The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain

by Kevin David Jensen

The Asian woman boarded the ferry to Seattle by foot fifty minutes later and moments before it left the dock at Bainbridge Island. Dr. Lerwick's presentation had been as convincing as promised. The boy was a true miracle of modern technology and the man's own genius in reproductive science. None of that interested her beyond mere curiosity, of course; it had been the potential to make yet another fortune that had drawn her to the island today.

  Stopping by the store on her way to the ferry, she had purchased one of those prepaid cell phones that so often came in handy. She drew it out and fingered it as she climbed the steps to one of the upper decks, feeling the boat plow steadily through the water. Exiting the shelter of the cabin, she braved the rain for the sake of privacy, walked to the rail of the deck, and stared out across Puget Sound, a lovely sight even in this dreary weather. She had always enjoyed visiting Seattle and its vicinity, especially when a favorable business deal was involved.

  This visit, however, had turned up a surprise, and it was time for her to decide what to do about it. In truth, she had made her decision already, when she had bought the phone. She activated it and dialed the number the boy had given her. Though he bore very little resemblance to her own son, something in him had penetrated her well-warded conscience nonetheless: a yearning for home. Had she ever been permitted to return home herself, she might not have been so affected by it, but the shame her act of betrayal—for money, of course—had brought on her family prohibited any reconciliation. And so she yearned, forever ached.

  For herself, she might be powerless to soothe the pain. But for this boy… She was not, after all, heartless.

  She pressed "Call" and waited. The connection went through and the phone on the other end rang three times.

  A woman's voice greeted her. "Hello?"

  "Kara Fleming?" the Asian woman asked.

  "Yes, this is Kara. Who am I speaking to?" The other woman's voice was tight, like someone very frightened but working to exhibit calm. In all likelihood, that meant the boy's story was true.

  "Do you have a son by the name of Zechariah?"

  There was the briefest hesitation. "Yes. Do you—Is he with you?" The other woman's voice was urgent now with hope.

  "No, but I know where he was an hour ago," the Asian woman said as the ferry picked up speed, churning the water behind it. "I would like to give you the address, if it interests you."

  "The address? Yes, yes, please! Um—" She heard this Kara Fleming moving quickly in the background. Her voice returned to the phone. "Please, go ahead."

  The Asian woman gave the address along with a succinct description of the small cabin. "It is near Rolling Bay. The authorities will know how to find it, I'm sure." If she were to guess, the authorities were already standing with this Kara Fleming, beginning to radio the address even at this moment to the police on Bainbridge Island. That possibility had made it imperative that she board the ferry before calling. Ache for the boy she might, but she would not sacrifice herself.

  "Thank you!" Kara exclaimed. "Please—is he okay?"

  "He was weary and hungry when I saw him, but otherwise fine," the Asian woman assured her. "Zechariah tells me that he is truly your son, even if his birth was…unusual. If that is true, then you have a fine son, Mrs. Fleming, and brave. He wants to come home. I hope you are able to find him soon."

  "You talked to him? Can you help us find him?"

  "I'm afraid this is the best I can do."

  "Who are you?"

  The Asian woman considered for a moment. It was best to play it safe, she decided, in case they were already tracing the call. Mobile phones, for all their benefits, were easily located. "Let us say that I, too, am a mother—one who cannot approve of stealing such a lovely child from his home."

  "Please, help us find him! We've been searching all night and all this morning—"

  The Asian woman disconnected the call. Wincing at her own insensitivity, she examined the phone once more. The other woman's earnest voice hung pleading in her ears. She acknowledged an urge to call Kara Fleming again, to give comfort, perhaps even to help further. She knew enough about Dr. Lerwick that she could offer some assistance.

  But finally, as so often in the past, she chose instead to protect herself, and dropped the phone over the side of the boat. With a tiny splash that registered no sound against the pulsing of the ferry's engines, it sank into the water and was gone.