Cries of the Children

by Clare McNally

  “Sleeper,” Bettina said. “Big enough for two. You’ve probably slept in better, but at least you won’t be on the street tonight.”

  She bent closer to it, wondering if there were bugs hidden inside the foam cushions. She didn’t mention this out loud; no point scaring the child.

  “Well, we’ll need a few things to make this place livable,” she said.

  “Are we going to stay very long?”

  There was such worry in the child’s voice that Bettina knew at once what her thoughts were. She probably wondered why the old woman wasn’t calling the police right now. The truth was that only Bettina knew about the child. She hadn’t told anyone, not her friends in the streets or at the homeless shelter. And as far as finding Lorraine’s parents, well, what kind of monsters left a baby to wander the dangerous streets of the city? With a suitcase full of money, no less! Let them stew about her for a week. Maybe then, when Bettina brought her back, they’d appreciate the child.

  “Of course not,” she said at last. “Just until we find your folks. Now, let’s check out that bathroom. I hope it’s clean. . . .”

  When she came out, she was surprised to see Lorraine on the sofa. The money suitcase was open next to her.

  “We have one thousand, two hundred, and twenty dollars,” Lorraine announced.

  Bettina laughed. “How do you know?”

  “I counted it,” Lorraine said matter-of-factly.

  “But, child!” Bettina cried. “You didn’t have enough time. And you don’t seem old enough to count that high.”

  “But I did,” Lorraine answered.

  “You just let Bettina have a look.”

  Sometime later, Bettina turned to the little girl with fascination in her expression.

  “That’s amazing.”

  “I guess I’m good with numbers,” Lorraine said with a shrug.

  “I guess you are,” Bettina agreed in awe.

  Lorraine began to fidget. “I’m hungry.”

  Bettina opened the other suitcase, found a sweater, and turned to put it on the child.

  “We’ve had a long morning,” she said. “And heaven knows when you last had a decent meal. But we can’t spend a lot, you know. I know how fast money goes. I’ve been without a home for almost a year now.”

  “Really?” Lorraine asked in disbelief. “Did you lose your family too?”

  Bettina laughed bitterly. “Yes, and good riddance to all of them. When my husband’s business failed, no one came forward to help. It killed him. So they can all rot in . . .”

  She saw the worried look on Lorraine’s face and stopped herself.

  “Don’t fret about that,” she said. “Come on. I know a nice Chinese restaurant with a special luncheon menu.”

  A short subway ride later, they walked through the red door of a restaurant called Jade Garden. Bettina had not been there since her husband’s death. But today, wearing a clean new dress, she walked in with her head held high. Yes, there was a reason the Lord had sent Lorraine to her.

  The maître d’, a handsome middle-aged Chinese man in a black suit, smiled broadly as he greeted them.

  “Mrs. Norwich,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

  Bettina’s grey eyebrows went up.

  “You remember me?”

  “Of course,” said the Chinese. “I never forget anyone.”

  He looked down at the child with questioning eyes.

  “Oh, this is my grandniece,” Bettina lied. “Lorraine. She’s visiting me.”

  “Welcome, little girl,” the man said. “I’ll show you to a table.”

  He handed them menus and walked away.

  “Do you want me to read it to you?” Bettina asked.

  “I can read,” Lorraine said. “I’ll have this.”

  She turned her menu around and pointed to an item. Bettina laughed.

  “Lorraine, that’s written in Chinese!”

  Lorraine read the words out loud.

  “It means ‘chicken with peanuts’, “ she said.

  Quickly Bettina thumbed through the extensive menu until she found the number that matched the Chinese translation. Sure enough, it described a dish with chicken and peanuts. She shook her head.

  “I’m amazed,” she said. “You count faster than anyone I’ve ever met, and you read Chinese. I wonder what else you can do.”

  “I don’t know,” Lorraine said. “But my family will tell me.

  “When we find them,” Bettina said noncommittally.

  Their meal came and they enjoyed it immensely. When they were finished and had paid the bill, they said goodbye to the kind maître d’ and left. With the lunch-hour rush behind them, the platform down in the subway was all but deserted. Bettina dropped two tokens in the turnstile and helped Lorraine push through. It was dark down here, all the lights dimmed by a coating of greasy dust. Bettina saw that the change booth was empty.

  “When will the train come?” Lorraine asked, looking down the tracks into the dark tunnel.

  “Any minute now,” Bettina said. “Let’s sit on that bench.”

  As they approached the seat, they suddenly heard a whooping holler. With amazing speed, like rats scurrying out of water pipes, nearly a dozen tough-looking hoods raced down the stairs and jumped over the turnstiles. Lorraine moved closer to Bettina, fear making her tremble.

  “I saw them the other night!” she whispered. “They were in the street when I woke up!”

  Bettina moved quickly.

  “Hide under here,” she said, pushing Lorraine off the seat.

  Lorraine obeyed instantly. Bettina felt deep in her pocket for the tape-wrapped knife blade she kept as a weapon.

  “Yo! Bitch!” one boy yelled.

  From her hiding place Lorraine heard the sound of running feet, yelling . . . and what seemed to be Bettina’s screams. She curled herself up and wished it all to be a nightmare. It had to be, because she was certain she’d never been so scared.

  They’re gonna kill us!

  Her young mind screamed in terror.

  And suddenly a voice cut into her silent cries.

  No! You’re stronger! You can control them!

  Lorraine opened her eyes. Where had the voice come from? There was no one looking under the bench. She could see only scuffling feet—most in sneakers, Bettina’s pumps among them.

  Close your eyes.

  Bewildered, but too frightened to protest, the little girl did as the voice commanded. She realized now that it wasn’t from outside, but from within her own mind.

  Who . . . who’re you?

  My name is Marty. I’m here to help you, Lorraine.

  You know my name!

  I have heard you thinking it.

  Bettina’s screams brought the child back to reality. She didn’t know how this strange voice came to be in her head, but she was too young to separate it as fantasy. To her the voice was very, very real.

  Help me, Marty! I’m scared!

  Crawl out from under the bench.

  No!

  You have to! It’s the only way. Crawl out and look one of them straight in the eyes. You can control them!

  Shaking all over, but almost powerless to resist the voice in her head, Lorraine crawled out from under the bench. She glanced quickly at Bettina, who lay unconscious on the platform.

  Look at the biggest one!

  Lorraine’s head snapped up, her gray-green eyes as round as if she were in a trance. She found the biggest, most evil-looking member of the gang and fixed her gaze on him. He said something to her she didn’t really hear or understand. With Marty’s words encouraging her, she continued to stare at him. Another hood pulled out a knife and moved toward the child, but the big one snapped a commanding hand to keep him away.

  “That’s the little bitch we saw the other night,” he said. “She’s mine.”

  Just keep looking at him. Don’t move. I’ll help you.

  Lorraine tried to draw strength from Marty’s words.

  Menaci
ngly the big boy moved toward the little girl. Lorraine, though her knees were wobbling, held her ground.

  Tell him he’s a coward!

  “You’re a coward,” Lorraine said in a grim little voice.

  Some of the other boys laughed. But without warning or explanation, the big thug stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened and he screamed.

  “No! No! Oh, shit, man! N-n-n-n-o-o-o-o!”

  “Whazzamatter?” someone yelled.

  None of the other kids could see anything.

  The gang leader backed away in horror, his whole body going into convulsions of fear. It was as if he were seeing something that no one else could. He tripped over his untied shoelaces and landed hard on the platform, screaming and crawling away from Lorraine crab-style.

  “What the hell’s wrong with him?” someone shouted.

  The boy rolled over on his stomach and began to retch. Humiliated, he dragged himself to his feet and wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he commanded.

  “What’re you so afraid of, Royce?”

  “Shut up!” Royce screamed, pushing through the revolving gate and running upstairs.

  The other gang members followed, and the subway platform was silent once more.

  Lorraine fell to her knees and began to cry.

  It’s over. You stopped them.

  I don’t understand what I did.

  You brought out his worst, deepest emotion—fear. He’s been humiliated. He’ll never bother you again.

  Who are you, Marty? Where do you come from?

  I can only tell you the name they gave me. Marty. The less you know, the safer you’ll be. When the time is right, when everything is ready, I’ll contact you. I have to go now. You stay with the old woman. She won’t harm you.

  Don’t go away! Please, I’m so scared!

  But her mind was a blank. As clearly as she had heard the boy speak, she now heard only silence. After a moment, though, she opened her eyes to the sound of moaning. Bettina was pulling herself to her feet, holding her head. Lorraine ran to help her.

  “Are . . . are you okay, child?”

  “Uh-huh,” Lorraine confirmed with a nod. “But you’re hurt!”

  Bettina fished through the pockets of her coat until she found a handkerchief. She pressed it to her head.

  “Bettina . . .”

  Bettina turned to the child.

  “Just a little blood,” she said. “I wasn’t really passed out, you know. It was a trick to make ‘em stop. I didn’t dare open my eyes. But what was that kid screaming about?”

  Lorraine didn’t really know the answer to that, so she simply shook her head.

  “I want to go home,” she said.

  Bettina took her hand. At that moment a train rumbled into the station. Together they got on board.

  Bettina did not even look at the transit cop who was riding in the car.

  8

  SAMANTHA’S HOUSE had been built a hundred years earlier by the owner of a mining company. It was situated on two and a half acres at the base of the Sangre de Cristo Range. Much of this was wooded, but a small yard had been cleared behind the house. Springtime brought lavender wisteria blooms, dripping over the surrounding split-rail fence, pink blossoms on a flowering Japanese cherry tree, and countless bright tulips and daffodils. This bright morning, the array of colors and scents seemed to give the yard the charming effect of a secret garden.

  “Oh, it’s so pretty out here!” Julie cried as they walked toward the kennel. “So many beautiful flowers! Do you know the names?”

  “Some of them,” Samantha said. “But not all. We could probably get a field guide, if you’d like.”

  Julie nodded eagerly.

  “It smells so good!”

  Samantha breathed in deeply. The scented air was calming, and yet somehow the contrast between this natural beauty and the troubles she was having made her situation all the more difficult to handle.

  She opened the kennel and let the dogs out for a run. Immediately they circled around Julie, licking her hands and wagging their tails. Julie picked up a stick and threw it. Sunday raced ahead of Lady, grabbed it, and brought it back. Lady, however, had started down a path that cut through the nearby trees.

  “Where does that go?” Julie asked.

  “That’s a surprise,” Samantha said, pushing her worries aside for the moment. “You follow it and see.”

  The path was a narrow one, inlaid with odd-shaped pieces of bluestone. Lavender and white columbine grew up in the cracks, and tall yellow pines sheltered it from the sun. At its end, tucked into a clearing, was a tiny adobe-style house.

  “Oh!”

  “Isn’t it cute?” Samantha asked. “It’s the reason I fell in love with this property. I’m told the first owners built it for their children, a hundred years ago.”

  Julie didn’t hear her. She had already run up to the Lilliputian dwelling and was through the wooden door before Samantha could catch up with her. There was one room inside, empty now except for a few forgotten flowerpots and a battered old trunk. The walls had been painted white, and several niches had been cut for shelves. Two small windows were situated to either side of the front door, and each remaining wall had one window. A loft had been molded into the back wall, and there was a fireplace in one corner, decorated with an Indian motif.

  “We’ll clean it up for you,” Samantha said. “And we’ll get some furniture, and toys . . .”

  Something in the sensible part of her brain told her to stop acting as if Julie was going to be here forever. But she pushed it aside, as she had tried to push away the idea of reporting Julie to the police.

  “Well,” she said, “you have fun. There’s a trunk back there with some old dishes and things if you want to play pretend. I’ve got to catch up on some chores before I go back to work tomorrow.”

  Julie nodded. “Okay.”

  The first thing Samantha planned to do was groom the dogs. But when she opened the door and called to them, they refused to budge from Julie’s side.

  “Sunday, Lady, come on!” she called. “I want to brush your fur.”

  The dogs whimpered, and Lady moved a little closer to Julie.

  “I think they want to stay with me,” she said.

  “I think you’re right,” Samantha said in wonder.

  She left the child and the dogs, shaking her head. She’d had those dogs for five years, and never before had they refused to come to her.

  Leaving the dogs to be groomed later, she went to her office to catch up on some files she’d been meaning to organize. When lunchtime came around, Julie returned to the house with a bouquet of wildflowers.

  “Aren’t those pretty?” Samantha said.

  “For you,” Julie said, handing them to her.

  As she came into the office, she noticed a human skeleton hanging in one corner.

  “Oh, look at him!”

  “He isn’t real,” Samantha admitted. “I couldn’t afford a real human skeleton. But he’s an exact life-size replica. Isn’t he something?”

  Instantly the names of the bones came into Samantha’s mind: mandible, maxilla.

  “That’s his mandible, and that’s his maxilla,” Julie said. She pointed to the lower arm. “This is the ulna and the radius and the . . .”

  “How do you know all this?” Samantha asked with surprise. It was almost as if Julie had read her mind.

  Julie turned to look at her. “How come I remember things like bones, but I don’t remember where I came from?”

  “Sometimes memory loss is like that,” Samantha said. “But obviously someone went to the trouble of teaching you. I have an anatomy coloring book that a young patient gave me. Do you want to use it?”

  “Sure!”

  Samantha took down the coloring book. She set Julie up at her desk with colored pencils and soon the child was busy at work.

  Strange how she’d come to be with a kid who had a
n interest in anatomy when she herself was a doctor. Was it just coincidence? she wondered.

  Samantha knew the right thing to do. She had to call the police. Surely what had happened in the motel was just a moment of anxiety, perhaps brought on by whatever had made her lose her memory.

  “Have fun,” she said, patting Julie’s shoulder. Then she left the room and headed for the kitchen telephone. This time, she wouldn’t be stopped. This time, she’d dial the number, and she’d talk to Ari. No anxiety attacks, no backing down.

  She settled onto one of the three-legged stools lined up along her kitchen counter, then reached up for the phone. There was a sticker on the receiver, with the numbers of the police and fire departments printed in bold black letters. Just seven numbers. Easy enough to dial.

  She couldn’t do it. She got as far as putting her finger on the first button, but as soon as she pressed it down, a pain began to grow within her stomach. It started as a slightly cold feeling, then grew until it became so unbearable she started to tremble all over. She watched the receiver, waiting for it to become monstrous. For a moment she was completely mesmerized by the black plastic. But she caught hold of herself and threw the hateful thing the way someone might brush off a hideous spider. It bounced once against the red counter and swung back and forth like a hanged man.

  I can’t do this. I can’t! I’m too afraid!

  She grabbed for the edge of the counter, gripping it to steady herself. Beneath her, her trembling body was actually making the stool quake. She shut her eyes, trying desperately to get control of herself.

  She could feel the room spinning. It was like being on a very scary ride in an amusement park, feeling yourself being thrown around instead of seeing the ride in motion, because you are too afraid to open your eyes. There was no controlling it. Samantha could only hold fast to the counter and pray the feeling would soon pass. She felt tears streaming down her tightly shut eyes as her body continued to tremble.

  She thought she was going to die.

  “Look what I did!”

  With the sound of that sweet young voice, Samantha’s ordeal came to an end. Everything was still once more. Continuing to hold fast to the counter, afraid to let go, she opened her eyes and breathed in deeply. There was no time to wonder about the anxiety attack, because Julie was crossing the kitchen to her. Quickly she dried her eyes.