Him

"He's coming."

"Who's coming, baby?"

Allison returned the milk jug to the fridge and shut the door. It was a beautiful, Spring morning. The birds were singing, and sunlight as fresh as lemonade filled the kitchen. Her five-year-old, Inzu, was drawing on sheets of paper at the table, while her eight-and-a-half-month-old, BJ, was in his high chair, steadily sucking on his bottle, his wide and attentive eyes following Allison as she crossed the kitchen to finish the dishes in the sink. When she passed the table, her eyes landed on the picture her daughter was drawing. It was a furiously drawn sketch of a strange creature with long purple fur and bright red, frightening eyes.

"What's that?"

Inzu looked up. "Him."

"Him who?"

Inzu picked a crayon from her box and colored in more features. "He's coming."

Allison reached down for the drawing, which Inzu relinquished without complaint, and stared at it. As her eldest, Inzu was gifted with extraordinary creativity. Imaginary friends. Fairy tale enactments with her brother. Drawings of flying horses, angels, and faraway magical kingdoms. But over the past week, Allison noticed that this creativity had a dark streak. Pictures of menacing creatures, dark shadow men, and grotesque-looking witches now littered the drawing table in her room. At first, she struck it off as just another side of Inzu's imagination, but as she stared at the picture of the strange, frightening creature with its elongated, knuckle-dragging arms and now, in the brief time after she noticed the drawing, hastily drawn sharp, baby teeth, Allison began to fret.

"You think maybe we should have her checked out?" she told Byron after he came home from work.

They were in their room, and Allison had shown him the drawing Inzu sketched earlier that day. He stared at it with a smirk, then shrugged. "It's just a drawing, Al."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Obvious." He laughed. "I mean, you've seen the others in her room, right?"

Since that morning, Allison discovered the other drawings in her bedroom and playroom. They were all the same hairy creatures, but in each one, it appeared the creature was changing, growing less hairier, more distinctly human, and it was walking down a road, passing childishly drawn houses and street lamps. Lined up on the table, the sketches looked more like storyboards for a movie Inzu was dreaming up in her head.

"Doesn't it freak you out?"

"Well, yeah, I guess," he said, scratching his head. "But like I said, it's just a drawing. Before long, she'll be drawing her fairy princesses again."

Doubt set in, and then hope. "You sure?"

"Yes," he enunciated. "I am sure. Now don't worry. It's nothing."

Allison exhaled, relieved. But a few days later, the same doubts and fears crowded her head again. She was cleaning the upstairs room when she passed by the day room where Inzu and BJ were playing. The small TV was tuned to Bluey, one of Inzu's favorite shows, but as Allison passed by the open doorway, she noticed that both of her children were on the floor, neither paying attention to the program. Inzu was lying flat on her stomach, her legs bent up, while BJ squatted in front of her, sucking on his binkie and flapping his arms up and down.

"And one day, he'll come back to us," Inzu whispered. "Our brother…"

Allison frowned, then stepped through the door. "Inzie," she said. "What's going on?"

Inzu stared at her mother with a bright smile. "Nothing, Mama."

"What were you talking about?"

"Nothing, Mama."

For several long minutes, Allison and her daughter stared at each other. Allison frowned, but the bright, happy smile on Inzu's face never faded.

When she told Byron what she overheard Inzu telling BJ, she expressed her fear again that something was wrong with their daughter. "You don't think she knows…"

Byron shook his head, then let out a nervous laugh. "How could she? Look, she's a kid. She probably wants another baby brother or sister. That's normal."

"But she didn't say they were gonna get a new baby brother or sister, Byron. She said, 'their brother' would come back. How could she know?"

Allison broke down in tears, for it had been years since she thought about him. Guilt shrouded her as she realized that in all those years since Inzu's birth, she had not thought of him at all. They had been so happy living their lives without fear or worry. Byron's position at the firm grew more solid each year, and Allison's beautiful home and family were everything she had dreamed of. Considering all the obstacles they had faced, they lived a charmed life. Sometimes she thought her life was too charmed, as if it was only a dream. Was she now waking up?

Byron took his wife in his arms and consoled her, letting her know it was all going to work out, and that, if it made her feel better, they'd have their GP check her out. Byron always knew how to say the right things to make her feel better, and soon, the tears dried up, and she agreed with her husband to get professional help.

But after Inzu's doctor examined her and found nothing wrong––"She's a perfectly healthy five-year-old"––her parents, though relieved, were still concerned. It didn't explain her strange preoccupation. "If it makes you feel better," said their GP, "I can recommend a child therapist to sit down with her."

Allison and Byron exchanged glances before they both nodded their consent.

The therapist their GP recommended had a small office in an industrial complex near downtown. It was divided into two rooms, a consultation room and a playroom for the kids. The playroom was painted in bright colors, drenched in sunlight from open windows, and had plenty of toys, books, and videos that a child could ever want. The therapist, a tall, thin woman with a serene voice that set Allison at ease, spent an hour with Inzu before she met with the parents in her office, which, unlike the playroom, was drenched in neutral colors and leather furnishing. She leaned against her chair, folding her hands in her lap, and then asked Allison and Byron if Inzu had an older brother.

Allison frowned. "She has a younger brother, BJ."

"Yes, you told me that during our preliminary phone discussion, but does she have an older brother?"

"No," said Byron. Then, after a long pause and a glance at his wife, who already had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach about where this was leading, he added, "But she had a twin."

"Oh," said the therapist, leaning forward to write this in her notes. "You never mentioned that before."

"Well," he said. "He died. You see," he said as he glanced at Allison again, "my wife went into premature labor and…well, it was rough. Inzu made it but, the boy, he had a weak heart."

"I'm so sorry," said the therapist. "That must have been very traumatic for you."

Feeling her chin starting to tremble, Allison raised her head and stared blankly at the blinds hanging in the window behind the therapist.

"Does your daughter know about her twin?"

"No," Allison blurted out. She clamped a hand over her mouth.

Byron took her hand and squeezed it. "No, we figured it'd be best if we just went on with our lives. But we plan on telling her when she's old enough to understand," he added hastily.

"How the hell do you tell a five-year-old that their twin is dead? I mean, really. When she's ready, we'll tell her."

"I understand," said the therapist, but Allison doubted she did.

"What's this all about?" Byron asked.

"Well, your daughter seems to be under the impression that her brother is coming back."

Allison and Byron shot each other stunned looks.

"At first, I thought she was implying that she wanted another baby brother or sister, which, of course, as you know, is perfectly normal for a child her age. But when I asked her this, she insisted that her older brother was coming back. That's when I got a little confused. You hadn't mentioned any other child than her younger brother, but now that you've revealed she had a twin it's starting to make sense."

"Sense?" said Allison. "How the hell does that make sense?"

"Your daughter is mourning for this twin."

"But how does she even know?"

"Perhaps she overheard the two of you discussing it and…"

"Naw, that's impossible," said Byron.

"Impossible?"

"We never talked about the twin."

The therapist's stare bounced from Byron to Allison and back again. "Not ever?"

Allison drew up her shoulders defensively, an intuitive reflex to how the therapist's judging eyes were pinning her to the back of the chair.

"There's no way Inzu could have known about the twin," Byron said.

"I see," said the therapist and scribbled this down in her notes. "Well," she said, putting down her pen, "that poses a real puzzle. Although," she added, pressing her brow into a concentrated frown, "there is literature about the strange bonds between twins. In fact, there were several studies done in which sets of twins who were raised separately, even without knowledge of the other's existence, ended up sharing the same interests, quirks and habits, speech patterns, and so on. They certainly offer some answers to the nature vs. nurture question. It could be your daughter probably sensed that she has a twin, sort of the way an amputee might sense his missing limb. But, even beyond that, I think, given the fact that neither of you has discussed the death of your child even with each other, Inzu could have sensed that something wasn't quite right as well, that perhaps there is a lack of closure in that regard. She's a highly sensitive child, extremely intelligent, and children like that can pick up on a lot of signals."

"Signals?" echoed Allison.

The therapist stared at her with a half-smile before Allison looked away.

"What about the drawings?" said Byron.

"Yes." She searched through the papers on her desk and pulled out a large construction paper. Inzu's sketch of the strange, hairy creature was on it, but this time it was standing in front of trees, staring onward with its dark, menacing eyes.

"That," Allison said, jabbing her finger on the sketch. "What's this all about?"

"Your daughter sketched this while she was in the playroom. Young children like Inzu tend to use art as a way to express things they can't quite express verbally. I would say this drawing represents Inzu's emotions. And there's a lot there––confusion, maybe even anger."

Allison felt the air deflate from her lungs.

"She did say something interesting to me earlier. That he––and I'm assuming she meant her twin brother––didn't like secrets." Allison and Byron shot each other stunned looks. "Now, I know you didn't intend to keep her brother a secret from her, but I think this may be how she feels."

Allison leaned against the chair, her thoughts in a whirl.

"May I ask a personal question? Was Inzu a planned pregnancy?"

Allison blinked. "No," she said, then flashed a look at Byron again. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just curious."

"We were married at the time, if that's what you're suggesting," Byron lied.

"Oh, no, of course not."

"We weren't planning on having kids. Not until after Al finished college and law school. But…you know, shit happens."

"Of course, I understand."

"Why did you ask?" Allison's cold voice rang loudly in the office.

The therapist trained her eyes on her. "It's just that when I asked Inzu what secrets she was referring to, she said, 'Mommy and Daddy didn't want us both, but he's still coming.'"

Allison flew her hand to her mouth and let out a sob. Byron pressed a firm hand on her knee. The therapist reached for a Kleenex on her desk and handed it to Allison. As she busily dabbed at the tears with the tissue, she recalled the day when she was still in the hospital and the doctor had informed her about the twin's death and the immense sadness, grief, and relief (yes, even relief) that washed over her. She stuffed that memory back down where it belonged and wiped her eyes.

"That's not true," she said. "It wasn't like that––"

After a few minutes of silence, Byron said, "Look, I admit, the twins were a surprise, and we weren't exactly prepared for it. We'd just gotten married, you know. But, like I said, shit happens, you adjust, that's life. We're grateful that Inzu and BJ are in our lives now. And, as far as the twin goes, we moved on. It was tragic and we were heartbroken, but there was no point in looking back. Right?" There was an almost pleading tone in Byron's voice that Allison had never heard before.

The therapist stared at him.

Allison dabbed her eyes with the tissue again. "So what do we do? How can we fix this?"

The therapist leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands on her lap. "Talk to her. Confirm with her about her twin. Validate her feelings about him, but be firm that he will never come back. And let her know she's very much loved and wanted. I know this is a sensitive area for you both, and it will be difficult. But I can offer some literature that will help." She pulled pamphlets from the bookshelf near her desk and handed them to Allison. "They offer guidance on how to help your daughter understand death and grief in a way that's safe, reassuring, and appropriate for her age. I find them to be extremely helpful. And, of course, we can continue with these sessions. I think it would be good for Inzu to talk to someone professionally who can help her work through these confusing emotions right now."

Allison stared at the pamphlets with their slick paper and clichéd words of calm and reassurance, then looked at Byron.

When they were alone in their bedroom later that night, Allison turned to her husband and asked if Inzu might have sensed something from them, had seen, as the therapist suggested, the signals. Byron shrugged.

"I don't know."

"We moved on with our lives. We mourned him and we moved on. There was no point in telling Inzu, we both agreed to that."

Byron said nothing.

"We're happy. We were all happy until this. Why now? Is it because she's getting older?"

Byron said nothing.

"What do we do, Byron?"

Byron sighed and said, "We do what the therapist told us: Tell Inzu."

Allison fell back against her pillow and stared at the dark ceiling, her thoughts crowded with old memories she had carefully packed and stored away, never revisited. Damn, she muttered.

The next morning, she and Byron committed to telling Inzu about her twin. They read the pamphlets the therapist gave them two or three times before they felt they were ready, though, inwardly, Allison dreaded looking forward to it. Though she had never admitted it as much aloud or to herself, she was prepared to take that horrible memory to her grave. There was no point in dredging up the past.

Inzu took the news surprisingly well. Too surprisingly well. She sat at her little table in the day room, sketching the creature that had become a familiar fixture on the dayroom walls––tall, thin with shaggy hair, but, this time, with a very human face. A boy's face with menacing eyes and a scowling mouth. It stood now in front of a house that looked suspiciously like their home––tall windows up front, a large patio, a second level pushed back with a corrugated roof, signified by the wavy lines on top. Allison shivered.

After Byron, who did most of the talking, explained to her that her brother was not coming back, he asked if she understood. She gazed up at him with wide, brown eyes and nodded, then returned to her drawing.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Yes, Daddy."

"So we're not gonna hear any more of this 'he's coming back', are we?"

"No, Daddy."

"You got any questions? Anything else you wanna talk about?"

She shook her head and selected another crayon from her box.

"So we're good then?"

She nodded again.

"That's my baby girl," he said and hugged her. Allison hugged her as well.

When they left Inzu and her baby brother alone in the playroom, Allison's doubts crept in again. She voiced these doubts to Byron, but he grasped her by the arms and assured her everything would be okay. "I promise." Not wanting to contradict him, Allison smiled and nodded, knowing he was making a promise he had no right or power to make. "You're right," she said. But a few days later, Allison could no longer ignore the fear that lurked just under the surface.

It began that morning when Byron told her he might take a client out for drinks after work. The client had flown in from Japan to negotiate the contract with the firm, and it was up to Byron and his associates to sweeten the deal. He planned to take the client to a local Japanese restaurant for drinks, possibly food, and would be home late that night. Allison greeted the news with her usual resignation (how many times had he told her not to make a plate or wait up for him?), but the resentment that she was to spend another night stuck at home with the kids overwhelmed her better senses. "Great," she blurted sarcastically and slammed a cabinet door harder than she intended.

"It's a business deal," Byron said, keying into her mood.

"Yeah, it's always a deal with you."

"What? You think I'm lying?"

"No, I don't think you're lying. But, Byron, you know, I'm here with the kids all day. I don't get a break at all. You go out with clients, and I'm home…"

"You think this is all fun and games for me? This is work, Al."

"…but you get to go to bars and restaurants…"

"…You're the one who decided to take a year off…"

"…And I get no help here…For once, I'd like to go out…"

"He's coming," said Inzu.

Disturbed by the loud noises, BJ began to cry in his high chair.

"We can hire somebody…"

"That's not the point, Byron."

"Then what is the point?"

"He's coming tonight."

Byron and Allison fell silent and looked at their daughter. Only BJ's squalls, which grew noticeably louder, punctured the silence. Allison went over to him, removed his bib, wiped his eyes and chin, which was covered in pureed peaches, then lifted him out of the high chair and bounced him in her arms.

"Who's coming tonight, baby girl?" Byron said, looking from Allison to his daughter.

"Him," she replied, eyes wide and innocent.

Byron exhaled angrily, then shook his head. "I ain't got time for this." He grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door.

"Wait! Byron!"

Allison raced after him with BJ still wailing in her arms, but by the time she reached the foyer, the front door had slammed shut. She stood in the morning sunlight coming through the tall windows and shook her head.

"He's coming tonight."

Allison jumped, then turned to see her daughter in the arched doorway into the foyer. "Inzu," she said, her anger rising. "What did your Daddy and me tell you about your brother? He's not coming back. He's dead."

BJ let out another wail.

Inzu stared at her, eyes still wide and innocent.

"You understand?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Girl, don't 'Yes, Mama' me. I wanna know: do you understand?"

"Yes, Mama." Then, after a few minutes: "Can I go to my room now?"

Allison gestured for her to leave, then faced the front door again as she heard her daughter's tiny footsteps go up the stairs.

All afternoon, Allison wrestled with brooding thoughts, her anger at Byron and Inzu knotting like thorns in her mind. But despite her frustration with her husband, her daughter's situation was the thorniest of the two and commanded all her preoccupations. She had been swayed by Byron's confidence that Inzu understood what had happened to her brother, but now she realized that they had both been too hasty to put the whole thing behind them. She reread the pamphlets the therapist had given her, wondering how to finally get it through her daughter's head that her brother was never coming back, then called the therapist and dumped all of her frustrations on her. After listening patiently while Allison ranted, the therapist suggested that Inzu continues with therapy and that a group family session should be scheduled once a week as well. At first, Allison resented that the therapist felt she and Byron needed therapy––we're not the ones who're…and she stopped herself from fully acknowledging what she feared in her head––but the therapist's soft, soothing voice had unknotted some of the anger that had snagged inside her, and she figured, if she is that good in getting me to relax, then I suppose it couldn't hurt. But she did not agree to family counseling immediately, not until she talked it over with Byron. "Yes, of course," said the therapist, as if she had suggested the idea all along.

After she hung up, Allison, feeling a little better, made lunch for the children, and then put BJ down for a nap. Inzu watched Bluey in the playroom. She was carrying a laundry basket in the upstairs hallway, thinking vaguely about the last time she had sushi, when she went to Inzu's bedroom. Her room, overstuffed with plush toys, dolls, thick comforters, cutesy wall decals, and pink––an overload of pink––was like any room you'd expect of a five-year-old. But the sunshine coming through her windows seemed less lemony, less cheerful, bathing the entire room in its dull ambiguity. Her gaze sought out Inzu's drawings on the table. There were so many that the sketches covered the entire blond wood. After she put down the basket and picked up one of the sketches, her stomach clenched by what she saw.

It was a drawing of the same boy, matted hair growing in length down his shoulders, peering through a window. But its expression was the most shocking thing. It had bright red glowing eyes, and its eyebrows and lips were drawn downward in a menacing scowl. Both hands were pressed against the glass as if he were attempting to break through it.

Allison gasped and dropped the picture as her hand flew to her mouth. She recalled what the therapist told her and Byron about Inzu's drawings at their last meeting. What did she say exactly? That they were an expression of their daughter's anger?

She glanced down at the picture and shook her head. "But why?" she muttered. As she rifled through the other sketches, each one revealing the same boy with the same menacing expression, she wondered how it could be that her bright, cheerful, sweet little girl could harbor such rage. Who was this child? she now wondered. It seemed she never understood her at all. But what parent does? Children can be a mystery, such strange little creatures with their own private worlds. Hadn't her mama said the same thing about Allison? "Sometimes I ever wonder if I understand you," she once said to her after she told her she and Byron had gotten married, a quickie elopement in Vegas two months after she found out she was pregnant with the twins, a pregnancy and marriage that cut sharply into Allison's college and career aspirations. She recalled Byron's lie to the therapist and quickly drowned that memory.

She began ripping up all the sketches as if by destroying them she could release her baby girl from the powerful grip of anger and bring her back. She watched the pieces fall back down on the table. When one shred of paper drifted onto the floor, she paused. The tear of the paper ran through the face of the scowling boy, perforating it in half so that one angry eye stared back up at her, judging.

A movement sounded behind her and she jumped.

Inzu stood in the doorway, staring at her with wide, curious eyes.

She held the last sketch in her palm, but instead of ripping it into pieces, she scrunched it up into a ball and said, "Inzu, I want you to stop drawing these sketches." She paused, then added: "They make me very unhappy." She paused again, drew a deep breath, and continued. "I've talked to your therapist and we'll be seeing her again. She'll help. I know you're unhappy, baby, but this isn't the way. Okay? We'll work this out together, but I want you to stop making these drawings, so you can be happy again. You understand?" When she didn't respond, she shouted: "Did hear me, girl?"

Inzu jumped, then looked frightened. "Yes, Mama," she whimpered.

Flooded with guilt, Allison fell to her knees and hugged Inzu tightly. "I'm so sorry, baby. Mommy's so sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

The little girl pulled away from her mother and touched her cheek. "It's okay, Mommy. He's coming tonight, and everything will be okay, just like Daddy said. No more secrets. We'll be so happy."

Allison stared at her in shock and horror.

That night, Allison had a quiet dinner with the children. Byron called to let her know he was definitively staying out for dinner and drinks but promised to come home soon. "Look, you were right. I've been so preoccupied with work lately, that I hadn't thought about you or the kids. Tell you what, you plan a night out for the both of us. Dinner, dancing, the whole nine yards. Just make sure you put on your sexiest dress, 'kay?" He laughed. "Sure," she said dully before they hung up.

After dinner, Allison took BJ upstairs for a bath, put him in his pen, and sang to him until he drifted off to sleep as she did every night. He was usually fussy after his bath, jumping up and down on the mattress, vocalizing his first attempts at words, or trying to climb out of the pen, until she discovered that if she sang his favorite song, "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," he would lie down, giggle and clap at her in amazement that she could make her voice sound like a bird, then slowly drift off to sleep. It took her fifteen, sometimes twenty minutes before he fell to sleep, and she had to repeat the same verses ten or more times before his eyes closed and he began to snore softly. She sighed in relief, switched on his nightlight, turned off the main lights, and left the room.

It was Inzu's turn for her bath, but when she went to her room she found that her daughter was not there. She called for her several times but got no answer. She went to the bathroom, thinking Inzu had gotten a head start, but the light was off and the room was empty. She went downstairs and stepped into the kitchen, calling for her daughter again. Empty. She crossed the foyer into the living room, still calling for her, when she found her standing in front of the large patio door windows, staring out.

"Inzu," she said sharply. "Didn't you hear me calling you? It's bathtime. Let's get a move on."

Inzu made no move but stared out of the window.

"Girl, I'm talking to you."

Still no response.

"Don't make me tell you twice…" she started as she went over to the window to pull Inzu away, but was immediately distracted by the strange look in her daughter's eyes. Her gaze was intense, focused. She followed the direction of her stare, then gasped.

At the far end of the backyard, past the swimming pool, where a line of trees bordered their property, she noticed a dark figure standing very still. The light pots that lined the yard cut through the darkness and shined dully across the figure, but its face was still hidden in shadow. Yet Allison could tell that the figure was the height of a child and had long, shaggy hair that flowed down his shoulders. And it was a boy––she could tell. A small, shaggy-haired boy.

Allison gasped and stepped backward, her heart thumping heavily in her chest.

Inzu glanced up at her mother. "He's here. But he's not happy."

Allison stared openmouthed at her daughter. Her gaze flew to the window again. The boy stood in the distance for a long time before, slowly, he began marching toward the house.

Horrified, she grabbed Inzu by the shoulder and pulled her back. Quickly grabbing her phone, she pressed the number to her husband's cell and waited as it rang several times. She practically screamed into the speaker when his voice greeted her on the other end.

"Byron, come home now!"

"What's up? What's going on?"

"I don't know. There's something in the backyard."

"Backyard? What is it?"

"I don't know…" She paused, catching herself, before she said, "It's a bear or something. I don't know. Please, Byron, just come home."

"Okay, okay. I'm on the road now. I should be there in ten."

"Hurry!" she cried, then hung up.

Inzu pulled back the drapes and started to unlock the patio door. "He's here! He's here!" she shouted.

"Inzu, no," Allison cried and pulled her daughter away by the wrist.

She lifted her child into her arms and started to turn before a flash of movement beyond the window made her freeze. The boy was now against the glass, pressing his face and hands against it. His eyes were so red-veined and wide they almost popped out of their sockets and when he opened his mouth, there appeared only gums with tiny rows of baby teeth. He looked half-formed, malformed, a creature birthed by rage and confusion. Allison's heart seized as he stared at her malevolently and began banging his hands on the glass, just as Inzu depicted in her drawings days ago.

Allison ran upstairs with her daughter crying to be let down. "It's not me, Mama! It's not me."

When she reached the landing, she heard a loud crash in the living room and the sound of breaking glass.

She screamed and dashed up the stairs.

The loud noises woke BJ, who began wailing. Allison ran to his darkened room, shut the door, then ran to her son. She put down her daughter to pick him up, then gathered them all in the corner of the room where she slumped low to the floor. Her mind raced as she considered whether to take the back stairway into the kitchen and run over to her neighbor before Byron arrived, but before she could formulate the plan in her head she was stunned by the sound of heavy footsteps outside the door.

The boy couldn't have weighed more than forty pounds, and yet he sounded as if he was a grown man. For a second, she thought it might be Byron, but then the footsteps stopped and a shadow blocked out the light beneath the door. BJ stopped crying once she lifted him from his pen but continued to whimper softly. He rested against her, his skin hot and clammy. Inzu stirred restlessly and pointed to the door.

"Mama, why are you locking…" she started loudly before Allison pressed her finger to her mouth to shush her. "But Mama…I'm not…"

Allison gave her the look, and the child quieted.

She stared at the door, which was half-lit by the nightlight, and waited. If it was Byron, he would call out to her. But when seconds passed without a word from him, she bit down on her lower lip and squeezed her toddler to her breast.

A knock sounded abruptly against the wood. Dark, heavy.

Allison screamed. She had not known she had screamed until a few seconds later when she glanced wildly at her daughter, who now stared up at her with a frightened look. BJ began to wail again. The second knock drew another scream out of her, and she looked desperately around the room for an escape. The windows let out onto the first-story roof. She considered climbing out with her children, winnowing down onto the fence that lined the west end of the house, and seek shelter with the neighbor until Byron came. Where the hell was he?

The knocks came harder now as if whoever was behind it was pressing all its weight and strength against the door. Allison screamed again and hugged her two children tightly, but somehow, Inzu pivoted out of her mother's grip and dashed toward the door.

Allison lunged for her, reaching futilely for her arm, but the child was too quick and was at the door before Allison could scramble to her feet. BJ howled. Allison yelled at her daughter to stop, but Inzu reached for the doorknob and slowly pulled open the door.

Allison returned the jug of milk to the refrigerator and shut the door. It was a beautiful, Spring morning. The birds were singing, and sunlight as fresh as lemonade filled the kitchen. She turned toward the table where her twins, Inzu and Amari, were drawing on sheets of paper. Her eight-and-a-half-month-old, BJ, was in his high chair, steadily sucking on his bottle, his eyes wide and attentive as he watched Allison cross the kitchen to finish the dishes in the sink.

She dunked a plate into the hot, soapy water and stared at the sunlight coming through the windows above, her thoughts drifting back to the argument she had had with Byron the other night after he told her that he was going out for drinks with a client, when Inzu chirpily called out, "Look, Mommy! Look what I drawed!"

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "Okay, baby, hold on." She grabbed the towel on the counter and quickly dried the plate as she turned toward the table to glance at Inzu's drawing. "What did you draw?"

"See," she said and showed the drawing of four stick figures. One was clearly her father because he had on a tie. Next to him was Allison in a dress and with dark curly hair. Then standing beside her was Inzu's self-portrait, a little brown girl with the biggest smile, and BJ, chubby and holding a bottle twice as big as he. Behind the family was the house with its wavy roof and two palm trees on either side. Allison laughed and complimented Inzu, but her smile faded when she realized something was wrong. She glanced at Amari, who was still steadily coloring in his book.

She looked at Inzu. "You're missing one person."

Inzu's eyes widened.

"Your other brother," she said with a grin. "Your twin, Amari. Where is he?"

Confused, Inzu blinked again and wrinkled her nose. "Twin? What twin, Mommy?"

Amari looked up from his coloring book and stared at Allison. His eyes were large, dead, and white.

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