“I love the way hotels have double sinks,” he said as they washed up together. “We ought to do this at home.”
He caught Rachel’s reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot.
“How do you feel, honey?” he asked gently.
“He’s still here,” was Rachel’s reply.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Rachel brushed her teeth, then set the brush into a plastic cup provided by the hotel.
“I’m rested,” she said. “Ready to face the day. But I’m also frustrated, and hungry.”
“Frustrated I can’t help you with,” Eric said. “But we can get some breakfast. Did you notice if there’s a place to eat in this motel?”
“I saw a coffee setup in the lobby,” Rachel said. “Probably the doughnuts route. I need something more substantial than that.”
Eric went to the bed and sat down, picking up the phone. First he called the front desk and learned there was a diner across the street. It served a buffet breakfast. Next he asked to make a long-distance call. He put his hand over the receiver.
“Tatiana and Olivia would be getting ready for school right now,” he said. “I just want to check in on them.”
Olivia came on the line first.
“Did you find Steven?” she asked. “Are you coming home?”
“Not yet, sweetheart,” Eric apologized. “But we’re close, I’m sure. Are you okay?”
“Helga’s taking good care of us,” Olivia said. “But we miss you. Please hurry home!”
“I’ll try, baby,” Eric said. “Is Tatiana there?”
“Right here.”
Tatiana came on next.
“When are you coming back?” she asked bluntly. There was an accusing tone in her voice.
“Soon as we can, Tati,” Eric said. “Not too long.”
“How come you didn’t say good-bye?”
Eric could hear the crack in her voice, and imagined tears welling up in her big brown eyes.
“Oh, Tati,” he said, “there was no time. I—”
“I have to go now,” Tatiana said. “The school bus is coming.”
She hung up without saying good-bye. Rachel read the stricken look on her husband’s face and knew what must have happened. But she didn’t say a word. Instead, she suggested they go off to find the diner.
So they got dressed and left the motel. They entered the restaurant and waited to be shown to a seat. There were about twelve other people in the place, which would seat nearly eighty during the high season. Even so, the buffet tables were well-laden. Once seated, they both refused menus, asking for the buffet instead. Eric led the way, enticed by delicious smells of bacon and sausage and fresh coffee and more. A chef stood behind three skillets, each on a blazing fire and each filled with eggs. Eric ordered a western omelet and waited as it was being prepared.
Rachel had moved on to a table of pastries and fruits. Suddenly she dropped her tray, the metal making a loud thud on the carpet. Eric quickly took his plate from the chef and hurried to her.
“Rachel, what is it?”
Someone else was already picking up Rachel’s tray for her. Eric took it and thanked him without actually meeting his gaze.
“Rachel?”
His wife was staring over the room full of people, her eyes focused on a table near the back corner.
“They know about Steven,” she said in a voice that did not seem to be her own.
Before Eric could question her or stop her, she moved around him and hurried by the tables of people. Eric quickly followed her. The table she stopped at was occupied by a man and two women. The man had a rugged look about him, countered by the punky way he combed back his hair. One of the women was a tall blond with green-rimmed glasses. The other was smaller, her dark hair cut in a Dutch-boy. It was this latter one that Rachel focused a pair of glaring eyes upon.
“You’ve got my child,” she accused. “What have you done with my child?”
In her chair, Samantha leaned as far away from this crazed black woman as she could. Her eyes went round with fear.
“Wh-what are you talking about?”
“Rachel, people are staring.”
Rachel didn’t hear her husband. She lowered her voice of her own accord.
“I can feel his presence here,” Rachel said. “You know something about him. You’ve taken Steven, and I want him back!”
“Who’s Steven?” Barbara asked, looking from Wil to Samantha and up to Eric.
“I don’t know anything about your boy,” Samantha said. She’d had a terrible, almost sleepless night, and really wasn’t up to an altercation with a stranger. Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t care about your boy. I care about my own little girl. I’m here looking for my child.”
Eric mumbled a surprised expletive. Rachel stared down at Samantha, tears coming into her own eyes. For a moment they were all frozen in a tableau.
It was Wil who finally spoke.
“You’re also looking for a child?” he asked.
Rachel nodded.
“His name is Steven,” she said. “He’s my . . . well, not my son, but . . .”
“But he feels like he should be your son?” Samantha asked, understanding.
“We took him in as a foster child,” Eric said.
At this, Samantha turned to Wil, as if the detective could explain the coincidence. He didn’t reply, but quietly offered the Frelengs a seat.
“My name is Eric Freleng,” the big black man said, shaking Wil’s hand in a firm grip. “This is my wife, Rachel. We’re from Columbus, Ohio. We had taken in a foster child, who ran away a few days ago. We have reason to believe he’s here somewhere.”
“I’m Samantha Winstead,” Samantha said. She almost added “Dr.” out of habit, but since she wasn’t sure of her right to that title, she left it out. “This is Detective Wil Sherer, and this is my good friend Dr. Barbara Huston.”
She didn’t feel it was right to take away Barbara’s title.
“Where are you from?” Rachel asked. Her voice had calmed considerably, although she was still shaking inside.
“Colorado,” Samantha said. “A little town called Ashleigh Creek.”
“How we got here is a long story,” Wil said. “But I think we should all tell what we know. It’s too strange that both our groups are looking for lost children and that we’re both from out-of-state.”
He took out his pad and pen in order to write everything down.
“Who wants to start?”
“I will,” Rachel said, and she began with the night at the school when she’d “blacked out.”
“Nearly the same thing happened to me,” Samantha said in amazement.
By the time they had all given their version of the story, Wil had a list of unbelievable parallels. Loss of memory, foster children who seemed to come from nowhere, the strange bondings between Samantha and Julie, between Rachel and Steven.
“There’s something I don’t get,” Barbara said. “What attracted you to Shoaling? Julie left clues in her paintings. Did Steven leave something behind?”
Rachel looked at her husband, her expression almost guilty. She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell these virtual strangers about the visions she’d had.
“I just . . . just . . .”
“It’s okay,” Samantha said. “Whatever you want to say, it’s okay.”
Rachel breathed in deeply and plunged on. “I felt him. Something was drawing me to this place. I think, somehow, Steven has been calling to me.”
“I don’t feel Julie at all,” Samantha said sadly. “I feel empty inside.”
Rachel shook her head. She didn’t understand this newfound talent herself.
“Do you have any plan of action?” Eric asked.
Wil explained his idea about entering the factory as a safety inspector. Eric agreed it was a good idea.
For the next half-hour they enjoyed their breakfasts, not speaking of the subject on all their minds. It was as if they needed
the reprieve to gather strength for whatever might be forthcoming.
Wil checked his watch. “I don’t have to be at the factory until ten. That gives us some time to work. Does anyone have any ideas?”
“Look, I don’t believe much in spooky stuff like telepathy,” Barbara said, “but this whole thing is weird. I say we take a leisurely walk through town. Maybe Rachel will be able to sense something more.”
“I agree,” Wil said. “Barbara’s got the right idea for a starting point. Let’s check out the town now that it’s daylight.”
As they walked down the street toward the beach, they looked no different from any other tourists. No one knew that Wil had belted a gun under his jacket, that Rachel’s mind was filled with thoughts of Steven’s presence, that Samantha was taking in every detail under the morning sun and trying, trying to remember.
50
ALTHOUGH IT WAS a great temptation, Lorraine managed to hold back her powers throughout the examination Dr. Blanely performed on her. He worked in a very efficient manner, never smiling. He never looked into her eyes; except, of course, when he examined them. Others might have been moved by such a sweet baby face as Lorraine’s, but Hartford Blanely saw her only as a specimen. She wasn’t even a very interesting one, as far as he was concerned. Not at all like the subject they’d nicknamed Marty.
But it was Blanely’s job to find out what her connection was to the older boy.
So far, none of the procedures hurt her, so Lorraine was able to take them in stride. She didn’t like them at all, but she understood Steven’s suggestion that she keep her powers to herself. At that moment she wondered why she’d suddenly lost contact with her two other friends. They’d been working together to call Marty, unsuccessfully, until Lorraine was brought in for the sonogram. For a few moments she’d still heard them in her mind. It made her worry that something might have happened to them. But curiosity was a stronger emotion, and soon all her concentration was aimed at the small televisionlike apparatus to her right side.
A nurse walked into the room. Without saying a word to the child, she picked up a device that reminded Lorraine of a microphone. She lifted up Lorraine’s shirt and rubbed a clear gelatinous liquid on her stomach. The little girl squirmed at the cold, tickly feeling. The nurse made no attempt to comfort her. In fact, she didn’t smile at all. She just left the room without a word, replaced in a few moments by Dr. Blanely. Lorraine didn’t like him, but she lay still for the entire procedure, watching in fascination as the sonogram revealed her insides in pie-wedge sections on the screen. She recognized her sternum and clavicles and various other bones. She saw her own heart beating.
Dr. Blanely spoke into a tape recorder.
“So far, the subject shows no anomalies of the internal organs,” he said. “Bone structure is consistent with a child of this age, organs are functioning properly.”
Of course they are, Lorraine thought. There’s nothing wrong with me.
He punched a few buttons, and moments later sonogram “snapshots” came rolling off a printer.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, as if Lorraine might try to go anywhere.
Lorraine pulled her shirt back down. She jumped off the table and went to the still-working printer, holding out the row of black-and-white prints. It fascinated her so much that she hardly heard the voice in her mind. When it called her name a second time, she dropped the printout.
Steven? Is that you?
But it was Marty who had suddenly, finally, spoken up in Lorraine’s mind. She closed her eyes with relief to know he was there.
Lorraine, there’s danger . . . You have to get out of there!
Something was wrong. This wasn’t the Marty she knew. Before, his urgency was born of strength. Now it seemed full of desperation.
Marty? Where have you been? Are you all right?
No, no. You must get away from them. They’ll kill you. Do you hear me? They’ll kill you, and Julie, and Steven. I’ve seen what they can do!
I lost contact with Julie and Steven. Did something happen to them?
They were given sedatives, but they’re all right. The danger right now is to you.
Marty, they keep trying to see if I look like you inside. Why would they be doing that? Of course I don’t look like you inside! I’m a girl, and you’re a boy!
That . . . that isn’t what they mean. Lorraine, listen to me. You must get away from them.
But Steven told me not to use my powers! He said it would reveal too much!
You have to take the chance. Lorraine, save yourself!
Lorraine heard footsteps from down the hall. She hurried to climb back up on the exam table.
I can’t do it alone! You said we were strongest together. That’s why you called us all here!
Lorraine, I’m . . . sick. I can’t help you right now. You have to do the same thing you did at the motel room. You . . .
Blanely had just entered the room, followed by the nurse. Lorraine turned quickly toward him, her eyes wide. He stared back at her, and for a moment it almost seemed as if he knew what was in her thoughts. But then he broke eye contact and turned to a table. He had brought a small plastic bag with him, which he hooked onto a stand behind the table. At the same time, the nurse slid a needle under the back of Lorraine’s wrist. It was done so efficiently that it didn’t hurt.
“What’s that?” Lorraine demanded.
“Nothing that will hurt you,” Blanely reassured her, although there was no kindness in his voice. “It’s just something to help you relax. We’re going to do some . . . tests.”
No! Don’t let them do that!
But Marty’s words came too late. Already Demerol was dripping into the child’s blood, at just the right dosage for her weight. It was only seconds before the medication took effect. Suddenly everything in the room seemed to be floating. Voices sounded farther away, stationary things began to move.
Marrrteeee . . .
Lorraine, you have to fight it!
But his words came out all stretched and distorted, and Lorraine hardly understood them.
It didn’t really matter, though. She kind of liked this feeling. At least it was better than being scared. Funny, now she wasn’t scared at all. She was just getting sleepy.
She heard Blanely and the nurse talking, but their words made no sense. Walter LaBerge suddenly came into the room. He reminded Lorraine of a big fat walrus, and she began to laugh. LaBerge glowered at her. She fixed her eyes on the lapel pin he wore. It seemed to float down the front of his chest, but when she blinked, it was right back where it belonged. LaBerge spoke in a way that sounded as if he was giving orders, then left the room.
She felt herself being lifted. Moments later she was on a gurney, the screech of the wheels sounding like sirens in her drugged mind.
No, that wasn’t sirens. It was screaming. Marty screaming.
Lorraine! You have to wake up!
MAAARRTEEEE . . .
They want to cut into you, Lorraine! They’re wheeling you into surgery! Snap out of it! You have to wake up!
It was the bright lights of the operating room that finally broke through the cloud that had wrapped around the little girl’s mind. Though the Demerol still dripped into her, she became fully aware that something horrible was about to happen.
“No!”
No one paid attention to her. She tried to move, but found she was too weak and dizzy.
You have to get the needle out of your arm!
Lorraine did as she was told, a line of blood trickling down her wrist. Blanely had his back to her, preparing himself for . . . something. The nurse was busy setting up tools. Lorraine glanced quickly around the room, her eyes finally settling on the stethoscope Blanley wore around his neck. She could just make out the white ear tips beneath his shirt collar. She stared at them, hard.
Blanely winced, and brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck. He felt a tremendous pressure there, a very sudden headache. Well, it was no wonder, he to
ld himself, the way LaBerge treated everyone around here. The headache would go away in a few moments.
But it didn’t go away. The entire back of his skull seemed to press harder and harder against his brain, so hard he was certain that any more pressure would cause his head to explode. He shut his eyes and rolled his head, trying to find a position that would make the pain go away.
“Dr. Blanely?”
He heard the nurse, but he couldn’t answer her. Right at that moment he was certain he was going to die.
“Dr. Blanely, what’s wrong with you?” The nurse sounded near hysteria.
He rubbed at his neck and felt the tips of the stethoscope pushing into his neck, pinching nerves. It was as if they had a life of their own.
If he didn’t get rid of them right away, he’d surely die.
“No!” he shouted firmly, ripping the instrument from around his neck.
He threw it on the floor and stared at it. The nurse, in turn, stared at him and wondered if he had lost his mind. But Blanely wasn’t aware of her gaze. Instead, he felt the child glaring at him, and when he turned to look at her, her eyes were full of triumph.
“Did you do that?” he demanded of Lorraine.
She only stared at him, the effects of the Demerol still slowing her reflexes.
“She’s taken the IV out,” the nurse said suddenly.
“Get it back in!” Blanely said. “We have work to do!”
It didn’t work, Marty! It wasn’t enough!
You need something stronger! Give it back to them!
Lorraine knew at once what Marty meant. She concentrated on the IV tubing the nurse was trying to reattach to her arm. It jerked out of the nurse’s hand and whipped around like a snake, the needle at its end like a tooth. The little girl put all her effort into moving the thing in the right direction, slamming it hard into the nurse’s arm even as the woman called Blanely for help.
The nurse was injected with such a large dose of the drug that she collapsed to the floor. Lorraine forced herself to sit up, watching all this in fascination. She had been unaware of any knack for telekinesis, but there was no time to ponder the thought. Blanely was coming at her. Without as much effort as before, she made the tubing jerk out of the nurse’s arm and aim for Blanely. He stopped in his tracks.
Cries of the Children Page 27