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next to her.
    Sophie looked frantically around the room. There were windows, but they weren’t real windows, just pretend windows. Behind the glass, somebody had painted in the woods and the sky. She figured her daughter was being held in a basement, since basements didn’t have real windows, and it felt dank and oppressive down here. She got a bad feeling, as if she’d been sucked into a hole.
    Sophie thought she heard something. It sounded like a radio. Then she heard footsteps. First they sounded way far away, but then they shuffled closer. She looked up at the ceiling, and her mind reeled. Who was up there? What sort of monster was holding her daughter hostage?
    Now Jayla was watching TV with the doll in her lap. She talked to her doll. “Mommy isn’t here,” she whispered. “Mommy’s not coming back. Daddy’s upstairs making lunch, so you be quiet. You’d better be good. Shh. Be quiet!” she said, suddenly shaking her doll. “That’s enough! Go back to your room.”
    A door opened and closed upstairs.
    “You be quiet!” Jayla said, little hands on little hips. “Or else Daddy’s going to make you sorry you were ever born!”
    It chilled Sophie to the bone.
    Now she heard footsteps. Loud footsteps tumbling down a set of stairs. A key jiggled in the lock and the door swung open.
    Jayla leapt to her feet and hid her doll behind her back.
    “Hello,” a very tall man said.
    “Hi,” Jayla said shyly as he entered the basement.
    Sophie’s heart was hammering. Her daughter was too young to realize she should be afraid of this man. He wore a charcoal suit and stooped down to talk to her, his face washed with worries. He had a tight smile and thin hair and solemn dark eyes. “What’s all this noise?” he asked her.
    “It was the TV,” Jayla said, pointing at the old Zenith.
    The tall man nodded. His eyes narrowed critically on the television set, and then softened as they gazed upon Jayla. “What are you hiding behind your back, sweetie-pie?”
    She showed him her doll.
    “What are you hiding your doll for? I want you to have it, Jayla.”
    She seemed a little overwhelmed by recent events, and her mild irritation soon manifested itself as exhaustion. She rubbed her puffy eyes and said, “I want my mommy...”
    Sophie shuddered.
    The tall man’s skin was blotchy, like the skin of a person who agonized over things. He was old, like an old file folder you kept stuffing things into. His eyes were so bloodshot, red confetti seemed to be falling from his eyelashes. “Don’t you look like a little princess,” he told Jayla.
    She blinked. “My shoes hurt.”
    “Do you like your new sweater?”
    “It itches.”
    “Want some Sugar Pops?”
    Her face twisted up. “No.”
    “Did you look in the mirror and see your pretty wings?”
    She shook her head and tugged on her underpants.
    “You look like a princess. I think you are a princess.”
    She squinted at the ceiling. “Where’s Mommy?”
    “I told you what happened to your mommy. She gave you away. She didn’t want you anymore. Remember?”
    She pouted.
    Sophie flew at him like a crazy person, but he brushed her away casually, as if waving away an insect. He was not aware of her.
    “Come on, honey. Don’t pout.” The tall man’s hands dangled by his sides as if he were afraid to touch the little girl. As if he was afraid he might corrupt her with his oldness. “Princesses don’t pout,” he said softly.
    Jayla’s expression locked, anger burrowing into her forehead.
    Sophie could almost hear the wails before they began.
    “Now, now.” The tall man scooped Jayla up in his arms and swept her into the bedroom. Sophie flew in after them. He lay her down on the bed and then quickly left the room, closing the door softly behind him. After a moment, the crying stopped and Jayla fell asleep.
    *
    Sophie opened her eyes. Her body felt like a cold, wet sock. There was a whiff of something in the air. Something strong but sweet. She frowned hard with