Tick-de-tock, tick-de-tock, whispered the antique clock on the first floor of the house. There was no sound save for the ticking—and for the pounding of Ronnie's heart.
He stood alone in his upstairs bedroom. His slender-boned, eight-year-old body trembling, perspiration glittering on his white forehead.
To Ronnie, the clock seemed to be saying:
Daddy's coming, Daddy's coming.
The soft shadows of September twilight in this year of 2056 were seeping into the bedroom. Ronnie welcomed the fall of darkness. He wanted to sink into its deep silence, to become one with it, to escape forever from savage tongues and angry eyes.
A burst of hope entered Ronnie's fear-filled eyes. Maybe something would happen. Maybe Dad would have an accident. Maybe—
He bit his lip hard, shook his head. No. No matter what Dad might do, it wasn't right to wish—
The whirling whine of a gyro-car mushroomed up from the landing platform outside.
Ronnie shivered, his pu............