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Bill wondered if Hoover had received the letter. There was a way to check that. He made two purposeful blunders, allowing Ivy to take the third game. Her victory whoops followed him into the bedroom, where he put in a call to Harold Yates.

‘Letter delivered, signed receipt returned, currently stashed in my file case,’ Harold informed him with a deep rumble of satisfied laughter.

‘Great,’ Bill said. ‘He hasn’t tried to call me.’

‘Nor should he! He’s on notice. From this point on, if he bothers you or your family in any way, we go to court and file for injunctive relief.’

‘Yeah,’ Bill said, then added, ‘We leave for Hawaii tomorrow, Harry. It’s business, but I’m taking Janice and Ivy along.’

‘Excellent Your timing couldn’t be better. If you want my opinion, you’ve heard the last of Mr Hoover, so relax and enjoy your trip. Call me when you get back.’

They ate as a family, around the dining-room table, at six fifteen. Janice had whipped up a Mexican gala out of cans and packages: a cold gazpacho, allowed to thaw to room temperature from its frozen state, small tamale pies, and bowls of spicy chili, with hot biscuits substituting for the missing tortillas, and topped off with lime sherbet and sesame cookies. Bill and Janice drank Cold Duck with their meal; Ivy drank milk.

Ivy went to bed at eight fifteen, kissing Janice five times and Bill ten, before drowsily snuggling up to Panda for the night. Janice remained with her until she was sound asleep, then went in search of aspirin. The hours of tippling had had their effect on her, producing a dull headache and a logy feeling of depression.

Entering the bedroom, Janice found Bill half packed, moving swiftly and expeditiously between drawers and suitcase, whistling softly as he worked. Janice sank wearily into a chair and gazed at her empty suitcase, unable to cope with the chore ahead of her. Bill flashed her a smile of encouragement, went to her bureau and opened the top drawer for her, prompting her into activity. Janice smiled wanly, struggled out of the chair, and had just taken her first limping step when the house telephone rang downstairs. The ring was normal, noncontinual, routine, yet for Janice in her debilitated state it had the effect of the bells of hell heralding the demon host.

She felt Bill’s hand in hers, and saw the calm smile of assurance on his face, and heard him confidently say, ‘Pack,’ before hurrying out of the room and down the stairs to answer it.

‘It’s Mr Hoover, Mr Templeton.’ The voice belonged to Ralph, the night desk man.

Bill was hardly surprised, yet his heart was pounding.

‘All right, put him on.’

‘He’s here,’ corrected Ralph. ‘He wants to come up.’

Christ, Bill thought, the prick has nerve.

‘Tell him we’re in bed, Ralph,’ Bill said harshly. ‘No, wait! Put him on the phone … I’ll talk to him.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Bill could hear Ralph mumbling directions to Hoover and could visualize the thin, wiry body making its way across the lobby to the alcove containing the house phones.

‘Mr Templeton?’ The voice echoed desolately in the instrument. ‘May I come up and see you?’

‘No,’ Bill said. ‘We’ve just gone to bed.’

- A sound from above reverberated on the ceiling … Janice must have dropped something…

‘I got your letter - the one your lawyer sent. I’d like to discuss it…’

‘There’s nothing to discuss, Mr Hoover. The letter is self-explanatory and clearly states my position.’

- Footsteps running across the ceiling … a heavy door slam … what the hell was Janice doing?

‘I don’t see why you felt the need to go to a lawyer. It’s a matter we could have discussed between ourselves…’

‘Look, Mr Hoover, I do not wish to have any further discussions with you on this or any other matter. The letter is intended to sever our relationship once and for all. Understood?’

- Was that sobbing? Or laughter? It was hard to tell through the thick panelling and inset paintings…

‘Please, Mr Templeton, if you’ll just let me speak to you, I think you’ll agree that you need my help as much as I need yours—’ -‘Bill! For God’s sake, Bill!’ It was Janice! Shouting!

‘Listen, Hoover, if you don’t hang up and leave the premises of this building forthwith, I will call the police!’

Bill slammed down the receiver and dashed around the archway into the living-room.

- Rat sounds … pattering across the ceiling … a chair falling … directly overhead … Ivy’s room!

Bill’s feet took the steps two at a time to the upper landing, stopping short at Ivy’s open door, almost stumbling over Janice sitting on the floor, sobbing, childlike, staring up at him with a hypnotized horror, shaking her head plaintively, choking out words: ‘S-she’s … she’s … looking for him…’

‘Stop it!’ Bill shouted, seizing her by the arms and pulling her roughly to her feet.

‘Daddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddy …’ the high-pitched clutter of words spilled out through the open door beside them.

‘S-she’s looking for her … daddy!’ Janice sobbed with rising hysteria.

‘Janice!’ Bill shouted again, louder, and shook her hard. ‘Stop it, Janice!’

The sharpness of his voice was therapeutic. The sobs suddenly abated, became dry heaves in a face that was pale and filled with terror and confusion.

‘Call Dr Kaplan! I’ll take care of Ivy! Go now, hurry!’

Janice faltered, glanced about like a person caught in the middle of her own nightmare. She started to move, then stopped as the squealing, beseeching ‘Daddydaddydaddydaddydaddy…’ grew stronger and more demanding; the sound of furniture toppling and things spilling - books, dolls, games, balls - grew more pronounced.

‘Go, Janice!’ Bill commanded.

Janice looked at Bill with eyes that fought for composure; then, pulling herself together with obvious effort, she began to edge furtively away towards their bedroom, glancing rapidly back towards Ivy’s room, as if fearing the sudden emergence of something monstrous.

Bill waited till Janice had entered their bedroom before turning to the lilting voice and the desperate sounds of his daughter’s room.

‘Daddydaddydaddydaddydaddy…’ The piercing staccato became more frenetic as the slight body jumped upon the bed and started kicking at the bedsheets which impeded forward momentum, finally forcing her to fling herself, headfirst, on to the floor to escape their tangling grip. Bill shuddered at the sound her forehead made as it connected solidly with the corner leg of the pink and white dresser. He charged forward to grasp her, to help her, to comfort her, but she deftly eluded his arms and, oblivious of injury or pain, continued her madcap roundelay uninterrupted. Her hair, newly washed and dried, was frizzed up in a bouffant halo around her face, making it seem smaller than normal and lending a note of insanity to the dainty, flushed features and bright saucer eyes roving constantly in search of ‘Daddydaddydaddydaddydaddy …’ Bill could see a red welt begin to appear on her forehead directly above her left eye. She had hurt herself terribly. A sudden rush of fear swept through Bill. He had to do something to stop her from disfiguring herself.

‘Ivy!’ he shouted, taking a step towards the child, now climbing over a chair that had toppled over. ‘Ivy! It’s Daddy! I’m here, Ivy!’ Consciously or unconsciously, his voice had taken on the same tone and timbre as Hoover’s voice. ‘Ivy! I’m here, Ivy! Here, darling!’

Ivy seemed neither to see him nor to hear him, as she clambered to her feet and tripped across the room to the window and started to make grasping gestures at the glass, drawing quickly back from the cold pane whenever her flexing fingers got too close, her fierce and frightened voice reverting to its former plea of ‘Daddydaddydaddymommymommymommy-hothothothotdaddydaddydaddy …’

Bill took several steps closer to her and sank to his knees. ‘Over here, Ivy! It’s Daddy! This way, darling!’

Suddenly, as if his words had got through to her, she spun about and stared at him with large, questioning eyes.

‘Daddydaddy, daddy, daddy…’ The panic in-her voice lessened; the pitch descended; the big eyes sought, searched, probed through some invisible density for a glimmer of light.

Bill was encouraged. He was making contact. She had calmed down noticeably. She seemed to be hearing, listening. He raised two arms to her and stretched out beckoning fingers and in a strong hopeful voice offered her the sanctuary she seemed to be seeking.

‘This way, Ivy! Come! It’s Daddy! Come!’

Even as he spoke, the waxen pallor of her feverish cheeks increased until she looked like a corpse with living eyes.

‘Ivy! THIS WAY, IVY! COME! IT’S DADDY!’ His voice rose with fierce excitement. His fingers clutched at her nightgown.

At his touch, she drew back sharply as if struck and spun about towards the window, seeking escape, her voice rising in pitch and hysteria, ‘Daddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddy …’ her two hands slamming against the frosted glass in desperation and panic, then pulling away with a terrible scream of pain, ‘HothothothothothothothotHOTHOTHOTHOTHOT!’ over and over, holding up her hands before her tearful, anguished eyes, studying the burned and blistering flesh.

Seeing the awful redness of his child’s hands deepen and a blister begin to form on the middle finger of her left hand, Bill feared he would collapse and faint. This wasn’t possible, wasn’t reasonable. The glass was cold, frosted over…’ Somehow he managed to raise himself to his feet and stood like an automaton, hovering helplessly above the weeping form of his darling child, who was rocking back and forth on her knees, softly crooning, ‘Daddy, daddy, daddy, hoihothothot …’ licking the scorched fingers of her hands, the high, melodious whimpers and sobs commingling with the sharp hiss of the radiator directly behind her.

The radiator!

Bill’s eyes widened with suppressed excitement as the simple, factual, logical culprit stood before him, beneath the window, its scalding cast-iron panels releasing jets of steam through a nozzle designed to relieve the awful pressure of its boiling interior.

‘Oh, God - her hands!’ Janice’s stark voice came from the doorway, causing Bill to jump and spin about. She stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall light, staring down at Ivy, rocking pitifully back and forth in a paroxysm of sobs and lamentations, ‘Daddydaddydaddyhothothothot …’ licking and sucking her burned fingers.

‘What happened?’ Janice gasped, taking a step into the room.

‘The radiator - she fell against it and burned her fingers.’

Janice began to sway unsteadily. Bill reached out and held her. ‘Have we got something in the house?’

‘There’s … there’s some ointment in the kitchen cabinet.’

‘Stay with her. I’ll get it.’ Bill gently forced Janice to sit on the edge of the bed and started to leave. At the door he turned.

What about Kaplan?’

‘He’s coming…’ The voice was dull, lacklustre.

Bill left the room, closing the door.

Expressionless, Janice could only sit and watch the moaning, weeping, rocking bundle of misery across the room, the pink tongue licking furiously at the welting fingers, the squealing voice intoning, ‘Daddydaddydaddydaddy …’

Ivy! Dear God! It was Ivy! Her Ivy! Her baby! Alone, abandoned, hurting! Needing! Locked in the steel vault of her nightmare. Unable to get out. Struggling to survive - to stay alive till help came. Help? What help? What combination was there to open the door - to release her from her terrible bondage? For Ivy, there was none. No combination. None. For Ivy, none. But!

‘Audrey! Audrey Rose! Come!’

The voice was soft, barely a whisper. Gentle. Humble. Begging-

‘… daddydaddydaddydaddydaddyhothothothot…’

‘Audrey Rose! I’m here, Audrey!’

Inviting. Entreating. Insisting.

‘… hothothothotdaddydaddydaddydaddy…’

‘AUDREY ROSE! COME!’

Strident. Compelling. Commanding.

‘… daddydaddydaddyhothothothotdaddydaddy…’

But the door remained shut.

*

‘I’ll look in tomorrow; meanwhile, keep using the cold compresses to reduce the fever and keep her hands outside the covers. Those burns are nasty, and even the light pressure of a blanket might irritate them. Let her stay in your bed where you can keep an eye on her. The Nembutal suppository should make her sleep through the rest of the night. By the way, Bill, if I were you, I’d get in touch with that psychiatric clinic first thing in the morning. They helped her once, I recall.’

Lying there, inert, folded into the trembling form of her child, Janice heard the doctor’s words.

The quarter moon forced a wan path through the Venetian blinds onto the flushed and quivering face lying on the pillow next to her. Caught in the twilight of her own sedated brain, Janice tried to penetrate beyond the flesh life of the lovely face, beyond the glazed, half-open eyes, the two windows, the pair of light and air holes, that must surely lead into the dungeon where the restless soul of Audrey Rose, bound as with a seven-fold chain, lay captive and alert.

‘Dead?’ It was not so much a question as a shocked reiteration.

‘Yes, I’m sorry.’ The voice coming through the telephone belonged to Dr Benjamin Schanzer, director of the Park East Psychiatric Clinic - a name totally unfamiliar to Bill. ‘Dr Vassar passed away more than two years ago.’

‘Oh…’ Bill paused, redirected his thoughts. ‘My daughter was a patient of Dr Vassar’s … about seven years ago.’ _

‘I see.’

Bill found himself groping. ‘She had a problem and … Dr Vassar helped her. The problem seems to have returned.’

‘Let me see … that would be in 1967 … a bit before my time, I’m afraid.’

‘Yes, I believe a doctor … Wyman was director of the clinic then.’

‘Dr Wyman is still a practising member of the clinic. Why don’t I put you through to his office?’

‘Thank you.’

‘Not at all.’

Bill was seated in his own office. It was just after nine o’clock, and the floor was still deserted. Abby wouldn’t arrive until nine fifteen. Don usually dragged himself in around ten. Bill was the early bird this morning and with reason. There was a lot to do and fewer than five hours in which to do it; a lot of loose ends to tie up before takeoff time. That, plus another reason, one that he hated thinking about. For the first time in their marriage he had felt the overwhelming need to escape this morning. Immature, irrational, inconsiderate, cruel - the fact remained that he had to get away.