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The man pushed back from the table. "No. I-I've never killed anyone."
"Oh, but you have." The Huntsman rose to his feet, the other two rising with him. "I think you'd best leave now, John Miller. I think you'd best run fast and run far, and stay out of the woods at night, and remember that if the moon has fallen and you hear the baying of hounds..." He leaned over, hands planted on the table. "They may be coming for you."
Again, the scene shorted out, and I was back in that crib, trying to get out of it. I'd crawled into a corner and was pushing up as best I could. My legs didn't work, but they never had, so I didn't miss the use of them. I'd devised a way to escape the crib, getting into exactly the right position on my folded legs and then using my arms to heave myself up. It took effort, but I was determined. I could hear Mommy in the front room talking to a man, and I was deeply vexed at the thought that we had visitors and I wasn't there to be coddled and cooed over.
I managed to get over the railing. Then came the tough part--the tumble to the floor. From experience, I knew there were two ways to do it. If I wanted Daddy to come running, I'd fall onto the carpet with a thump. If I wanted a silent escape, I'd fall onto the pile of stuffed toys. That's what I did now, squeezing my eyes shut and bracing for the blow. It hurt. I didn't care. Such was the price of freedom.
I tugged myself from the pile of toys. My arms were strong enough that I could drag my body with ease. My bedroom door wasn't shut. It was never shut, not completely. I pulled it open and then wriggle-crawled through.
The voices in the next room came clearer now.
"Four people," Mommy was saying.
"Yes." The man's voice was calm, soothing. "That is the amount of sacrifice required to invoke the cure you're looking for. The Tysons murdered that young couple, which means in killing them, as a couple, it will appear a continuation of the pattern. You'll then need to follow their pattern, including the marks and the mutilations. Can your husband manage that?"
"It won't be a problem."
"Nor will it be easy."
"I'm not looking for easy. I'm looking for a cure. You want four killers dead, and I don't have a problem doing that."
A pause, and I continued dragging myself, hearing their voices but not processing what they were saying. Grown-up talk. Unless it was about me, it wasn't important.
"You do understand the implications," the man said. "If you are caught--"
"We won't be."
"But if you are, we cannot set you free. We can make your life in prison simpler. We can ensure you have money for appeals. Nothing more."
"Understood."
Another pause, and I managed to get myself almost to the living room before the man said, "I really would like to speak to your husband."
"I'm handling this."
"He's committed to the course, though?"
"He is. We both are. Now the rituals...the real ones."
"Yes, simple acts you must conduct before the deaths to ensure the sacrifices are recognized. You can purchase the ingredients in any New Age shop. You'll want to keep those hidden, though."
"Why? If they can be bought legally, presumably for Wiccans or whatever..."
"Keep them hidden, Pamela. Preferably outside the house."
"Yes, yes. Now back to--"
I'd pulled myself into the living room. Now I saw Mommy on the sofa and let out a squeal. She stopped mid-sentence and turned, her eyes widening.
"Eden!"
She flew from the sofa and snatched me up.
The man chuckled. "She's quite the little explorer, isn't she?" He reached to rub my back, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the attention, but Mommy pulled me away, stepping back and saying, "This is why I didn't want to meet here."
"How old is she now? Eighteen months?"
"I don't care. She shouldn't hear--"
