During the night, an animal howling woke her. The sound, strangely distorted, slid into a long, drawn-out moan of despair. She hurried to the attic. He was standing, naked, his face pressed against the wall and his arms outstretched. She whispered his name, repeated it. He whimpered, a sound so desolate she could not bring herself to touch him. She had no right to intrude in his private hell when she had nothing else to offer.
He began to sob. His thin white body shook and he crumpled slowly, joint by joint. She backed out of the room and leaned against the closed door.
Across the passage, a door opened and a man’s face appeared. Irenya whispered an apology. His murmured reply, ‘He has the Gift,’ came with the offer of help if needed.
At last, there was silence from Mikey’s room. She cr
