A little foot in one, a leg in another. Another jar held a hand. In the largest jar was her baby sister's head.
Molly's eyes were wide open, and her mouth was stretched into a grimace of agony. She seemed to be staring through the haze of blood right at Kim, and as she looked into Molly's twisted face, Kim felt every bit of pain Molly must have felt as-
Screaming, Kim cut off the thought, unable to bear it. But no matter where she turned, there were more jars and still more jars, and from every one of them, Molly stared at her.
Kim kept screaming, and finally, her mind no longer able to cope with the images that churned through it, she collapsed to the floor, sobbing and moaning.
"No," she whimpered. "Oh, no… please, no…"
CHAPTER 36
Janet woke slowly, luxuriating in the sunlight streaming through the window and in the memory of the night before, when Ted had taken her in his arms.
It was like being on their honeymoon all over again, before Ted's drinking had taken over their lives. Strange how it had crept over every part of their existence so slowly that she hadn't truly realized quite how bad the problem was. But now that it was over-now that the Ted Conway she'd first fallen in love with was back-she could see exactly how it had happened, how she'd let Ted's alcohol nibble away at her marriage. The thing of it was-as she could now see-it had never taken a big enough bite all at once to force her into facing the true reality of it. Not, anyway, until that last night, when Ted stayed up drinking long after their fight, only to come at last to the realization that she would finally leave him.
She stretched languidly, once again feeling Ted's hands on her body, his mouth on hers, his strength as he made love to her. Her reverie was interrupted by the faint sound of the clock tolling the hour in the living room below her. When it reached seven, she threw back the sheet-if she didn't hurry, she wouldn't have time to fix breakfast for Jared and Kim.
The clock struck twice more.
Nine?
But it couldn't be-she never slept past seven, and most mornings was up by six. A glance at the clock by her bedside confirmed how much she'd overslept. Why hadn't anyone wakened her? Why hadn't-
And then she knew. Ted had known how tired she was, and how worried about Jared. Even after they made love, she'd lain awake until, finally, Ted made her talk it out. It had been hard-she'd become so used to dealing with her problems by herself that she'd almost forgotten how to talk to Ted, but he'd drawn it all out of her, even agreed with her that Jared wasn't just "stretching his wings," but that something more was going on. Only after he promised to help her deal with the problem had she fallen asleep.
In his arms, feeling safe, and comforted, and loved.
And this morning he'd obviously decided to let her sleep in and take care of the kids himself. She pulled on a thin robe and went to the nursery, half expecting to find her youngest daughter awake and playing in her crib. But Molly was gone, her bedding straightened up and tucked in, exactly the way she herself always did it. Sighing contentedly, she moved out onto the landing.
And instantly knew that something was wrong.
She peered down into the yawning entry hall as she moved toward the top of the stairs. Was it something about the light?
She looked up at the skylight, but it looked the same as it had the day Ted cleaned it. Yet when she looked down once again, she realized that there was, indeed, something odd, as if a slight haziness was hanging over everything. Janet blinked a couple of times and rubbed her eyes, but the haziness remained. Then, when she started down the stairs, she felt it.
There was a chill in the air, as though it were the middle of winter and a freak cold snap had struck. But the night had been warm enough to leave the windows open, and a single thin blanket had been sufficient. At some point-probably early this morning when the sun began flooding in-she'd kicked that away, too. Yet as she descended the stairs the air grew colder, until, by the time she reached the first floor, gooseflesh was creeping over her skin.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs. The haze had thickened, and though she smelled nothing unusual, the atmosphere seemed heavy and hard to breathe.
Fumes of some kind?
That must be it-Ted must be painting, or cleaning something, or-
Molly!
Where was Molly? If she were breathing these fumes-
Janet quickened her step, moving out of the entry hall into the dining room, hurrying toward the kitchen. Then something caught her eye, and turning, she stared at the mural on the wall, the mural she'd been working on only last night.
The marble tile of the terrace she had so carefully textured, so you might expect it to be smooth and cold to the touch, looked old and stained.
The balustrade appeared chipped and battered.
And beyond the balustrade, the garden she'd created, painstakingly drawing and coloring every leaf and blossom, had died.
The leaves were gone, only bare limbs and twigs remaining. Even the silvery glow of moonlight had been mottled, and the sky was tinged with green as if a terrible storm were about to break.
It wasn't possible, she thought. No one could have repainted the whole wall during the few hours she'd been asleep!
That was it! It had to be.
She must still be asleep, and this was a nightmare from which she'd awaken in a minute or two. She'd be back in her bed, and it would take a few seconds before she realized that her work-the best work she'd ever done-had not really been ruined.
But she didn't awaken.
Instead, the mural itself seemed to come to life. The clouds in the sky darkened, and then the branches of the trees began to move, bending forward, reaching, their twigs stretching like skeletal fingers, straining toward her. Then talons appeared at the ends of the twigs, and as one of the branches lashed toward her, Janet reflexively turned away, stumbling toward the kitchen.
Then she heard it.
A soft cry, muffled, almost inaudible.
She stopped short, one hand on the kitchen door, listening.
It came again.
A baby?
Molly?
Pushing the door open, she strode into the kitchen, her eyes going to Molly's playpen, over in the corner, safely away from the stove.
Empty!
Her mind raced. The car was outside, so Ted hadn't gone somewhere and taken Molly with him. Where was she? Where was he?
The carriage house?
No! The cry she'd heard-and now she was almost certain it had been Molly-had come from somewhere inside the house! Turning away from the back door, she went back to the dining room.
The sound she heard this time was so low it was almost inaudible. Janet held her breath, wishing there were some way to silence the pounding of her own heart.
There!
A low, throbbing sound, so low she wasn't quite certain whether she'd heard it or simply felt it. It could have come from the floor itself, up through her feet and body, and only then into her consciousness.
The basement.
It was coming from the basement.
As she pulled the door to the basement open, she heard the muffled cry of the baby again. But it was much clearer now. She groped for the light switch. Flipped it.
"Molly?"
No answer.
"Molly!" Then: "Ted? Are you down there?"
There was still no answer, and she started down the steep flight of stairs.
As she did, the cold deepened, its icy grip closing around her.
As a thick haze appeared out of nowhere, the glare of the naked bulb that lit the stairs was muted to a pallid silver glow that barely held the shadows at bay. The bulb itself appeared to be suspended in nothing but the gathering mist.
The throbbing sound was louder with every step she took, but so also was the sound of the crying baby.