“Stay close,” she said as she walked, eyes darting to patches of shadow just in case. The crying was louder the closer they got to the open doorway at the end of the short hall. Her heart was being torn apart by the hopelessness of the sound, but she curbed the urge to run blindly into the room. In a situation such as this, she needed to be careful. She thought of her son as she cautiously moved toward the doorway, thinking of how she wished that he had cried out, had given her some kind of chance to save him. But whatever had taken him—SID, crib death—whatever name was given to the crippling phenomena, it had struck with terrible efficiency. From somewhere in the building they heard a loud, banging sound as if heavy, emergency doors had been thrown open. They stopped, listening for what might follow. This just spurred them on to move all the faster, Brenna making eye contact with her partner at the open doorway.
