The Dark at the End

The Dark at the End Page 45

Gilda straightened and cocked her head.

What?

That cry ... it almost sounded like the little one. But that baby, that awful, ugly little baby couldn't be heard in the yard. Which was why she was out here. She couldn't stand that cry. It set her teeth on edge. It scraped her nerves raw. And the little monster kept doing it, over and over.

Not a hunger cry. Nor was it a distressed cry because it needed changing. She'd feed it its formula - such an enormous appetite - but even when finally sated and changed into a fresh diaper, still it shrieked. All through its waking hours. Gilda had come to the conclusion that it liked to make that noise. Almost as if it knew it disturbed her and it cried out just to torture her.

Sometimes she needed all her strength and loyalty to the Master to keep from holding a pillow over its wretched little head to stop it forever.

But the Master had plans for the baby. He had not shared them with Gilda or Georges, but he had made it clear he wanted the baby kept well until the time when he had use for him.

Gilda had had only one child of her own, and Kristof had been nothing like this one. Her Kristof had been headstrong, but a good boy. She hadn't heard from him lately, but that wasn't unusual. Sometimes his work for the Order did not allow easy communication. But he would call when he was able. Kristof was a good son.

But that child inside - a devil child from a devil girl. That Dawn Pickering was no good, and she'd given birth to a child just as bad. Gilda almost wished the mother had been allowed to keep the child. Let her deal with that awful sound.

There. She heard it again. It seemed to come from the other side of the house. But it couldn't be the child. Probably some seagull.

Time to go inside anyway. Her hands were stiff from the cold, almost frozen. But the discomfort was nothing compared to the sound of that child.

The Master could silence him. The Master would step into the child's room and stare at him. And thereafter the child would remain silent - for as long as the Master stayed in the house. As soon as he left, as he had last week, the screeching resumed. For six days straight now. Gilda was so glad the Master was returning.

The Master ... he frightened and fascinated her. Her Kristof feared him and said she must obey him at all times or suffer grave consequences. She had taken that with a grain of salt until Georges's predecessor, Henry, had deviated from the Master's instructions regarding that little trollop, Dawn. He disappeared. Gilda never saw or heard from Henry again.

She opened the door at the side of the great room and stepped in. She pulled it closed behind her and tensed as she stood listening, waiting. But the sound didn't come.

She waited longer. Still silence.

Could it be ... could the little monster have fallen asleep? She found that almost too much to hope for. After screeching all day, the child would fall asleep at night, but rarely for more that two consecutive hours. Then he'd be up, waking the house with his cries. But never since the day he was born had he taken a nap.

She tiptoed across the great room and approached the center hall. She stopped at its entrance. Still silence, glorious silence. She had no idea how soundly he slept - deep, like her Kristof in his baby days, so that almost nothing awakened him, or very lightly, so that the slightest sound would rouse him? If the latter, she needed to sneak that bedroom door closed, or run the risk of waking him with the simple rattle of a pan in the kitchen.

She glanced farther down the hall at the front door to the street side and noticed it closed over. Hadn't that been open? She couldn't be sure. The child's racket was so distracting it was a wonder she remembered her own name.

She slipped out of her shoes and edged up to the nursery door. Anyone watching her exaggerated caution might think she was sneaking up on an unsuspecting victim, but this opportunity for peace and quiet was too rare and precious to ruin with carelessness.

When she reached the doorway she peeked through the narrow opening between the frame molding and the hinged side of the door. She had a view of the foot of the crib but no sign of the child. He must have fallen asleep at the other end.

Gilda took a breath before peeking around the door. The last thing she wanted to see was that ugly little face staring back at her through the bars. Because sure as the sun rose in the east, a screech would be quick to follow.

She poked her head past the edge of the door for a full view of the crib and -

Empty!

Mouth dry, heart pounding, she rushed into the room and gripped the top rail as she stared at the rumpled sheets.

No! This could not be!

Wait. The child could stand long, long before it should have been able. Could it have climbed out?

She dropped to her hands and knees and was crawling about the floor when she remembered something. She popped her head back up to the level of the crib mattress.

The blanket. Where was the blue blanket she kept in the crib? Even if by some miracle the baby could have climbed out, it would not have taken the blanket.

And the front door - Georges had left it open when he'd gone fishing. And now it was closed.

Someone had taken the baby!

Who? The mother? Dawn? No. She was too self-centered to even worry about her baby, and too stupid to track him here and take him.

Dr. Heinze? He'd visited only yesterday. He was interested in the baby, yes, but more as a specimen than a child. She couldn't see him involved in a kidnapping.

She ran to the front door and pulled it open. She stood there, panting with terror as she scanned the empty yard. The Master ... no telling what he would do if he returned tonight and learned that Gilda had allowed the baby to be taken. Not even her Kristof could save her.

A random passerby? Saw the open door and investigated? Took the child for ransom or perversion?

But where was he? No sign of a car, or another living soul. She'd have heard car tires on the stones.

She ran back to the great room, slipped back into her shoes, then raced out to the bayside yard. She searched churning waters but saw no sign of Georges. The misty, snowy air hampered visibility.

Back to the house, this time to the kitchen where she yanked open a drawer and grabbed a carving knife. She would search, go from house to house if she had to, until she found that child. And if anyone interfered ...

Out again into the cold, the street side, this time. She went to the garage and kicked open the side door. The Master's car sat within. She checked inside, around, and under. No sign of that miserable little child.

She stepped back into the yard and slammed the door behind her. Where next? Maybe -

She heard something ... a high-pitched shriek. Like she'd heard before and written off as a seagull. But this was no seagull. She knew that awful cry like the sound of her own name. No sign of anyone about, but it seemed to originate from somewhere to her left.

She headed in that direction and had reached the middle of the roadway when she heard it again.

She could swear it came from that garage across the street ...