by Mike Ramon
Chapter Five
Frankie sat on a bench at the edge of the park. He watched as other children played. The younger ones crowded the jungle gym and the swing sets, while the older ones used the big, open field on the east side of the park to play football. The basketball courts on the south side of the park were the sole province of high school kids and a few adults who wanted to test themselves against some young bucks.
There were a few clouds in the sky, and a pattern of light and shadow was spread over the whole of the park. A light breeze blew the smell of freshly cut grass past Frankie, and he inhaled the rich aroma. A few smaller kids ran past him, one kid insisting vehemently that one of the others was “it”, while the boy in question insisted that he was not “it”, and that the first boy was in fact “it”.
Frankie rubbed at his arms. The day had started out warm, but now it was starting to cool down, and he was sorry he had left the house without a jacket. He shifted in his seat and took a peek at his digital watch. It was 3:48. He rubbed his arms again and scanned the park, looking for kids that he recognized. He saw a few, but no one he felt like hanging out with.
“Hey, Frankie,” a voice called.
Frankie turned around and saw Tom walking up to him. Tom waved, and Frankie reciprocated. Tom came up and took a seat on the bench next to Frankie.
“I sure am popular all of a sudden,” Tom said.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing; never mind,” Tom said, shaking his head. “The first thing I would like to know is, how did you get my cell number?”
“I found the card that you gave my dad.”
“Hmm. You know, when I first heard the message you left for me to meet you here, I was half tempted to delete the message and stand you up. I think I’ve heard enough crazy stories about the Home to last me a lifetime.”
“You really don’t believe me.”
“No. I’m sorry, but I don’t. I think that you believe your story about what you saw that night, but that doesn’t make it true. You’re young, something really bad has happened to your family and you are under a lot of stress. Maybe this…ghost story is your way of coping with it all.”
“So why did you come?” Frankie asked.
“Hmm?”
“You said you almost didn’t come. Why did you then, if you don’t believe my story?”
Tom sighed heavily.
“I don’t know. I guess I like you. You seem like a good kid. And after what Patricia told me, I guess I’m a little curious in spite of myself.”
“Who’s Patricia?”
“Nobody. Listen, this is kind of a busy day for me. What did you want to talk about?”
Frankie hesitated. If Tom already thought he was crazy, what Frankie had to tell him now would surely remove all doubt.
“It’s the dreams,” Frankie said.
Tom was taken aback by this; he hoped that Frankie didn’t notice. Patricia had talked about nightmares, and now the boy wanted to talk about his dreams.
“What dreams?” Tom asked.
“Ever since Jessica was taken I’ve been having nightmares. At first, in all the dreams I was stuck inside this building.”
Tom looked at the boy, wondering if this was some kind of sick game. Was it possible that Frankie and Patricia Gomez were teaming up to screw with his head? It didn’t seem likely.
“I didn’t know it at first,” Frankie said, “but as I had more dreams, and saw more of the building, I figured out that the building in the dream is the Home.”
Tom looked away from the boy. He had the sick, sinking feeling that he had made a huge mistake in coming here, that he had irrevocably attached himself to something stranger than he could hope to imagine.
“In the dreams I saw the shadows again,” Frankie continued. “No matter how the dreams started, they always ended with those things catching me.”
Frankie shivered at the memory of the dreams. He went on:
“The last few nights the dreams have been different, though. In these dreams I’m still inside the building, but I’m not trapped, and I’m not running from anything. It’s more like I’m a ghost, or something. Nobody can see me, but I can see them.”
“Them?”
“Yeah. In these new dreams there are a bunch of other kids in the Home, too. There are also adults there, but they…they’re not so nice. Like I said, none of them can see me in the dreams. I’m just sort of floating around the place. Sometimes it’s dark, and sometimes it’s the daytime.”
Frankie paused in telling his story as some kids he knew passed by. They didn’t seem to notice either him or Tom. When they were out of earshot, Frankie continued:
“The dreams start with me watching these kids doing whatever--eating breakfast, playing outside, doing schoolwork, sometime I even watch them as they sleep. But in every dream some kid always gets themselves into trouble. The kids who are sleeping, I don’t know, maybe they did something earlier in the day. But they all get in trouble, and then they are taken to the Headmaster’s office, where they’re kind of scolded. For some of them that’s it, and then they get to go back to whatever they were doing before, but some of them…”
“Some of them what?”
“Some of them get taken to the Special Room.”
Frankie paused, and Tom filled the silence:
“What’s the Special Room?” he asked.
“It’s where kids get the worst punishment.”
“What kind of punishment?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been inside the room. In the dreams the door always closes so I can’t see what is happening inside. But I know it’s bad. The kids are terrified when they find out that they are being sent to there. Some of them cry and beg. Some of them try to run, but they never get away. They get taken to the Special Room, the door closes on me, and then…then I hear their screams. And that’s when I wake up.”
Tom thought about the little history lesson that Patricia had given him about the Home, about how it was closed in 1943 amidst allegations of abuse. Both Patricia and Frankie started having nightmares about the place after a family member went missing, and now Frankie was having dreams about kids suffering abuse at the hands of the staff, something that apparently had really happened all those years ago. Now Tom not only wished that he hadn’t come to meet Frankie at the park, but also that he had never met Patricia Gomez, or went to see Hank Gardener when the man got in touch with him. He definitely should have sent Jim Grady in his place.
“What’s wrong?” Frankie asked.
The boy must have seen something in his face. Tom had never been a good poker player. Tom shook his head.
“Nothing. Just some things that somebody told me the other day.”
“About the Home?”
“Damn kid, you really can read me like a book.”
“Do you believe me now, even a little bit?” Frankie asked.
“I…I don’t know what I believe. This is all just…strange. I don’t believe in ghosts, I can tell you that. But there are too many coincidences here for comfort.”
Neither of them said anything for a minute. The football game on the field on the east side of the park was ending, the crowd of adolescents breaking off in little groups and heading off to other adventures.
“I’m not lying,” Frankie said, breaking the silence between them. “And I didn’t hallucinate or dream what I saw that night. Those things…they took my sister. And I have to get her back.”
“Listen,” Tom said. “I don’t know what you’re thinking of doing, but I don’t think you should go back into that building.”
“I have no choice. My sister is there.”
“The police checked the building from stem to stern. She’s not there, Frank.”
“Yes, she is. She’s hidden in the dark places, the places you can’t see with your eyes, but she’s there.”
“You’re starting to scare me, kid. Don’t go in there. If something were to happen to you, it would kill your parents.”
; “I have nothing to fear, though,” Frankie said. “Right? There’s nothing there that can hurt me. Spooks and spirits only exist in fairy tales. It’s kid’s stuff.”
Frankie got up from the bench.
“Telling my parents won’t stop me, you know?” Frankie said. “I would still go looking for her. But it would make it harder, so I would appreciate if you kept this between us. All right?”
Frankie turned to leave without waiting for an answer.
“Wait,” Tom said, standing up.
Frankie turned back, his eyebrows rising inquisitively. Tom could see resoluteness in the boy’s face, a stubbornness that convinced him that the boy spoke the truth when he said that he wouldn’t be deterred, and that he would let nothing stand in his way if he really wanted to do something.
“Just wait awhile, okay?” Tom said. “We’ll make a deal. I won’t tell your parents, but you have to wait.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Just…a while. I have some things I have to look into, and I don’t want to have to worry about you getting yourself hurt. So will you just please wait?”
“She’s my sister. I should have gone there looking for her two weeks ago, but I was too chickenshit. And now you want me to wait some more?”
“I know that you’re worried about her, but I want to help out; I really do. I want to help you find her, Frankie. But I need a little time. Will you just give me a little time?”
Frankie appeared to think it over.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I’ll give you a little time.”
Tom detected just a little bit of an emphasis on that word, “little”.
“Thank you, Frankie.”
The boy nodded his head and turned away. He left the park and disappeared around the corner onto Mulberry Street. Tom took a seat on the bench again, and sat there seeing nothing. He had to think what his next move was. He had to figure out just what the hell he had gotten himself into.