He closed his eyes and listened, listened for the sound of his mother in pain. He had to know. For the longest time, he heard nothing. There was silence, or had he imagined something like a woman's laughter. Impossible. He tried finding his mother's mind, and it was like a door slammed. When he tried MacDonald's, a black curtain fell: a curtain heavy with a darkness he could not penetrate. He strained at the ropes again and tried futilely to turn.
His mother, however, was not enduring the agony Lorenz imagined. Once the door had shut behind them, MacDonald's hands had swept away her robe and unbuttoned the nightgown, loosening it, and then sliding the material downward to the floor. He bent his head to her shoulder and ran his hands over her sides, her buttocks, and every inch of her he c
