EXCERPT:

Acknowledging my desire for—but my inability to—sleep, I decided to read for a while. I stretched for my neglected novel and prayed for heavy eyes and dreamless sleep. As I read several chapters I could feel myself nodding off, jerking awake, nodding off…

* * *

The young redheaded boy crouched on the rotting, dilapidated porch of my childhood home. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. His mop of hair whipped in the gale force wind surrounding us. He had a white-knuckled clutch on the shell of the bay window.

Fearing for his safety, I screamed, “Hey, over here!”

The wind pricked at my face. My white nightgown billowed out behind me. I again called to him over the blustery wind. “Hey you!”

Turning toward my voice he removed his hand from the window and pressed his index finger to his lips to silence me. Then he beckoned to me with a gesture of his hand. Struggling against the wind like a drunk attempting to walk a straight line, I finally reached him. He slipped his small hand into mine and led me out of the windstorm, and into the abandoned house.

Once inside, the house transformed before my eyes into the home I’d once known. There were panes of glass inside the windows. Mustard-colored carpeting covered the floor. The only light in the room was the flickering glow of the television set, its light falling on a snoring man on the couch. The stench of whiskey and cigarettes hung in the air like fog rolling off the San Francisco Bay.

The man and the children appeared blurry as if I was watching them on a station with bad reception. In a tight-knit group, several children sat within inches of the television set, but instead of watching the program, they used the light to see primitive motions they were gesturing toward one another. Although the children had not noticed us, the young boy and I stood motionless, watching their signals of communication. They seemed to be conversing with one another in their own sign language, I assumed, in an effort to avoid disturbing the passed out man.

I turned toward my companion in an eerie slow motion. He watched the children and imitated their gestures. He tapped my arm and repeated a hand sign over and over.

Attempting to recall the sign language class I’d taken in college, I searched my memory.

Think, think.

Yes! Help. That’s the sign for help.

The boy walked backwards toward the downstairs bedroom, beckoning me to follow him. The bedroom was furnished with an unmade, queen-sized bed, a shabby pressed-board bureau with a cracked mirror, and a bassinet someone had taken the time to weave blue ribbons through. A familiar, barely audible, tune played as a mobile of butterflies turned above the bassinet.

I turned to look for the boy, but he was no longer there. A glimpse of the bed drew my attention. It was now covered in cobwebs and an undisturbed layer of dust had materialized on the bureau. I focused on an invisible finger etching words in the dust. The words left behind read: HELP THE BABY.

I scanned the room once again, searching for the boy. Though I could not see him, I was certain it was he who had written in the dust. The beautiful bassinet enticed me—almost as if beckoning me to it—but I planted my feet on the arctic-cold floor. My gut instinct seemed to warn me against approaching the bassinet. Somewhere outside of myself I felt a presence encourage me. Go over there…over to the bassinet.

A wall of water descended behind me, and with enormous pressure, forced me toward the bassinet. I could hear an infant crying. The icy water splashed against my back as I peered into the ribbon-wrapped bed. As a mother, the site made my heart flutter. A blue and white crocheted blanket embroidered with tiny flowers and edged with sheer lace lovingly swaddled a child. My hand—as if of its own accord—moved toward the infant. No mother can resist the urge to hold a baby.

With gentle care, I picked up the bundle, and marvelled how light the babe felt. Removing a corner of the blanket from the child’s face I inhaled in shock.

Suddenly, the boy stood before me signing in jerky panicked motions, Help! Help! Help!