Page 37 of The Delivery

That’s when they hear the click of a latch, the twist of the front doorknob.

They freeze.

They hear a footstep.

Another.

Mark is wedged into the tiny desk. Slowly he rolls the cheap white IKEA chair out, swings his legs free. Rebecca backs up very slowly until her lumbar hits the counter.

More footfall.

They wait, forgetting to breathe.

At last a shadow falls through the open doorway.

And then Mr. Man appears.

Cradled in his arms is a Mini Lop bunny.

“ Here is a replacement bunny, ” Mr. Man says. “Just like Bao-Bao.”

The rabbit has Bao-Bao’s coloring and seems to be around six pounds. In fact, he looks remarkably like the original Bao-Bao.

Mr. Man walks calmly across the kitchen, squats, and eases the bunny into Bao-Bao’s cage. Then he stands up to face them.

Mark and Rebecca have not moved an inch.

Mr. Man says, “I took care of it for you.”

“Where did you—” Mark’s voice gutters dryly. He swallows with effort and begins again: “Where did you get a Mini Lop rabbit at”—quick check of his watch—“four in the morning?”

“ Your breeder, Ginny Merchant, ” Mr. Man says. “She has several litters.”

“You woke her up?”

“There was no need. There are several rabbit hutches in her backyard. I did not want to disrupt her sleep and potentially alarm her. My value hierarchy ranks her ease of mind higher than immediate payment. I reimbursed her through your PayPal, link to bank account number 8179—”

“Jesus,” Mark says. “Jesus Christ.”

When she trusts her voice again, Rebecca says, “You can’t just break into someone’s backyard and steal a pet.”

“I did not steal the rabbit. I paid for the rabbit.”

“That’s not how it works,” Rebecca says. “That’s illegal.”

“My value hierarchy ranks your and Maddy’s happiness higher.”

Silence fills the kitchen.

“Higher than what?” Rebecca finally asks.

Mr. Man’s eyes dim. He closes them, chin dipping, lids flickering. He opens his eyes, lifts his head sluggishly. “My power level is low. I must recharge.”

He moves jerkily across the kitchen, as if running out of steam.

“Wait,” Rebecca says.

Mr. Man halts. His head droops slightly on his neck.