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If she woke and saw me sitting there, she would smile and struggle to sit up. I'd run to her bed and she would embrace me and hold me and assure me she was going to be all right.

"I'm fine," she would tell me. "This is nothing. Summer. I just need a little rest."

No matter how many times she did that or how well and confident she sounded. I couldn't erase the memories of waking in the middle of the night and hearing Daddy with a note of panic in his voice call the doctor. Lights would go on. Mrs. Geary would be running up and down the stairs. Sometimes, the doctor would arrive and sometimes. Mommy would be taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I was too afraid to come out of my room. I'd stand by my door and peek out. When I saw her being carried out of her room and down the stairs on a stretcher, my heart would turn to ice.

After a day or so. Daddy would bring me to the hospital to see her. Even there, even under the milk white sheets, surrounded by all sorts of intimidating medical machinery, she was able to put on a bright, happy smile for me. Nothing was as important to her as my being relieved of fear.

"With your father looking over me as he does," she told me once as she held me to her. "I'll always be all right. Summer, so don't you worry. He watches me so closely, he knows exactly how many breaths I take a minute," she said.

It was almost not an exaggeration. Daddy often looked like he was a doctor examining her, watching her move, studying her eyes, listening very closely to her voice. His devotion to her and her well-being was the greatest testimony to his love for her and it did comfort me. No one was as strong and as capable of doing these things as Daddy was in my eyes. He never panicked in front of me, if he ever panicked at all. He was always as in control as he was that day he saved Aunt Alison from drowning. There was no one better in a crisis.

I tried to think of what else he would do for Harley, but most of all. I tried to be as strong as he would be if he was trapped down here. too. If I panicked and cried and ranted. I would be less likely to be able to help Harley. I told myself.

I dozed for a few minutes and woke to the sound of his groaning again, only now it was accompanied by the chattering of his teeth.

"Cold," he said. "Mommy. I'm cold."

I quickly put the sweater back on him and put his pants on as well. Then I located another blanket in the trunk at the foot of the bed and spread it over him as well. Still, he trembled and moaned. so I crawled under the blankets with him and held him to my body, hoping my heat would ease his terrible turmoil. I kissed him and stroked his face and held him as tightly as I could against me. It seemed to help. His trembling got less and less and he fell asleep again.

But what was happening to him? I wondered, by was he going from being hot to cold to hot so quickly? Had he caught a terrible flu or did it have something to do with what he had eaten? I had eaten a little of that roll. but I didn't feel any worse for it.

I slipped out of the bed and returned to the stairway. At

the door. I began to plead.

"Please help us. Harley is very sick. He's running a high fever and I'm afraid. We need to get him to the doctor and get him medicine. Please," I begged.

I waited and listened and then suddenly, I heard Suze chanting. She sounded like she was just on the other side of the door.

"Help us!" I screamed. I pounded on the door with my open hand until my hand grew red and stung.

Her chanting grew louder and louder as I raised my own voice to scream for help, and then I had to jump back quickly because some black liquid slime oozed through the small space between the bottom of the door and the floor. More and more of it poured through.

"Stop it!" I shouted. "Stop doing this. Help us. You'll be in big trouble if you don't. Our parents know where we art. They're going to come looking for us," I cried, hoping to bluff them. I waited, They did nothing. The door remained shut tight. "Help us! Please! Harley's not well He has trouble breathing. He could die!"

The chanting stopped and the murky liquid stopped flowing. I held my breath hopefully, but minutes went by and still the door was not opened. I closed my hand and pounded on it and cajoled and pleaded until my voice grew hoarse. Then I retreated to our room and sat beside the bed. watching Harley moan and turn in his sleep. His fever seemed to have gone down. but I put a cold wet cloth over his forehead anyway. He looked so sick, his skin turning the color of old newspaper.

The cuckoo clock ticked on. Feeling exhausted myself from the struggle and the tension. I lowered my head to the bed and closed my eyes. In moments I was asleep. I had a terrible nightmare about a rat scurrying through my hair, sniffing my scalp and scratching at me. It became more and more vivid until I woke with a cry.

Harley's eyes were wide open. He had put his hand on my head, moving his fingers trying to get me to wake. too.

"Harley, how do you feel?"

"Hurts," he said.

"What hurts?"

"Every muscle in my body aches. My throat is very dry, too.

I'm so nauseous. My stomach keeps cramping up."

"Ill get you some water," I said and hurried to do so.

Why were his muscles aching? Was that a flu? If only I had something to give him besides water. I thought,

He drank it slowly, but I could see that even swallowing was painful.

"Thanks," he said and closed his eyes,