"Just call." He glanced back toward the waiting room. "I've got a son

of my own, Doctor."

EMMA Had TERRIBLE DREAms. She wanted to call out for her Dad, for her

mum, but it was as though a hand were closed over her mouth, over her

eyes. Great weights seemed to press her down and down.

The baby was crying. The sound echoed in the room, in her bead, until

it seemed as though Daffen were inside her mind screaming to get out.

She wanted to go to him, had to-but there were two-headed snakes and

snarling, snapping things with black, dripping fangs all around her bed.

Each time she tried to climb out they lunged at her, hissing, spitting,

grinning.

If she stayed in bed, she'd be safe. But Darren was calling for her.

She had to be brave, brave enough to run to the door. When she did, the

snakes disappeared. Beneath her feet the floor felt alive, moving,

pulsing. She looked back over her shoulder. It was just her room, with

toys and dolls tidily on the shelves, with Mickey Mouse smiling

cheerfully. As she watched the smile turned into a leer.

She raced into the hall, into the dark.

There was music. The shadows seemed to dance to it. There were sounds.

Breathing, heavy, wet breathing, snarls and the movement of something

dry and slithering on the wood. As she ran toward the sounds of

Darren's cries, she felt the hot breath on her arms, the quick nasty

nips at her ankles.

It was locked. She pulled and pounded on the door as her brother's

screams rose higher, only to be drowned out by the music. Under her

small fists, the door dissolved. She saw the man, but there was no

face. She saw only the glint of his eyes, the gleam of his teeth.

He started toward her, and she was more afraid of him than of the snakes

and monsters, the teeth and the claws. Blind with fear, she ran, with

Darren's screams rising behind her.

Then she was falling, falling into a dark pit. She heard a sound, like

a twig snapping, and tried to scream out at the agony. But she could

only fall silently, endlessly, helplessly, with the music and her

brother's cries echoing in her head.

When she awoke, it was bright. There were no dolls on the shelves.

No shelves at all, just blank walls. At first she wondered if she was

in a

hotel. She tried to remember, but as she did, the aching began-the hot,

dull aching that seemed to throb everywhere at once. Moaning against

it, she turned her head.

Her father was sleeping in a chair. His head was back, turned a bit to

the side. Beneath the stubble of his beard his face was pale. In his

lap, his hands were clenched into fists.

"Dad."

Already on the edge of sleep, he woke quickly. He saw her lying against

the white hospital sheets, her eyes wide and a little afraid. The tears

welled up again, clogging his throat, burning his eyes. He fought them

with what little strength he had left.

"Emma." He went to her, sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing his

exhausted face against her throat.