The child, who was already injured, still had his forehead wrapped in gauze. The wound must have torn open again, because blood was seeping out. It was a ghastly sight.
By now, Ivy White seemed to have descended into madness.
She grabbed a pillow and pressed it over the child's face, tears streaming uncontrollably. "It's all your fault," she sobbed. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have ended up like this. Why did you have to be born?"
"Once you're dead, we'll all be free."
"Grace Winslow, it's all your fault! Everything is your fault! I won't let you get away with this! I swear I won't!"
Grace Winslow sneezed several times in a row. She had the distinct feeling someone was cursing her name.
She rubbed her nose and frowned.
'Is that Ivy White cursing me again?'
Just as she was muttering to herself, she heard the wail of police sirens outside.
She froze for a moment.
'Did something happen at the factory again?'
The textile factory was certainly a hub of activity tonight.
