His bed was turned down as though he were expected, and he went to it and sat heavily, his eyes falling on the framed photograph of himself and Katherine on the night table. How young they looked, how full of promise. Thorn lay back on the bed and felt tears tracing a path from the corners of his eyes. They had come without warning, and he gave in to them, allowing them to flow. Downstairs a clock chimed twice and he rose, moving to the bathroom where he turned on the light and recoiled in horror. Katherine's bathroom was in a state of total disarray, makeup broken and spilled everywhere as though some macabre celebration had taken place there. Jars of powder and face creams were smashed on the floor, lipstick smeared aimlessly across the tiles, the toilet stuffed with hairbrushes and curlers as though someone had tried to flush them down. The scene rang with vicious anger, and though Thorn could in no way comprehend it, he saw clearly that it was directed at Katherine. It was done by an adult; the jars smashed with decisive power, the smears bold and far-reaching. It was the work of a lunatic. A lunatic filled with hate. He was numbed by it and looked up to see his reflection in a broken mirror. He saw his face harden and then he reached down, opening a drawer. What he sought was not there, and he opened a cabinet, rummaging around until his hands came upon what they were searching for. It was an electric razor. Thorn flicked it to A.C., then snapped its switch, the small object humming in his hand. As he flicked it off, he thought he heard a sound. It was a creaking on the floorboards overhead. He stood in silence, barely breathing, until it stopped. It did not come again.

Perspiration had formed on Thorn's upper lip and he wiped it off with a shaking hand, then moved from the bathroom and stood in the darkened hall. As he walked forward, the floorboards groaned beneath his feet. The child's room was beyond Mrs. Baylock's, and as Thorn passed her door he stopped. It was slightly open and he could see her within. She lay on her back with one arm dangling downward, the fingernails painted a shade of bright red. Her face, too, was made up as he had seen it before; whorelike, with heavy lipstick and powder, and now she'd added eyeshadow and rouge as well. She lay still and snoring, her mountainous stomach rising and falling, casting a shadow across the floor.