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that their underwear was entirely exposed. A pretty girl hurried past, jabbering on her cell phone. At the far end of the alley, a man was standing under a NO LOITERING sign.
    Jessie looked again, harder.
    The man under the sign.
    It was hard to tell at this distance and angle, but he appeared to be looking up at her apartment.
    A terrible chill ran through Jessie’s body.
    His hair was shorter, but he wore a leather jacket.
    â€œNo,” she mumbled.
    It couldn’t be Emil! He couldn’t have found her!
    Then a woman approached the man. They embraced and walked away. Jessie let out a long breath of relief.
    â€œStop being so nervous,” she scolded herself, and marched straight back to bed.
    This time, she fell almost immediately to sleep.
    She awoke sometime later. Abby was crying. That was unusual. Abby never cried. Jessie threw the sheet off of her and hurried into the living room.
    But Abby was sleeping peacefully.
    Jessie cleared her mind from the fog of sleep to make sure. Yes, Abby was fine. Her soft breathing calmed her mother. Jessie smoothed out her baby’s little pink blanket. She must have only dreamed that Abby was crying.
    Making her way back to bed, Jessie felt as if every step had become an enormous effort. She hadn’t been this tired in a very long time. Once her head hit the pillow, sleep came back quickly, greedily.
    â€œMommy,” came a voice.
    She was dreaming.
    â€œMommy!”
    And suddenly Abby was crying again. Jessie forced her eyes open, shaking off the heaviness of the dream. She listened again. Yes, there was definitely crying coming from the living room. This time it was no dream. She was awake, and Abby was crying. More intensely this time. The sound of frustration.
    Why aren’t you coming for me, Mommy?
    Jessie hurried out of bed once again and rushed to the baby’s crib.
    â€œNo,” she murmured softly to herself, looking down.
    Abby slept. There were no tears. The little blanket showed no signs of being disturbed.
    So what had she heard?
    Jessie reached down into the crib and lifted Abby in her arms. The baby cooed against her chest. Carefully she carried Abby back with her into the bedroom, placing her down beside her on the bed. She stroked Abby’s head as the baby, waking only briefly, drifted back to sleep. “There, there, sweetie, Mommy’s here,” Jessie said.
    Soon her own heavy eyelids dropped and she fell back to sleep.
    The clock read 3:15 when her eyes opened again.
    Once more, the sound of crying drifted in from the living room.
    Jessie looked at Abby, slumbering in peace beside her.
    She listened to the frantic sounds from the other room.
    She didn’t move. Cold terror gripped every muscle in her body.
    The crying continued, becoming ever louder, even more frantic. It was more than just frustrated now. It was angry. Filled with rage.
    How dare you not come for me, Mommy?
    Jessie sat up. What was happening?
    She pushed herself off the bed and back into the living room. From here she could see that something was in the crib. Something . She could see it thrashing about.
    Jessie forced herself to look down into the crib.
    She screamed.
    There, looking up at her, was a naked, screaming baby boy.
    He had Emil’s black eyes.
    And he was covered in blood.

FIVE YEARS LATER

O NE
    I t was one of those perfect late-summer Saturdays in Sayer’s Brook, Connecticut, just over the New York line, when the dragonflies hovered lazily atop black-eyed Susans and the itchy fragrance of goldenrod powdered the air. Monica Bennett stood on the back deck of her house, watching her husband, Todd, swim laps in their pool, his strong tanned arms breaking the water in a rhythmic motion. In the trees, blue jays screeched.
    â€œTodd, honey?” Monica called.
    Her husband paused in his swim and looked up at her, the sun catching the beads of water in his russet hair.
    â€œYou will help her with her bags when she gets here,