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bringing it slowly and absently through her fair, shoulder-length hair. Especially the teal blue suit she’d spotted in Sybil’s today and hadn’t been able to resist. With her classy looks and those blue eyes—bluer even than Gail’s, like sapphires—she’d be a knockout. Paul will be mightily impressed, she thought, grinning to herself. One thing you had to say for him, he had great taste. He sounded so different from Ed—dear, sweet Ed who had treated her as she’d always imagined a big brother would, and who had clearly adored her sister. Not that they didn’t have their spats. She didn’t know what would happen with Paul, but for Gail, it was enough that Ellen had rejoined the human race.
    Continuing to brush her hair, Gail launched into her favorite fantasy about the day she’d be in a position to buy Ellen a new white Ferrari. She’d have it delivered right up to the door, a big red bow tied on the antenna. And she had no doubt whatever that that day would come. Gail was firmly convinced that you could get whatever you wanted in this world if you wanted it badly enough and were prepared to be single-minded about it.
    Even so, it was hard to believe it really was all happening for her, that finally all the dedication, all the hard work, was paying off.
    Ellen’s birthday was coming up in May. She was a Gemini, the sign of the twins. Maybe she’d get the car in time for Ellen’s birthday, she thought, laying the brush down and smiling dreamily, imagining the joyous surprise on her sister’s face at the sight of her very own showroom-new Ferrari in the drive.
    Dream on, girl, she told herself, grinning at her reflection in the mirror.
    Tiger padded into the room just then, stopping once to wash his face, then winding his sleek, warm body around her bare ankles, first in one direction, then the other, purring the whole time like an old washing machine.
    "I owe her so much, Tiger," Gail said, reaching down to stroke the cat’s soft, glossy fur. "If it wasn’t for—"
    Suddenly, Tiger’s back arched under her hand and he hissed, making Gail’s heart, and her hand draw back as if it had been burned. "Shit, cat, you scared me! What the—?"
    But Tiger, fur standing on end, had already fled the room while his bewildered, shaken mistress turned her chair just in time to see his electrified, retreating tail.
    And then she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Turning, she froze at the sight of the closet door slowly opening.
    ~ * ~
     
    Three hundred miles away in Evansdale, Maine, Myra Thompson lay asleep in the darkened room beside her husband, Carl. Myra whimpered in her sleep, and though her husband muttered some incoherent, sympathetic response, and laid a gentle arm about her waist, he did not wake.
    Ellen had been right about the wine helping Myra get to sleep, but not in imagining it would hold the nightmares at bay.
    ~ * ~
     
    Across town, in an old Victorian house, an old woman lay on filthy sheets, her unwashed hair spread on the pillow like gray seaweed, framing her gaunt face. Hollowed eyes gleamed in the darkness.
    On the beside table, a tray of rotting food was set just out of reach of the claw-like hand that clutched at the blanket covering her. But it was not food she wanted just now.
    "Al-vin," the raspy, witchy voice called out in the silence. Her throat was raw from calling. She’d sleep now and then, wake to call again. She’d been calling for a long time. Now, finally, her bladder let go and the stench of urine was added to the already putrid smell of the room.
    Tears of rage and helplessness filled the old woman’s eyes, ran down the parchment dry cheeks.
    ~ * ~
     
    In the bedroom of the semi-basement New York apartment, he knelt over the still, white form, artist’s brush in hand. Carefully, he drew the red-tipped brush over her mouth, which was slightly open, revealing small, perfect teeth.
    After several minutes, he settled back on his haunches to appraise his work. A