Chapter 12: Daylight
After a time, Samantha started thinking clearly again and her breathing was only interrupted by the occasional sob, the occasional double breath. Her arms were still wrapped around her legs and she had not seen any movement below for a few minutes. Her parents were no longer by the dining room window and the Wilsons were nowhere to be seen. There was, however, movement to her right. A tremendous excitement coursed through her body. Maybe Mark had hidden until he knew he could sneak back home. Samantha looked more closely and saw the movement had come from the other side of the fence. It was Mr. Henson. He had pulled himself up so he could observe what was going on, obviously wondering why the police cars were out front and the officers were in back. Feeling disgust, Samantha watched him for a moment, wishing she had something she could throw at him. Maybe even a firecracker would do, she thought with a bitter laugh.
“Samantha?”
She jumped, startled, and noticed that Mr. Henson had looked up and spotted her, because he moved away from the fence and back towards his house. Samantha looked down the gnarled tree trunk and saw her father looking up at her.
“Are you alright,” he asked gently.
Samantha wiped her eyes and said, “I’m fine.”
“Should I come up there or are you going to come back down soon?”
“I’ll… I’ll come down now,” she said.
She sat up, wincing at her stiff joints, and lowered herself down carefully, wondering how she had ever climbed as fast as she did because it was so dark. Soon she was standing on firm ground, glancing at her father but mostly looking at her shoes. Thomas stood there with his hands in his pockets.
“Are you sure you are alright? I could hear you crying.”
Samantha sobbed again and for a moment thought she was going to start all over. But she was able to catch control of her emotions before they dodged her grasp.
“I was crying because I was bad. I wasn’t doing good things and I started thinking about Mark and how he must feel, and how he… he would feel if he saw how I acted.”
She sniffed again and wiped at her eyes. Thomas gave her a long hug and she pushed her head against his chest as hard as she could. She looked at the dark bamboo because it was all she could see, and felt a small, light breeze blow against her, chilling her wet cheeks.
“You are a smart girl Samantha. There is nothing I need to tell you that you can’t figure out on your own. But I am proud of the way you owned up just the same.”
“Have they found him?”
Thomas looked at her and sighed.
“No. I guess Robinson and his partner walked all the way to the church and ended up coming out in a locked storage room in the basement. They pounded on the door and woke up the pastor. He let them out and scared him half to death at the same time. Apparently, he did not know the trapdoor was there. And now it looks like Mark never even went in the tunnel, or if he did he left a long time ago. There is no place he could hide in there I guess.”
Samantha looked down at her hands in disbelief, wondering how a person could simply disappear.
“So what happens now?”
Thomas hesitated, appearing nervous and unsure what to say. He rubbed his hand against his chin.
“And now, Samantha, we do nothing. We will let the police see whatever they want in the backyard, but there is really nothing we can do but wait. But I am sure they will find him. I am sure of it.”
The truth hit home for Samantha, not because of the words her father said, but because of the look on his face, the one indicating he didn’t believe everything he said. His eyes were too wide, his jaw stiff, and he kept his hand at his side instead of gesturing as he spoke, the way he usually did. In that moment, observing her father with similar fears to her own, she knew that Mark was gone and they were powerless to do anything about it. He might never be found.
Samantha woke up the next morning from a sleep so deep that, lying in her heavy bed and watching the bright winter sunlight illuminating her wall, she believed the previous day was nothing but a realistic dream. The feeling persisted but the sound of voices down the hall, including her grandfather’s, brought her back to the truth. Samantha got out of bed and looked out the window. There was a police car parked in front of the Wilson’s house. Startled, she looked at her clock and saw it was already after ten in the morning. She was late for school. Why didn’t her alarm go off? She could hear a faint sound in her room, like static, but it wasn’t her clock.
Samantha quickly put on jeans, a sweater, and picked up her backpack. She was about to run down the hall when she spotted the diaries lying on her desk. She hadn’t written in her diary last night and she hadn’t read her Grandpa’s to see what would happen to him today. Indecisive, the voices down the hall made her decision because they became louder and seemed more important than writing in her diary. She left both books alone and went out of her room, slinging her backpack over her shoulders.
Samantha stepped into the hall and closed her door, the sound of which stopped the voices. She could see Thomas and Sandra standing near Neil. The three of them looked at her and smiled simultaneously. The effect was creepy and Samantha shivered.
Thomas noted her backpack and said, “No school for you today Samantha. You had a hard night last night, so sleep was more important. We don’t want your migraines to come back.”
Samantha was frustrated because she wanted to go to school to see her friends.
“I want to go,” she said. “Can somebody please take me now?”
“Hon. I think it’s better if you stay at home today and rest,” Sandra said. “If you try to do too much you might end up getting sick again.”
“I won’t get sick. I just want to go to school.”
“You can go tomorrow, after we’ve all had some time to heal.”
“What do you mean heal? I just want to see my friends and get back to normal,” Samantha said, getting angry.
Neil’s cell phone rang. He was leaning against the far kitchen counter, watching Samantha carefully. He took out his phone and said, “Hello? Yes, I’m here. Well, I’m not surprised. Listen, I don’t have time to talk right now. Can we meet for lunch or something? Sure. That sounds good. See you there.”
He clicked off the phone. Thomas rubbed his hand against his chin, and then put both hands on the kitchen counter. Without looking at Sandra, he said, “I think that if Samantha wants to go that badly then she should. Samantha, you should know that class will probably be a lot different today though. I spoke with Mr. Stillson this morning and he said that the school had brought in counselors to talk to students who were frightened.”
“I don’t care,” Samantha said. “I want to get away from home. I’ve been here so much lately and I haven’t seen my friends or done anything fun.”
“I’m headed that way,” Neil said. “I’ll drop her off if you’d like.”
Sandra paused, seeming to disapprove of Thomas’s decision. Her lower lip pushed on her upper lips in a half-sneer.
“I think that sounds good Neil. Thank you,” Sandra said, coldly.
“I’m ready,” Samantha said, so anxious to get away from the house that she was moving from side to side.
“Do you need me to pick her up as well,” Neil asked.
“I can pick her up,” Thomas said.
Samantha went outside. The day was bright and warm and she was glad to be wearing a sweater and not something heavier. The police car was still parked in front of the Wilson’s house, but the house itself was quiet. The front door creaked and her Grandpa came out, blinking a little in the bright sunlight. He noticed Samantha looking at the police car but didn’t say anything as he walked past her to the driver’s side door.
“Were you here last night Grandpa?”
He unlocked the car doors and Samantha opened the passenger side even as he was sliding behind the steering wheel. He started the ignition and Samantha wondered if he would answer her question. Just as she was about to
ask again, he turned around as he reversed into the street and said, “Yeah, but I didn’t get much sleep. I was out in the bamboo with the police most of the night.”
“By the tunnel?”
“No. All over. I must say Sam, you’ve built the Taj Mahal of clubhouses out there. I couldn’t believe all the little tunnels you had going on. The back entrance was nice too. The police wanted to search for Mark through all the bamboo, but it was too hard to see very far outside the trails because the bamboo is so thick.”
“I wish they hadn’t looked through my clubhouse. Mark wouldn’t have gotten lost in there anyway.”
“Well, the police wanted to check everywhere. Personally, I don’t think he was anywhere near that tunnel or bamboo.”
“What do you think happened to him Grandpa? Do you think he’ll be alright?”
Samantha was alarmed to find she was on the verge of tears again. She wiped furiously at her eyes even though no tears had spilled onto her cheeks. She didn’t like to cry.
“I don’t know Sam. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Samantha looked out the window at the houses lining the streets, wondering again what Mark was seeing at that moment. Within every house lived an unknown person or family. One block over was the same thing, another row of houses with people living in them, all strangers. And combining the blocks together formed whole neighborhoods of strangers, and the neighborhoods combined to form the small city in which she lived. Out of all those houses, there may or may not be one where Mark was located. How would they ever find him? Hopelessness washed over her in a thick wave and she looked away from the windows.
“Do you feel alright,” he asked her.
“I don’t know. I’m just so scared for Mark and I keep wondering where he is and what he’s seeing.”
“I wish I knew.”
“The police didn’t find any sign of him last night at all?”
“Not that I know of,” Neil said. “And I was working pretty close to them. I heard their radios squawking all night. It didn’t sound like they had any leads at all. The best bet is this evening, when everyone in town has heard about what happened. Someone probably saw Mark during the day, so they’ll call in and the police will be able to figure out what he did and when. “
They made a turn and the school was straight ahead. Samantha discovered the short drive had changed her mind and she suddenly wished that she were back home in bed, covers pulled up to her chin even though it was warm outside. As she was thinking about home, Neil guided the car around the main traffic island and pulled to a stop in front of the school. Samantha got out and was about to close the door when her Grandpa said, “Sam?”
“What?”
“Can I ask you for a favor? I feel bad even bringing it up, but it could turn out to be important.”
“Sure.”
“No matter what you hear, if you hear anything today, remember the police found nothing. Don’t let anyone make you think the police found a clue, because no one knows what has actually happened better than you right now. And whatever happens, don’t think about using your talent to help find Mark.”
“What! How could I do that?”
“I don’t know. But don’t do anything at all, alright? I know it sound weird to say, but it might be dangerous if you do.”
“But why wouldn’t I, if I could help him? You said that the talents only are good to have when bad things happen.”
Samantha was leaning against the edge of the open car door. Impulsively, she shut the door and started walking away. The driver’s side door opened quickly and Neil got out, looking at her over the roof of the car with a distressed expression.
“Sam, promise me!”
Without looking around or breaking stride, Samantha replied angrily, “Yeah, fine. I won’t do anything.”
As she walked she waited for the car door to close, but the sound didn’t come. She resisted the urge to turn around to see if her Grandpa was still staring at her. She passed the office and felt a chill, finding it difficult to believe it was only a day ago when she was in the office with Nurse Wishon. She again wondered what had happened after Mr. Stillson burst in, and what her Grandpa knew about it all.
Then she was standing inside the quiet cafeteria outside of her classroom door, wondering what the mood would be like. It felt like months since her life had been normal and she was a little afraid of walking into the classroom as if nothing had happened. The class would be interrupted and everyone would stare at her, wondering why she was late again and why that never got her in trouble.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. The class was quiet, watching Mr. Stillson, who was sitting on a stool and reading a book aloud. Samantha walked to the back of the class, catching first Becky’s eye, and then Marissa’s. Becky looked at her with open curiosity and Marissa with a strange mixture of sadness and jealousy. She put her backpack down and sat in her chair, wondering why no one was speaking. She nodded to Mink and looked to the front of the room, where Mr. Stillson sat.
“Is everything all right, Ms. Branson,” he asked.
“I guess so.”
“If you feel comfortable, perhaps you could tell us if there is any more news. If you don’t want to that’s fine. Just say so.”
Samantha cleared her throat nervously. “They don’t have any clues.”
Mink burst out, “Nothing at all! I heard that they found a ladder in a tunnel behind your house.”
“No, no,” Samantha said, “There was nothing in there…”
“Well, where did he go then,” Mink said angrily. “I talked to Cliff last night and it sounded like the three of you had some kind of plan but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. And I heard that Mark was kidnapped inside a tunnel. I bet that wasn’t part of the plan. Did you tell the cops?”
“I…”
“That is enough Mink,” Mr. Stillson said calmly. “Samantha has told the police everything she knows. Unfortunately they haven’t found anything.”
He sighed, closed the book with a snap, and slid off the stool. He walked slowly to the back of the classroom and stood looking out the window.
“Another beautiful day, class, but it will be difficult to enjoy it. It’s hard to really concentrate on anything, wouldn’t you say? Here’s what I want to do. Please take out two sheets of paper and your pencils. Go ahead and split yourselves into groups. I don’t care how many people are in each group. On one sheet of paper, you will write down your questions about what has happened and we will talk about them after lunch. On the other paper I’d like for you to write out a note to the Wilson family, telling them how much we hope everything works out. Go ahead and get into groups.”
Samantha stood up and motioned to Becky and Marissa. Becky got up and weaved between the other students, hurrying to the back. Marissa lagged, and Samantha thought she would stay and join someone else. Slowly, she made up her mind and sauntered back to join them. Becky was already seated and looking at Samantha intently.
“What happened? I wanted to call you so bad but my Mom wouldn’t let me. She heard that someone attacked you guys but that Mark didn’t get away. She didn’t even want to let me come to school today. What…”
Marissa came up and Samantha turned her attention to her.
“Hi Marissa.”
“Hi.” She sat down and took out her paper.
“I asked Samantha to tell us what happened,” Becky told Marissa.
“You mean you can tell us and it isn’t some secret with your new club mates,” Marissa asked unhappily.
“What’re you talking about,” Samantha asked.
Marissa shook her head. “I know who both of you are going to the dance with and I know that you didn’t tell me. And then you found something in the clubhouse and you never even called to tell us about it.”
“I was sick,” Samantha said, before she could stop herself. “My parents wouldn’t let me have anyone over.”
“I bet,” Marissa said.
“Samanth
a,” Mr. Stillson called. “Can you come up here for a minute, please?”
Samantha looked up to the front of the room, surprised.
“Oh, go on,” Marissa said, “You’re always off doing something now anyway. Go on!”
Samantha got up and looked down at their faces, furious. Becky looked shocked and not sure how to react, while Marissa looked smug and complacent on the surface but hurt deep down. Samantha resisted the urge to start yelling at her. She walked to the front of the classroom with her fists clenched. Her arms were so tight that they started tingling and Samantha forced her arms to go limp. She succeeded, but now her arms were dangling almost comically, with her shoulders downturned. She walked to Mr. Stillson’s desk and he glanced down at her arms with a knowing and almost humored expression on his face.
“Something wrong with your arms?”
“My arms started tingling,” Samantha whispered, “and I didn’t know what else to do.”
Mr. Stillson looked at her very closely for a moment and Samantha felt the now familiar surge of distrust when she was close to him.
“I see,” he said. “Since you tell me this I assume that your grandfather has told you my little secret as well?”
Samantha recoiled, realizing that Neil had never said whether Mr. Stillson knew that she knew, and she wondered if she had done a very bad thing.
Seeing this in her face, Mr. Stillson relaxed and grinned. “Don’t worry Samantha. I don’t mind. I know you know to keep this between the two of us and I trust you completely. It always comes as a shock to have someone know what you are. You’ll know what I mean as you get older. Now, I know your grandfather told you about operators yesterday,” Mr. Stillson said.
“Yes, a little.”
“How do you feel now?”
How did she feel? It had seemed important and frightening at the time, but now, after Mark disappearing and the dark search through the bamboo the night before, it seemed almost meaningless.
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.
“Nurse Wishon is an operator. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Grandpa told me. What happened to her?”
“She is fine,” he said. “Do you have any other questions I can answer?”
Several occurred to her, but Samantha decided asking them would not be a good idea. Nothing seemed more important than finding out what happened to Mark and whether or not she and Marissa could be friends again. So, she asked only one question.
“Can I go back and start on my list now?”
Mr. Stillson laughed aloud, causing several of the students to look at him curiously. “Yes, yes. You certainly can Samantha. It appears you have other things on your mind right now. Maybe that’s even for the best.”
Samantha nodded, feeling better but not sure why. She walked back and joined her group. Becky and Marissa were talking and had nothing written on their paper.
“What was that about,” Becky asked.
“You’re always so curious,” Marissa said, “Do you really think she’s going to tell you?”
Becky looked down at her paper and Marissa looked at Samantha, a small grin on her face. Samantha looked back at her calmly, drilling her with her eyes in imitation of Mr. Stillson’s stare. She never knew how difficult it was to focus on someone’s eyes, and how hard it was to keep them there. Marissa seemed nervous and Samantha thought to herself, I know I will win, so it isn’t even a contest or a fight. I know I will win so it’s already over.
Sure enough, Marissa dropped her eyes and looked sullenly at the papers scattered on the desk.
“Why are you mad at me, Marissa,” Samantha asked quietly.
Marissa didn’t seem to know what to say. She looked for something in her backpack and stopped without taking anything out. Then she put her hands back on the table and stared at them. Samantha thought she was going to ignore her, but Marissa said.
“Because you haven’t been very nice to me lately,” she said at last.
“What,” Samantha said, louder than she meant to. “How can you say that? You’re the one who didn’t want to come over to my house.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that Mark asked you to the dance?”
Samantha stopped. She wasn’t sure how to answer because there was a sliver of doubt in her mind. Should she have told Marissa? However, Marissa’s pouting, especially considering the project they were supposed to be working on, was making Samantha increasingly angry.
“I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d act exactly like you’re acting now,” Samantha said.
Marissa’s face flinched, as if she had been slapped. Her eyes widened and became wet, and her lips parted in surprise.
“You thought I’d act what way,” Marissa asked.
“Like this. Acting all mad just because you didn’t have a date yet and we did. I don’t know why you care about it so much.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Marissa,” Samantha said furiously. “Mark is missing! What’s wrong with you? Don’t you even care that he’s gone?”
Samantha was surprised to find tears coursing down her own cheeks because she hadn’t felt them start. Her voice had carried and people had started looking at them, but Samantha didn’t care. The last thing she said had penetrated Marissa’s defenses and the hurt expression was back, but it wasn’t going away. Marissa was crying too and she put her hands over her eyes, embarrassed that people were seeing her that way. She tried to control herself, but failed, so she got up and ran out of the classroom, weeping. Samantha got up and tried to run after her, but Mr. Stillson was already at the door and he blocked her path.
“I’ll go talk to her,” Mr. Stillson said. “Go on back to your seat Samantha.”
“But I made her cry.”
“She’ll be fine.” He turned to the class and said loudly. “I’ll be back in a moment class. Please behave and work on your projects.”
He opened the door, left the room, and Samantha walked back to her desk. Again, she was aware of the unnatural silence of the room, especially now that the teacher, even if it was Mr. Stillson, had left. She caught Mink’s eyes and he looked away, almost as if he were embarrassed by the tears staining her face. Kelvin looked at her without his usual open, slightly curious, gaze. Instead confusion, which appeared on his face very rarely, was the predominant expression. Becky, at the back of the class, had remained in her seat and was looking from Samantha to the door with something like horror. She had never been good at confrontations and looked pale enough to be sick to her stomach.
Samantha reached her chair and still the class was silent. Many students were watching her, as if wondering what she was going to do next. Perhaps they saw her as the catalyst for recent events because she was always leaving class, always talking with Mr. Stillson, and she had been with Cliff and Mark when they went into the tunnel. She sat down.
“Why did you say those things to Marissa,” Becky whispered to her.
“Because she was being mean and it was the truth.”
“But it made her cry.”
“Only because she finally realized she was more worried about herself than she was about Mark,” Samantha said, uncomfortably remembering the way she felt the night before.
Becky shook her head in a disapproving way and looked back at the pieces of paper on the desk. A low hum of conversation had finally started and the sound made Samantha feel better. Some of the groups started writing on the sheets of paper. She and Becky looked at each other and started talking about the card they needed to make for the Wilson’s.
They were almost finished with the card by the time Marissa came back with Mr. Stillson. She looked composed again, more like her normal self than Samantha had seen in days. However, Marissa still did not want to meet people’s eyes as she walked to the table. Becky made one last mark on the card, which was a drawing of the eagles on Samantha’s bedroom walls, and put it aside, waiting for Marissa.
None of them said anything after Maris
sa sat down. Then Samantha took a deep breath and said, “I’m so sorry Marissa. I should’ve told you when Mark had asked me. I wish I had.”
Marissa looked up, her eyes flaring into their usual brightness, and said, “I’m sorry too. I felt so bad that no one had asked me. It seemed like no one liked me at all.”
They looked at each other for a long time and Samantha felt great relief sweep through her.
“Sorry Becky,” Marissa said, turning to her.
“It’s fine Marissa. I’m so glad that you aren’t mad at us anymore. It’s been so hard and I’ve wanted to call you so many times but I wasn’t sure if I should or if I shouldn’t. Maybe we should all go do something together after school at my house. Does that sound good?”
“Actually,” Samantha said, “that sounds great. And I really want to tell you all about what has happened the last couple of days.”
“Good, “Marissa said. Then quietly, “Do you know anything about where Mark was going?”
“Cliff said that it looked like Mark was going into the tunnel. I know neither of you know much about that yet, so I’ll tell you all about it later on. But if he went into the tunnel then he left quickly, because there was no sign of him.”
Samantha glanced up and saw Mr. Stillson looking back at them, huddled in together and whispering. He looked down as soon as he saw Samantha’s eyes, pretending he hadn’t been watching, but Samantha knew he had. How long had he been watching them before she looked up?
Samantha called her Dad at lunchtime from one of the school’s pay phones to let him know they were going to Becky’s house after school. So, when Becky’s Mom pulled up all three of the girls piled into the car. The afternoon had gone well and, except for the somber mood of the classroom, almost seemed like normal.
Becky’s house had a furnished basement that Becky had taken over. The rest of the house was simple and modest, single story, white with pale green edges. The lawn and hedges always seemed overly maintained to Samantha, but she was only used to her father’s style. The inside of the house was also neat, with paintings and knick-knacks from vacations adorning the walls. Becky’s mother loved Ireland and was part Irish herself, so there were many photographs of rolling green hills with low clouds drifting above them.
The door to the basement was in the kitchen and they headed there immediately, not even putting their backpacks down. Becky’s mother hadn’t mentioned Mark but Samantha could sense her wanting to discuss his disappearance the entire drive from the school, so it was a relief to get away. Becky turned on the lights and Samantha sat on a couch, while Marissa collapsed in a beanbag. Neither of them turned on the television. Becky had gone around a corner and came back holding a pile of canvases splattered with paint.
Before Samantha or Marissa could protest, Becky held up the first painting, a picture of a bear cub by a stream. As with all of Becky’s paintings, it was good and simple, leaving no doubt about the subject.
“That’s great,” Samantha said, forcing her enthusiasm to sound genuine. She wanted to tell them about what had happened the past few days.
“Really good,” Marissa said, looking at the ceiling.
Becky went through each one, describing why she chose each particular subject, and what type of paint she used. There was a picture of a salmon swimming upstream, a dragonfly over a pond, a giraffe in tall trees, and a person smiling at a car. There were several others as well, and by the last one Samantha was having difficulty maintaining her patience.
“This is the last new one,” Becky said, “I’m kind of nervous about showing it to you. I don’t know if you’ll like it as much as you like the others because it’s kind of different.”
“Just show it,” Marissa said.
Slowly, Becky turned the picture around and Marissa gasped. Samantha made no noise, but she knew how Marissa felt because the picture affected her the same way. The painting was dark, with little color. It was of a tunnel, as if looking through the eyes of someone walking inside. The walls were clear at first but faded into the distance. It was all black and gray. In the center of the tunnel was a young boy, his face distorted, as if in a scream. The eyes, almost white, seemed to float off the canvas. No one said anything.
“Do you like it or is it horrible? I didn’t know if I should show it to you and I’m not sure why I made it. I was up late the night we found the tunnel because I had gotten into a fight with my Mom about the dance because she didn’t want me to go. So I came down here and I was tired, and I painted this. Then I found out about Mark the next day and I wanted to tear it up, because I thought people would think I knew about it somehow, or something like that.”
Shakily, Samantha asked, “You painted this before Mark disappeared?”
“Yes,” Becky said, her head down.
Samantha looked at Marissa, who looked back at her with the same expression of disbelief.
The Talent Diary Page 12
