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He
would
never
hurt
Danny
now
.
(
How
could
I
know
the
bug
bomb
was
defective
?
)
Never
in
his
life
had
he
been
willfully
vicious
when
he
was
sober
.
(
Except
when
you
almost
killed
George
Hatfield
.
)
"
No
!
"
he
cried
into
the
darkness
.
He
brought
both
fists
crashing
down
on
his
legs
,
again
and
again
and
again
.
*
*
*
Wendy
sat
in
the
overstuffed
chair
by
the
window
with
Danny
on
her
lap
,
holding
him
,
crooning
the
old
meaningless
words
,
the
ones
you
never
remember
afterward
no
matter
how
a
thing
turns
out
.
He
had
folded
onto
her
lap
with
neither
protest
nor
gladness
,
like
a
paper
cutout
of
himself
,
and
his
eyes
didn
’
t
even
shift
toward
the
door
when
Jack
cried
out
"
No
!
"
somewhere
in
the
hallway
.
The
confusion
had
receded
a
little
bit
in
her
mind
,
but
she
now
discovered
something
even
worse
behind
it
.
Panic
.
Jack
had
done
this
,
she
had
no
doubt
of
it
.
His
denials
meant
nothing
to
her
.
She
thought
it
was
perfectly
possible
that
Jack
had
tried
to
throttle
Danny
in
his
sleep
just
as
he
had
smashed
the
CB
radio
in
his
sleep
.
He
was
having
a
breakdown
of
some
kind
.
But
what
was
she
going
to
do
about
it
?
She
couldn
’
t
stay
locked
in
here
forever
.
They
would
have
to
eat
.
There
was
really
only
one
question
,
and
it
was
asked
in
a
mental
voice
of
utter
coldness
and
pragmatism
,
the
voice
of
her
maternity
,
a
cold
and
passionless
voice
once
it
was
directed
away
from
the
closed
circle
of
mother
and
child
and
out
toward
Jack
.
It
was
a
voice
that
spoke
of
self
-
preservation
only
after
son
-
preservation
and
its
question
was
:
