The Judas Child by Carol O'Connell Page A

few points. Even if her parents could’ve managed the full tuition, we would’ve denied her a place in the school. However, Sadie’s mother doesn’t take rejection very well. The woman insisted on an appointment.”
    “Mrs. Green talked you into—”
    “No. I expected histrionics, but Mrs. Green outsmarted me. Never even said hello when she walked in. She stood Sadie in front of my desk, handed me that comic book and left the room. Neglected to collect her child on the way out. Interesting woman.”
    He slapped one hand down on the desk. “I read every single page of that incredibly gory, bloody— thing. And then I looked up at Sadie. It’s hard to describe her smile—I’d swear she was daring me to let her in.” Mr. Caruthers took back the comic book, handling it with great care, almost tenderness. “Now three years have gone by, and Sadie still takes prisoners—but that sweet stage won’t last long.”

    There was no window in the room, and she knew there was something odd about that, but the idea slipped away from her as she stared at the tray.
    Never enough food.
    Gwen Hubble had awakened to cocoa and a buttered roll this time. The juice and egg had been her last meal, so another day must have gone by.
    How many days now? Three?
    She had intended to flush her last meal down the toilet, knowing it must be tainted with the potion that made her sleep all the time. Though her dog’s medications were always put into his water bowl, she had eliminated the liquid possibilities by drinking her morning orange juice with no ill effects. Then weakness had won out, and she had eaten the drugged breakfast egg. With a clearer mind, she might have reasoned it out sooner, for liquid could be had from the water tap, and solid food would be the strongest lure.
    Now, with greater resolve, she crumbled her dinner roll into small pieces that wouldn’t clog the toilet. Her stomach was knotting up with hunger pains, and she was feeling another wave of nausea.
    Gwen worked by the dim glow of the night-light. It was not bright enough to see clearly, and it was by touch that she detected the soft, moist center of the roll. Perhaps the drug was injected into the middle of the bread.
    So hungry.
    She tested one of the dry crumbs of the outer crust, resting it on her tongue. There was nothing unusual in the taste, and so she swallowed it.
    Perhaps she wouldn’t have to flush away the entire roll.
    The child separated the suspicious center from the rest of the roll and set it off to one side of the plate. She continued to shred the dry section to make the tiny meal last longer. She ate another dry crumb and stared at the chained wall hamper. Then she stood up and walked across the oval rug to pull on its door. The hamper opened a crack, but there was not enough light to see what was inside, and her hand would not fit through the narrow opening. Gwen went back to the cot and sat down again, eyes fixed on the locked chain strung between the hamper’s handle and the towel rack.
    She was trying to remember something important about padlocks, but then her eye wandered back to the large armoire, so out of place in this bathroom. She tried to recall a train of thought that revolved around this massive piece of furniture, but like a dream, the harder she worked to remember it, the more it receded into the dark and fuzzy recesses of her mind.
    She ate another crumb.
    Now she moved slowly across the rug and onto the bare tiles, hands reaching out to the armoire. The doors were locked. She speculated on what it might be holding—or concealing.
    That’s it.
    There should be a window in this room, for it was not a closet, not a box room. And this was no modern building like Sadie’s house, with electric fans for ventilation. By the high ceiling and the molding around the tiles, she guessed it was as old as her own house, where each one of the numerous bathrooms had a window.
    One small hand squeezed between the back of the armoire and the