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yourself.”
     
    Obsidian eyes, watching.
     
    “I swear, Alden, you’re becoming a fanatic about this. They’re just birds.”
    “No, they’re not just birds, Rachael! There’s something . . . different about them. Something . . . totally weird. Look for yourself.” He thrusts the binoculars at her. She takes them, albeit reluctantly, giving a small exasperated shake of the head. Stoically resigned, she puts them to her eyes and focuses.
    “Another baby disappeared last night,” he says conversationally. Rachael stiffens. “This one on the south end. A little girl. She wasn’t in her crib this morning when her mother went in to get her.”
    The glasses go askew and fall from Rachael’s eyes. “I’m having dreams,” she says. “That I’m alone. That you and Billy are gone. Jesus, Alden, what’s happening to us?”
    “I don’t know, but I’m worried about Billy.”
    “I don’t think I can take much more of this.” Her hands are shaking. She is having trouble holding the glasses. She tries to give them back but sees that he is busy forming thoughts. 
    “The FBI’s been called in and there’s a manhunt going on. They say if something doesn’t turn up soon they’ll do a house-to-house canvas.”
    “Yeah, well, that’s good, isn’t it?”
    He looks pensively back toward the island, staring at the huge nest at the top of the dead white pine.
    “You are scaring the shit out of me, Alden.”
    “I can’t believe you’re not concerned. Rachael, babies are disappearing from their cribs.”
    “I know! Jesus, I am concerned! Just as much as you. But I will not buy into your obtuse theory.”
    “It’s not obtuse. The problem is, you just don’t take me seriously. About anything!”
    “Listen to me, you stupid man. I take you seriously when you make sense. You’re not making sense now. There’s some kind of nut on the loose and he’s the one taking those poor children. Not some . . . figment of your idiotic imagination. Don’t you think I’m scared for Billy? Just as scared as you are?"
    He nods but she can tell he’s hurt.
    He turns back to the nest. “How is this nut getting into these peoples’ locked houses, pray tell?”
    “You’re taking about birds, Alden. Listen to yourself. How do you think they’re doing it? Down the chimney, like Santa Clause?”
    He gives his head a rueful shake. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”
    Rachael shivers. “In any case, Billy’s sleeping with us again tonight.”
    “You bet he is.”
    She feels suddenly all weepy and weak. Puts the binoculars back to her eyes and scans, picking up the nest and holding for a long moment, trying to steady them. “It looks like a nest of ordinary eagles to me,” she says finally.
    Alden grabs the binoculars away from her. “They’re not eagles! Jesus Christ, Rachael, don’t you think I know what eagles look like?”
    “Ospreys then.”
    He shakes his head, finding no words to convey his exasperation.
    “You really are scaring me, Alden.”
    “I know what I’m seeing, Rachael. For Christ’s sake, eagles don’t nest this time of year, and neither do ospreys. As a matter of fact, ospreys migrate. The nest is full of young birds. Didn’t you see their little bald heads in the binoculars?”
    “No, I didn’t see! I didn’t see anything except a big empty nest at the top of that dead pine tree. I swear, mister, you are losing it, and you are scaring me.”
    “I don’t believe you can’t see what I’m seeing.”
    “You and I look at the world differently, Alden. We always have. You see flying saucers and I see weather balloons, you see ghosts, I see smoke, you see a pony, I see a stall full of horse shit. You’re a dreamer—”
    “I’m a romantic.”
    “Whatever. You should have been a writer, you know, with that imagination.”
    “Say what you want, the disappearances didn’t start until that nest appeared.”
    “Oh, Alden, grow up. I’m not going to listen to this garbage a moment