger. And it wasn’t that way with Laurie — Laurie liked Tony, and had never shown any fear of him at all. So maybe she herself was wrong.
Maybe the pictures didn’t mean anything at all.
She grasped at that weak straw of self-doubt, terrified that if she couldn’t cling to it, couldn’t somehow make it support her, she would drown in the sea of questions the contents of the desk had raised about the man she’d married.
Or maybe she shouldn’t even look for answers. Maybe she should simply pack a few things into a suitcase, take the kids, and get out.
The kids!
Where were they?
What time was it?
She started to sit up, but a terrible dizziness struck her, and she fell back to the pillow, closing her eyes. What had happened?
Was she sick?
The last of the fog cleared away, and she remembered the words she’d made up when Tony had found her in the hall, her skin clammy, her face pale. Flu — that was what she’d told him.
And he’d called Dr. Humphries.
She’d tried to protest, but he’d insisted, and by then she was so deep into the lie of feeling ill that there was no way to refuse. Dr. Humphries had come, and brought his black bag — the same bag he’d brought when he came to see Laurie, and he’d taken her temperature, and checked her pulse, and tried to reassure her. “It’s probably nothing — your pulse is a little fast, but your temperature’s normal. Still, better to be safe than sorry.” He’d dug into his bag and found one of his remedies — a small vial of white pills that he’d instructed her to put under her tongue. She’d lain back on the pillows, planning to lie there for only a few minutes, then get up, claiming that Dr. Humphries must have been right — whatever it was had passed, and she felt fine. Except that she’d fallen asleep, and now that she was awake, she didn’t feel fine at all. She tried to sit up again, and once more was overcome by dizziness. She tried to fight it, but when a wave of nausea threatened to crash over her as she swung her legs off the bed, she gave up once more, a moan escaping her as she fell back onto the bed, curled on her side, and waited for it to pass.
Finally she felt well enough to roll over and look at the clock.
Nearly four — she’d been asleep for hours!
And the children—
“Ryan? Laurie?” she called out, but her voice sounded weak, and she was certain it wouldn’t carry past the closed door of the bedroom.
Once again she sat up, and once again the wave of dizziness struck, followed by the feeling of nausea. But this time she refused to give in to it, forcing herself to ride it out. As it finally subsided, she stood up and took a lurching step toward the door, but before she could take another, the vertigo crashed over her yet again and she nearly lost her balance, barely catching herself on the night table before she would have fallen to the floor. But again she didn’t give up, remaining on her feet, steadying herself with one hand on the night table and the other on the bed, waiting for the spell to pass. When at last she felt steady enough, she started slowly toward the door, willing herself to stay on her feet.
She came to the door, gripped the crystal knob, and twisted it. Pulling the door open, she moved out into the hall. From the bottom of the stairs, she heard Tony’s voice drifting up.
“If you could call back tomorrow,” she heard him saying. “I know my wife will want to talk to you, but she hasn’t been well today and right now she’s asleep.”
“I’m not aslee—” she began, but before she could even finish the words — words uttered in a voice so weak she knew they wouldn’t carry down the stairs, another wave of nausea broke over her, and she clutched at the balustrade above the staircase, her words dying on her lips as all her strength went to keeping herself from sagging to the floor.
“I’ll give her the message,” she heard Tony say.
“Tony?” she called as she heard him putting the receiver back on the phone in the hall.
In an instant he appeared at the bottom of the stairs, peering up at her. “Darling, what are you doing? You should be in bed!” He started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, then was at her side.
“Who was that?” she asked as he slipped a supportive arm around her and began guiding her back to the bedroom.
Tony hesitated only second. “Someone from the police department. I believe her name was Hernandez. She wanted to talk to you about Andrea Costanza.”
“You should have told me—” Caroline said as she let herself be eased back down onto the bed.
“She’ll call again in the morning when you’re feeling better.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Tony said with mock severity. “How are you feeling? Any better at all?”
Caroline’s mind raced and she searched his face for any sign that he knew what she’d done, but all she could see in his eyes was concern. Play along, she told herself.
“I–I think so,” she stammered, though she felt far worse now than she had when Dr. Humphries had been here. Now a new idea popped into her mind. Had it really been medicine he’d given her, or had it been some kind of drug? But why would he do that? No — it had to be that she really was coming down with Laurie’s flu. “Where are the kids?” she asked, trying to make the question sound much more casual than she felt.
“Ryan’s avoiding me by staying in his room as usual, and Laurie’s downstairs. Alicia Albion made an apple pie, and Laurie’s doing her best to limit herself to one piece.”
“Would you ask her to come up?”
Tony’s eyes clouded slightly. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? If she’s just getting over the same thing you have—”
“She won’t get it again,” Caroline assured him. “Or if she’s going to, she will, just like you and Ryan will. Just tell her to come up and see me, okay?”
“You’ve got it.” Leaning over, Tony kissed her lightly on the cheek, then left the room and a moment later she heard him going down the stairs. A few seconds later, Ryan appeared in her doorway.