Bloodchild

Free Bloodchild by Andrew Neiderman

Book: Bloodchild by Andrew Neiderman Read Free Book Online
Authors: Andrew Neiderman
Tags: Fiction, Horror
he said. "It'll all be all right, I'm sure."
    Jillian stared at him a moment and then sat down again. They waited silently for Dana, but she never came. Colleen, who had been in her room talking on the phone, came down to say good night. Afterward Harlan went up to see about Dana again. This time he returned smiling.
    "It's such a cute scene," he said.
    "What is?"
    "The two of them on the bed. She has the baby lying on her stomach, its head just under her breasts. Dana's fast asleep."
    "And the baby?"
    "He's lying there so peacefully. When I stuck my head in the door, he looked right at me; he had such an expression of contentment on his face. Face it. Your grandson is something special," he said, but Jillian didn't smile. She just looked up at the ceiling as if she could see through the walls and view the scene he described.
    Then she shook her head. "I'll feel better after you've taken her to see the doctor," she said.
    He shrugged. "Mothers. They're a breed unto themselves," he said, and turned on the television set. Not long afterward Jillian went upstairs to go to sleep. Before going to her room, she looked in on Dana but found that Dana wasn't there.
    She turned and looked at the baby's room. The door was closed. She went to it and turned the knob, but the door was locked.
    "Dana?" she called.
    After a moment Jillian heard her whisper through the door. "What is it?"
    "What are you doing?"
    "Putting the baby to sleep. Go to sleep, Mother. I'll talk to you in the morning."
    "But—"
    "Go to sleep," Dana repeated.
    Jillian turned the knob again to confirm that the door was indeed locked. She stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. Then she turned away and reluctantly went to her room.
    Fear and anxiety did not have an easy time settling themselves in the likes of Jillian Stanley, but this night they had their way.

4
    Jillian was already downstairs in the kitchen having coffee when Harlan and Colleen appeared the following morning. She looked up expectantly. She had her hair pinned back neatly and wore a bright blue ankle-length housecoat. Harlan could see that his mother-in-law had not slept well. Rarely, if ever, was the skin under her eyes as puffy, and she usually put on a little lipstick before greeting people, even in the morning. The natural flush in her cheeks that bespoke of her healthy vibrancy was dimmed. She slumped a bit over her coffee cup, inhaling the aroma as though it were medicinal.
    "Morning, Mom," Harlan said. He went directly to the pot of coffee.
    "Morning, Jillian," Colleen said cheerfully. She opened the refrigerator and took out the orange juice. She had already showered and dressed and tied her hair into a pony tail. She was wearing her black-and-gold school sweatshirt and a pair of stone-washed jeans. She and her girlfriends had burned the telephone wires last night, planning the way the student body should celebrate the team's victory in school. Part of that celebration was the wearing of black and gold, the school colors.
    Jillian didn't respond immediately. She looked from Harlan to Colleen and back to Harlan, as though they were both crazy.
    "Morning," she said finally. "I imagine Dana is still asleep."
    "Like a mummy." He laughed at his own pun and Colleen smiled. "Don't you get it, Mom?"
    "I get it, I get it. You guys want eggs? I'll make you some."
    "Sure," Harlan said.
    "I'm just having some cold cereal today," Colleen said.
    Jillian went to the refrigerator and took out the eggs. Harlan noted that she moved abruptly, without her usual grace.
    "Scrambled?"
    "Right, Mom." Harlan sat down with his coffee. He resisted saying more, even though he sensed that Jillian was very tense. Instead he sipped his coffee quietly and watched Colleen pour her cereal into a bowl. Harlan wasn't one to seek a confrontation or draw out unhappiness from people. He was like his father had been—an avoider—and often, as his mother used to say of his father, one who goes around with his head in the sand: "Mr.

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