canvas strips. And finally she got to a place where she couldn't go any higher.
It was a square room with a padded floor and netting sides. She was at the front of the climbing
structure; she could see mothers and fathers standing and sitting in little groups. She could feel the wind.
Below her, looking up, was the tall man.
Chocolate brownie? Mint chip? Bubble gum?
The voice was putting pictures in her mind. Tastes. Rashel looked around frantically.
There was so much noise-every kid in the climbing structure was yelling. Who would even notice her if
she shouted? They'd think she was joking around.
All you have to do is come down. You know you have to come down sometime.
Rashel looked into the pale face turned up to her. The eyes were like dark holes. Hungry. Patient.
Certain.
He knew he was going to get her.
He was going to win. She had no way to fight him.
And then something tore inside Rashel and she did the only thing a five-year-old could do against an
adult.
She shoved her hand between the rough cords that made the netting, scraping off skin. She pushed her
whole small arm through and she pointed down at the tall man.
And she screamed in a way she'd never screamed before. Piercing shrieks that cut through the happy
noise of the other kids. She screamed the way Ms. Bruce at preschool had taught her to do if any
stranger ever bothered her.
"Help meeee! Help meeee! That man tried to touch me I"
She kept screaming it, kept pointing. And she saw people look at her.
But they didn't do anything. They just stared. Lots of faces, looking up at her. Nobody moving.
In a way, it was even worse than anything that had happened before. They could hear her, but nobody
was going to help her.
And then she saw somebody moving. It was a big boy, not quite a grown-up man. He was wearing a
uniform like the one Rashel's father used to wear before he died. That meant he was a Marine.
He was going toward the tall man, and his face was dark and angry. And now, as if they had only
needed this example, other people were moving, too. Several men who looked like fathers. A woman
with a cellular phone.
The tall man turned and ran.
He ducked under the climbing structure, heading toward the back, toward the tent where Rashel's
mother was. He moved very fast, much faster than any of the people in the crowd.
But he sent words to Rashel's mind before he disappeared completely.
See you later.
When he was definitely gone, Rashel slumped against the netting, feeling the rough cord bite into her
cheek. People down below were calling to her;
kids just behind her were whispering. None of it really mattered.
She could cry now; it would be okay, but she didn't seem to have any tears.
The police were no good. There were two officers, a man and a woman. The woman believed Rashel a
little. But every time her eyes would start to believe, she'd shake her head and say, "But what was the
man really doing to Timmy? Baby-doll, sweetie, I know it's awful, but just try to remember."
The man didn't believe even a little. Rashel would have traded them both for the Marine back at the carnival.
All they'd found in the tent was her mother with a broken neck. No Timmy. Rashel wasn't sure but she
thought the man had probably taken him.
She didn't want to think about why.
Eventually the police drove her to her Aunt Corinne's, who was the only family she had left now. Aunt
Corinne was old and her bony hands hurt Rashel's arms when she clutched her and cried.
She put Rashel in a bedroom full of strange smells and tried to give her medicine to make her sleep. It
was like cough syrup, but it made her tongue numb. Rashel waited until Aunt Corinne was gone, then she
spat it into her hand and wiped her hand on the sheets, way down at the foot of the bed where the
blankets tucked in.
And then she put her arms around her hunched-up knees and sat staring into the darkness.
She was too little, too helpless. That was the problem. She wasn't going to be able to do anything
against him when he came back.
Because of course he was coming back.
She knew what the man was, even if the adults didn't believe her. He was a vampire, just like on TV. A
monster that drank blood. And he knew she knew.
That was why he'd promised to see her later.
At last, when Aunt Corinne's house was quiet, Rashel tiptoed to the closet and slid it open. She climbed
the shoe rack and squirmed and kicked until she was on the top shelf above the clothes. It was narrow,
but wide enough for her. That was one good thing about being little.
She had to use every advantage she had.
With her toe, she slid the closet door back shut. Then she piled sweaters and other folded things from
the shelf on top of herself, covering even her head. And finally she curled up on the hard bare wood and
shut her eyes.
Sometime in the night she smelled smoke. She got down from the shelf-falling more than climbing-and
saw flames in her bedroom.
She never knew exactly how she managed to run through them and get out of the house. The whole night
was like one long blurred nightmare.
Because Aunt Corinne didn't get out. When the fire trucks came with their sirens and their flashing lights,
it was already too late. And even though Rashel knew that he had set the fire-the vampire-the police
didn't believe her. They didn't understand why he had to kill her.
In the morning they took her to a foster home, which would be the first of many. The people there were
nice, but Rashel wouldn't let them hold her or comfort her.
She already knew what she had to do.