The children don't understand.The sweets they pine for are not squeezed from the machine with stripes intact. No—they must be painted on, by hand, with so much care. It is almost unimaginable, the ... [+]
The cool breeze drifts in from the Pacific Ocean through the banana plant leaves. Shadows dance across the pastel pallet of the bedspread; the charcoal nude woman looks over her shoulder. Jesus clasps his hands in prayer. Julie Garwood books with crumpled covers of chiseled men and collapsing women appear well-read. She lies next to her little sister, under the covers.From the living room through the door, the newscaster's words float: "Police are searching for a six-foot-tall man...dark curly hair, dubbed the Night Stalker...who has killed...though the crimes...He enters through open windows.