He stripped off his clothing and ran the bath. All hot water. He wanted a deep cleansing. He wanted a new wakefulness to sear into his flesh, then his entire being. The room steamed up quickly. Turkish bathhouse. Russian sauna. Japanese hot spring . . . He plunged one foot into the tub.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” The water was boiling hot. He withdrew his foot, pink as shrimp and trailing drip all over the tile. He reached, burned foot in the air, for the tap. And somehow, because his legs were still wobbly from all that running or because he was getting old and imprecise, he lost his balance. The entire world toppled over with a tremendous crash. As he fell, he pulled the shower curtain down with him and the crummy rod, offering no resistance, came off the wall altogether.

Now he lay on the cold marble floor. Naked, shriveled, the dead nylon skin of the shower curtain lying atop him like a shroud. He screamed, “No more! No more! No more!”

In the silence that followed, he heard the bathroom door squeak open. His heart stopped. From the floor, he gazed upward and saw—upside down—feet first, then the legs, bodies and faces of a pair of little girls. Oriental. Twins, it seemed like. One was wearing jeans. She propped up her smaller clone in a shapeless, bloodstained hoodie—her!

The Korean daughters. From next door! He’d never been able to recognize them when they weren’t together, yet had never taken the time to tell them apart.

Without a word, both girls got down on their haunches dutifully and helped him to sit up. Both had soft, nimble hands—the hands of children who never had to do any housework. All his muscles were in working order. He’d screamed for nothing. Oh, mortification. He held the shower curtain fast over his trembling privates.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

It was not the time to shout at anyone for breaking into his house.

“You shot me,” said the smaller girl with the tear-stained face. She seemed sad rather than angry. She seemed not to be in any serious pain. “I’m okay though.”

“Except we’re not okay,” said her sister. “We’re orphans now.” Her words were harder, non-negotiable. Once out of the bathroom, she tipped her head toward the squad car parked out on the street, making it clear that it was in everyone’s interest not to get the cops involved. “They’re going to try and take us away. You have to help us.”

– 15 –

– 15 –

SINKHOLES

It was Kate who had called the police.