The Talent Diary

by Chris McFarland

  Chapter 14: Singularity

  December 11th, 1991. Day 19. I know I haven’t been writing enough lately. They still haven’t found Mark, and I was going to enter the tunnel tonight to look for him, but it started raining and my Grandpa came over, and those things stopped me. I’m going to try tomorrow night if the rain has stopped. Maybe even if the rain is still going. Part of me is starting to think it is too late and that Mark may be gone for good. It makes me so sad to think that. But part of me thinks that he is still alive too, and that the police just haven’t tried hard enough. The trapdoors are the big thing. Someone changed those, I know it. I went to school today, then to my friend’s house in the afternoon. Marissa and I seem to be friends again, although it may not be like it was. Then I was planning to go into the tunnel and canceled that, so I did nothing this evening.

  The rain continued into the morning, although it wasn’t quite as hard, so Samantha put on a rain slicker over her school clothes. Thomas dropped her off in front of the school like usual, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and told her to have a good day. She said she would and stepped out of the car, into the rain. It was a short distance from the car to the covered school walkway and Samantha walked instead of running. The splashes of water hitting her face were exhilarating. She took her slicker off as soon as she stepped under the covered hallway.

  Samantha walked into her classroom and was surprised to see she was the first student to arrive. Mr. Stillson was lying on the high counter in the rear of the classroom, flat on his back and reading a book. He rolled over to see who was there and smiled. Samantha walked to her seat and started laughing as she approached Mr. Stillson.

  “So I look that funny,” Mr. Stillson asked, in a fake stern voice.

  “You look like Snoopy up there.”

  “Snoopy must have had a bad back like me. Every time I start thinking we are fortunate to have the talent, I try to lift something heavy and hurt my lower back.”

  “You got hurt even though your arms were tingling?”

  “Oh yes. It’s rare but it happens. I may teach the whole class from back here today,” Mr. Stillson said, and he laughed again.

  “What were you lifting that was so heavy?”

  Mr. Stillson just stared at her for a second, almost as if he didn’t know how to answer.

  “I was just working on a new project,” he said, finally. “That’s all.”

  Samantha put her backpack down and looked towards the door. It was closed and no other students had come in yet, so Samantha sat down and got ready to ask Mr. Stillson a question that was still on her mind from the night before.

  “Mr. Stillson, can I ask you a question.”

  He rolled over a little so he could see her more directly.

  “Of course you may.”

  “It’s about, our, you know. I wasn’t sure if I should talk about it.”

  “I think it’s safe for the time being. What’s on your mind?”

  “I was reading my Grandpa’s diary the other day and he had a busy time of it fifty years ago. He used his talent a lot over two days.”

  “I know,” Mr. Stillson said.

  “You… you do?”

  “He wouldn’t want me to tell you this Ms. Branson, but I will anyway, because sometimes I think he’s too cautious for his own good. His motivations are valid and he wants to make sure nothing happens to you, but it’s made him very protective. That incident with the nurse really shook him up, so he came to me with a copy of his diary. The same diary you have.”

  Samantha felt a flush of anger towards her Grandpa, and a sense of defilement. How dare he pry into her life like that? Mr. Stillson nodded, seeing and understanding the emotions on Samantha’s face.

  “I’d be upset too Samantha. Believe me, I refused the book when he first tried to give it to me. Unfortunately, your grandfather did me an enormous favor a few years ago and he mentioned that. If I were to be honorable, I had to concede and take the book. I read it Samantha, but I don’t act on it. I will never interfere with what you do, if you think it’s for the best. Unless you are in danger, of course, but I’d help anyone in danger. Wouldn’t you?”

  “But he’s keeping a close eye on everything I do, right? That’s why he’s been over to dinner so much lately.”

  “Yes. He’s worried about you, that’s all.”

  “He shouldn’t try to mess with my life!”

  “I agree.”

  Samantha walked to the window, watching large puddles form on the dead winter grass of the schoolyard. They would be having lunch recess inside the cafeteria today, it seemed.

  “We probably only have a few moments left before the other students arrive, Samantha. I understand you might be upset about your Grandpa, but if you want to ask me those questions now’s the time.”

  “Since my Grandpa used his talent so much the last two days, what would happen if I need to use mine, you know, for some reason. Would it not work because he was using it, or would it be even more powerful?”

  “That’s a tough question. I’ve never experienced it so I can’t say directly. My guess is the effect is random. One time you try to use your talent and it will become even more powerful than before because you are feeding off even more energy. The next time, even if it is minutes later, you could have a drain in energy. Like I said, I’ve never experienced it but I met someone once who had.”

  “Does it do the same thing to your relative?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if I used it and since Grandpa is using his talent at the same time, would he sometimes be affected and sometimes not? Would it prevent him from using his talent?”

  “Yes, I think so, although it’s hard to determine that one for sure, because the people you affect in the past have no way of knowing what they would have done had you not interfered. But my guess is that it would affect them, probably randomly as well, and it is safer to not use your abilities when you know your source was also using them.”

  The door to the classroom opened and Rebecca and Tony walked in, talking loudly and laughing, startling Samantha. Mr. Stillson was still lying on the back counter top, but now he stretched his arms above his head, causing his back to pop.

  “That felt great,” he said. “I think I can get up now.”

  He swung off the counter and landed squarely on his feet, weaving his torso from side to side to check the state of his lower back. After a couple of moments he leaned over and touched his toes.

  “Perfect. I should sleep on that every night,” he said, and winked at Samantha, who was trying not to laugh. He looked at her for a moment longer, but for the first time in several days Samantha did not feel intimidated by his gaze. She felt she could trust him again.

  “Oh, one last thing Samantha. I won’t hover like your grandfather, but I do ask you to be careful. Be suspicious, regardless of what you choose to do.”

  Then he walked to his desk, saying good morning to Rebecca and Tony, who were sitting together at the front of the classroom. The door opened again and Becky was there, anxiously scanning the seats. Samantha had to laugh, because the expression of relief on Becky’s face when she saw Samantha at the back of the classroom was so exaggerated it was almost comic. She ran back and sat in Mink’s seat.

  “What happened? How did it go?”

  “It didn’t,” Samantha said. “It was raining hard and my Grandpa was there, watching me and making sure I didn’t do anything.”

  “What do you mean, do anything? How could he know?”

  “Um, I don’t know. I just said that wrong,” Samantha said uneasily.

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t go. I was worried about it all night last night. I kept waking up, wondering where you were.”

  “I’m going to do it tonight though, so I hope you sleep better. Unless you want to come along?”

  “I don’t know Samantha. We talked about this yesterday.”

  “But you said you would until Marissa started going off. If it wa
sn’t for her you probably would have come.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think I would really want too. It sounds dangerous and we wouldn’t find anything and if our parents found us missing it would scare them to death.”

  “Yeah, yeah. We talked about all of this yesterday. Well, I’m going tonight, and I’m going to see if those trapdoors really are welded shut or if they were just made to look that way for the police. It could have been the kidnapper covering his tracks you know. Think about it, if we find a trapdoor that is loose, it could open up to a house, which is probably where Mark is.”

  “I don’t think so,” Becky said.

  More students were coming into the classroom now that the first bell had rung. Marissa was one of a crowd that arrived just after the bell. She saw Samantha and smiled, pretending to wipe a slow hand across her forehead like she was sweating. She walked to her seat and sat down, turning around to face Samantha.

  “Well?”

  “I couldn’t go last night. My Grandpa was there until late. I wouldn’t have been able to sneak out. But I’m going tonight. I was just asking Becky if she would reconsider going with me, but she keeps saying no.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t go either.”

  “Yeah,” Samantha said, upset and not able to hide it.

  “Hey, look,” Becky said.

  Samantha and Marissa turned towards the door and saw Cliff and Mink enter, talking and laughing. Cliff gazed around the room with an expression of unmistakable relief. The class went quiet and Samantha figured most of the other kids were silent for the same reason that she was; she had no idea what to say. Mr. Stillson, who had been sitting at his desk watching the students file in, got up and walked to Cliff. Cliff watched him approach almost apprehensively. Mr. Stillson put out a hand and Cliff, surprised, shook it.

  “Welcome back Cliff,” Mr. Stillson said.

  Cliff smiled and walked to his seat with Mink. Mink got close to his own chair and saw Becky in it, so he took out a straw and shot a slimy spit wad at her. It stuck in her bangs, causing her to jump up and start shaking her hair to get it out.

  “Thank you for keeping my seat warm,” Mink said, sitting down and tossing his backpack on the desk. Cliff had settled into his seat next to Marissa. He and looked back at Samantha, smiling.

  “It’s good to be back,” he said simply.

  Samantha nodded, wishing she felt as good about Cliff being back as everyone else. Had he told his parents about finding Mark’s hat? Was he still scared of his father’s reaction? She didn’t know. What she did know was that the feeling in the room frightened her and, after a moment, she realized why. It felt like people were starting to move on, to accept that Mark was no longer there, and to not feel bad about it anymore. She noticed that even she was thinking about him less, and her mind stubbornly refused to cooperate when she wanted to prevent this from happening. Her planned trip to the tunnel, in some ways, seemed more like something she needed to do for herself than for Mark. Time seemed to wear the edge of her feelings away, and she saw the same function in the faces of her fellow classmates. Even Kelvin, usually working diligently on his math homework until the moment Mr. Stillson started teaching, was talking and laughing with his neighbor.

  Mr. Stillson apparently sensed the mood, because he walked to the front of the class and said, over the sudden din, “Let’s take an hour to do whatever you want. Feel free to get up from your desks, as long as you don’t leave the classroom.”

  There was the clanking of twenty chairs being pushed back from desks as students walked over to friends and clustered into groups. Becky came over and sat by Samantha, who had not gotten out of her chair. Becky was careful to avoid Mink, who had his straw shooter out again. Marissa got up, climbed over the desks, and sat in Mink’s chair. Cliff was up at the front of the classroom, talking earnestly to Mr. Stillson, no doubt bringing him up to date on the latest news on Mark. The room was full of talking and laughter and Mr. Stillson let them stay in groups for two hours instead of one.

  When Samantha got home from school she went straight to her bedroom. The persistent rain had finally stopped in the afternoon. With neither of her parents at home, Samantha wanted to enter the bamboo and look around before it got dark. Once in her room with the door closed, Samantha changed into an old sweat suit that was frayed at the edges and much too tight. Her feet remained bare because she was going to wear her old sneakers, which were not allowed indoors.

  From the hall closet she grabbed a flashlight and hurried into the garage. She hid the flashlight in a cabinet above the washing machine and pulled her sneakers on without untying the laces. The shoes were so old and beaten that they were more like slippers than shoes. Opening the back door brought a burst of cool wind. The sky was clearing and Samantha thought the sun might come out for a few moments before night fell. The wind had gotten stronger as the rain diminished. It was blowing from the west and ripped right through the gray material covering her legs.

  Samantha jogged to the path leading into the eucalyptus, mostly to hide from the direct wind. The grove was full of branches swaying in the heavy breeze and dead leaves fell like snowflakes. She jogged through the grove and back out into the open. The front entrance to the clubhouse was behind bamboo stalks that seemed alive, swishing back and forth like octopus tentacles. She ducked under them and crawled through the mud until she reached the fence. The fence board and the door had not been replaced by the police, so Samantha was able to get to her feet and duck into the trail.

  She could feel the wind even in the bamboo, but it wasn’t constant. Random bursts of air split the branches and puffed against her face at odd times, leading to a sense of disorientation. She walked down the tunnel slowly, looking at the ground for any type of clue but there were none to be seen. Instead of turning towards the trapdoor, she went left. Again, she looked carefully at the ground and again she saw nothing unusual. Samantha followed the trail around the main section of the pond and into the clubhouse itself, where the wind whipped through the open roof. She was pleased to see her makeshift roof over the couch was holding up and when she sat down there was no feeling of wetness. Not really sure what she was doing, Samantha sat for a few minutes, and then got up and walked towards the oak tree. There was nothing on the ground along the tunnel and when she came back to the clubhouse she felt a wave of frustration, even though she didn’t know its cause. Samantha kicked the boat off the shore as she passed it simply because it was there and it spun into the pond in lazy spirals. The pond itself was much deeper because of the rain.

  She walked back through the clubhouse, finally realizing she wanted to see another bit of clothing, like the hat Cliff had found by the loose fence board. She wanted to see a definitive object that would justify her trip into the tunnel. The police had moved the trapdoor back into its frame, which Samantha supposed was a good thing. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about any creatures that might have snuck into the tunnel through the open door.

  Bracing her legs against the soft ground, Samantha hooked her fingers under the metal and pulled as hard as she could. Perhaps limbered by the wet weather, the metal slab moved easily. Certainly she could feel no helping tingle in her arms, which was good, considering today was the day her grandfather had attacked Mr. Henson back in 1941.

  The tunnel looked as it did the first time, with no visible differences. She poked her head through the opening, looking as far as possible, which wasn’t all that far without a flashlight. Suddenly her planned journey that night seemed much more real and much more dangerous. Memories of the first trip, of the last time she had seen Mark, flooded into her. She thought she was going to start crying but was able to stop the tears before they got started. She started to stand back up, and then froze.

  “Helllllpppp,” a small, echoing voice said.

  The voice, very faint, almost inaudible, had come from the open trapdoor. Samantha felt as if her insides were ice and she could no longer hear or feel the wind that whistled through the
bamboo stalks. A long minute passed, and Samantha’s legs started to get stiff from her awkward position. She risked adjusting her position slightly, making a little noise, then she froze again, not wanting miss a recurrence of the voice. And then it came floating from the pipe, causing gooseflesh to run up her spine.

  “Help me please.”

  It was faint as before but Samantha could almost recognize the voice as Mark’s. She was moving forward before she realized what she was doing, grabbing onto the edges of the trap door and lowering herself into the opening. She was almost through and ready to jump to the bottom of the tunnel when another voice, much louder and stronger, floated to her ears.

  “Samantha! Are you out here?”

  Samantha groaned and hoisted herself back up without a pause.

  “Yes Mom,” she called.

  “Oh good! I got home, didn’t see you here, and got myself all scared. Why don’t you come inside? It’s probably all muddy out there.”

  Samantha knew from long experience her Mom was not asking her to come inside, but commanding it. There was no point putting it off and making her mother suspicious, so Samantha used all her willpower and turned away from the open trap door and the voice.

  “I’m coming right now.”

  Samantha walked rapidly out of the tunnel but her mind was elsewhere, thinking hard about the voice. Did she really even hear it? The voice was so quiet and so diluted by echo she wondered if it was nothing but hope. However, these doubts were fleeting because she knew the voice was not imagined. Someone in the tunnel had been calling for help and if it wasn’t Mark, she didn’t know who it would be. But she had to wait until midnight to see.

  Samantha was almost through the eucalyptus grove when she realized all she had to do was tell her Mom what she heard. Her Mom would call the police and they would go back into the tunnel and find Mark.

  She started running and went straight to the porch, meaning to head into the kitchen. As she reached the porch door, it opened and her mother looked out.

  “Samantha! You’re a mess! Go change in the garage before you come in here.”

  “Mom. You’ve to call the police.”

  “What?”

  Her Mom became very still, with her eyes narrow and dark blue.

  “I heard someone in the tunnel Mom. It was a voice yelling for help.”

  “In the tunnel?” Sandra peered over Samantha’s shoulder at the bamboo, which was still twisting in the strong west wind. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I heard it call for help, twice.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t the wind or something like that? The police checked the whole pipe and there wasn’t any sign of Mark.”

  “Mom, I heard someone calling for help. It was really faint and faraway, but I heard it. Do you want to come out and hear?”

  Sandra looked indecisive, rubbing the back of her left hand with her right. She looked down at Samantha with an expression Samantha had never seen on her parent’s faces before. It was a look that Samantha sometimes felt on her own face when a new situation presented itself and she had no experience to back up her decision.

  “Samantha, honey. I’ll call but I want you to think hard about whether you really heard something or not. Because if we call and the police come out here, they will certainly tell the Wilsons. The Wilsons will get excited again because they will think they’re about to find Mark, but what if he isn’t down there? Imagine how they would feel.”

  Samantha was shocked, both understanding what her mother was saying and amazed at how little she understood.

  “I’m sure Mom and I think you should call. How would you feel if he was hurt down there in the tunnel and we didn’t find him because we’re afraid of what his parents would say?”

  Sandra straightened up sharply, almost as if she had been slapped. The dazed look left her eyes and she went back inside. Samantha went to the garage to change. She stripped out of her soaked and muddy sweat suit and wrapped herself in a towel that was sitting, folded, on top of the dryer. The cement floor was extremely cold on her bare feet, so she opened the door and went inside.

  Her mother was talking on the phone to someone at the police station. Samantha hurried into her room and put on fresh clothes. When she came back out her Mom was drinking from a tall glass of water, which she downed before taking a breath.

  “They’ll be here in about ten minutes. Officers Robinson and Martinez will be back, since they know the tunnel already.”

  “Good.”

  “So it sounded like Mark? They asked me if it did and I said you couldn’t tell because the voice was so faint.”

  “I don’t know for sure. I thought it was Mark, but I couldn’t really tell.”

  “Oh, I hope they find him this time,” Sandra said, suddenly close to tears. “It must be especially hard on Cliff, because they were the same age and so close.”

  “It was strange in class today too.”

  “What do you mean by strange?”

  “It was like, everyone was talking and laughing and seemed so happy. Even Cliff was a little bit, but I wasn’t. I started thinking that everyone had already forgotten Mark and that just because they weren’t thinking about him all the time that life was going back to normal. But how can it?”

  Sandra leaned against the kitchen counter, looking not at Samantha but the old painting on the west wall, which had hung there ever since Samantha could remember. She had seen it so many times before that she never noticed it anymore.

  “Do you know where this painting comes from Samantha?”

  “No.”

  “My mother painted it, back when I graduated from high school. Can you see what it is?”

  “Not really. All the colors kind of run together.”

  “Yeah, that was my Mom’s style. If you use your imagination, it looks like a river flowing between two tall hills. That was the scene behind my old house. One month after my Mom painted that picture she passed away and our old house was sold. What do you think I did then?”

  The gravity in her mother’s voice was yet another thing Samantha had never experienced. So quickly that the thought was not registered, and certainly not remembered, she marveled at how deep each person’s life goes and how little others know of their details.

  “I don’t know Mom.”

  “I kept living. That’s what I did. My mother was dead and my Dad had died long before that. I lived with my Aunt’s family until I left for college, and I kept on living. And I was happy too, because I knew my mother would rather I be happy and go on instead of always being sad, only because of her memory. Do you see what I mean?”

  “No.”

  “It’s been a few days, honey. If they don’t find Mark in that tunnel tonight and if they don’t get a lead in the next few days, then there is a good chance he may not be found. It’s horrible. This isn’t natural. It’s a crime. But as horrible as it is, at some point you realize you have to move on, because otherwise you’ll get stuck. And once you are stuck it’s hard to get moving forward again. It sounds like your class is moving on.”

  Samantha saw a single tear course down her mother’s cheek and she sensed that great emotion lay underneath her mother’s words. However, although the meaning was grasped, the emotion and the truth of the words bounced off as if a shield surrounded her. The simple truth to Samantha was that Mark was missing and that no one seemed to care any longer about what he might be seeing or feeling at that exact moment. She couldn’t understand how people could ignore that question just because they could not retrieve an answer. It felt like quitting to her and she wasn’t going to do that. She had heard a voice calling for help and she knew the trapdoors hadn’t been welded shut the last time she was in the tunnel. She wasn’t going to pretend everything was all right.

  There was the sound of a car coming to a stop in front of the house and Samantha broke away from her mother and ran to the window. She pulled the curtain aside and saw an idling police car. The brake light flashed off and the
doors opened. Samantha ran to the door, opened it, and ran outside without a jacket. Sandra followed.

  Officer Martinez stepped from the passenger side and had to put his hands up to keep Samantha from running into him.

  “Hurry Officer Martinez. I heard a voice calling for help in the tunnel and I don’t know if it was Mark, but it could be so we have to go in and see…”

  “Slow down please, Ms. Branson,” Officer Martinez said smoothly, cutting her off with no effort at all. “I think it would be best if you could describe everything that happened. Start at the beginning and go slowly.”

  “But what if he’s down there and hurt,” Samantha said loudly.

  “Samantha,” Sandra said, but Officer Martinez smiled.

  “I know you want to help Mark as much as you can Samantha. But we need to know everything before we go into a situation. I’m sorry but that’s the way it is. We’ll get there much faster if you can start at the beginning and tell me what happened.”

  He had his notebook out and a pen at the ready. Officer Robinson had walked around the car and was standing beside them, holding a powerful flashlight and his body posture was tense. Samantha noticed that Officer Martinez was standing stiffly as well and Samantha felt relief course through her, because they wanted to get to the tunnel as quickly as she did.

  “I went into the bamboo to go to the clubhouse and think. I got bored though because none of my friends could come over, so I walked over to the trapdoor.”

  “Where you going in,” Officer Robinson asked.

  “No. No. I only wanted to see it. That sounds silly but it’s true. I had to move the metal door because it was closed and I looked inside. I couldn’t see anything and I was about to leave when I heard a voice call out ‘help me’.”

  “A voice called ‘help me’? Was it loud?”

  “No, it was very quiet. And echoing.”

  “Did it sound like Mark to you?”

  “I… I wanted it too, but I don’t know. It could have been.”

  Did… oh no,” Officer Martinez said.

  Samantha turned in the direction Officer Martinez was looking and saw Mr. and Mrs. Wilson running out of their house towards the car. Before Samantha could even move, Officer Robinson had taken several steps towards the Wilsons, intercepting them before they could get any closer.

  “Do you have news,” Mrs. Wilson cried, “Do you have news about Mark? What have you found?”

  “Please Mrs. Wilson,” Officer Robinson said, “we’re only here to gather some more information for our report. If we could just go back to your home and talk about…”

  “Then why are you carrying a flashlight, sir,” Mr. Wilson asked coldly, pointing at Officer Robinson’s hand.

  Ignoring the question, Officer Robinson said, “Please. Let’s just walk back to your house and we can discuss this…”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell us what is going on and why you are carrying a flashlight,” Mr. Wilson said.

  “Like I said sir. We are trying to fill in some details on our report. There’s no need to get upset.”

  “You have no right to withhold information from us. Please tell me what you are doing here.”

  Officers Robinson and Martinez looked at each other and Samantha could see them debating silently on whether or not they should tell the Wilsons what was happening. Although she could understand why he was upset, Samantha had never disliked Mr. Wilson more than at that moment. His whole posture was full of anger and most of it was directed at the police, even though they were trying their best to help them. With a bitter feeling in the pit of her stomach, Samantha saw Officer Martinez make an imperceptible nod. Officer Robinson straightened up and gestured towards the flashlight in his hand.

  “I didn’t want to mislead you, Mr. Wilson, but we didn’t want to disturb you unnecessarily. We are going back because we have an unconfirmed report of a voice in the tunnel.”

  “You mean someone heard Mark,” Mrs. Wilson asked.

  “No, that’s not what I meant at all,” Officer Robinson started to say, before he was cut off by Mr. Wilson.

  “I want an explanation for why you weren’t going to tell us that you had a lead on our son. Right now.”

  He was so angry that ugly splotches of color appeared on his temples and cheeks and he had taken a step towards Officer Robinson, pointing at him with his right index finger. Officer Robinson didn’t like it and squared his shoulders, his right hand dropping instinctively to the butt of his nightstick.

  “Sir. Please lower your voice,” Officer Robinson said in a low, intimidating growl.

  “I’ll be damned if I will. You weren’t going to tell us that you might have found our son. I said very specifically at the beginning that I wanted to know every aspect of your investigation. And you agreed with me, right to my face while we were standing on our porch.”

  Officer Robinson turned away and started to walk towards Officer Martinez. Mr. Wilson reached out, grabbed Officer Robinson’s shoulder, and pulled. The officer whipped around quickly and knocked Mr. Wilson’s arm off his shoulder.

  “This is your last warning. If you raise your voice or touch me again I’m arresting you. You’ve already committed one offence and I won’t take another. I don’t care how upset you are about your son. Do you understand me?”

  Mr. Wilson fell back a step and his wife immediately went to his side, putting her arms around his waist in a gesture that was half comfort and half restraint. He looked even more upset than before but he held his tongue.

  “Do you understand,” Officer Robinson repeated.

  “Yes,” Mr. Wilson said, carefully.

  “Good. Again, we have a report that a noise was heard in the tunnel that sounded like a human voice. To answer your question Mrs. Wilson, in no way can we conclude that Mark was heard. However, we felt that it was important enough to explore and we were not planning to disturb you until we knew whether or not this was a false alarm. Since we explored that tunnel thoroughly only a few days ago, I must be perfectly frank and suggest that a false alarm is the most likely explanation.”

  “Who heard the noise,” Mrs. Wilson asked, looking at Samantha carefully.

  Neither of the officers said anything. It was quiet for a long moment, and then Mrs. Wilson said rapidly, “What did you hear Samantha? Was it Mark? You would know almost as well as anyone because I know you were getting to be good friends. Please tell me it was my Mark.”

  Her voice started to choke off and break apart as tears poured out onto her face, almost as if they materialized out of the chilly evening air. Her complete lack of self-consciousness robbed Samantha of her defenses and she felt answering tears start to rise up inside of her. She wanted to answer, although she knew that she could offer nothing but false hope, because she knew that she knew nothing. Still, anything was better than watching Mrs. Wilson’s face and listening to her pleas.

  She opened her mouth to voice some of her own hopes, when a dry, crackling voice cut across the yard, stilling her.

  “Sorry to interrupt, everyone. I’m sorry. But I think I know what’s going on here,” Mr. Henson said.

  Samantha turned around and felt everyone else shifting their eyes down the street. Mr. Henson stood on his front lawn, but when he saw that he had everyone’s attention he walked rapidly down the sidewalk.

  “How can we help you, Mr. Henson,” Officer Martinez said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

  “Actually, I think I can help you, Officer. I came out to see why a police car had pulled up and couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation. I think I know where the voice came from.”

  “Where was that, sir,” Officer Robinson asked.

  “My basement,” Mr. Henson replied.