Page 72 of Hush, Little Baby

It’s too much.

I squeeze the duck, feeling the wild, traitor joy that something—someone—knew what I’d want before I did. I close my eyes, thumb planted, and let my thoughts shrink to the size of a pea. When I open them again, the mobile is still spinning, dutiful and endless.

The door clicks open with a hush of hinges, and I freeze, thumb in my mouth, skin prickling with sudden alertness. Nikolaus enters the room. His silhouette is too large for the delicate nursery, blocking out part of the ceiling sky as he steps over the threshold. He pauses, taking stock. I watch him from the corners of my eyes, wary but unwilling to relinquish the comfort of the duck tucked under my chin.

Nikolaus looks at me with a gaze so intent it’s like being pinned. I expect that look to come with scolding, or worse, but his face softens; his mouth tugs into a small, secret smile. Something in his posture changes. He quiets the room just by being in it. For a moment, we just look at each other.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs, voice pitched so low and gentle I feel it in my ribcage. “I’m glad you found your friend. He’s a good duck. I hope you gave him a name by now.”

I startle at the idea of naming it. The question is meant for me but not for answering; Nikolaus carries on, walking to the side of the crib and crouching so we’re almost eye-to-eye. He doesn’t reach for me. Instead, he braces his arms on the rail and rests his cheek on one muscular forearm, letting the silence stretch. My heart does a strange flutter. Nikolaus just stays there, eyes on me, waiting for something I don’t know how to give.

Finally, he says, “You look so small. You must’ve been very tired.”

I nod, thumb still in my mouth, not even ashamed of it for once. He watches the motion, and his eyes soften further, crinkling at the corners. For a moment, I wonder if he might reach in and pet my head, but he doesn’t. He just watches me with a patience so deep it’s almost bottomless.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

The question is a formality—everything in this room is his, even my body, I suppose, since y’know, cause of the whole kidnapping thing—but I nod anyway, thumb still locked between my teeth. Nikolaus presses a button on the crib rail, and it drops with a soft, hydraulic sigh.

Carefully, he sits on the mattress beside me. My new friend is squished between my chest and his thigh, but Duckie doesn’t seem to mind.

See? I named him!

Nikolaus looks at me. Really looks. I feel it everywhere. In the fine hairs at the base of my neck, all the way to the tips of my toes.

“You did so well,” Nikolaus murmurs, almost to himself. “You let yourself rest. I’m proud of you.” He says it in the tone people use for babies, and it should sting, but it doesn’t—my brain registers only approval, that hot, dizzy flush of being praised like a puppy. That’s what I am right now. No, not even a puppy—less, softer, needier than that. I don’t want to move, ever, if it means this will stop.

Nikolaus sits with me in silence. I’m aware of the size of him, how the mattress dips under his weight, and how his presence makes the crib feel even smaller. He waits, like he’s letting me acclimate to him the way you let a stray animal sniff your hand before you try to pet it. I find myself holding my breath, then slowly letting it out through my nose, not wanting to disturb this new peace.

Nikolaus finally reaches forward, his hand huge, callused but gentle as it brushes my hair away from my face. He tucks a lock behind my ear, fingertips lingering just long enough to make my scalp tingle. “You’re my very best boy,” he whispers. “I’ve never seen anyone drop so deep, so fast. I don’t think you know how special you are.”

I want to protest. I want to tell him that nothing about me is special and that he’s probably got a dozen little boys just like me stashed in nurseries across the city, but the words won’t come. My tongue is too soft; my head too fuzzy.

He takes Duckie from my arms, holding him up like he’s checking to see if it’s acceptable. When I whine at my friend being taken away, Nikolaus’s eyes light up with amusement.

“Oh, he’s perfect,” he says, as if I made Duckie myself, and this time the praise lands somewhere deeper than my chest. It’s a warm, golden pulse in my belly.

Nikolaus tucks Duckie right back under my chin, careful as if handling a real infant, and my heart seizes at the gentleness of it. “He’ll keep you company while I get you ready for lunch,” Nikolaus says, tone almost singsong. My eyelids droop under the weight of that care; I let myself melt.

“Can you do something for me?” he asks. I nod before I can think, wanting so badly to be good. “Good boy,” he says, and I could live off that alone for a week. “I know you’re tired, sweetheart. But you need to eat. I can even feed you if that’s easier.”

He waits to see if that triggers any resistance, but I just nod again, thumb in my mouth, obedient as a ragdoll.

He surveys me for a beat, like he’s reading a gauge. “You’re so deep, darling. You don’t even know where you are, do you?” He says it with amused wonder, not mockery. I wonder if he means it as a compliment.

I hope so.

Nikolaus stands and moves to the side of the crib, hands outstretched like he’s going to lift me bodily. I startle and clutch at Duckie, but Nikolaus slides his arms under me so gently that I barely notice I’ve left the mattress until I’m cradled upright against his chest, legs dangling over his elbow, my head tucked into the crook of his neck. My body goes soft and heavy with it, the way cats melt when you pick them up right.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Nikolaus croons, one hand cupping the back of my skull, the other snugged under my knees. “You don’t have to do anything, little darling. Just let go. I’ll take care of the rest.” He walks with me, and the world tilts, but his big palm holds my head so securely I can’t even imagine falling.

I hide my face in his collar, breathing in the scent of him—expensive, but not like department store stuff, more like steely water and forest after rain. Every step rocks me gently. Somewhere beyond the nursery, something beeps, and a door closes, but here in his arms, nothing can touch me.

Nikolaus hums a low, tuneless song. Maybe it’s not a song at all, but the rumble of his chest filtering through my bones. I let my thumb slip from my lips and rest my chin on his shoulder, watching the world glide past.

He carries me to the dresser and sets me down, still cuddling Duckie to my chest. I blink at the sudden change in elevation. The surface is padded and wide, and I realize, with a lurch of embarrassment, that it’s obviously meant for changing someone of my size.

Nikolaus doesn’t hurry. He keeps one hand anchored around my waist and uses the other to tug at the waistband of my sweats. He’s slow, careful, as he peels away the clothes I arrived in, folding each piece and stacking them at the edge of the dresser. He even tugs off my socks and lines them up side by side.