She sat in the living room, biting the already broken nail on her thumb. The curtains were drawn and she sat in the near darkness, staring at some unseen work in the shadows. The musty odor of dust lingered in the room. Crumbs of cookies and crackers sprinkled the worn brown carpet. Toys were scattered about the room; Legos, Micro-Machines, army men and action figures whose bulky weaponry had long since been lost in the perilous cracks of the couch. Bits of clothes could be spotted here and there; a stained sock, Spiderman underwear, a dirty shirt. Dishes rotted in the sink and bowls of cereal sat on the table, the Corn Pops soggy and the milk warm. The faceless voice hissed in her ear.

      “You must do it today. You must do it now. Their lives depend on it!”

            Her stringy, oily hair was strewn out among her shoulders and thinning pale face. John raced through the room chasing Paul. She jumped at the first sign of sudden movement, but then settled back into the easy chair, returning to her tattered nail. Her teeth splintered the thin shell. The sharp metallic taste of blood seeped between her lips, and she cringed, spitting out the vile fluid.

      “Now. Do it now!”

            She kneeled beside the large porcelain tub, swishing the warm water around to the back, testing the full temperature with her elbow. The faucet continued to run as the flowing crystal clear fluid splashed and bubbled into the water below. She grabbed a few white bath towels, inhaling the soothing scent of a fresh summer’s day, brushing against the soft fluff of the terry cloth.

            The window above the bathtub was opened partly, and the sun showered golden rays against the opposite wall. A few birds could be heard calling to one another, searching for love, companionship, seeds. She sighed, stopping the faucet and once again testing the water with her crooked joint. Just about right. She stared down into the water, settling into a still, lifeless, glassy smooth surface. She combed her fingers through the tub once more, sending crescendos of ripples to the edges, lapping gently at the sides of the casket-like porcelain.

       “They are dirty! Dirty! Cleanse them, save them! Save the children!”

            Stepping out into the hallway, she called for Noah. The bright eyed blonde child came scampering down the hall. A straight row of pearly whites beamed from his face, light brown eyes squinted up in a gleeful smile.

      “Time for a bath.” she murmured.

      “‘Kay Mommy.” He pushed gently past her into the bathroom and began to peel off his shirt. She stood silently and watched as he stripped down to his bare skin. The soft creamy skin, smooth as a newborn babe’s suddenly gnarled into hideous sores and scabs covering his body. She gasped, and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door quickly behind her.

            She took her oldest boy and wrapped him in the soft towel, laying him on the bed where he was conceived. She called for the next child, noting young Mary crawling

around the corner and down the hall, a thin string of drool hanging from her bottom lip. She squealed, revealing the white dots that peered through the pink flesh of her gums. Her golden curls sprung up about her head, her blue eyes sparkled. Her mother scooped her up into the cusp of her arm, carrying her into the kitchen. Handing the infant a warm bottle of thick creamed milk, she kissed her on the forehead and called for Paul again. He giggled, running from the hall, a streak of a nude bottom and a small penis springing from between his thighs.

      “Paul, in the tub, now!”

            He darted back down the hall, shrieking with joy. He scrambled into the bathroom, and the splash and splatter of water over the tiled floor floated down into the kitchen. She sighed, wiping her brow with the back of her hand and shuffled into the bathroom. Then came Luke and John. The boys laid on the bed, wrapped tightly in the warm towels.

            Mary cooed in her high chair as her mother walked into the kitchen. Her chubby arms reached out to her, pleading to be picked up. The mother obliged, once again scooping up the child in her arms. She carried her into the bathroom, undressing her, carefully peeling back the tape of the diaper that wrapped around the child’s tummy. She gently placed her daughter into the warm fluid, letting in envelop her, caressing her tender skin, filling the crevices of her plush baby rolls. The baby cooed again, a fresh string of drool hanging on to her chin. She raised her clenched fists into the air above her, bringing them down against the surface, sending droplets of water up to kiss her cheeks and eyelashes. The gleeful child giggled, looking up at her mother for a sign of pleasure. She found a face of stone; cold, pale, expressionless. Her mother leaned down, allowing her lips to brush against the wisps of golden curls, then placed her hand at the nape of her neck.

            Bubbles burst the surface, splashes ensued as the baby kicked at the air rapidly. Her mother’s hand held her below the water, staring down at her through His eyes. Dirty. Sinful. Damned. The baby thrashed under her hand. The bubbles grew smaller, insignificant, tickling the surface before stopping completely. The thrashing subsided, her little fists unclenched, her tiny fingers uncurled. The leg that jutted out of the water’s warmth relaxed, lowering itself below the surface once more. As the baby’s reflexes jerked, she lessened the pressure on the child, allowing the lithe body to float. The crystal blue eyes stared up at her, glassy, questioning.

            She gathered the child up in the towel, laying her beside her brothers, all lying cold and wet in warm white towels, saved.