barely hear him. "Mother, Mommy, please!"
She looked around the room for some way to attract the woman's attention. "Someone please come help me," Jimmy shouted, and silently, she echoed his plea. If she could only knock some of the bottles from the windowsill, or knock the vanity mirror over. A loud noise would bring the woman. There had to be a way. She had been given an opportunity to try and so there had to be something she could do. To go through this again and to change nothing would be the worst sort of cruelty. "Mom-my!"
The dog. The dog could sense her presence, and the dog could make a lot of noise. She bent low and pushed her head under the tallboy. The dog inched backward, away from her, making a soft, high-pitched wail deep in his throat. Bark, you fool! Bark for Jimmy! She pressed forward, and the dog moved back until, free at last from the tallboy, he bounded across the room. He jumped on the bed and began to growl. Don't growl. Bark! Jimmy's in the closet! The dog jumped off the bed and backed himself against the wall. She followed, flailing at him with her fists. Bark! Howl! Knock something over! The dog began to bark and still she chased him. Louder! The dog barked. The dog howled as though all the demons of hell were after him. Louder!!!
The woman burst into the room. "Pomeroy, stop it this instant. This time you'll have to go," the woman shouted. Stop now, dog. Let her hear the boy. With the door open, the dog leapt off the bed and ran out of the room. The woman turned to follow, still shouting after him. Wait! Don't go again! You stupid fool! You've got to save Jimmy. Do you want the boy to die? She tried to grab the woman's hair, to tear at her clothes, to tackle her. Again the woman shivered.
"Mother, Mother, please!" Victoria heard it faintly. The woman seemed to hear something too. She paused in the doorway and looked around. "Somebody, anybody, help me!" The woman cocked her head, listening, then crossed to the window. Not there, you fool. The closet! "Help me. Let me out!" The woman walked back to the closet and opened the door. Jimmy fell out into her arms. His face was red, his cheeks stained with tears, his hands bruised and sore. He was the most beautiful child that Victoria had ever seen. He clung tightly to his mother's waist, sobbing, frightened by his momentary imprisonment, but otherwise unaware of the dark wings that had brushed the back of his neck.
As Victoria watched, the woman and the child began to fade. Color went first, draining away until they looked like an old sepia-toned photograph. Then they faded away altogether, disappearing very slowly, an image retained on the eyelid, then they were gone. As she watched, the tallboy peeled and chipped and began to lean unsteadily to one side; a pane of glass suddenly cracked and fell away. Then it too had shimmered and vanished, replaced by a blond oak bureau on top of which sat a vase of artificial flowers. The walls behind it turned pink, then green, then blue, and finally white. And as she watched, the view from the window changed, the empty wooded lands across the road giving way to tracts of housing developments and tall factory smokestacks that puffed their wastes on the distant horizon. This room was plain and bare compared with the other, and yet they were the same.
Victoria looked at the old woman lying on the simple Hollywood bed. A paramedic worked feverishly, administering CPR, while another adjusted the dials on the defibrillator for another try. Finally, the first one sat up. "Forget it, Ed. Nothing's going to help this one." Ed wiped the jelly from the machine's paddles and put them away. "Not surprising," he said. "She must be a thousand years old. I'll call the hospital. You can go over and tell the neighbors. They'll probably want to call her son."
Her son! Victoria noticed that on the nightstand beside her bed—the same nightstand that had been bare when she called about her chest pains, a few moments or years
She looked around the room for some way to attract the woman's attention. "Someone please come help me," Jimmy shouted, and silently, she echoed his plea. If she could only knock some of the bottles from the windowsill, or knock the vanity mirror over. A loud noise would bring the woman. There had to be a way. She had been given an opportunity to try and so there had to be something she could do. To go through this again and to change nothing would be the worst sort of cruelty. "Mom-my!"
The dog. The dog could sense her presence, and the dog could make a lot of noise. She bent low and pushed her head under the tallboy. The dog inched backward, away from her, making a soft, high-pitched wail deep in his throat. Bark, you fool! Bark for Jimmy! She pressed forward, and the dog moved back until, free at last from the tallboy, he bounded across the room. He jumped on the bed and began to growl. Don't growl. Bark! Jimmy's in the closet! The dog jumped off the bed and backed himself against the wall. She followed, flailing at him with her fists. Bark! Howl! Knock something over! The dog began to bark and still she chased him. Louder! The dog barked. The dog howled as though all the demons of hell were after him. Louder!!!
The woman burst into the room. "Pomeroy, stop it this instant. This time you'll have to go," the woman shouted. Stop now, dog. Let her hear the boy. With the door open, the dog leapt off the bed and ran out of the room. The woman turned to follow, still shouting after him. Wait! Don't go again! You stupid fool! You've got to save Jimmy. Do you want the boy to die? She tried to grab the woman's hair, to tear at her clothes, to tackle her. Again the woman shivered.
"Mother, Mother, please!" Victoria heard it faintly. The woman seemed to hear something too. She paused in the doorway and looked around. "Somebody, anybody, help me!" The woman cocked her head, listening, then crossed to the window. Not there, you fool. The closet! "Help me. Let me out!" The woman walked back to the closet and opened the door. Jimmy fell out into her arms. His face was red, his cheeks stained with tears, his hands bruised and sore. He was the most beautiful child that Victoria had ever seen. He clung tightly to his mother's waist, sobbing, frightened by his momentary imprisonment, but otherwise unaware of the dark wings that had brushed the back of his neck.
As Victoria watched, the woman and the child began to fade. Color went first, draining away until they looked like an old sepia-toned photograph. Then they faded away altogether, disappearing very slowly, an image retained on the eyelid, then they were gone. As she watched, the tallboy peeled and chipped and began to lean unsteadily to one side; a pane of glass suddenly cracked and fell away. Then it too had shimmered and vanished, replaced by a blond oak bureau on top of which sat a vase of artificial flowers. The walls behind it turned pink, then green, then blue, and finally white. And as she watched, the view from the window changed, the empty wooded lands across the road giving way to tracts of housing developments and tall factory smokestacks that puffed their wastes on the distant horizon. This room was plain and bare compared with the other, and yet they were the same.
Victoria looked at the old woman lying on the simple Hollywood bed. A paramedic worked feverishly, administering CPR, while another adjusted the dials on the defibrillator for another try. Finally, the first one sat up. "Forget it, Ed. Nothing's going to help this one." Ed wiped the jelly from the machine's paddles and put them away. "Not surprising," he said. "She must be a thousand years old. I'll call the hospital. You can go over and tell the neighbors. They'll probably want to call her son."
Her son! Victoria noticed that on the nightstand beside her bed—the same nightstand that had been bare when she called about her chest pains, a few moments or years
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