window again.
At last, aware that dawn was closer than ever, he crept to the back of
the garage once more. Because he had already freed it, the window swung
out silently this time. The opening was tight, but he eeled through
with only the softest scrape of clothes against wood.
Lindsey dozed in half-hour and hour naps throughout the night, but her
sleep was not restful. Each time she woke, she was sticky with
perspiration, even though the house was cool. Beside her, Hatch issued
murmured protests in his sleep.
Toward dawn she heard noise in the hall and rose up from her pillows to
listen. After a moment she identified the sound of the toilet flushing
in the guest bathroom. Regina.
She settled back on her pillows, oddly soothed by the fading sound of
the toilet. It seemed like such a mundane-not to say ridiculous-thing
from which to take solace. But a long time had passed without a child
under her roof. It felt good and right to hear the girl engaged in
ordinary domestic business; it made the night seem less hostile. In
spite of their current problems, the promise of happiness might be more
real than it had been in years.
In bed again, Regina wondered why God had given people bowels and
bladders. Was that really the best possible design, or was He a little
bit of a comedian?
She remembered getting up at three o’clock in the morning at the
orphanage, needing to pee, encountering a nun on the way to the bathroom
down the hall, and asking the good sister that very question.
The nun, Sister Sarafina, had not been startled at all. Regina had been
too young then to know how to startle a nun; that took years of games
and practice. Sister Sarafina had responded without pause, suggesting
that perhaps God wanted to give people a reason to get up in the middle
of the night so they would have another opportunity to think of Him and
be grateful for the life He had granted them. Regina had smiled and
nodded, but she had figured Sister Sarafina was either too tired to
think straight or a little dim-witted. God had too much class to want
His children thinking about Him all the time while they were sitting on
the pot. Satisfied from her visit to the bathroom, she snuggled down in
the covers of her painted mahogany bed and tried to think of an
explanation better than the one the nun had given her years ago. No
more curious noises arose from the backyard, and even before the vague
light of dawn touched the windowpanees, she was asleep again.
Kigh, decorative windows were set in the big sectional doors, admitting
just enough light from the streetlamps out front to reveal to Vassago,
without his sunglasses, that only one car, a black Chevy, was parked in
the threes garage. A quick inspection of that space did not reveal any
hiding place where he might conceal himself from the Harrisons and be
beyond the reach of sunlight until the next nightfall.
Then he saw the cord dangling from the ceiling over one of the empty
parking stalls. He slipped his hand through the loop and pulled
downward gently, less gently, then less gently still, but always
steadily and smoothly, until the trapdoor swung open. It was well oiled
and soundless.
When the door was all the way open, Vassago slowly unfolded the three
sections of the wooden ladder that were fixed to the back of it. He
took plenty of time, more concerned with silence than with speed.
He climbed into the garage attic. No doubt there were vents in the
eaves, but at the moment the place appeared to be sealed tight.
With his sensitive eyes, he could see a finished floor, lots of
cardboard boxes, and a few small items of furniture stored under
dropcloths. No windows. Above him, the underside of rough roofing
boards were visible between open rafters. At two points in the long
rectangular chamber, light fixtures dangled from the peaked ceiling; he
did not turn on either of them.
Cautiously, quietly, as if he were an actor in a slow-motion film, he