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or such things . . . Later on today, or perhaps tomorrow . . .”
    A set of flashing lights appeared on a car outside. This one was not police, however, but press. White lettering on the door said, “KBOP Radio-TV.” A reporter with a note pad got out and pawed his way against the outcoming crowd of would-be visitors. He was followed by a cameraman lugging his machinery, and a sound man with his audio equipment slung from a shoulder strap. They were stopped at the door by the police officer.
    “Sorry—”
    “Just let me see Ned Schultz, okay? The hospital PR. Get Ned out here, okay?”
    The officer shut the door and retreated. A few moments later a dapper man in a blue blazer, with slicked-back black hair, came to the door. “You wanted me, Buzz? You can’t get in, just can’t. Everything’s havoc in here.”
    The reporter beckoned him outside, and the PR man stepped out. “Buzz, there’s nothing I can say, absolutely nothing. It’s a madhouse. You’ll have to deal with the cops on this one.”
    The reporter stuck out his hand. “You always play ball with us, Ned. And we always stick by you.”
    The PR man nodded, and they shook. Schultz’s hand closed over a $20 bill. He leaned forward to speak confidentially. “Look, Buzz, I’ll do what I can, okay? But you got to protect me, right? Nothing gets traced back to me. I don’t know what I can get for you, but I’ll get something. Move your car, okay? Around the corner . . .”

    Led by a police officer and a nurse, Frank approached a door on which hung a red sign: “Absolutely No Visitors.”
    Another policeman standing outside the door nodded at them and pushed the door open.
    Frank went immediately to Lenore’s bedside.
    Two men stepped up to him. “I’m Dr. Norten,” said the man in green, “chief resident of the hospital. This is Lieutenant Perkins, a detective. She’s coming out of sedation now, Mr. Davis.”
    Frank ignored them both and leaned over the bed. “Lenore honey, can you hear me?” She opened her eyes gradually. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart.”
    “Why didn’t they let you come to me before?” Her voice was languid with weariness and drugs. “Did they tell you what—”
    “Just rest, darling. There’s been an awful mix-up. Somebody might have . . . left with our baby, and I’m holding this hospital responsible.” He glanced around angrily at the two others in the room. He hadn’t meant to bring up the subject like this. “But it’s okay, honey, I’ll get it straightened out.”
    “You might as well know, Mr. Davis,” said Detective Perkins in a low, firm voice, “nobody took your baby. That hole in the skylight wasn’t large enough for any adult to get through.”
    Dr. Norten gritted his teeth as he eyed the detective. “Actually, that’s correct, Mr. Davis. Apparently it exited through the skylight. There’s no other way out of the delivery room, except the door, and there were people out there at all times.”
    Frank looked from one face to the other. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”
    “We’re saying,” Perkins explained, his face stony, “that your baby, whatever it is, got out by itself. After attacking the others.”
    “No . . .” Frank stared at them, shaking his head, “no, what the hell are you—”
    “I’ve been hearing things, Frank,” Lenore said slowly, “through the door. When they thought I was asleep. Crazy things. Frank . . .” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Why would anything like this happen? Happen to us—” Sobs stopped her voice.
    Frank caressed her forehead. He looked up at the doctor. He swallowed hard. “What’s going on, doctor? Has everything gone crazy? Go ahead and tell us, tell us what happened.”
    Norten frowned. “This, uh, baby, Mr. Davis, this baby of yours, is apparently some kind of, uh, well . . .”
    “Just tell us, for chrissake!”
    “. . . a very peculiar being, apparently. Quite singular. Small enough to be born of your wife, obviously.