The blackness that swallowed the Fifth Avenue penthouse wasn't the soft, quiet dark of a country night. It was the heavy, suffocating blindness of a dead skyscraper. The cooling vents stopped their constant, expensive hum, leaving only the sharp, agonizing sound of Toby’s body striking the hardwood floor of the nursery down the corridor.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His small feet kicked frantically against the mahogany backing of his bed, his throat letting out that rhythmic, terrifying whistling sound of a child whose brain was throwing off sparks in the dark. He was seizing. Without Dr. Helen's medicine, his small nervous system was drowning in the trauma of the deaths he had witnessed on the marble floor.
"Toby!" I shrieked, my hands clawing through the freezing dark of the sunroom, my knee
