Cries of the Children

by Clare McNally

  In the bathroom, Lorraine took out another thirty dollars. She started to close the bag, but had an idea. She took out an additional one hundred dollars, wrapped it in a paper towel, and tucked it deep into a pocket. Then she left the restroom. When she came to the table, the waitress was taking their order.

  “I want French toast and orange juice,” Lorraine announced.

  “Sounds good to me,” Sandy said.

  “Make mine scrambled eggs with a side of bacon,” Donny said. “And a cup of coffee.”

  As Lorraine enjoyed her breakfast, she thought that she had left the frightful stranger behind. Unknown to her, Joe Trefill was boarding a Greyhound to Atlantic City at this very moment.

  After breakfast, Donny bought a newspaper, and the three walked out onto the boardwalk. By now it was beginning to show signs of the crowds that would fill it before noon, and it was with some effort that the trio found a bench.

  “So what are you going to do now, kid?” Sandy asked.

  Lorraine shrugged. “I’m waiting for someone. He promised to meet me here. I don’t think he should see you with me.”

  “You didn’t tell us someone was waiting for you,” Donny said, annoyed. “Why didn’t he pick you up last night?”

  “He couldn’t,” Lorraine said. “But don’t worry, he’ll be here soon.”

  “I wish I knew why you—”

  Sandy cut herself off. She’d been ready to ask for more information about why Lorraine was wandering around by herself. But something in the child’s expression made her think better of the idea.

  “Well, listen,” she said, standing, “if that guy doesn’t show up, you find us, okay? We’ll take care of you.”

  You can hardly take care of yourselves, Lorraine thought. She wondered what they’d do if they had Marty to help them.

  Well, she thought with a secret smile, they’d be pleased to find the hundred dollars she’d slipped into Donny’s pocket. It might buy only two nights in the cheapest motel around, but at least it was some small payment for their kindness.

  “Good luck finding work,” Lorraine said.

  “Thanks,” Donny said. “Thanks for everything.”

  They parted company without further words, the teenagers heading down the boardwalk. Alone now, Lorraine concentrated much harder on calling up Marty. But though she said his name many times in her mind, sometimes even “shouting” it, he did not answer her.

  Well, that was okay. The scary man with the gun was far, far away in New York. She’d just wait here until Marty called her, and then everything would be okay.

  As the morning passed, she entertained herself at a nearby amusement park, played on the beach, and generally explored her surroundings. No one paid much attention to her; she was grateful for that. At last she decided she was hungry enough for lunch. She walked up to one of the concession stands and bought a hot dog and soda.

  When she turned around, she let out a gasp. It was cut short as a hand pressed to her lips. Lorraine could have screamed, and a thousand people would have heard her. But she didn’t dare. She didn’t want to attract attention to herself.

  She was forced to let the man who terrified her, Joe Trefill, take her roughly by the arm and steer her through the crowds.

  29

  EAR PAIN BROUGHT on by the change in air pressure woke Steven from his nap just as the pilot was announcing their arrival at the airport in Newark, New Jersey. Steven tugged at his ears, wincing. The young man seated next to him tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Try this,” he said. He held his nose and made a face as if he was blowing through his nostrils. “It’ll help your ears ‘pop.’”

  Steven tried it. The pressure in his ears released a little, but not much.

  “It didn’t really work,” he said.

  The man shrugged. “It does, sometimes. Next time bring gum with you to chew.”

  Steven wriggled around in his seat and looked out the window. Below him, Manhattan Island presented its skyline. Steven recognized the two giant towers of the World Trade Center, as well as the spiked peak of the Empire State Building. He gazed out at them in awe, amazed that buildings could be so tall. He wondered if Rachel had ever been here.

  Thoughts of his “foster mother” made him feel vaguely homesick. What were they doing now? he wondered. Were they worried about him? He was sure Tatiana would be glad to see him gone. Rachel would probably be frantic, but Eric would be happy to have his family back to normal again. He’d made that clear enough—Steven was no more than an outsider, a temporary “guest.”

  Still, Rachel had been so kind to him. He really liked her a lot, as if she was his real mother. He wondered what it would be like to meet his real mother. Marty had said there was no such person, but maybe Marty was a liar. Not maybe, definitely. Steven was certain he had a mother.

  The plane landed so lightly that Steven didn’t even feel a bump. Even though the stewardess asked the passengers to remain in their seats until the plane came to a complete stop, many of them were already up and getting their things ready. Steven wondered why they were in such a big hurry. As for himself, he really didn’t have a place to go. At least, not until Marty called him. He tried to contact the other boy, but there was no response.

  The airplane came to a halt at last.

  Swinging his bag over his shoulder, Steven wriggled into the line and made his way off the plane. To his relief, the stewardesses were too busy to notice him. He really didn’t want to deal with their questions. He was pretty sure most airlines wouldn’t allow a kid his age to travel alone without strict supervision.

  He passed through a short tunnel, then walked past a number of waiting areas that led to various gates. When he came out on the other side of the security area, he was overwhelmed by the activity around him. There seemed to be people everywhere! They all looked over his shoulder and around him, eyes focused down the hallway in search of arriving loved ones. Steven watched fathers hug children as they returned from business trips. A grandma made a fuss over a baby she was seeing for the first time. Everywhere, families seemed to be reuniting.

  Steven felt an odd pressure around the orbits of his eyes. Combined with the heaviness he still felt in his ears, it gave him quite a headache. He bit his lip—more pain, but enough to keep tears from falling. Anyone who saw him crying would start asking questions. He couldn’t handle that.

  Instead, he moved as quickly as he could past the group. There was a staircase leading down, marked “EXIT—BAGGAGE-CLAIM AREA.” Well, he had no baggage to claim. But he wanted to get as far away from this crowded place as possible.

  The doorway out was just a short distance from the bottom of the stairs. Steven paused to look out the big plate-glass windows that cut across the front of the terminal building. There were taxis and limousines and one bus. Cars waited in a parking garage across the street. Steven remembered that Marty had said he was to make his way to Atlantic City. But how, he wondered, was he supposed to do that?

  Marty? Are you there now?

  Marty didn’t answer.

  Please! I don’t know what to do, Marty! I don’t know where to go!

  Still there was no response from the enigmatic Marty. Wearily Steven sank into an empty seat in the waiting area, his head resting on his hand. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he thought. What if Marty didn’t answer him for hours and hours?

  He began to wish that he hadn’t listened to the other boy, and that he’d trusted Rachel to help him.

  Five hundred miles away, as Steven’s plane was circling Newark, Rachel stepped out of the shower and began to dry herself. She was pulling a slip over her head when she was suddenly struck by an incredibly powerful dizzy spell. She grabbed for the sink, but her fingers slipped off its steamy surface. She sank to the floor, the room spinning around her. Rachel closed her eyes and tried to let it pass, unable to cry out for help.

  It was just a few moments before the floor came to a stop beneath her. When she opened her eyes, she w
asn’t looking at the bathroom wall. She was looking out a window, at a city skyline. The vision lasted less than a minute, and in that time she clearly heard Steven’s voice:

  I don’t know what to do, Marty! I don’t know where to go!

  Then it was all over. Rachel pulled herself to her feet and hurried from the bathroom, calling Steven’s name. She opened the door to Tatiana’s room, but the child’s bed had already been made.

  “Rachel, what’s wrong?” Eric asked as she raced down the stairs.

  “Have you seen Steven?”

  “Not this morning,” Eric said. “Why?”

  “I think he’s run away!”

  Eric followed her to the kitchen.

  “Helga, have you seen Steven?”

  “No, Mrs. Frelong.”

  Rachel turned to the girls, but they both shook their heads.

  “Where did he go?” Olivia asked.

  “How the hell should I know?” Rachel snapped. She swung around and gave Eric a burning stare. “It’s your fault. He must have overheard what you said last night. He’s run away.”

  Eric yawned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rachel. Of course he didn’t run away. Check the bathroom.”

  “I did that,” Rachel said, as if she was talking to a moron. “I checked the entire upstairs, as well as down here.”

  A flicker of concern washed over Eric’s dark face.

  “Rachel, he had no money. Where would he go?”

  Helga had been listening to all this in troubled silence. Now she put down the coffeepot she was carrying and said abruptly, “Wait!”

  She went into the kitchen and returned with a cookie jar.

  “It is empty,” she announced. “There was nearly two hundred dollars in here. I was saving it to buy my sister an airline ticket so that she could visit me from Berlin. Now that there is no East or West—”

  Rachel interrupted her with a curt wave of her hand, not interested in a modern history lesson.

  “So he has enough money to get pretty far,” she said. She turned to her husband again, but this time the accusation had gone from her eyes. In its place was an imploring look. “Eric, what are we going to do?”

  “Well, first we’re going to get the girls to the school bus,” Eric said.

  “Don’t you want us to help look for Steven?” Tatiana asked.

  “Oh, Tati,” Olivia said, “you know you can’t miss school!”

  Tatiana snorted. She’d hoped something good would come of all this—at the very least, missing school for a day. Frankly, she didn’t want to look for Steven at all.

  “I’ll walk with them,” Helga said.

  When they had gone, Eric went on, “Now, I’m going to call the police—”

  “No!”

  Eric held up both hands.

  “Rachel, this sudden police phobia of yours makes no sense,” he said. “If Steven’s run away, they’re our best bet to find him.”

  Rachel’s expression turned almost maniacal. Her teeth were set hard and her eyes were very large as she hissed, “I-will-not-work-with-the-police!”

  Eric studied her, unable to believe this was the soft-spoken, loving woman he’d known just a few days earlier. Again he asked himself what might have happened to her when she disappeared.

  “Rachel, someone’s put this idea into your head,” he said in a gentle tone. “Think about it. You’ve never been afraid of the police before. Now, I don’t know if Steven has anything to do with this, but—”

  “Of course he doesn’t!”

  “Whatever,” Eric said, forcing himself to stay calm. He was already hatching a plan. “But Nina Blair disappeared, and now Steven is gone. There has to be a connection!”

  Rachel’s face relaxed again, and tears started forming in her eyes. She pressed the sides of her nose with her thumbs before they could overflow.

  “Eric,” she said in a very small voice, “what’s happening to me? I feel as if . . . as if a door has been opened in my life and there is nothing there but darkness. Steven has something to do with it. I don’t feel he’s the cause of it, but somehow I think he’s the only one who can bring light.”

  “You’ve only known him a few days,” Eric said, “and you’ve known the girls most of their lives. Look, I’m no psychologist, but maybe Steven is a substitute for the baby we could never have.”

  Rachel looked down at the red-and-white spectator pumps she had chosen to wear with her red suit. It had been a long time since they’d discussed their failed attempts to have a baby. They’d been tested and retested and had tried many methods, to no avail. Eric seemed to be fine, but the specialists couldn’t be certain about Rachel. There was something odd about her eggs, something they couldn’t describe. The bottom line was that the two of them were incompatible when it came to reproduction.

  Eric put his arms around his wife. She shuddered once, letting out a long sigh, but she didn’t cry.

  “We’re wasting time,” she said.

  Eric nodded. “All right. I’ll make a call to Children’s Services right now.”

  Rachel left the room and Eric turned to the phone.

  “You’re saying that this child was registered with us?” a woman asked.

  “Just last week,” Eric said. “I think it would help if I could talk to Kathy Mayer. Nina Blair handled the case, but Ms. Mayer—”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman cut in, “I’m a little confused. No one by the name of Kathy Mayer works here.”

  Eric frowned up at the clock, barely registering that he was nearly late for work.

  “Maybe I’m mixing up the name,” he suggested. “Mayer or Meyer . . .”

  “Not even close,” the woman said.

  “But I spoke directly with her,” Eric said, “the day I went to pick up Steven.”

  “Do you have a last name for Steven?”

  “Sorry, no,” Eric said. God, was the world full of incompetents? How could they not know what was going on down there?

  “Too bad,” the woman said. “It would make it easier. I know—I’ll check into Nina’s files. As soon as I learn what’s going on, I’ll call you back. Where can I reach you, Mr. Freleng?”

  He gave her his number. When he hung up he made one last call: to tell the school neither he nor his wife would be working that day.

  Helga was coming in the front door when he went out to the hall.

  “The girls are on the bus,” she announced. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Just man the telephone,” Eric said. “I’m heading to the police station.”

  He paused, thoughtful. “They’ll want a description. It’s too bad we don’t have a photograph.”

  Helga went off to do her morning chores. Rachel came out of the music room.

  “Eric, I’m going to drive around Columbus,” she said.

  “Maybe I’ll see him. Or maybe someone will be able to tell me something.”

  “Rachel, Columbus is a huge area,” Eric said.

  Rachel shrugged, and Eric could see there would be no stopping her.

  “Okay,” he said. “But I think we should have a check-in time.”

  “Good idea,” Rachel said. “I’ll call here at . . .”

  She looked at her watch.

  “At ten o’clock,” she said. “That’s two hours from now.”

  “Helga will be our liaison,” Eric said.

  Eric and Rachel exchanged a quick kiss, then headed in different directions. As she drove away, Rachel tried desperately to call back the picture she’d seen during her dizzy spell. It was a skyline, and she knew that it was the place where she’d find Steven. Somehow, he had sent a message to her that he was in trouble.

  Rachel recalled that he’d used the name Marty. Or had it been that? It had happened so quickly that she could easily have misunderstood him.

  Maybe he’d said “Mommy.”

  She pulled to a stop at a red light.

  “Come on, Steven,” she whispered. “Tell me where you are. Tell me wher
e I can find you!”

  At home, Eric opened the door and headed to his own car. In spite of Rachel’s fears, he would cooperate fully with the police. Probably Steven would be found within an hour or two.

  But deep inside, he sensed this would be far from the case.

  30

  LORRAINE STUMBLED ALONG as Trefill steered her up California Avenue. As soon as she was certain no one else could see, she stopped short. Trefill stumbled, then turned around.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m not coming with you,” Lorraine said defiantly.

  “Oh, yes you are,” Trefill said.

  Lorraine swung her foot forward, kicking him hard just beneath his kneecap. He winced, then swung his arm back.

  “You little bitch!” he cried. “I’ll teach you . . . !”

  Lorraine’s scream was cut short as Trefill’s hand swung forward, knocking her to the ground. He stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to move. She didn’t. He’d struck her so hard that, for Lorraine, Atlantic City had ceased to exist.

  Panicked, Trefill looked around him. The street was empty. He picked up the child and slung her over his shoulder. Then he went to find the rental car he’d parked nearby. He dumped Lorraine into the back seat and sped off. He’d head for Connecticut at last, where he’d find the people who were supposed to take Lorraine. Then he would complete his mission, and LaBerge would no longer be angry with him.

  He heard a soft moan from the back seat and realized Lorraine was waking up. That was good. He’d been stupid to lose his temper. If his superiors found out he’d struck her, they’d dismiss him for certain. Not because they felt any concern for the child, but because they’d want her “undamaged.”

  “Take it easy, kid,” Trefill said, trying to make his voice sound paternal. It came out more like a growled command. “Don’t get up.”

  He looked into his rearview mirror and saw the child had pulled herself up halfway. Her head hung, but he could see the ugly bruise that was forming on her cheek. A thick line of blood was trailing down the middle of the child’s face. It globbed on the end of her nose and dripped a small puddle of red on the seat.