Magic Hour

Hey, he whispers, reaching out.

She drops to the leaf-carpeted floor without a sound. On all fours, she runs away.

He finds her in a cave, bound and bleeding. Afraid. He thinks he hears her say “Help,” and then she is gone. There is a little boy in her place, blond-haired. He is reaching out, crying—

Max came awake with a start. For a moment he had no idea where he was. All he saw around him were pale pink walls and ruffles . . . a collection of glass figurines on a shelf . . . elves and wizards . . . there was a vase full of silk roses on the bedside table and two empty wineglasses.

Trudi.

She lay beside him, sleeping. In the moonlight her naked back looked almost pure white. He couldn’t help reaching out. At his touch, she rolled over and smiled up at him. “You’re going?” she whispered, her voice throaty and low.

He nodded.

She angled up to her elbows, revealing the swell of her bare breasts above the pink blanket. “What is it, Max? All night you were . . . distracted.”

“The girl,” he said simply.

She reached out, traced his cheekbone with her long fingernail. “I thought so. I know how much hurt kids get to you.”

“Picked a hell of a career, didn’t I?”

“Sometimes a person can care too much.” In the uncertain light, he thought she looked sad, but he couldn’t be sure. “You could talk to me, you know.”

“Talking isn’t what we do best. That’s why we get along so well.”

“We get along because I don’t want to be in love.”

He laughed. “And I do?”

She smiled knowingly. “See you, Max.”

He kissed her shoulder, then bent down for his clothes. When he was dressed, he leaned closer to her and whispered, “’Bye,” and then he left.

Within minutes he was on his motorcycle and racing down the black, empty expanse of road. He almost turned onto the old highway; then he remembered why he’d left Trudi’s house in the first place. The dream he’d had.

His patient.

He thought about that poor girl, all alone in her room.

Kids were afraid of the dark.

He changed directions and hit the gas. At the hospital, he parked beside Penelope Nutter’s battered red pickup and went inside.

The hallways were empty and quiet, with only a few nighttime nurses on duty. The usual noises were gone, leaving him nothing to hear save the metronome patter of his footsteps. He stopped by the nurses’ station to get the girl’s chart and check on her progress.

“Hey, Doctor,” said the nurse on duty. She sounded as tired as he felt.

Max leaned against the counter and smiled. “Now, Janet, how many times have I asked you to call me Max?”

She giggled and blushed. “Too many.”

Max patted her plump hand. Years ago, when he’d first met Janet, all he’d seen was her Tammy Faye fake eyelashes and Marge Simpson hair. Now, when she smiled, he saw the kind of goodness that most people didn’t believe in. “I’ll keep hoping.”

Listening to her girlish laughter, he headed for the day care center. There, he peered through the window, expecting to see the girl curled up on the mattress on the floor, asleep in the darkness. Instead, the lights were on and Julia was there, sitting on a tiny chair beside a child-sized Formica table. There was a notebook open on her lap and a tape recorder on the table near her elbow. Although he could only see her profile, she appeared utterly calm. Serene, even.

The girl, on the other hand, was agitated. She darted around the room, making strange, repetitive hand gestures. Then, all at once, she stopped dead and swung to face Julia.

Julia said something. Max couldn’t hear it through the glass. The words were muffled.