Cry for the Strangers

by John Saul

  “Please?” Rebecca pleaded. “At least wait until I’ve calmed down.” Glen tossed his coat aside, sat down on the couch next to his wife, and drew her near him. In the bedroom, the argument subsided. For a while, the tiny cabin was quiet.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Brad suggested as he and Elaine stepped out of the dining room. “It’s gorgeous tonight—no storm and a full moon.” He grinned suggestively. “And we haven’t been romantic on a beach in years.”

  Elaine started to protest but changed her mind before an expression of doubt even clouded her face. She had been silly enough for a while; it was time to start acting like an adult. “Best idea you’ve come up with since we got here,” she said with a wink. “I’ll go up and get our coats.”

  A few minutes later they were on the beach, and as she watched the moonlight glisten on the water, Elaine was glad she’d put aside her trepidations. The steady rhythm of the surf, soft tonight in the stillness, soothed her. She took Brad’s hand.

  “Let’s walk up to the house,” she said. “I’ll bet it’s beautiful in the moonlight.”

  They walked slowly, enjoying the night-quiet. When they came to the rocky stretch just before Sod Beach, they moved with particular care, hoping for a glimpse of the otter family. But there was nothing except a sudden clattering sound from somewhere overhead. They looked up in time to see the silhouette of an owl as it left the branch of a tree, swooping low, then beating its way up to cruise over the beach.

  “We won’t see the otters tonight,” Brad commented. “They’ll have packed the pups off somewhere.”

  “He’s so big,” Elaine said as the owl disappeared. “His wingspan must be six feet.”

  “Gives him lots of glide. That way his prey doesn’t have any warning before he dives.”

  They rounded the point and Sod Beach suddenly lay before them, its vibrant colors flattened by the darkness to dramatic shades of black and white. The sand seemed to gleam with a fluorescence of its own in the silvered light, and the bank of driftwood lining the length of the beach glowed whitely. In the midst of the pale expanse of sand, the old house stood, dark-shadowed, aloof from the eerie moonlight that bathed its surroundings.

  “It’s like a fantasy,” Elaine whispered. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  Brad said nothing but pulled his wife close to him. They stood for a long time, trying to comprehend the almost unearthly beauty of the place and listening to the soft music of the gentle surf. Finally they walked out onto the beach, leaving a double row of footprints neatly embedded in the otherwise unmarred smooth damp sand.

  They circled the house, but widely, as if unwilling to come close enough to discover the flaws in the ancient structure. Neither of them suggested going in, certain that the tired remains of the last tenancy would pull them away from the magic of the night Instead, after completing their survey of their new home, they continued walking up the beach until, by mutual but unspoken consent, they settled themselves on the sand, leaning against one of the massive driftwood stumps.

  “I take it all back,” Elaine said. “This place is paradise.”

  Brad reached in his coat pocket and pulled a pipe and some tobacco from its depths. He stuffed the pipe, lit it, put the tobacco back in his pocket, and stared out to sea.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I’m going to change the thrust of the book.”

  Elaine stirred against him, then settled in closer. “What made you think of that?”

  “Lots of things. This place. Robby Palmer.”

  “Robby Palmer?” Elaine sat up, looking sharply at her husband. “That’s a hell of a change, from bio-rhythms to Robby Palmer!”

  “Not necessarily. There’s something about this place, something that affects everybody here one way or another. Who knows? It might have something to do with bio-rhythms. And if I can find out, it would make a great book. Particularly if I can use Robby Palmer to tie it all together. Think of it: a place—this place—where something seems to screw people up. People like Miriam Shelling, and maybe Harney Whalen. But for Robby, who was already screwed up, whatever it is that’s here straightens him out.”

  “How lucky for you that Robby just happens to live up the beach,” Elaine said sarcastically.

  Brad ignored the gibe. “It could be a very valuable book,” he said. “In more ways than one.”

  “You mean a best seller?”

  “Not just a best seller. Something worthwhile too. And if I could make a lot of money from a book …” His voice trailed off and he left the thought hanging.

  “Well, I still don’t like the idea, but do what you want.” Elaine’s arms slipped around Brad and she hugged him tightly. “You always do.”

  “That doesn’t make me sound very nice,” Brad said softly.

  Elaine smiled in the darkness, knowing Brad would feel the smile even if he didn’t see it. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that in the end you usually do what you want to do. It’s usually the right thing to do and I don’t have any objections to it, but it’s still true.”

  “You know what you are?”

  “What?” Elaine asked.

  “A hopelessly unliberated woman.”

  “You found me out,” Elaine replied. “But don’t tell anybody about it—it’s not very fashionable.”

  “Fashionable enough for me,” Brad whispered. His hand slid inside her coat and began caressing her breast “Everything about you is fashionable enough for me.” He nuzzled her, then whispered in her ear. “When was the last time we made love on a beach?”

  “We never did,” Elaine whispered back. “But there’s a first time for everything.” Her fingers began fumbling with his belt, and she felt the hardness in his trousers. She wriggled in the sand, and pulled him over on top of her.…

  “I think we ought to go look for him again,” Robby Palmer whispered to his sister.

  “He isn’t out there,” Missy whispered back. “He’s gone and we’re never going to see him again.” She turned over in the lower bunk and buried her head in the pillow.

  “He isn’t either,” Robby insisted. “He’s probably caught in a trap in the woods or something.” He slid down from the upper bunk and poked at Missy. “Are you asleep?”

  “Stop that,” Missy complained, wriggling down under the covers. “I’ll call Mother.”

  “If you do I won’t take you with me.”

  Missy sat up and peered at her brother. “I won’t go out there again,” she whispered. Robby shrugged. “It’s too dark,” Missy said, glancing at the curtained window.

  “It is not,” Robby countered. “The moon’s out and it’s shining on the water. Look.”

  Reluctantly, Missy left her bed and peeked out the window. A deep shadow hung just outside the cabin, but through the trees she could see the silvery light playing on the water.

  “We should stay in bed,” she decided.

  “Well, you can stay in bed if you want,” Robby said, pulling his jeans on. “I’m going out to find Snooker.”

  Missy crept back into bed and pulled the covers up under her chin. She watched with wide eyes as Robby finished dressing. Then he carefully opened the window and climbed out. As soon as he was gone Missy jumped out of bed and ran to the window. Her brother was nowhere in sight She wished he hadn’t gone out Not after last night. She stayed at the window for a minute, then made up her mind.

  Rebecca looked up from her knitting as her daughter appeared in the doorway of the tiny bedroom.

  “Can’t sleep, darling?” she asked.

  “Robby’s gone,” Missy said. “He went out to look for Snooker. I told him not to, but he went anyway.”

  Rebecca felt a stab of fear in her heart and turned to Glen. He was already on his feet, pulling his windbreaker on.

  “When did he leave?”

  “Just now,” Missy said, her eyes bright as she watched her father dash to the front door. “He’s all right, Daddy,” she called, but Glen was gone. Rebecca pu
t her knitting aside and gathered Missy into her arms.

  “Of course he is,” she said softly, “of course he is.” But inside, she wasn’t sure.

  Robby dashed around the corner of the house and into the woods. As soon as he was gone his sister would tell on him. Girls were like that, he thought, wishing he had a brother instead of a sister. Then he forgot about Missy and concentrated on making his way through the woods. He followed the path that would lead him out to the main road but turned off to the right before he got to the highway. He knew this path would take him through the woods, but he wasn’t sure where it would come out. And it all looked different at night, even with the moonlight There were shadows everywhere—shadows that completely blotted out the path and made the trees seem bigger and more forbidding than they were in the daytime.

  When he heard his father’s voice calling him a few minutes later, he almost went back, then changed his mind. Missy would laugh at him. He hurried along the path, trying to see, but stumbling every few steps as his toe caught on roots that lay hidden in the darkness. Then he came to a clearing and stopped.

  Something inside him told him that this was the spot where Mrs. Shelling had hanged herself. He stared around, searching the trees, trying to determine which branch she might have used. A sudden sound startled him, then an enormous shadow swept across the clearing. A bird, Robby told himself. It’s just a bird. But he left the clearing and continued along the path. Behind him he thought he could hear his father’s footsteps, following him. He walked faster. Then he began running.

  Brad and Elaine Randall lay in each other’s arms, enjoying the closeness they always felt after making love.

  “That was nice,” Elaine murmured. “Am I wicked for thinking sex is always better outdoors?”

  “Not wicked,” Brad replied. “Just sensuous.”

  Elaine poked him and he poked her back. They began tickling each other, rolling in the sand and giggling, until Elaine suddenly stopped and lay still.

  “Did you hear something?”

  “Just the surf.”

  “No, something else. A shout.”

  Brad listened for a moment but could hear nothing but the crashing of the surf. Suddenly a shadow fell over them and Brad looked up. A cloud had covered the face of the moon and the night grew darker.

  “I don’t hear anything,” he began, but Elaine cut him off.

  “Shh.” She listened intently, then spoke again. “There’s something there,” she whispered. “I hear something in the woods.” She pulled her coat tight around her and stood up.

  “Don’t be silly,” Brad said. “It’s nothing, just some animal.” But his eyes went to the forest, peering into its blackness. Then he heard it: the crackling of twigs. He got to his feet, pulling Elaine up next to him, an arm protectively around her shoulders. He heard a shout from far up the beach and the crackling sound again. Closer. It seemed to be in the woods directly in front of him.

  “Who’s there?” he called.

  Silence.

  “Who is it?” Brad called again. The sounds began again, louder now, and heading right toward them. He moved Elaine behind him, so that whoever—whatever—was coming out of the woods would face him first.

  The cloud that had covered the moon drifted on, and the beach was once more bathed in an eerie glow. Looking at him from the other side of the pile of driftwood was a small and very worried face.

  “It’s all right,” Brad said softly. “Come on over here.”

  Robby Palmer, his terror easing, began scrambling through the driftwood. Whoever these people were, he would be safer with them. He had not felt safe in the woods. Not safe at all.

  10

  Robby hesitated at the top of the mound of driftwood, suddenly unsure of himself. For a second he was tempted to take off, not back into the woods, but up the beach toward the soft glow that emanated from the window of the cabin. When Elaine suddenly stepped out from behind Brad, Robby made up his mind.

  “I’m looking for my dog,” he said shyly.

  “Isn’t it a little late for that?” Brad asked. “Most nine-year-olds are home in bed.”

  Robby cocked his head inquisitively. “How did you know how old I am?”

  “Now how could I forget something like that?” Brad said. Then his brow furrowed. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  Robby shook his head.

  “I’m Dr. Randall, from Seattle. You really don’t remember me?”

  “Are you the doctor I went to when I was sick?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t really remember being sick either.”

  Before Brad could pursue the subject, Elaine went to Robby and knelt beside him.

  “Do your parents know where you are?”

  “I think so,” Robby replied. “I think I heard my father calling me a little while ago.”

  “Did you answer him?”

  Robby shook his head. “It might not have been my father,” he said. “It might have been somebody else.”

  “Who?” Brad asked.

  “I—I’m not sure,” Robby stammered.

  “Well, I think we’d better get you home. I’ll bet your parents are worried sick about you.”

  “But I have to find my dog.” Robby protested “He’s been gone two nights now and Daddy won’t go look for him.” Robby looked to be on the verge of tears and Elaine put her arms around him. She was suddenly sure that the dog she had found on the beach had been his. “There, there,” she soothed him. “Don’t you worry about anything. He’s probably wandered off somewhere, but he’ll come home.”

  “Missy says he won’t,” Robby said flatly. “She wouldn’t help me look for Snooker either, because she says he’s gone.”

  Before either of the Randalls could determine the meaning of this odd statement, they heard a call from the forest.

  “Robby? Robby!”

  “Over here!” Brad shouted “On the beach!”

  A moment later Glen Palmer broke out of the forest at almost the same spot where Robby had appeared a few minutes earlier.

  “Dr. Randall! What are you doing out here? You haven’t seen Robby around—” He broke off as he saw his son and climbed swiftly over onto the beach. “Robby! I’ve been looking for you!”

  “I was trying to find Snooker,” Robby wailed. “You said you were going to look for him but you weren’t, so I—” He ran to his father and buried his face against him. Glen held him for a moment, looking helplessly at the Randalls, then disentangled himself from his son. He knelt down and met the boy’s tear-filled eyes.

  “I was going to come out and look for him but your mother needed me,” he explained. “We were talking, and as soon as we finished, I’d have come out looking.”

  Robby peered doubtfully at his father, wanting to believe him, and Glen shifted his own gaze to Brad Randall.

  “You haven’t seen a dog out here, have you?” he asked doubtfully. Elaine’s eyes darted to the child, and she bit her lip.

  “We’ve only been here a few minutes ourselves,” she said, evading the question entirely. She’d tell Palmer the bad news when the boy was out of hearing. “We wanted to see what the place looked like at night.”

  Glen looked puzzled. “Sod Beach?”

  “The house,” Elaine explained. “We rented the old house today.” She gestured in the direction of the dilapidated structure, but Glen’s puzzlement only seemed to deepen.

  “Whalen rented it to you?” he asked. He shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “He didn’t seem too eager but he gave in,” Brad said with a chuckle. The chuckle faded as he remembered the police chiefs odd behavior just before the lease was signed, but he didn’t mention it to Glen.

  “He wouldn’t rent it to me at all,” Glen said almost bitterly. Then he brightened. “Say, why don’t you walk up the beach with me? Rebecca’s waiting for me—all upset about Robby—and I’d better get back. Besides, you promised to stop by yesterday and then you didn’t.
Rebecca hasn’t said anything but I think she’s disappointed. Frankly, she doesn’t have many people to talk to out here.”

  “Of course,” Elaine said immediately. “We should have stopped today but we’ve just been so busy. I mean, coming to a decision like the one we just made takes all your concentration. But it was rude of us, wasn’t it?” She took Glen’s arm and started up the beach, leaving Brad to walk with Robby. Brad, sensing immediately that his wife was going to tell Glen about the dog, kept Robby occupied. And while he kept the boy busy, he observed him.

  The change in Robby was as dramatic as Glen had described it Not a trace remained of the frenetic, anguished child Brad Randall remembered so vividly. Instead, he found himself walking along the beach with a remarkably normal nine-year-old boy, a child who was obviously active, but not overactive; who talked easily, readily, but not with the frenzied pace he had constantly displayed only months before. As they walked Brad found his puzzlement at the change deepening, found himself wondering exactly what could have happened to Robby Palmer, or what might still be happening to him. The boy was almost too normal. Brad found it vaguely disturbing.…

  When she was sure they were out of earshot of her husband and Glen Palmer’s son, Elaine suddenly turned to Glen. “Was your dog black-and-white, sort of a spaniel?”

  “You’ve seen him?” Glen asked eagerly.

  “I think so,” Elaine replied, her voice somber. “Yesterday morning I took a walk on the beach. I found a dead dog, buried in the sand. It was medium-sized, black with whitish patches.”

  “That sounds like Snooker,” Glen said. “He was a mutt, but there was a lot of springer spaniel in him.” He paused for a moment, then: “You say he was buried in the sand?”

  “Not very deep. The sea might have done it, I suppose, but I’m not sure. His neck was broken.”

  Glen stopped and turned to face Elaine. “Broken? What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” Elaine said unhappily. “He didn’t seem to have any other injuries, but his neck was broken. Brad said he could have been hit by a piece of driftwood that was coming in on the surf the night before.…” She trailed off, thinking the story sounded hollow. As if he read her mind, Glen shook Ids head.