Audrey Rose

HOOVER’S EYES WERE FIXED ON THE TORMENTED CHILD.

He critically observed every movement and gesture she made, listening to the rasping, thoroughly exhausted voice repeating, “Mommydaddy mommydaddy hothothot mommydaddy mommydaddy.”

Janice felt Bill’s hand stiffen in hers as he, too, turned and planted a stern warning look on the interloper.

But Hoover ignored them both, his eyes and mind wholly devoted to their daughter, trying to define the meaning of the terrible hallucination in which she was caught. And then a look of inexpressible sadness swept across his face. His eyes grew large and haunted as he uttered, “My God,” in a barely audible breath.

He quickly stepped past them into the room and worked his way closer to Ivy, who was reeling about dizzily near the window, her hands seeking the glass, reaching for it, gropingly, each time pulling back in pain and fear, as if it were molten lava.

“Audrey!” The word burst out of Hoover like a shot: “Audrey Rose! It’s Daddy!”