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Michael wouldn't leave Missy. He was so careful of her. It was like last time. Last time, and they'd find them the way they found Peter and Lisa, with the wet seaweed and bits of plastic on their faces and in their hair and their bodies swollen.
    They must be at the house. Dorothy was opening the door and saying, 'I'll call the police, Ray.'
    Nancy felt the darkness coming at her. She began sliding back and away ... No .. .no ... no ..
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    CHAPTER EIGHT
    Oh, the activity. Oh, the way they were all scurrying around like ants - all milling around her house and yard. He licked his lips anxiously. They were so dry when all the rest of him was wet - his hands and feet and groin and underarms. Perspiration was streaming down his neck and back.
    As soon as he got back to the big house, he carried the children in and brought them right up to the room with the telescope. He could keep an eye on them here and talk to them when they woke up and touch them.
    Maybe he'd give the little girl a bath and dry her off in a nice soft towel and rub baby powder on her and kiss her. He had all day to spend with the children. All day; the tide wouldn't come in until seven tonight. By then it would be dark, and no one would be nearby to see or hear. It would be days before they'd be washed in. It would be like last time.
    It was so much more enjoyable touching them when he knew their mother was being questioned by now. 'What did you do with your children?' they'd ask her.
    He watched more police cars swarm up the dirt road into her backyard. But some of them were passing the house. Why were so many of them going to Maushop Lake? Of course. They thought she had taken the children there.
    He felt wonderfully gratified. Here he could see everything that was happening without risk, perfectly safe and comfortable. He wondered if Nancy was crying. She had never cried once at her trial until the very end - after the judge sentenced her to the gas chamber. She'd begun sobbing and buried her face in her hands to cover the sound. The court attendants had snapped handcuffs on her, and her long hair had spilled forward, covering the tear-stained face that looked hopelessly out at the hostile faces.
    He remembered the first time he'd seen her walking across the campus. He'd been immediately attracted to her - the way the wind blew her strawberry-gold hair around her shoulders; the delicately formed face; the small, even white teeth; the enchanting round blue eyes that looked gravely out from thick, sooty brows and lashes.
    He heard a sob. Nancy? But of course not. It was coming from the girl. Nancy's child. He turned from the telescope and stared resentfully. But his expression changed to a smile as he studied her. Those damp ringlets on her forehead; the tiny, straight nose; the fair skin . . . she looked a lot like Nancy. Now she wailed as she started to wake up. Well, it was just about time for the drug to wear off; they'd been unconscious nearly an hour.
    Regretfully, he left the telescope. He'd laid the children on opposite ends of the musty-smelling velour couch. The little girl was crying in earnest now. 'Mommy . . . Mommy.' Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her mouth was open . . . Her little tongue was so pink! Tears were running down her cheeks.
    He sat her up and unzipped her jacket. She shrank away from him. 'There, there,' he said soothingly. 'It's all right.'
    The boy stirred and woke up too. His eyes were startled, just as they had been when he had seen him in the yard. Now he sat up slowly. 'Who are you?' he demanded. He rubbed his eyes, shook his head and looked around. 'Where are we?'
    An articulate child . . . well spoken ... his voice clear and well modulated. That was good. Well-trained children were easier to handle. Didn't make a fuss. Taught respect for older people, they tended to be pliable. Like the others. They'd come with him so quietly that day. They had knelt in the trunk of the car unquestioningly when he had said they were going to