“we love you mummy.” That’s what the babies whispered in my nightmares when I was alive and capable of sleep. I thought they were mocking me. I never guessed they were expressing genuine affection, that they truly saw me as their mother.
“Wait,” I mumble, sitting down again. “The dreams. Why did I dream about the babies? I never saw any of this lot before that day in Brick Lane.”
“They have a telepathic link with you,” Owl Man says. “We’re not sure how or why. I was astonished when I learned about your nightmares. I wished to bring you in for closer study, but Mr. Dowling insisted you be left to your own devices.”
“He’s always been soft on you,” Kinslow snorts.
“It is not softness,” Mr. Dowling whispers inside my head. “It is love.”
I ignore the clown and stay focused on Owl Man.
“The babies instinctively knew of their attachment to you,” he says. “They recognized your face when we showed them photographs of you. Some would occasionally sneak out and shadow you. We were worried that they would try to make contact, but they never approached you. They simply wanted to watch you go about your day-to-day life. Maybe they were reassuring themselves that you were in good shape.”
“If they liked me that much, why did they always kill me in my dreams?” I grunt.
“I think you contributed the more nightmarish elements,” Owl Man says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I frown.
“I’m not a psychoanalyst, but it seems likely to me that you knew about the babies on a subconscious level. Part of you realized that they regarded you as their mother, that you might one day be forced to bear responsibility for them. I think you demonized them in your dreams in an effort to sever your link with them, to deny what destiny seemed to have in store for you.”
“If I had that much control over what I dreamed, why didn’t I give myself the power to kill them off in my nightmares?” I ask.
“You were afraid,” he says. “You didn’t understand what was happening to you. This was your developing brain’s way of trying to deal with the issues at hand.”
“Bloody brains,” I grumble. “They’ve caused us nothing but hassle since we evolved away from apes. We should have stayed in the trees. We’d have all been happier and a hell of a lot better off.”
“Perhaps,” Owl Man nods. “But this is where we find ourselves. And now you know where the babies came from, why you dreamed about them and why Mr. Dowling has wanted to reunite with you ever since.”
“Actually I’m not so sure of that last one.” I look at the clown. He has put the chalk aside–or swallowed it–and is staring at me, eyes rolling every which way at once. “So you used my blood to create and clone the babies. Big deal. My part in this should have finished there. Why come looking for me years later?”
“Because I love you,” Mr. Dowling croons.
“Stop saying that!” I glare.
“But it’s true.” He comes towards me, arms waving wildly, spitting out bits of chalk. “I knew it the first time I explored your mind. You and the babies are my world. I love you all and want you around me as we press forward. We will be a family. I’ll find peace again in your arms.”
“The only thing you’ll find in my arms is a big butcher’s knife, which I’ll bury between your shoulder blades the first chance I get,” I tell him.
The clown giggles and starts hopping around. “Mr. Dowling and Becky, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!” he sings.
“Are you getting any of this?” I ask Owl Man with disgust.
“Not at the moment,” he smiles. “But I can guess what he’s saying. He really does love you. That’s evident to us all.”
I make a disgusted face. “Yeah, well, it’s the love of a lunatic. I’m sure celebrity stalkers used to think they were truly in love with their prey, and that the people they were bothering would love them in return. But I’ve no interest in this sick creep. I’d rather get it on with Kinslow—don’t take that as an invite,” I add as the mutant theatrically brushes back his hair and smiles.
“But you must love me,” Mr. Dowling says, sounding confused. “We’re meant for one another. I’ve built a kingdom for you. These are your babies. We need you.”
“Tough,” I snap. “You repulse me. I wouldn’t pledge myself to you if you were the last man on earth. Hell will freeze over before you’ll get even a kiss on the cheek from me, Romeo.”
Mr. Dowling cocks his head and studies me gloomily. He seems genuinely taken aback by my rejection, unsure how to react.
“Let’s not be hasty,” Kinslow mutters uneasily. “Don’t say anything in the heat of the moment that you might regret later.”
“Get stuffed,” I tell him, then focus on Owl Man. “You can’t expect me to go along with this. If you’ve been keeping tabs on me all this time, you know me better than that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he says. “But I also know how persuasive Mr. Dowling can be. If I was a gambler, I’d bet on you succumbing to his charms in the end, Becky.”
“It’s B, numbnuts,” I jeer. “B Smith, plain and simple, and I plan to keep it that way. I’m not in the marrying frame of mind. You’ll have to look for a lover elsewhere, clown.”
Mr. Dowling’s eyes close for a moment. When he opens them again, there are tears of blood in both corners.
“don’t cry daddy,” the babies wail, crowding closer to hug his legs and stroke him soothingly.
In response, the clown points a finger at me and the babies snap round, the way they did when Mrs. Reed threatened me. I think he plans to set them on me and I get ready to fight to the death. But when he makes a gesture with his right hand, they simply swarm forward, pick me up and hold me over their heads as they did when they first brought me underground.
“If you won’t love me of your own free will, then you leave me with only one option,” Mr. Dowling hisses inside my head, leaning forward to eyeball me.
“Torture?” I guess, glumly resigned to another bout of suffering.
“No, silly,” the clown laughs, then kisses his fingers and presses them to the crown that he wove for me. “I will have to woo you!”