Page 43 of The Delivery

There is a suspended moment. And then Rebecca sees Mark’s eyes drop to regard his cell phone leerily. Rebecca follows his stare as it next pulls to the teddy bear nanny cam. She feels her own iPhone in her pocket, pressed into her thigh, its camera and microphone ever present. And she remembers that—of course—Mr. Man can hear and see all, even when his eyes are closed, even when he is locked in his electronic casket recharging. Her hand has crept over to find Mark’s.

“ He has access, ” Luca says, “ to everything. ”

Horripilation creeps across Rebecca’s flesh, tightening the skin at the small of her back, her nape, her hairline.

She senses heat like pressure on the side of her face. Even before she drags her gaze up, she knows with terrible certainty that something is watching her.

A man’s backlit form stands in the open doorway of Maddy’s bedroom.

Rebecca tries to scream but the sound is stifled in her throat. Her hand jerks in Mark’s, and his knees jump, knocking the laptop from his lap. It bounces on Maddy’s bed, snapping shut, terminating their chat.

She blinks, and Mr. Man is gone.

“What?” Mark is saying, but she can barely hear him over the thundering rush in her head. “What?”

“He was there.” Rebecca’s voice sounds strangled. “Watching us.”

Mark slides off the bed, trying to let go of her hand, but she holds on, rising with him.

Maddy continues on with her scorpion, oblivious beneath the pink headphones. When she is focused, her concentration is unbreakable.

Mark leads out of the bedroom and down the hall.

The nursery door is open.

The lights are off.

The lid of the prism is raised.

Mr. Man waits in the darkness, standing by the closet.

He raises his arms wide above his head, a predatory display.

Rebecca yelps, jumping behind Mark. They tense, bracing for attack.

But it is not a show of aggression.

Mr. Man is stretching.

Next he does deep knee bends, the movement brisk, muscular. He is loosening his body up from his time in the prism.

“Maybe you should go back in.” Mark’s voice is dry, feeble. “Keep recharging.”

They wait for a response until it becomes clear that no response is forthcoming.

Mr. Man laces his fingers together and twist-thrusts his hands outward. There is a cracking of joints or whatever it is that Mr. Man has. The precision of his motions betrays just how powerful he is.

For the first time, Rebecca fully comprehends what they have done, that they have invited something with full-grown-man strength to live under their roof.

Mr. Man takes a high grip on the bathroom doorjamb and wings his arm back, opening his shoulder and chest on one side and then the other, each flicker of movement uncannily precise.

Mark and Rebecca steal a look at each other. What the hell are they supposed to do?

Rebecca steps out from behind Mark. “Look, I know you overheard our conversation with Luca . . .”

Mr. Man’s head swivels over to her. In the darkness of the bedroom, his features are not visible. There is only a black oval where his face should be. He is still stretching, pulling his shoulder blades back, together, but his head remains completely motionless, the effect deeply unsettling.

Her voice wobbles, almost fails: “I think we’d do well to take a break. Wouldn’t you like to take a break too?”