The Disappeared

by David B. Silva

  “It's all right,” she said. “It was only a nightmare.”

  She sat down next to him on the floor and rocked him in her arms.

  Walt peeked in behind her. “Everything all right?”

  Teri nodded.

  The boy whimpered, and she held him a little tighter. “Shhh. It's all right now. It's all right.”

  [24]

  She was up early the next morning, but not early enough to catch Walt before he had left. There was a note on the counter, weighted down with the salt shaker. It read: I wanted to get an early start. I should be back tomorrow night. Wednesday morning at the latest. Make yourself at home. Keep a low profile. Walt.

  Short and to the point.

  Beneath his name, he had added a phone number where he could be reached. Teri read the note twice, looking for a hint of something but not really knowing what. When she finished her second time through, she folded the note in thirds and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans.

  The boy was up by then.

  She watched him come stiffly down the hall, still half-asleep. His limp was more pronounced this morning, though she chalked that up to the fact that he had just woken up and was moving without his cane. He fell wearily into one of the chairs at the counter.

  “You look tired,” she said.

  “I am.”

  “Didn't sleep too well after the nightmare?”

  He shook his head. “What's for breakfast?”

  “How about some bacon and eggs?”

  “Sure.” He toyed around with the salt shaker, trying to spin it the same way he might spin a top, and Teri couldn't help but wonder who he really was – this boy who looked so much like Gabe. She had stayed in the room with him last night, while he struggled to get back to sleep again. It was only after his eyes had closed and his breathing had become rhythmic that she noticed his fingernails. They had all been chewed, some almost down to the quick. Gabe had always been a nail-biter.

  She brought the bacon out, managed to tear off a couple of slices, and set them in the frying pan. By the time the grease was snapping, she had already broken two eggs, added a slice of mild cheddar and some mushrooms, and scrambled the whole concoction in another pan. A slice of toast and a little butter and she had just spent as much time in the last ten minutes making breakfast as she had in the last ten years.

  She set a plate on the counter in front of him, and watched as he shook a few grains of salt into the palm of his hand, and from there onto the eggs.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “Miss Churchill,” he said. “This way you won't use too much.”

  “Makes sense.” She leaned back against the refrigerator, her hands behind her back, the fingers curled around the edge of the counter. “You remember Dr. Childs?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “He's the family doctor.”

  “I thought Harding was my doctor.”

  “No, he's your dentist. Childs is your regular doctor.”

  “You aren't gonna make me go see him, are you?”

  “'Fraid so, kiddo.”

  “Ah, Mom...”

  “It won't take long,” she said quickly. She could have caught herself and corrected him about calling her mom, but as unnerving as she had initially found it, she had grown to like the sound of that word. Especially when he offered it up with such little effort, as if it were the word he had used all his life when referring to her. “I promise. He's just going to take a look at you, and maybe see if we can figure out why your hair's turning gray and you aren't quite as strong as you probably should be.”

  “I'm strong.”

  “I know, honey. But...”

  But it wasn't just the matter of his strength. It was everything: the gray hair, the cane, the color of his eyes, the wondering if he really was Gabe or if he was just some kid who happened to look like him. It was all of those. And it was none of them. Because more than anything Teri was simply worried about the boy.

  “But it's better to be on the safe side,” she finished.

  [25]

  She wasn't going to play the fool a second time.

  Teri called ahead to the doctor's office and spoke with his receptionist, making certain that Dr. Childs wasn't off on vacation or out of town or playing golf at the country club, and that he would, in fact, be seeing patients. Once she had been assured of that fact, she tried to make an appointment and when it appeared that it wouldn't be possible until tomorrow or the day after, she politely thanked the woman and hung up.

  “What did they say?” the boy asked.

  “The doctor's booked today.”

  He grinned, obviously pleased with the news. “Gee, that's a bummer.”

  “Yes, it is. Now go wash your hands and comb your hair.”

  “What for?”

  “Because we're going to see him anyway.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “Yes, we have to. Now go on.”

  They arrived at the clinic a little after ten and ended up sitting in the waiting room until well past lunch and into the mid-afternoon hours before a nurse finally called for Gabriel Knight. She escorted them into a small examination room, took his temperature and his blood pressure, and promised the doctor would be in shortly. By the time the door finally swung open and the doctor walked through, Teri was half-way through an article in Woman's Day on working out of the home.

  “Well, let's see what we have here,” Childs said with barely a glance. He sat on a stool across the room and read down the top page of Gabriel's file. It had been a long time since Teri had last seen the doctor and she was surprised by how much he had visibly aged. He was wearing glasses now, thin, round, wire-rimmed specs that perfectly complemented a receding hairline and graying around his temples. If pressed, she would have to guess that he was somewhere in his mid-to-late fifties now.

  He glanced up, peering over the rim of his glasses, and smiled warmly. “It's been awhile, Teri.”

  “Yes, it has,” she said.

  “About time we got you in for a check-up, isn't it?”

  “I'll make an appointment on my way out. I promise.”

  “Good. You do that.” He smiled again, in that warm, fatherly manner, and turned his attention to the boy. “So what seems to be the problem?”

  “He's been feeling a little run down lately,” Teri said.

  “Run down?”

  “Actually, it's not so much that as the fact that he seems to have lost some of the strength in his legs and arms. Especially in the morning, when he first gets up. It's as if he just can't seem to get going.”

  “But he gets stronger as the day progresses?”

  “A little.”

  “Uh-huh. Has he been running a temperature at all?”

  “No, I don't think so.”

  “Had any flu or cold symptoms?”

  “No,” Teri said, somewhat unconvincingly, she feared. Guilt, like an unwanted house guest, had slipped through the door and begun to make itself at home in her thoughts. What kind of a mother am I? she asked herself. Maybe he had been running a temperature. Not today, of course. Not yesterday, either. But maybe the day before that. “You haven't, have you, honey?”

  “No, Mom.”

  “I didn't think so.” She glanced at the doctor, and noted with some relief that his expression had remained unchanged. No surprise or disgust there, just a doctor's mask of passivity.

  “Any weight loss?”

  “A little, maybe.”

  “Has he been eating well?”

  “Not as well as I'd like. He's been picky lately.”

  “Unusual thirst or the need to urinate often?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Uh-hum,” he said absently. He flipped through a page of Gabriel's file, and set the clipboard aside. “Well, why don't we take a look and see if we can find out if anything's going on. If you'll take your shirt off for me...”

  The boy, who had been sitting on the edge of the examination table, his fe
et dangling over the end, took off his shirt and handed it to Teri. For a brief moment, she was shocked to see how thin he had actually become. It was almost as if he were holding his breath, the skin below his ribcage pulled taut into a small hollow recess, the framework of ribs visibly pronounced. Gabe had never been this thin. Not even when he had begun his first growing spurt, around the age of six or seven.

  “Just relax now,” Childs said. “This isn't going to hurt.”

  Teri watched him check the boy's lymph nodes, the doctor staring off into the distance as his fingers first worked the underside of the jaw, then a spot just below the boy's armpit on each side.

  “No swelling,” he said absently.

  “That's good.”

  “So how's everything else been?” he asked as he pulled a penlight out of his breast pocket and used a tongue depressor to take a look at the back of the boy's throat. “Say ah for me.”

  “Ahhhh.”

  “Things have been all right,” Teri said.

  “Still working at the post office?”

  “Yeah. It seems like forever, doesn't it?”

  He smiled politely, checked the boy's reflexes—which to Teri's untrained eye appeared to respond surprisingly well—and used his stethoscope to listen to the boy's lungs. When he was finished, he sat down on the stool again and made some notes in Gabriel's file.

  “Well, I don't know what to tell you, to be honest. Everything appears normal. His lungs are clear, the blood pressure's normal, the lymph nodes aren't swollen. There doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary going on.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I think I'd like to take a urine sample and maybe a little blood, just to be on the safe side. And after that—”

  “What about the gray in his hair?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The gray.” Teri, who had been leaning against the wall, trying to stay out of the way during the doctor's examination, moved around the foot of the table and had the boy tilt his head to one side.

  “When did that show up?” Childs asked.

  “A couple of days ago.”

  He took a long, thoughtful look under the fluorescent lights.

  “What do you think it might be?”

  “I don't know. Is there a history of premature graying on either side of the family?”

  “Not that I'm aware of.”

  “Well, I'm not sure it's anything to worry ourselves about, Teri. Not just yet anyway. Just keep an eye on it, and if it continues to get worse or if there are any other symptoms that seem like they might be related, then give me a call and we'll take a closer look.”

  “You don't think it has anything to do with him being tired all the time?”

  “It's not likely. But just in case, why don't we wait and see what the test results have to say before we start speculating, all right? My guess is that whatever's going on—and it's probably just a virus—he's already over the hump by now and it's just a matter of building his strength back up.” He took possession of the clipboard again, and stood at the door with his hand on the knob. “All right?”

  Teri nodded. “When will you have the test results?”

  “Sometime tomorrow if all goes well. I promise I'll call you.” He glanced down at the clipboard. “We still have your current phone number?”

  “Would it be all right if I called you? Tomorrow's looking like it might be a little on the hectic side.”

  “Sure.”

  “Sometime in the afternoon?”

  “That should work out fine,” Childs said. He tucked the clipboard under his arm, and reached out to shake hands with the boy, who seemed almost taken aback by the gesture. “It's nice to see you again, Gabriel. Try to talk your mother into bringing you in every once in a while for a checkup, even if you don't think you need one. Will you do that for me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He opened the door, and paused again. “I'll have the nurse come in to take a little blood and help with the urine sample, and we'll see if anything turns up. Until then, try not to worry about it, Teri. I really don't think it's anything serious.”

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The door closed, and Teri turned to the boy, who was slipping his shirt back over his head. “Well, what do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About Dr. Childs.”

  “He's okay.”

  “You don't remember him, huh?”

  The boy shook his head and hopped down from the table. “Should I?”

  Yes, Teri thought. Gabe would remember him. But then she didn't know if that were true or not. Especially under these circumstances.

  [26]

  Walt closed the door to his motel room, tossed his suitcase on the nearest chair, and collapsed on the queen-sized bed next to the window.

  The drive down state had taken nearly six hours, due largely to an eight mile backup in Concord, where a semi had smashed into a small Ford pickup while changing lanes. The semi had flipped onto its side and gone for a long, helpless slide down the middle two lanes of the freeway, leaving a thirty-foot-wide skid mark. By the time Walt had made it to the front of the line, all that was left were a few scattered flares in the road. Off to the right, the semi and the pickup were both in the process of being towed away. If there had been any injuries, the ambulance had come and gone long ago.

  Right about now, he wished he had gone with it.

  Not only had the trip been a long one, but he hadn't slept well last night. After Teri had gone off to bed, he had put things away in the kitchen and reread the story about the nursing student who had been found dead – Amanda Tarkett. There was no way her death had been an accident. That kind of coincidence didn't happen nearly as often as people liked to believe. No, the boy's sudden arrival and Miss Tarkett's death were certainly both part of the same weaving.

  Walt thought on that awhile, and then he tried to close his eyes and drift off to sleep. But there had been something else bothering him. He hadn't been completely honest with Teri about why he had left the department. At times, he wasn't sure he had even been honest with himself. There was a ghost giving chase, and it was a ghost that belonged to his past.

  When he had been a boy, Walt, too, had been one of the disappeared.

  It had happened shortly after his seventh birthday. His mother had won full custodial rights after a lengthy court battle, and his father was allowed to visit on weekends only. It was a fate the man decided he couldn't live with. So one day he had picked up Walt after school, the car packed to the brim with every last possession, and the two of them had begun an odyssey across the country. Salvation Army clothes. Odd jobs. Every new town bringing a new hair color, a new name. Always on the move. Always looking over their shoulders, wondering how much longer before the Witch would catch up with them.

  The Witch.

  That had been his father's name for her. “You've always gotta be on your toes, Walter. 'Cause the minute you relax, she's gonna be there. And when she gets her hands on us, she's gonna throw us both in jail and that's where we'll stay until the day we rot. So you be careful, you hear?”

  The Witch.

  Walt believed most of what his father told him, but even as a seven-year-old he didn't believe everything. He didn't believe he'd have to go to jail. And he didn't believe his mother was a witch. Not the woman who used to tuck him into bed at night and read to him from The Cat in the Hat or Horton Hears A Who. That woman was his mother, and as far as Walt was concerned she would always be his mother.

  At the age of sixteen, when he was finally old enough to go looking for her, he went back to his home town again, only to discover that she had died some three years earlier from ovarian cancer. She had spent the final six months of her life in a hospital bed, alone, surrounded by people who cared but who were strangers just the same.

  Walt had made it back home, but he had made it back too late.

  Just another of the disappeared.<
br />
  Last night, he had conjured it all up again, like Black Magic, all the way up to three years ago, when he had sat at the side of his father's death bed and forgiven him for the lost years and the loss of his mother. The trouble was... Walt had never forgiven himself. And that was the reason he had first become interested in law enforcement. And that was the same reason he had quit the force and had taken up the challenge of finding lost children on his own terms. The guilt had never seemed to let him forget.

  So he hadn't been completely honest with Teri.

  And he hadn't been completely honest with himself, either.

  He stared reminiscently out the window at the Motel Six sign across the street and closed his eyes. Just a little sleep. That's all he needed.

  And then the phone rang.

  [27]

  Teri unlocked the car door on the boy's side, then went around and climbed into the driver's seat. They were both feeling a little worn down after their visit with Dr. Childs. Especially the boy, who had been terrified by the thought of some nurse sticking a needle the size of a number two pencil into his arm just to draw a little blood.

  “Is it going to hurt?”

  “A little,” Teri had told him. “But if you keep your eyes closed, it won't seem so bad.”

  “Really?”

  “Scout's honor.”

  “Mom...”

  “What?”

  “You're not a scout.”

  The needle hadn't been as big as he had let himself imagine, but it had been plenty big enough, and Teri had felt that terrible guilt of motherhood when a silent tear had slipped out of the corner of the boy's eye and trailed down his cheek.

  But that was over now, and behind them.

  “What do you say to an ice cream?” she asked, buckling the seat belt.

  He nodded, still a little angry at her.

  “Baskin Robbins?”

  Another nod, just as unforgiving.

  She started up the car, the engine cold and registering its complaint with a knocking sound that Michael would have described as nothing more than a ping. It was a tight squeeze backing out. An old Toyota pickup had moved into the space on her left and there was a concrete block wall on the right. She backed out slowly, making a hard turn once the front bumper was clear.