"Now," Ione whispered. "Now…"
With sure fingers and strong hands, she grasped the baby's body and drew it forth from the womb. Working as quickly as she could, she cut the umbilical cord away from the child's neck, then gave it a gentle thump on the back.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, a little harder, then felt for a pulse.
There was nothing.
Her eyes left the baby for a moment and scanned the room. Anna still sat by the head of the bed, her face pale and impassive. Laura Shields, her eyes fixed on the motionless infant, was crying, shaking her head in apparent disbelief. In the far corner, Buck Shields stood, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his entire body quivering with tension.
"Like Laura's," he said softly. "It's like Laura's."
Then, though she knew it was too late, and that there was nothing that could be done, Ione tried once more to bring the baby back to life.
Michael opened his eyes in the dimly lit room. Upstairs, he knew, his brother had been born, and he'd helped in the birth. Already, he understood that the odd voice he'd heard in his head a little while ago had been his brother's voice, and that his brother had needed his help. And he'd given his help, taking on the pain of the birth as he would take on whatever other pain his brother ever felt.
His brother, he knew, was his responsibility. It would be up to him to take care of the tiny child, comfort him when he was unhappy, tend to him when he was sick.
And protect him from evil.
Michael got up from the sofa and started slowly up the stairs. As he approached the landing, Shadow got to his feet, then moved slowly toward Michael, his tail low. He whimpered softly, then licked at Michael's hand.
Michael opened the door to the room in which his mother lay, and stepped inside.
His gaze roved through the strangely silent room, drifting from one face to the next. Finally his eyes fell on the tiny bundle that was cradled in Ione Simpson's arms.
"Let me see him," Michael whispered. "Let me see my brother." Ione hesitated, then slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Michael…" she whispered.
"Let me see my brother," Michael repeated.
Now it was Anna Hall who spoke. She rose to her feet and moved slowly across the room until she stood in front of Michael. "He's dead, Michael," she said quietly. "Your little brother was born dead."
Michael's eyes widened, and he backed away from his grandmother. "No," he said. "He wasn't dead. I know he wasn't dead." His voice began to rise. "I could feel him. I could feel him and he was alive!"
Turning away from the people in the room, the people he knew had killed his infant brother, Michael fled from the house, out into the night and the shrieking wind. He ran aimlessly, scrambling through fences, stumbling in the fields. At last, exhausted, he collapsed to the ground, where he lay sobbing and panting. Shadow crouched beside him, licking at his face.
He didn't know how much time passed by, but when he looked up, the night had grown even darker. The wind had ceased. All was silent.
In the distance, there was a soft reddish glow, and slowly Michael came to realize that he was seeing the dying embers of the house that had burned that night.
And then he saw another light, the yellow flame of a lantern, looming in the darkness. He watched it for several long minutes, and when it didn't move he began creeping forward, huddling low to the ground, Shadow beside him.
And then, in the darkness, he could see.
There was someone there, working in the dim light of the lantern, and Michael knew what they were doing.
They were burying his brother, burying the brother he knew they had killed, but who was not dead.
As he watched, Michael knew what he must do.
In his own mind, his brother was Nathaniel, and his brother still lived.
Now, it was for Michael to avenge Nathaniel.
