11

“I’m too tired, Mom.”

“Just a quick shower,” Gia said.

She’d wanted Vicky to take a bath before going over to Jack’s but Vicky had found one excuse after another to put it off until it was too late.

“I don’t want to.”

She pouted in the bathroom doorway, her right hand behind her, scratching at her back.

Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time Vicky was the sweetest child in the world. But like any child, when overtired she became whiny and uncooperative.

Gia reached into the shower stall and turned on the water. Vicky’s aunts, Nellie and Grace, had installed it three or four years ago. Its modern, one-piece construction sat in stark contrast to the rest of the master bath with its walls of antediluvian tiles and age-stained grout.

Though dead for almost a year and a half now, the aunts remained the official owners of this Sutton Square townhouse. Gia knew they were dead but couldn’t prove it. And so even though they’d left their entire estate to their only blood relative, little Victoria Westphalen couldn’t claim it. Not yet. Not until Grace and Nellie were declared legally dead. Until then, Gia and Vicky occupied the house in a caretaker capacity.

Good thing the taxes were paid out of the estate. Gia never could have afforded them.

“Come on now. You need a little freshening up. I’ll put a shower cap on you so you won’t get your hair wet. Zip-zip-zip, you’ll be in and out and on your way to bed.”

“But Ma-om.” She scratched her back again. “I want to go to bed na-ow!”

“You want to stop itching? Take a shower.”

“Oh, all right.”

Vicky stepped into the bathroom and pulled off her sweater. Her undershirt followed. As Vicky bent to slide off her jeans, Gia’s heart tripped over a beat as she spotted a large round black mark, big as a tennis ball, on her back.

“Vicky! What is that?”

“What?”

As Vicky started to turn Gia grabbed her shoulders and held her facing away as she looked closer. The tennis-ball-sized mark sat on her upper back between her shoulder blades. Black… Sharpie-pen black, with lightly feathered margins. Ugly and… scary.

A huge melanoma? But no. Impossible. It hadn’t been there this morning when Gia had helped her get dressed.

She couldn’t say why this strange mark filled her with such unease. So black… unnaturally black.

“What is it, Mom?”

Gia heard the concern in Vicky’s voice, so Gia did her best to hide her own concern.

“There’s a mark on your back. Did you—?”

“Where?” Vicky twisted her head as far as it would go. “I can’t see it.”

Gia’s hand recoiled as she reached toward it, but she overcame her hesitancy and traced the mark’s outline with a finger.

“Right there.”

“That’s where it itches.”

“Did you lean against anything?”

“No. I mean I don’t think so.”

Gia snatched up Vicky’s sweater and undershirt. Clean. That meant it hadn’t come through from the outside. But where then?

A thought stole her breath: If not from the outside, that left the inside.

Gia grabbed a washcloth, moistened it, and rubbed at the mark.

“That feels good, Mom. That’s right where it itches.”

“I’m glad, hon.”

But she’d be so much gladder if she were making some headway. It wouldn’t wipe off. She hadn’t lightened it even the slightest.

She rubbed harder.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, hon. It won’t come off.”

Gia had an idea. She went to the linen closet where she grabbed another washcloth and the bottle of rubbing alcohol. She splashed some on the cloth and attacked the mark again.

“Ow! That stings!”

“Just hang on there and let me see if I…”

Gia’s unease expanded to fright as she rubbed and rubbed with no result. The alcohol did no better than plain water. She couldn’t even smear it.

Finally she stopped and leaned back.

“Where on earth did you get this?”

Vicky shrugged as she turned toward her. “I don’t know.”

She reached around and began scratching at it again.

The itch… somehow related to the mark…

“When did you start itching?”

Vicky glanced away. “Oh, a little while ago.”

Gia sensed evasion. Vicky wasn’t a liar. Sure, she’d tell a white one every so often, but her usual tactic was to evade the truth rather than negate it.

But what would make her evasive?

“All right. Do you remember where you were when you started itching?”

Vicky’s eyes remained averted. She spoke in a small voice.

“Jack’s place.”

An awful thought struck Gia. Her mouth went dry.

“Does it have anything to do with that floating thing?”

Vicky nodded, then started to cry. “I don’t know. It started right after I pushed in on its belly button and it floated into the air!”

“Oh, dear God!”

Gia leaped to her feet and rushed out into the hall.

“What’s the matter, Mom?” Vicky trailed behind her. “Are you mad?”

“Yes. I mean no. I—I’ve got to call Jack!”

She headed for the hall phone, but she skidded to a stop and froze when she saw someone moving on the staircase.

Terror lanced through her.

Then she realized it wasn’t a man. Not even human. And when she recognized it she almost wished for a real intruder.

The thing from Jack’s apartment… coming up the stairs.

She backed away as it floated over the banister and started down the hall… away from her… into Vicky’s room.

She followed it in and saw it float over the bed and come to a stop in a corner.

And there it stayed, hovering.

Gia repressed a scream and ran for the phone.