The Dead and Gone

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  "Graceful and loving Mother, hear our prayers," he whispered, hoping she could hear him over the din of lost souls.

  Wednesday, June 1

  As Alex stood in front of his locker trying to decide what books to take home with him, he felt a tap on his shoulder. His immediate response was that unnerving mix of anger and panic he felt so often the past two weeks. Seeing Chris Flynn standing there didn't help much.

  "I think we should talk," Chris said. "In private." He gestured to the nearest classroom.

  Alex followed Chris in. He thought about how often Chris had been cited as a natural leader. Apparently even Alex was willing to be led.

  Chris closed the door behind them. "I wanted you to know I'm leaving school tomorrow," he said. "It's a long story and I'll spare you most of the details, but we were waiting for my sister to make it back from Notre Dame. She's home now, so we can get going."

  "Where?" Alex asked.

  "South Carolina," Chris said. "My mother has family there. Dad'll be staying in the city for the time being."

  "I don't get it," Alex said. It somehow seemed worse that Chris would be leaving midweek. "What about finals?"

  "I've already taken them," Chris said. "That took some arranging, too, but I am now officially a senior." He laughed. "Congratulations. You're now the president of the junior class. It'll look good on your college résumé, assuming colleges still exist a year from now."

  "That's what you wanted to tell me?" Alex asked. "Why the secrecy? People will notice you're gone, you know."

  "I should hope so," Chris said. "Otherwise all my years here will have been in vain."

  Alex looked Chris over. He had the natural arrogance of someone for whom everything came easily. They both wore the same uniform, but on Chris somehow it fit better, seemed more natural. He'd known Chris for almost five years, and for all that time, he'd been the person Alex had tried to beat. Even those times when he'd succeeded had never seemed enough. There was always another battle, another struggle to prove that Alex was as smart, as competent, as likely to succeed. Carlos had never been as powerful a rival.

  "I wish you well," Alex said. "Vincent de Paul will miss you."

  "Thank you," Chris said. "I'm going to miss you, actually. You bring out the best in me. But that's not why I'm telling you any of this. Not for sentimental farewells. I've been avoiding those by not telling people we're leaving."

  "What, then?" Alex asked.

  Chris looked uncomfortable. Alex tried to remember if he'd ever seen Chris look quite that way before. "I know what's going on with your family is none of my business," Chris said, "but you know how it is. You hear things. Your father, he's not in New York, is he."

  Alex shook his head.

  "That's what I thought," Chris said. "I remembered from before all this happened, you mentioned he was in Puerto Rico for a funeral. Have you heard from him? Is he all right?"

  "We think so," Alex said. "We can't be sure."

  "No," Chris said. "It's hard to be sure about anything these days. My father says things are going to get a lot worse. He hears things. He and the mayor are very connected, so he hears things that way. And since he works in insurance, he knows a lot. Let's just say he has a better fix on what's going on than Father Mulrooney, and he's getting Mom and my sister and me out of here."

  "How are you getting down to South Carolina?" Alex asked. "Are the planes flying again?"

  "No, we'll be driving," Chris replied.

  "You can do that?" Alex asked. "The radio says there are gas shortages."

  "There's always gas if you have enough money," Chris said. "Gas, food, lodgings. Money and connections." For a moment, Alex thought he looked ashamed. "My father says that won't last much longer, either," he said. "He says pretty soon we'll be bartering. But for now, cash will suffice. That's one of the things I wanted to ask you about. How are you fixed? Do you have enough money? Your mother, is she working?"

  Alex pictured Chris whipping out his wallet and handing him a twenty. The image nauseated him. "We're fine," he said. "We're probably in better shape than a lot of the guys here."

  "Good," Chris said. "I'm glad to hear it. Look, I want to give you my father's card. He knows all about you. Five years of our butting heads, and you'd better believe he's heard about you. Frankly I've gotten a little tired of the lectures about the great Alex Morales and why can't I be more like him. My father's kept an eye on you for a while now. So he told me to tell you if you or anyone in your family needs something, something big, you should let him know. Don't bother him with the small stuff. But if it's really serious, and you'll know what really serious is, you should go to his office and see if he can help. Don't tell anyone else, though. Dad has a lot to do these days, and he told me this offer is only for you. Because your dad's away. And because he wishes I was more like you."

  "Thank you," Alex said, taking the card from Chris. "I'm sure I won't have to bother your father. We really are doing okay."

  "Good," Chris said. "One more thing. I hope you won't take this personally." He grinned. "Well, you will, but I'll say it anyway. I've noticed you're one of those guys everyone likes and respects, but you don't seem to have any close friends here. Maybe you're close with the guys in your neighborhood and that's why. Anyway, I told Kevin to look out for you."

  "Kevin Daley?" Alex asked. Kevin was runty and cynical, and Alex always assumed Chris kept him around for laughs. He couldn't imagine a less useful companion.

  "Kevin knows things," Chris replied. "It's his gift. I don't know how he does it, but he always seems to know what's going on before anyone else does. Not just in school, either. Around the city. He's yours now. I won't be able to make use of him in South Carolina."

  "Thanks, I suppose," Alex said. "And thanks for telling your dad about me. About my family."

  "I hope Dad can help," Chris said. "Somehow I think Kevin's going to be more useful." He looked disconcertingly serious. "Well, good-bye, Alex. I hope things work out okay for you. I hope your father gets home safely. You're in my prayers."

  "You'll be in mine," Alex muttered. He took one last look at Chris Flynn, the boy who had it all, put the card in his pocket, and left the room. He was president of the junior class now, would undoubtedly be elected president of the senior class, and none of that mattered anymore. Nothing mattered, he thought, as he walked rapidly to the men's room. Not caring if anyone was there, he flung himself into one of the stalls and began to sob uncontrollably.

  Chapter 5

  Thursday, June 2

  The phone rang just as Alex was halfway out the door on his way to Vincent de Paul. His heart pounding with fear and excitement, he bounded across the living room and got to the phone on the second ring.

  "Luis? This is apartment three J. My bathroom sink is leaking again. You need to put in a new washer."

  Die, you old bruja, Alex thought, slamming the phone down without saying a word.

  Friday, June 3

  "I have an idea about Mami," Bri said with nervous pride as she, Alex, and Julie began a supper of spaghetti and red clam sauce. "About why she hasn't called."

  "Maybe the phones aren't working where she is," Julie said. "Lauren says sometimes the phones work and sometimes they don't. Maybe Mami only calls when the phones aren't working."

  "Who's Lauren?" Alex asked, trying not to take too much spaghetti. They still had food in the house, but their supplies were dwindling and he wasn't sure when they'd be able to replenish them or how. They all had lunch at school every day, but with the weekend coming, and the end of the school year not that far off, he wasn't sure how they'd manage.

  "She's my best friend," Julie said, and oblivious to any food shortage, helped herself to seconds.

  "I don't think it's the telephone," Briana said. "I don't know if phones are working all the time or not, but that's not why we haven't heard from Mami."

  "Why, then?" Julie asked. "It's not like she doesn't know our number."

  "That's it, exactly!" Bri
said, looking happier and more excited than she had in weeks. "Maybe Mami has amnesia."

  "Amnesia?" Julie said sarcastically.

  Bri either didn't hear or didn't mind Julie's skepticism. "She could have got hit on the head that night," she said. "Or maybe seeing all the awful things shocked her. I don't know. But people do get amnesia. It happens on the soaps all the time. So Mami's all right, she isn't hurt, but she can't remember who she is or where she lives or anything. You can't call home when you have amnesia, and that's why we haven't heard from her. But one day she'll get her memory back. Maybe someone will hypnotize her or maybe she'll get hit on the head again, or she could be at Bellevue and someone from St. John of God will be there and recognize her, and then we'll hear from her. It could happen, couldn't it, Alex?"

  Alex looked at Bri and couldn't bring himself to argue. "It would be a miracle," he said.

  "But miracles do happen," Bri said. "So that's what I'm praying for. I'm praying to la madre and to St. Jude for Mami to have amnesia and regain her memory and come home."

  "I'm praying to Joan of Arc," Julie said. "Don't we have any more spaghetti? I'm still hungry."

  "That's it for tonight," Alex said. "You've had your fair share and then some."

  "There's still a little left on my plate," Bri said. "You can have it, Julie."

  "No," Alex said. "Eat what's there, Bri. So Julie, why are you praying to Joan of Arc?"

  "She's a saint, too," Julie grumbled. "If Bri isn't hungry, why can't I have her food?"

  Because you didn't take enough from the bodega! Alex wanted to shout. Because Bri can't be expected to starve herself just so you don't feel a hunger pang.

  "Because you already had seconds," he said instead. "I never thought about amnesia, Bri. Probably a lot of people are wandering around New York right now, shocked from what's happened. Like shell-shocked soldiers in World War One. St. Jude must be very busy right now, interceding for everyone who's been praying to him, so it might take a while for a miracle. But the important thing is to stay strong and not give up hope."

  "St. Jude must be way too busy to hear everyone's prayers," Julie said. "I think Joan of Arc is a much better saint to pray to."

  "But St. Jude is the patron saint of lost causes," Bri replied. "And Mami's lost, so he must be especially interested in her. In all the people like her. People with amnesia and shell shock."

  "Joan of Arc is the patron saint of soldiers," Julie said. "I did a report on her last year. I bet she's the saint you pray to if you have shell shock."

  "But Mami doesn't have shell shock," Bri said. "She has amnesia."

  Alex felt a wave of guilt for finding a heartfelt discussion about saints to be so stupid. "Julie, clear the table," he said. "Then you and Bri do the dishes. I'm going to my room."

  "What will you be doing?" Julie asked.

  "Praying," Alex replied, leaving the room rapidly so he wouldn't have to tell his sisters he'd be praying for strength to cope with them and forgiveness for not wanting to.

  Saturday, June 4

  The electricity was off again, but even in the basement apartment there was enough late-afternoon sunlight so that no candles or flashlights were needed. Bri and Julie sat on the sofa looking at a magazine while Alex sat in the easy chair, the transistor radio broadcasting the news. Lower Manhattan, up to Houston Street, had been evacuated because of constant flooding. The bodies of 112 men, women, and children had been found in a church in Northridge, California, the third apparent mass suicide in and around Los Angeles in the past week. Food riots in Tokyo had claimed at least eight lives, and there were rumors of a revolution in Russia.

  "Do you really like him?" Bri asked Julie. "You really think he's cute?"

  Julie nodded. "I thought you did, too," she said. "I remember when we saw him on TV and you liked him a lot."

  "Not that much," Bri said. "Besides, I was a lot younger then."

  "What?" Julie said, her voice rising. "You saying I'm a baby? You saying only babies like him?"

  "Do you mind?" Alex said. "I'm trying to listen to the radio."

  "I do mind!" Julie shouted. "I mind a lot. Why do you have to keep listening all the time? I hate the radio. I hate it." She stormed off to her room.

  "What?" Alex said as Bri gave him a look.

  "Nothing," she said. "It's just it upsets Julie to hear what's going on in the world. I don't mind so much because I know someday God will return Mami and Papi to us. But Julie doesn't feel that way. She doesn't want you to know, but she's scared. She's been having awful dreams lately."

  It seemed to Alex that Julie was a lot more upset by Bri's not liking some actor than she was over food riots and revolutions. "It's important that I know what's going on," he said.

  "Why?" Bri asked.

  Alex wasn't sure he could explain. When everything had started, he'd been just as happy not to know what was going on. But lately he felt a desperate need to know, and right then the radio was his only means of finding things out. The bulletin board at St. Margaret's only reported on things in New York. But there was a world out there, a world Alex had dreamed of exploring.

  Even if he could explain his feelings to Bri, she'd think protecting Julie was more important. She might even be right.

  "Fine," he said. "I'll only listen to the radio at night in my room."

  "We can hear it when you do," Bri said. "I know you don't have it on very loud, but the sound comes through the wall."

  "Great," Alex muttered.

  "Maybe there are earphones," Bri said. "I could look for them if you want."

  Alex nodded. "You do that," he said. "I'll go talk to Julie." He left Bri searching through the kitchen drawers and went into his sisters' bedroom.

  Julie was sitting cross-legged on her bunk bed. "You come to hit me again?" she asked.

  "No, of course not," Alex said, fighting the temptation to do just that. "I didn't know the radio bothered you so much. You never told me."

  "You wouldn't care," Julie said. "No one cares what I want except Carlos, and he isn't here."

  "Bri cares," Alex said. "She says you've been having bad dreams."

  "Aren't you?" Julie asked. "Isn't everyone?"

  Alex burst out laughing. "Only sane people," he said. "Okay, maybe not Bri. But everyone else is."

  "Are things going to get better?" Julie asked. "Is that why you listen to the news all the time, because someday things are going to get better?"

  Alex shook his head. "That's not why I listen," he replied. "That's why I pray but not why I listen."

  "Do you think God listens?" she asked.

  "Bri thinks so," Alex said. "Father Franco thinks so."

  "All those people killing themselves," Julie said. "And in a church."

  "I need to know what's going on," Alex said. "For all our sakes. Bri's looking for the earphones. If she finds them, I'll use them whenever I listen."

  "And you won't tell me what's happening?" Julie asked.

  "Not unless you want me to," Alex said.

  Bri came into the bedroom. "I haven't found them," she said. "But the radio has a place to plug them in, so they've got to be somewhere."

  "Come on, Julie," Alex said. "If we all look, we'll find them that much sooner."

  Tuesday, June 7

  "The government knew," Kevin Daley said. "They must have. They just kept it to themselves, how bad things were going to be."

  "But why not give people time to prepare?" James Flaherty asked. "No, I think it was a true act of God and the scientists were taken by surprise, same as everyone else."

  Alex sat between his two companions at the cafeteria table and listened while they argued the same argument he'd heard almost daily for the three weeks. At this point what difference did it make? Alex gratefully finished each bite of the lunch Vincent de Paul provided for him, a lunch he'd noticed that Kevin and James complained about. They must still have food in their homes, he thought. Otherwise they'd be grateful, same as he was, for anything nourishing.
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  He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see Father Mulrooney standing there. All the boys at his table rose.

  "Sit down," Father Mulrooney said. "Mr. Morales, I have a message for you from Father Franco at St. Margaret's. He asked you to come see him at his office as soon as possible."

  "I'll go now," Alex said, his stomach twisting. Father Franco must have heard something about Puerto Rico, about Milagro del Mar. It was good for Alex to learn the news first. That way he could figure out just how to break it to his sisters.

  Father Mulrooney raised his eyebrows. "Do you have permission to leave school?" he asked.

  "No sir," Alex said. "But I'm leaving anyway."

  Kevin snickered.

  "I do not care for the attitude some of you are taking," Father Mulrooney declared. "This is a school, not a social club. You cannot come and go as you please."

  "I'm very sorry," Alex said, "but I have to go. I'll come back if I can. Now if you'll excuse me." He grabbed his books and walked out of the cafeteria, aware that the eyes of the other students were on him. Alex Morales, who had never missed a day of school, who had never talked back to a teacher, let alone a priest, had just defied the headmaster. Well, let them look. What did they understand? Even Father Mulrooney, who knew about Mami, had no knowledge about Papi being gone as well.

  Alex rammed his books into his locker, then left the school building and began running to St. Margaret's. He paid no mind to the traffic lights, since there were hardly any cars on the streets. It had been an unusually hot spring, and Alex was sweating by the time he reached the church, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that Father Franco knew something. After three weeks, there was finally word.

  As always there were a half dozen people sitting in the outer office, waiting for their chance to speak with the father. Alex took his place resentfully. If what Father Franco had to tell him was so urgent, why did he have to wait for an hour to hear what it was?