You've gotta roll with the punches
You've gotta aim to hit the mark
You've gotta follow your hunches
And try to finish what you start
And when you come to the crossroads
And you're deciding in the dark
You've gotta listen
To the whisper of your heart
--
from The Whisper of Your Heart by Trisha Yearwood

By 4 a.m., I had walked so far I thought both my legs were going to snap in two. Isaac had long since fallen asleep; around 2 a.m., his soft snuffling noises had died down and I'd kept him tightly cradled against my chest. But now I was craving sleep has well, and I knew if I walked much farther I'd probably collapse. At last, the soft glow of streetlamps could be seen through the trees. I nearly cried in relief.
"Isaac," I murmured, bouncing him around a little. "Isaac, baby, you have to wake up." The little boy shifted slightly, then squeezed his eyes shut.
"Time for cartoons?" he mumbled. I smiled weakly. That was the first thing he asked every Saturday morning.
"Maybe in a little while, sweetie. Come on, we need to find a place to stay. Then you can sleep."
"Okay," he said drowsily, and snuggled against my shirt, drifting off once again.
"No, no, Isaac, wake up." I gave him a little jostle; Isaac's dark-haired head snapped to attention.
"Wake up, wake up," he repeated sleepily. Still bouncing him slightly to keep him awake, I slunk slowly past the treeline into the street. We'd come out in the small town of Swedholm; I'd visited this place a few times before. It was a village mainly for tourists, not much bigger than our hometown of Westville Heights. I stopped to think for a moment. Westville Heights was nearly 5 miles from here -- it was almost impossible to believe that I'd walked that far -- and wouldn't have the common sense to spread the unpleasant news the night of. The police (the four of them that were there) would do a thorough town-search first before alerting any nearby villages. A plus for us. I dug in the pocket of my jeans and unearthed a twenty dollar bill. Yes, this might work for a little while.
"Come on, honey," I murmured, heading for the Inne I knew was on Main Street.
"Wake up, wake up," Isaac said in a sing-song voice, and buried his face in my shirt. "Wake up, wake up."

The hostess looked up from behind the desk and smiled.
"It's odd that we'd have visitors this early," she said easily, taking the money I'd handed her.
"Yeah, sorry for the inconvenience." I shifted the once-again-sleeping Isaac on my hip. "My aunt had car trouble and sent us ahead to get a room until she could catch up." The hostess looked at me as if she didn't care for my horrible excuse, but handed me a room key anyway.
"Take the lil'un upstairs. He needs to get some rest." I smiled -- one that was both relieved and exhausted -- and took the key gratefully.
"Thank you," I murmured, and hoisted our bags up again. "Isaac."
"Wake up, wake up," he said muzzily.
"Cute li'l fellow," the hostess said, walking for the kitchen.
"You have no idea," I muttered into Isaac's shoulder, and trudged up the stairs.

"Arms up, please." Isaac obeyed wearily; I pulled his pajama shirt down over his head, careful not to hurt his ears. I'd made the mistake of doing that once, and had paid for it with a nasty scratch on my neck. "Good," I murmured, smoothing his hair slightly.
"Sleepy, sleepy," he said thickly.
"C'mere." I hoisted him up and set him on the edge of the bed. I expected him to crawl up to the pillow, but instead Isaac just sat there watching me. His eyes were dark. Very dark. After one long moment, I put my hands over his small ones and took a deep breath. "Isaac," I murmured, "why did you hurt those people yesterday?"
"It was what He wanted," he responded immediately.
"Who is He?" I took one of his hands and turned it up, then drew one finger over his palm. "Isaac, sweetheart, who is He?" Isaac watched me carefully, almost as if he were waiting for me to make some sort of move. Then he went on.
"He tells me things. He's told me things for a very long time." I froze, then continued stroking his palm tenderly.
"What kind of things?" I murmured. Isaac paused, then glanced upwards at the ceiling.
"Well-ll-ll..." He drew out the word like that and finally looked back at me. "He tells me things I didn't know before. Like when Aunt Melly told me I couldn't have my trucks because I'd colored on the walls, He told me that they were hiding on the middle shelf of her closet." I remembered that fairly well; he'd been two, and Melly had been amazed when he'd found them in less than five minutes. She hid them over and over, but no matter where she put them Isaac had found them in no time flat. As I recalled, he'd won that battle.
"What else, sweetheart?" I rubbed his palm, watching him intently. Isaac used his free hand to scratch at his eyebrow.
"Hum," he said absently, as if we were talking about something as casual as breakfast. "Oh! He told me something last summer. Right after you stopped going to school for a while."
"What did he tell you?" I asked quietly. Isaac smiled a little; it seemed he was happy to finally be sharing this with me.
"He told me you were going to go away again. That you weren't going to play with me as much every day." I frowned slightly -- he was talking about last summer when I was going to get my working permit. Isaac's eyes squinted as he tried to remember what he was told. "He said I had to take 'drazzic mezures'." I smiled faintly.
"Drastic measures," I murmured. He nodded emphatically.
"Yeah! And if I didn't take drazzic mezures, you were going to leave." There was a long pause; I stopped stroking his hand.
"What did you do, Isaac?" He smiled.
"I jumped off the front porch."

Suddenly, it hit me. Whoever "He" was, He had told Isaac drastic measures needed to be taken because I was going to leave. That was when he'd jumped off the front porch and broken his arm. I couldn't get my working permit because I had to take care of him, and hadn't went to get it since. Isaac had me all to himself, and apparently -- that was what He wanted.
"Isaac," I whispered, "did He tell you to hurt the twins?" Isaac nodded again.
"Mm hm."
"And... Melly?" My throat had gotten considerably more narrow.
"Mm hm." Isaac smiled a little. "I'm glad He's not our secret anymore. Sometimes... He scares me." I stood quickly, not wanting to talk about Him anymore.
"Time for bed, Isaac," I said, voice dry. He turned obediently and crawled up to the head of the bed; I followed. There was only enough money for a one-bed room, but that was just fine. It might keep Isaac from having nightmares.
"Night, Mary Mary," he said sleepily. I pulled the covers up, feeling as if I'd entered a daze.
"Night," I said, then stopped. "Isaac, do you remember when you used to have bad dreams?" Isaac nodded as I switched off the light.
"Yes." There was a very long silence; I laid slowly down on the pillow, barely able to make out his silhouette in the darkness.
"What were they about?" I whispered.
"Him," Isaac responded promptly, and inched closer. "Night, Mary." After one long moment, I pulled his little body even closer.
"Goodnight, Isaac." I pressed a soft kiss against his forehead. "No bad dreams, please."