Oh, that sound. It pierced her like a knife.

"Come on, little guy," Dawn said as she fitted him into the infant seat in her Volvo. "Cool it, okay? Somebody'll totally hear you."

Carrying the baby wrapped against the weather, she'd run straight back inside the O'Donnell house, just long enough to grab her keys and her phone. The display informed her that she'd missed a call from a number she didn't know. Weezy? Where was she, anyway? And how could she call without her phone? Not important right now. Dawn would get back to her once she was on the road.

She'd hurried out to the garage, entering by the side panel door and leaving the two big doors closed. And they would stay closed until the last minute. Jack had left the padlock in the latch but unlocked. As soon as the baby was strapped into his seat, she'd open those doors and get out of here.

She knew she was probably messing up Jack's plans, and probably even screwing herself. And if she had to do it over again, maybe she could have resisted grabbing her baby. But when he'd turned his face to the wall like that, she'd lost it.

And now this little genie was out of the bottle and she saw no way of putting him back.

But maybe if she got out of the neighborhood without leaving a trace, Jack could still make his plan work.

As she fitted the child's arms beneath the seat straps, she couldn't resist a quick, closer look at his armpits. No ... no tentacles. But she could have sworn -

Wait. Were those little scars in his armpits? Had they removed his tentacles?

Dr. Heinze ... a pediatric surgeon. She'd always been curious as to why a surgeon had been present rather than a plain pediatrician. Now she knew. They'd cut them off. She noticed a bump beneath the surface of each of the scars. Were the tentacles trying to grow back?

And what happened to all the hair she'd seen? She felt his arm ... bristly. Had they - ? Yes! They'd shaved his arms and legs. What the - ?

And then she heard the squeal of the side-door hinges behind her and the garage filled with daylight. She turned and saw a squat silhouette rushing toward her, screaming.

"You! You-you-you-you-you!"

She knew that voice - Gilda!

Something glinted in the older woman's raised hand, then slashed toward her. Dawn tried to duck and turn away but was trapped against the car door. The blade cut through her sweater, and a blaze of pain, like nothing she'd ever felt in her life, lanced into her chest near her left shoulder. She spun away with the knife still in her and stumbled, landing on her hands and knees, worsening the pain. She'd heard of seeing stars and now she really did.

Meanwhile Gilda had moved to her side and was kicking her, screaming in fury.

"You! Will I never be free of you?"

Dawn gasped as she felt a rib crack. The old bitch was going to kill her ... kick her to death.

She grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled. The blade came loose from her chest with a slick wet sound and another burst of agony. Nearly overwhelmed by the pain, Dawn slashed out blindly, connecting with her first swing. She felt the knife sink into something - had to be flesh because she heard Gilda's screams change tone from rage to shock and pain.

She yanked the knife free and turned on her knees in time to see Gilda falling backward, clutching her bleeding lower leg. Dawn heaved to her feet and stumbled over to her. Gilda kicked at her but missed. Dawn felt her legs turn to taffy as she moved in. They gave way and she landed knees first on Gilda's abdomen, knocking the wind out of her with a whoosh. Nearly blind with pain and panic, Dawn raised the knife and drove it into Gilda. She didn't know where she struck but Gilda screamed louder, so Dawn struck again, and again, and again ...

"Take my baby?" said a barely audible voice she recognized as her own. "My baby? You? No! Never! Especially you. Especially you!"

Soon the screaming stopped, but Dawn kept stabbing. Her arm seemed to have a life of its own, and it seemed to be thinking that Gilda was somehow connected to Jerry, the foul scum who'd seduced her and fathered the baby, and who'd later killed her mother. Everyone who'd ruined her life seemed to be connected. Not that she hadn't played a part in the ruin, but she was the one who'd suffer for it until her last breath. She couldn't reach those others, but she had Gilda and Gilda was going to pay for all of them.

And then the strength ran out of her and Dawn dropped the knife and looked at the bloody piece of butchered meat splayed before her. Gilda's eyes stared roofward from a blood-spattered face. Red still oozed from the ruin of her throat into the sandy floor of the garage.

Oh, God! Did I do that?

Dawn felt her stomach heave but the morning's coffee stayed down. Clinging to the rear fender of the car, she pulled herself to her feet with her right arm - the left seemed useless - and checked the baby. He hadn't made a sound. And now he stared at her with wide black eyes. His arms thrust out to her, his hands opening and closing as if squeezing some invisible toy.

"We'll play later," she gasped as the garage tilted around her. She grabbed the edge of the door to steady herself. "First we get you out of here before Georges gets back."

She looked at the closed garage doors. Somehow she was going to have to find the strength to go outside, walk around to the front, remove the lock, and swing them open.

Every breath hurt like a new wound. She didn't know if she could make it.

She had a thought: Maybe she wouldn't have to.

The doors were wood - old wood - held closed by a little lock in a simple gate latch. And she had a car.

It took nearly all her strength to slam the rear door and open the driver's. She dropped behind the steering wheel and found the keys. Somehow she got her door closed - not easy without her left arm, and not completely, but at least latched. She started the car, put it in reverse, and stomped on the gas. The car lurched into motion and hit the doors. With a crash and a clatter they blew wide. The passenger-side mirror caught the edge of one and ripped off with a crunch.

Worry about that later. No, she wouldn't worry at all. Didn't matter. Getting out was all that mattered.

She backed to the middle of the street, shifted into drive, and began the laborious process of turning the wheel with one hand. It seemed to take forever. Finally she got it turned and gently hit the gas. As the car began to move forward, the road swam before her. She clenched her teeth and kept a death grip on the wheel with her good hand.

She coughed, spurring a fresh jab of agony and spraying blood all over the dashboard. She watched in horror as it dripped onto her legs and the floor.

Oh, God, what did that mean? Had Gilda punctured her lung?

Everything went blurry. She blinked, trying to focus. Gravel crunched under the tires. The ringing of her cell phone brought her back, her vision cleared - and she saw she was rolling across the mansion's front yard toward the boat dock and the lagoon.

Taking her foot off the gas she hauled the wheel to the right. The car came to a rest, still in gear, engine running, nosed against the mansion's garage. She had to back up.

The world went blurry again, but instead of clearing, it faded to black, taking the sound of her phone with it.