“Of course it is,” Samantha said, a bit relieved to see Julie didn’t really know everything. “Nothing moves fester than light.”
Julie didn’t say anything. They had gone on to the next answer. By the time the commercial came on, Julie had given the correct questions to almost all the answers.
“Barbara’s right,” Samantha said. “You are amazing. I wonder if—”
The phone rang just then. Samantha excused herself and went to answer it. Wil Sherer was on the other end.
“I’ve been checking with Social Services about any orphanages in the area,” he said. “There are only a few in this state, and none of them list a man named Henley on their staff. Since you ‘came to’ in Durango, and it’s so close to Four Comers, I’ll check those nearby states.”
Samantha was amazed. Four Corners was the only place in the USA where four states met. Colorado was joined by New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah.
“If we have to go that far,” she said, “we may never find who we’re looking for.”
“Have faith,” Wil said.
And suddenly Samantha did. After all, Wil had gone as far as Africa to find another child.
“I’ll get back to you on it,” Wil said. “But I thought you’d want to know. Try mentioning the other states to the kid. Maybe something will ring a bell.”
“I will,” Samantha promised.
As before, Wil hung up without saying good-bye. Samantha returned to the living room to find Julie breezing through Double Jeopardy. She was so brilliant, Samantha thought, that she almost seemed beyond human.
20
ONCE THE CHILDREN were out of the way, Eric requested that he and Rachel have a talk in the den.
“We need some privacy,” he said.
“If you want,” Rachel said without much interest. As far as she was concerned, this whole thing was being blown out of proportion.
When they’d shut the door, Eric spoke as gently as he could.
“Rachel, what’s wrong?” he asked. “You’ve never been unreasonable, especially with the girls.”
“Maybe that’s the trouble,” Rachel said. “They’ve gotten away with too much, especially Tatiana.”
“They’re good kids,” Eric insisted. “You know that too. Rachel, I believe our daughter. I think Ralphie Mercken did cause some trouble, and Steven is too shy to talk about it. I respect his right to privacy, but you have to respect Tatiana’s right to be believed. She isn’t a liar!”
“Steven said nothing happened in the woods,” Rachel said.
“I know what he said,” Eric replied. “But it’s only right to be on the side of my own flesh and blood before I believe a virtual stranger.”
Rachel turned and gazed out the window. She could see Tatiana pushing one of the neighborhood kids on the swing in their yard.
“She really isn’t my flesh and blood,” Rachel said in a quiet tone.
Eric could not answer his wife, he was so stunned by her comment. When he finally did find his voice, he said, “I’m going upstairs, Rachel. I’m going to talk to Steven myself, man-to-man.”
Rachel swung around so quickly that it seemed she might be ready to attack.
“You will not disturb that child!” she cried. “Hasn’t he been through enough?”
“Rachel, it’s the only way to learn the truth!”
“Let’s forget it, Eric,” Rachel insisted. “It isn’t that important.”
“It is to Tati.”
They did not realize it, but at this point their voices had escalated enough to be carried through the heating ducts into the upstairs. Steven crouched near the vent, listening. He didn’t mean to cause such trouble in this family. He felt inexplicably close to Rachel, yes, but he didn’t want her to love him back so exclusively that everyone else resented it. He didn’t want to be hated, but he thought that maybe Tatiana did hate him.
No, he had to tell Eric what he wanted to know. He had to set things right.
Steven pulled open the door and headed to the staircase.
Stop!
Steven froze instantly. He listened, expecting to hear one of the girls, or perhaps Helga, behind him. But the upstairs of the house was silent. He could still hear Eric and Rachel arguing below, but their voices had faded.
Steven turned around. The hall was empty. It had only been his imagination. He began to walk again.
You can’t go down there! Wait!
Now Steven recognized the voice of the mysterious boy named Marty. He felt a chill rush over his skin, to think how easily the boy had picked up on his thoughts. He wrapped his arms around himself and stood still, his mind keenly alert to Marty’s presence.
What are you doing here?
I’ve come to prepare you. It’s time to join with us, Steven. You must come to us, tonight.
How am I going to do that? I don’t even know where you are.
I will guide you. There is little time now. We must unite or die.
I’m not going to die! And I don’t want to leave Rachel.
You will die if you don’t leave her.
I’m staying. I want to find my family.
Steven’s thoughts were defiant, the voice in his mind speaking in angry tones. Maybe Marty had rescued him from the boy in the woods, but that didn’t give him the right to be so bossy.
You don’t have a family,
Marty’s words were so unexpected they barely registered in Steven’s mind.
Did you hear me? I said you don’t have a family.
Yes, I do!
No one abandoned you, Steven, There was no one to leave you behind. You are alone, except for me. And the others,
You’re lying!
Why would I lie? What purpose would it serve? You don’t have a family, and only I can help you,
Rachel . . .
Rachel cares deeply about you. There is something special about her but I can’t say exactly what it is. But she must be left behind. You have to come to us. You have to leave, tonight!
I don’t!
You have to!
“I don’t have to!”
“Steven?”
The boy turned with a gasp. Instantly he sensed Marty was gone. Rachel and Eric were coming up the stairs, and he hadn’t even heard them. He gazed at them, blinking his eyes.
“Poor kid,” Rachel said. She shot Eric an annoyed look. “You probably upset him with your yelling.”
“We were both yelling,” Eric pointed out wearily. He looked at Steven, who returned his gaze with innocent brown eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I . . . I was going to get a drink of water,” Steven said.
He wanted to throw himself into Rachel’s arms. He wanted to tell her everything that had happened in the woods, except that a vague but powerful force was preventing him.
Instead, he turned and headed back to his room.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rachel asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, we’ll call you at dinnertime,” Rachel said.
“Okay,” Steven mumbled.
He opened the door to his room and went to lie on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he tried to make Marty come back. He waited and waited, but there was no sign of the other boy.
Well, good, Steven thought. Because he isn’t going to make me leave here!
Still, he lay there for a long time. His mind was full of questions. What place did Marty want him to come to? Who were the other people? And what did the boy in his mind mean when he said: “You have no family”?
21
LORRAINE AND BETTINA sat in front of the television set, eating soup and sandwiches for dinner. Bettina had brought over two of the kitchen chairs. She sat in one, and they used the other for a table. Lorraine had chosen to make herself comfortable on a cushion pulled from the couch.
The more Archie and Edith fought with each other, the easier it became to forget what had happened on the street below. Lorraine hadn’t said a word about what th
e landlord had tried to do to her—and what she, in turn, had done to him. She really didn’t believe she was the one who had made him so afraid. The little girl was convinced it was solely Marty’s doing.
Someone knocked at the Bunkers’ door on the television. But when neither character got up to answer it, and the knocking became louder, Lorraine realized it was someone at their own door. She wriggled around on the cushion and tugged at the hem of Bettina’s long skirt. They frowned silently at each other, wondering who could be there. With the exception of a few delivery people, only the landlord had known they were here. And it certainly wasn’t him.
“Bettina,” Lorraine whispered anxiously, “what if . . . what if it’s that strange man?”
Bettina patted the child’s head. “How could it be?”
The pounding went on. Lorraine begged the unseen person to go away.
“Hide in the bathroom,” Bettina suggested. “He won’t go away unless I answer.”
Lorraine shot Bettina a distressed look, then did as she was told. She locked the door behind her and pressed her ear against it, hoping to make out what was being said. Only a few words filtered through the wood:
“Police . . . young child . . . seen here . . .”
“. . . mistake, officer. I’m alone.”
In the living room, Bettina stood with her body wedged in the small opening allowed by the still-fastened chain. The man in the hall was dressed in a gray suit, not a uniform. He stared at her through wire-rimmed glasses with the hardest eyes she’d ever seen. They were like cold, unemotional pieces of coal.
If Lorraine belongs to the likes of you, she thought to herself, I’ll never give her back!
Out loud she said: “I’m an old woman. I certainly don’t have the energy to take care of a child.”
“I know she’s in this building,” the man said. “Have you seen her?”
“No, I haven’t,” Bettina said. “And I’m in the middle of dinner. Good-bye, sir.”
She backed up just a second to allow herself to close the door. But in that brief time the man was able to look over her shoulder into the apartment. He took in the double set of dishes, a doll lying on the floor, a small lavender jacket draped over the edge of the couch.
Instantly Bettina slammed the door shut and locked it.
“Open up! Open this door!” the man cried, in a fury no sane member of the law would ever exhibit.
Bettina turned herself around crazily. He was going to take Lorraine away from her! He was going to take away the only thing in her life that mattered! She had to save the child, no matter what!
She hurried to the bathroom and tried to open the door. When she found it was locked, she said in an urgent voice:
“Lorraine, it’s Bettina! Open up!”
Lorraine unlocked the door and threw herself into Bettina’s arms.
“What does he want?” she asked. “Who is he?”
“He says he’s a cop,” Bettina said, even as the pounding on the door increased. “But I don’t believe him.”
“Bettina, what if he’s the man with the gun?”
A new sound joined the pounding, alternating with it. Bettina realized he was also kicking the door. The old wood might not hold up for long.
“We have to get out of here,” Bettina said. “The only way is the fire escape. Hurry and get the money valise!”
In her mind, Lorraine cried out for Marty, but he did not answer her.
She crawled under the couch and pulled the valise from its hiding place. At the same time, Bettina went to the window and opened it. Then she took the valise from Lorraine and threw it out onto the platform.
“Open up! This is official business, damn you!”
Lorraine gasped to realize she remembered him saying those exact words to the gang of boys. It was the man with the gun, and she instinctively knew he was not to be trusted.
Bettina was already out the window. Lorraine climbed out onto the fire escape herself.
“I don’t know what kind of place you came from,” Bettina said, “but I’ll die before I let you go back.”
Together she and Lorraine began to hurry down the five flights of metal stairs that zigzagged alongside the old building. Bettina carried the valise. Burdened this way, she could not move as quickly as she wanted. Youth was on Lorraine’s side, and when the valise came sailing by her, she suddenly realized she was a full flight ahead of Bettina. She stopped and turned. Bettina was sitting on one of the higher steps, her arms crossed over her chest. She had dropped the money suitcase over the railing.
“Bettina!” Lorraine called. “Don’t stop! We have to get away!”
“I . . . I . . . my heart . . .” Bettina gasped.
Lorraine stared up at her. Bettina had gone very, very pale. Even from down here Lorraine could see her shaking. She ran up to her friend.
“No . . . you run . . . my . . .”
“Don’t talk, Bettina,” Lorraine begged. “You’re hurt!”
Bettina tried to smile reassuringly, but it changed into a hideous grimace of pain. Fire burned over her entire chest, radiating down her left arm. She tried to focus on Lorraine, to gather strength from the loving gray-green eyes (such strange eyes). But the pain was too great.
It had been years since her last heart attack. It had happened just after her husband’s death, perhaps brought on by the stress of losing him.
She had awakened in a bright and sparkling clean ward surrounded by a dozen other beds. She had cried out in indignation—a woman of her standing should not be subjected to a place like this. She wanted a private room!
“You can’t afford a private room, “ her sister-in-law had said to her. “You can’t afford a frigging apartment any longer. Good-bye, Bettina. You’re on your own.”
It was the last contact she’d had with any member of her family.
All this took place in her mind within microseconds. The pain was so great, so terrible . . .
No, there was no longer pain. Just a peaceful feeling. Bright light surrounded her. For a moment she thought she was in the emergency ward again. But she was on her feet, moving. She walked toward the light, the peaceful, painless light.
“Bettina, no!”
She heard the child’s scream. She wanted to tell her it was all right, but she couldn’t. Bettina could do nothing but give in to the light. She entered it, and succumbed.
On the fire escape, Lorraine realized to her horror what had happened. Bettina was dead! Her savior, her beloved Bettina, was dead!
“Don’t do that!” Lorraine cried out. “Don’t go away from me! I need you!”
She screamed these last words, but Bettina did not respond. An explosive noise from up above brought the child to her senses. The strange man had broken through the door!
With tears filling her eyes, she kissed the kind old woman’s soft cheek and said good-bye. There was no time for more.
By the time the man appeared at the open window, she was on the ground, grabbing the suitcase Bettina had thrown. He shot at her, but missed. Lorraine wasn’t about to give him another chance. She ran as fast as her small legs could carry her.
22
IT WAS AMAZING how fast a little kid could disappear off the face of the earth. Once he’d broken down the door to the old woman’s apartment, Joe Trefill had seen the open window and had pursued his quarry out onto the fire escape. He’d paused a flight above the old woman, wondering if he was walking into a trap. He thought she might grab him, making him lose his balance and fall into the filthy alley below. From that viewpoint he could see the child. He’d fired off a warning shot, deliberately missing her. LaBerge had made it very clear she wasn’t to be harmed. Well, if that fat pig thought he could get the kid without a little rough stuff, let him try!
He’d screwed up, royally. LaBerge had also let him know that, and had promised him nothing more than his hide intact if he fixed it all up and delivered the child as planned.
Trefill had tucked the gun into its holste
r again before racing down the fire escape. He was no longer wary of the old woman—she could be dead, for all he cared. But he couldn’t lose sight of that child!
He crashed out of the alley and onto the street, nearly slamming into a bag lady. She yelled something at him, but he didn’t hear her. His eyes were focused about two streets ahead, on a fading patch of bright red. It was the kid’s shirt. If he ran, he’d catch up to her. No way was some six-year-old bitch gonna get away from him twice!
Joe Trefill had been working for Walter LaBerge for ten years, and in all that time he still hadn’t learned what LaBerge’s work was all about. Something to do with weapons, he thought, because it was based in a New Jersey factory where they made parts for airplanes. All that secret government stuff, the stuff LaBerge didn’t believe Trefill had the right to know despite his years of faithful service, always pointed to military crap. Trefill wasn’t treated with much more respect than a lackey. But this time, he thought as he raced along Eighth Avenue, there was a chance to prove his real worth.
And he’d screwed up, royally.
The crowd grew more dense, making it impossible to keep track of the child any longer. Trefill was forced to slow down to keep from bumping into people. He moved ahead with a quick, impatient stride. The kid would have to stop and rest sometime. If it took all night, he’d find her.
He couldn’t imagine what a six-year-old girl had to do with LaBerge’s work. They’d acted as if she was very important. LaBerge had given him a big speech about trust, about how vital it was that he deliver the kid as planned. When they’d found her, the only information she’d been able to give was the name of a couple living in New England. They’d traced the man and woman. Then they’d given Trefill a suitcase full of money and instructions to bribe the couple so that they’d explain everything about the child.
But Trefill had gotten off the wrong train and had ended up in a bad section of New York City. He’d been mugged, and the kid had run away. It had taken him days to find her.
Now he’d lost her once again, but this time he was determined to get her back right away.
Feeling as tense as a hungry tiger, he went off to find his prey.
Cries of the Children Page 13