It was a nice big house with a large lawn. Katie hesitated, then gathered her courage and walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
When the chimes ended, the door opened, and there he was.
She knew him at once, because his eyes looked just like hers.
Dale Casey, like Katie, wore glasses. And behind the lenses were eyes a mirror-image of her own. Silver eyes.
Behind him, from the interior of the house, a woman’s voice demanded, “Who is it, Dale? Don’t go anywhere; you know Daddy will be home any minute, and he wants you to be ready to go to Grandma’s for dinner.”
For a moment the boy’s gaze locked with Katie’s in wordless recognition. Then he turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. “It’s OK, Mom, I’m going to be right in the front yard.”
He lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. “I can’t talk to you now; we’re leaving for my grandma’s birthday party. It’s going to last practically all weekend, but I’ll be home Sunday night. Can you come back Sunday night?”
Sunday night loomed light-years away. Katie moistened her lips, not sure what she intended to say. She was torn between disappointment and triumph; she had found him, one of those September children, but already he was slipping away from her, for at least a few more days. She wouldn’t have minded so much except that she really needed help at once.
“I tried to call you a couple of times,” Dale Casey said. He was a serious-looking boy with fair hair and a smattering of freckles, as if he’d walked beneath a ladder when someone was applying tan paint and it had sprinkled on him. “Only it’s impossible to have a private telephone conversation in this house. They always want to know who you’re talking to, or what you’re saying, or want you to get off the line because they’re waiting for an important call. How did you know about me? Can you read minds?”
Katie blinked, startled. “Maybe cats, a little. Can you read people’s?”
“Sometimes. Some of them.” She saw her own excitement rising in the boy’s face. “Are there more of us? Or only us two?”
“I don’t know. I think maybe there are two more. A girl named Kerri Lamont and a boy named Eric VanAllsburg. I haven’t found them yet—at least, Kerri lives in Millersburg, but I haven’t met her. And Eric’s mother has remarried and I don’t know her new name.”
“Can you—” Dale began, and then the door behind him, which he had pulled almost shut, was suddenly jerked open and a woman stood there. She was pretty, and dressed to go out; she started to speak to her son and then stopped.
Katie felt her stomach muscles tightening when Mrs. Casey looked into her face. No, into her eyes.
She had been smiling, pleasant, and now she was not smiling at all. She looked alarmed, maybe even frightened. “Who’s your friend, Dale?”
“Uh, Katie, uh . . .”
“Katie Welker,” Katie said, taking an instinctive step backward.
“I don’t remember you ever mentioning a Katie Welker before—oh! Is this the little girl who called you on the phone the other day?”
There was disapproval in Mrs. Casey’s tone, and Katie wasn’t sure whether it was because she’d called Dale or because of the way she looked. Silver eyes.
“Where do you come from?” Mrs. Casey asked; and when Katie went to retreat one more step, the woman put out a hand on her shoulder. Not roughly, but firmly, so that Katie felt trapped like a wild animal, and her heart was beating as if she were indeed caught in a trap. “Welker? Monica Welker’s child?”
The fingers on her shoulder tightened, and Katie panicked. She pulled loose from Mrs. Casey and ran, nearly colliding with the man getting out of a car at the curb.
“Stop her! Al, stop that child!”
The voice behind her, the startled grunt as Mr. Casey swung around, served to make Katie feel as if she were a thief, running from the scene of her crime.
“Look at her eyes!” Mrs. Casey cried, and again Katie felt a hand descend on her shoulder.
“Here, what’s going on?” Mr. Casey asked.
But before he could get a firm grip, Katie twisted and ran, ran as fast as she’d ever run in her life.
If he had chased her, of course, he probably would have caught up with her. He didn’t, though; and after Katie had cut through a yard where an old woman was watering her flowers and had plunged through a hole in a hedge leading onto a side street, she was able to slow her pace.
She was breathing rapidly and painfully. There was an oozing scratch on her bare arm where the hedge had torn her skin, and she had to stop for a moment, both to get her breath and figure out where she was. Which way did she go to return to the bus line?
People were coming home from work. It must be later than she’d thought. A man with a dinner pail parked his car, looked at her with mild curiosity, and went on up the walk into a house.
Katie’s breathing slowed, and she walked toward what she thought was the right street to catch the bus. She had made a mistake, however, and had to turn around and walk back the other way, before she, at last, saw the Bus Stop sign.
It wasn’t the place where she’d gotten off, and there was no bus in sight. Katie glanced around to make sure that no one was following her and saw that she was on the edge of a small park. There were plenty of people around, but no one was paying any attention to her.
She saw a fountain in the park, at the point where two paths crossed, so she walked over to it and sat on the cement edge of the pool around it. The water made a pleasant tinkling sound. She dipped a hand into the pool and wondered if anyone would think it odd if she splashed some of it over her face to cool herself.
An old man was feeding pigeons, who flocked around him as he sat on a green bench. And beyond him, some boys were playing. Katie sat resting, wondering what Dale Casey’s parents had meant to do to her. Look at her eyes, Mrs. Casey had said. Nobody could lock you up because of the color of your eyes, could they? Would they try to find her, though? Or would they just forget about her?
Katie rinsed the blood off her arm where she’d scratched it, biting her lip at the way the water made it sting. If only she knew how Monica would react if someone came after her, either the Caseys or the police. Would Monica protect her, or would she be glad to be rid of her? It was dreadful, not knowing.
“Hey! Give it back! It belongs to us!”
The shout brought Katie around to look at two boys who were throwing a Frisbee back and forth, and she was reminded of the time Jack Salforth and Donnie Edwards had teased her by tossing one of her shoes from one to the other over her head. They were new shoes, and she had known her grandma would be furious if one of them was lost. Katie had at last given up on the boys tiring of their teasing and when the school bus came, she’d resorted to redirecting the shoe, sailing it in through a bus window beside a girl who’d handed it back to her as she got on. The boys had been stunned, since neither of them had intended to throw it through the bus window, and they hadn’t tried to take it away from her again.
So now she knew how the small boys felt as their Frisbee sailed out of their reach. She watched for a minute, and had just about decided to make the Frisbee sail away from the older boys and into the pool beside her, where the little boys could retrieve it, when something happened to the big plastic disk.
The taller of the two tormentors hurled it, laughing, but instead of passing over the heads of its owners to the other tall boy, the Frisbee dipped and swirled and returned, like a boomerang, to smack the thrower in the mouth.
The boy let out a startled yelp and clapped his hand to his teeth, then stared in amazement at the blood on his fingers. And then the Frisbee, seemingly with a mind of its own, swooped toward the second tormentor and clipped him sharply on the ear. It seemed to Katie that it would have hit him in the face, as well, if he hadn’t dodged at the crucial moment.
This boy, too, cried out in pain and rubbed at his injured ear. Then the Frisbee dropped onto the grass in front of the boy who owned it.
“Come on,
let’s go play somewhere else,” he said, and he and his friend moved quickly away from the two bullies.
The two tall boys stood in bewilderment, wondering what had happened to them. But Katie had already forgotten them. She was looking around to see who was there, who might, like herself, have decided to help the Frisbee in its flight pattern.
Only two people were paying any attention to the boys. One was the old man feeding the pigeons, who had momentarily forgotten the birds. The other was a boy walking a dog on a leash.
It was at the boy that Katie stared. Her breath caught in her throat. For although he was tall, he might be no more than ten years old. He was dark-haired, and he wore horn-rimmed glasses much like Katie’s; he was too far away for her to be sure of the color of his eyes, but the growing excitement within her made her almost convinced that they were silver like her own.
The dog was an Airedale, a great shaggy, friendly-looking animal, who tugged at the leash. Now he lunged forward, and the boy allowed himself to be dragged along the path.
At that very moment, Katie heard the bus coming. She stood up, looking first toward the bus, and then toward the boy and the Airedale moving rapidly away from her. Which was more important, to know for sure about the boy, or to catch the bus?
It wasn’t a difficult decision to make. Katie took several steps after the boy and cried out. “Wait! Please, wait!”
The boy turned to glance over his shoulder, obviously startled, and then broke into a run. Away from her, not toward her. With the Airedale getting into the spirit of it, the two of them fairly flew away and disappeared behind some low shrubs. By the time Katie reached the curb and looked around the corner, the boy and the dog had vanished.
She was breathing quickly, the disappointment sharp in her chest, an actual pain. He had to have done it, the business with the Frisbee, didn’t he? Someone had, and he was the right age, and the only one nearby.
He was gone now, though. Katie turned back toward the bus, which had stopped for the old man who’d been feeding the pigeons. She climbed aboard after him, dropping her coins into the box and sinking into a seat halfway back in the bus. If only she’d caught up with him! Was he one of them, the September children? One like herself and Dale Casey? She had no doubts at all that Dale was as different from normal kids as she was. Only she didn’t quite see how to make contact with him without his parents knowing it; and after the way they’d reacted to her today, she was afraid of them.
And this other boy, could he possibly be Eric VanAllsburg? She wondered if he came often to the park, if she’d see him again if she returned. Even if he wasn’t one of the kids on her list, Katie decided he had to be the one who’d made that Frisbee move the way it did. She hadn’t done it, although she’d intended to do something. And the boy with the big dog was the only one, except Katie and the man with the pigeons, who’d been paying any attention.
She looked across the aisle at that old man now and saw that he was tired and shabby-looking. He met her gaze, and his eyes were blue. He smiled a little, and Katie tried to smile back.
No, he wasn’t responsible for giving the Frisbee a life of its own. It was the other one. Eric. Maybe he was Eric. She’d have to go back to the park, in case he walked his dog there again. She’d have to find out for sure. If Mr. C. and the Caseys didn’t do something to stop her.
Katie’s seat mate was a fat lady whose shopping bag, with queen-size pantyhose and a package of hamburger showing at the top of it, took up almost all the leg room. The lady didn’t offer to move it, and Katie didn’t ask her to. She simply sat, taking up as little space as she could and listening to the two women ahead of her talk about how their feet hurt and how warm it was.
Katie didn’t know whether she ought to go home or not. She wasn’t even sure she’d recognize the right corner, so she decided to ride on past and get off at the following corner. That way she could sneak around through the back alley and sort of reconnoiter, in case Mr. C. had laid a trap for her.
She came around the side of the building and saw that Miss K.’s blue Pinto was in the parking lot. Did that mean it was late enough for Monica to be home, wondering what had happened to her?
Katie wished she could talk to Mrs. M. before she went upstairs. She was very hungry; she hadn’t even gotten to eat the second sandwich she’d carried with her. It had been lost during her dash away from the Casey house.
There was a lot of shrubbery along the side of the building, which provided some cover as Katie worked her way toward the parking lot. Mr. C.’s car was there, too, though he himself was not in sight.
There was a familiar figure nearby, however. Just as she reached the front corner of the building, partially screened by some very prickly evergreen shrubs, Mr. P. came out of the front door. Miss K. was right behind him, but Katie didn’t get the idea they were together. Miss K. had on a lovely pale blue summer dress and a jangly bracelet; she looked as if she were going to a party. Mr. P. was wearing slacks and tennis shoes and a T-shirt.
“Yes,” Miss K. said clearly, “I got my paper, all right. The boy left it in front of my door, the same as always.”
“Well, he didn’t leave mine. I wondered if he dropped it out here somewhere. Either that or someone swiped it.” Mr. P. stood on the front walk looking around, and Katie held very still behind the bushes.
“Isn’t that him coming now? Yes, it is. Maybe he ran out of papers or something and had to go home for more. Well, I have to run. Bye-bye,” Miss K. said, and crossed the paving toward her car.
Sure enough, when Katie shifted position slightly she could see Jackson Jones. He parked his bike and called out, “Hi, Mr. Pollard! Could I collect for the paper?”
Mr. P. stared at him. “You just collected! What are you talking about? How many times a week do you have to get paid?”
“Just once, if you’d pay me the first time I come. That was for last week’s paper that you paid me, Mr. Pollard. Now you owe me for this week’s.”
Mr. P. scowled. “That can’t be right! I’m sure I paid you for this week.”
Jackson Jones held his ground. “No, sir. If you’ll check your receipt, you’ll see that it has the dates right on it.”
“I didn’t even get a paper tonight. Do I have to pay for papers you don’t deliver?”
“No, sir. I was short one paper tonight, and I knew I had to come back later to collect, anyway, so I brought the paper with me.” Jackson Jones handed it over, and Mr. P. didn’t look any happier to have it. “Could you pay me now for this week, sir?”
Katie could see that he wasn’t going to do it. Forgetting her own situation for a moment, she began to work at Mr. P.’s wallet, but he put a hand over his back pocket and she couldn’t get the wallet out. She changed tactics then, and concentrated on the newspaper held loosely under his arm. He wasn’t anticipating that, and Katie flipped the paper away from him and out onto the lawn, where the sprinkler was running.
Mr. P. swore, dashed for the already soggy paper, and grabbed too late at his back pocket. The wallet, once it had fallen onto the sidewalk, was easy enough to open. When a single bill had slithered out and Jackson Jones had placed his foot on it, Katie simply watched and waited.
Mr. P. had turned an unbecoming pink, even on his bald spot. He shook water off the newspaper, swore again, and resigned himself to waiting for Jackson Jones to write out a receipt and make change for the bill still anchored under his foot.
“How do you do that?” Mr. P. demanded.
“Sir?”
“How the devil do you do it? Make winds that blow my wallet open, make the paper land in the sprinkler.”
“Me, sir? I didn’t do anything.” Jackson Jones sounded as innocent as it was possible to be.
“Is it her, then? That kid with the funny eyes? Is she doing it?” He looked wildly around, and for a moment stared right into the shrubbery where Katie stood, so that her heart almost stopped. He didn’t see her, though.
“Katie? I haven’t seen her aro
und today at all,” Jackson Jones said. “Here’s your receipt, sir. I’ll see you again next Friday.”
“I suppose so,” Mr. P. said ungraciously. “Well, whatever that Cooper fellow is looking for in the way of evidence, I hope he finds it and locks her up. She’s a menace to the whole neighborhood. There’s the cops now. I suppose it’s too much to hope for that they’ll take her away.”
Katie crouched lower behind the concealing shrubbery. Sure enough, a police car had drawn up at the curb, and a blue-uniformed officer got out and came up the walk.
“Good evening, sir,” the officer said.
“Evening. Who you looking for?” Mr. P. asked eagerly.
The officer checked with his small notebook. “Welker. Apartment 2-A?”
“Right up those stairs and turn right,” Mr. P. said. “You coming about that kid?”
“Little girl,” the officer confirmed. “Have you seen her, sir?”
“Not lately. And it won’t bother me too much if I never see her again.” Mr. P. slapped the newspaper once more against his leg and shook his head. “How am I supposed to read a wet paper?”
He turned around and went back inside, and the police officer followed him. Katie felt a tremor run through her legs that was worse even than the hunger pangs in her stomach. Up to now she had had at least a faint hope that she’d misunderstood something, that they weren’t going to arrest her. Now there didn’t appear to be any doubt at all.
For a moment Jackson Jones stood quite still, looking after the men who had entered the building. Then he glanced around and spoke in a low voice.
“Katie? Are you out there?”
For a moment she didn’t answer. Did she dare trust him?
But she had to, didn’t she? She didn’t know where to go, or what to do; all she was sure of was that she wasn’t going to let them take her away to jail if she could help it.
Her voice squeaked a little with nervousness. “I’m over here. In the bushes.”
He looked around again, began to whistle off-handedly, and took a few steps toward her, not looking directly at her hiding place.
The Girl with the Silver Eyes Page 11