In which we see Addison’s and Carla’s worst fear realised
Addison feels the most solitary person in a city teeming with life, as it surely is this Friday night. He has no part in it any more. He would prefer to be dead than live with his shame. His own corner of operation has been built on badly flawed judgement, on a public failure to keep up to his own standards, preached incessantly in this very place. He tries to tell of his pain but the words die in his mouth, leaving garbage for those around him.
Addison senses rather than sees that the meeting has started. Pete, unaware of what has happened, is getting on with his job of leading tonight, like Addison should. Only there is no point now. The news of Carla’s complicity with Steve’s sin is his death blow. Guilt he could cope with – man, if you do something wrong you straight way put it right and make amends. Guilt is fixed by divine decree – but shame? If they’ve seen you’re inadequate, there’s no amends.
He turns to Carla. They will go home. ‘Fetch her,’ he orders hoarsly. His voice already lacks authority.
Moments later, Carla’s scream fills the narthex. Pitted against the words coming from the room alongside, it is a wail, sharp enough to jerk Addison to attention. The uncontrollable trembling in his limbs is instantly drowned in the pool of dread that springs up within. ‘What the––?’
He seizes Helen’s arm, ignoring her jerk of discomfort.
As they arrive at the pram, the truth is revealed in the sprawled coverlets: Dinah is missing.
Carla is wimpering. Standing holding the pram edge, rocking back and forth over its obscene exposure. Her long hair like a mortuary shroud.
‘Oh God, Carla, where is she?’
Helen speaks for the first time since her outburst. Addison is glad of her return to their midst. In all this madness they have only each other and God. And Addison no longer knows where God is in the smaller scheme of things. He feels no anger towards Helen. They need her.
A strange hum reaches their ears and they look up, alarmed. None of them moves.
It is human without doubt, but the voice is low and insistent, though tinged with instability. It croons: ‘Not yet, not yet, little one.’ Then a tuneless hum, and the words again, on and on.
Helen is first to react: she runs forward through the doors into the main auditorium. Addison, like a zombie, still holding her arm, allows himself to be dragged with her.
She comes to a halt not five metres inside the arena and pulls on Addison’s arm, restraining him. ‘Its Steve.’ Helen’s voice is barely above a breath. ‘He’s got Dinah.’
