Danny didn’t stop to question her. He hung up the receiver and dialed Mrs. Ginmoor’s number. In the meantime, Alec put his arm around Kate’s shoulder and led her to a chair. As she gazed up at her husband, her eyes were full of inquiry and the color was slowly draining from her face.
“It’s ringing,” Danny said.
There was a click, and then, “I’m sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Should you require Directory Assistance—”
Danny hung up the phone. “It’s dead,” he said. “I don’t understand. Kate, what happened? What did the caller say?”
“He told us to stop looking for Laura,” Kate said. “He said if we tried to find her, they’d hurt her. Then he said ‘just like we’re hurting your little boys, right now.’ ”
“I better get to Mrs. Ginmoor’s,” Danny said, grabbing for his car keys. “Dr. Tavillo, can you stay with—”
“I’m coming, too,” Kate cried. “They’re my babies.”
Danny saw no point in arguing with her. Joined by Dr. Tavillo, they climbed into Danny’s car and sped off toward the West end of Gull’s Flight. As they pulled onto the gravel road that led up to Mrs. Ginmoor’s modest bungalow, Kate grabbed the waist of her seat belt and squeezed it tightly. The house had taken on a sinister appearance, like a dilapidated mansion haunted by malevolent spirits.
“All the shades are drawn,” Kate whispered.
“Maybe Mrs. Ginmoor took the boys out for a walk,” Danny suggested.
Kate shook her head vehemently. “No! She never pulls her shades. She loves the sunlight. Danny, something’s going on in there.”
No sooner had the car stopped than Kate jumped from her seat and was running toward the front steps. The front door stood slightly ajar, and Kate pushed inside without knocking. Danny and Alec followed close behind.
“Mrs. Ginmoor?”
Kate’s voice bounced through the house as if all the rooms were completely empty. She went back toward the kitchen while Danny and Alec took to the upstairs. Kate found the remains of lunch on the table—two half-eaten bologna sandwiches and empty cups that had held milk. The warm smell of pumpkin pie, which should have comforted her, made Kate feel queasy. It took her just a moment to realize why. The filling was smeared all over the table and chairs, the crust smashed to bits on the floor.
“Kate, Kate, come up here.”
Kate left the mess in the kitchen and ran upstairs. She found Danny and Alec in a bedroom. They supported Mrs. Ginmoor between them. The woman was staring down at her trembling hands, her lips moving as if in speech, but without sound. Kate hurried and knelt down before her. Mrs. Ginmoor stared at her through strands of gray hair that had come loose from a hairnet.
“Mrs. Ginmoor, what happened?” she asked. “Where are the boys? Where are Chris and Joey?”
Mrs. Ginmoor shook her head.
“Please,” Kate cried. “Where are my babies?”
“She’s in a state of shock,” Alec said. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“N-no,” Mrs. Ginmoor croaked. “I’m so sorry, Kate. So sorry. The pie exploded. I—I guess there was an air bubble that popped, and it sprayed the filling all over. The boys were a mess, so I put them in the tub.”
“Where are they now?” Kate demanded.
Mrs. Ginmoor burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.
“Oh, my God,” Danny groaned, jumping to his feet.
Kate ran after him, following him to the bathroom.
“Chris? Joey?” Danny’s deep voice penetrated the walls, but there was no response. He stopped short in the bathroom doorway, his bulky frame blocking the light.
Kate tried to get around him.
“Oh, no,” Danny gasped. “Oh, my dear God, nnnooo!”
Kate ducked under his arm. Her knees buckled, but Danny instinctively caught her before she hit the ground. And then, even as his cries of dismay turned to silent, disbelieving tears, Kate began to scream with all her might.
The boys were sitting in the tub with their arms around each other. Their eyes were closed and their lips blue. A long black cord dangled over the edge of the tub, leading to a smoldering wall socket.
24
FOUR PEOPLE, THREE MEN AND ONE WOMAN, SAT ON folding chairs that faced a giant television screen. Bright video images bounced off their white coats, the reflections like ghosts. They sat perfectly still, studying the tape carefully.
On the screen, a young boy sat in an overstuffed lounge chair, tilted back so that he faced up to a big overhead light. He might have been a child cuddling up to take a nap in his daddy’s favorite chair. But any semblance of comfort was eradicated by the presence of multiple wires and machinery. The four people—Dr. Lincoln Adams, his nurse Alice Segal, and two technicians—were unmoved by the wide-eyed look of fear on the boy’s face. One by one, the wires were taped to his head and chest. A metal clip encircled one of his fingers, and a soft, thin rubber tube was tied around his upper arm.
“I don’t want that shot,” Tommy Bivers said.
The nurse in the film, a gaunt young man with a face marred by acne scars, grinned. “It’s just to keep you calm,” he said. “After the seizure you had the other day, the doctors are afraid to take chances. Now, turn away and let’s get this over with.”
Tommy glowered at him.
In the screening room, Jenny’s mother leaned forward. “Look, you can almost read his thoughts,” Alice said.
On the screen, Tommy went on staring at the nurse. The young man blinked and a moment later jabbed the needle into his own arm. Realization of what he’d done hit him almost immediately, and he began to shout in anger. “You little brat,” he cried. “You made me do that.”
“Isn’t that what you guys want?” Tommy asked. “For me to hurt people?”
The nurse had raised his hand to strike the boy, but it was stayed by a firm grip. Tommy looked back over his shoulder, then made an annoyed face. Dr. Adams’ image appeared on the screen. With sunlight shining through the window behind him, the picture recorded by the hidden camera was distorted, giving the doctor a surreal appearance.
“There’s no need for that, Mr. Vinton,” Dr. Adams said soothingly. “I’m sure Tommy will cooperate today. After all, he’s had time to think about his bad behavior the other day and how close he came to spending a few hours in the dark with our pet rats.”
Everyone in the screening room saw the look of terror that passed over Tommy’s face. And they saw it quickly disappear, replaced by an unexpected look of defiance.
“I don’t want to do this,” Tommy cried. “Not anymore. You want me to hurt people. I heard that guy the other day. I heard him say, ‘Wait’ll we try this on a human.’ I heard!”
In the darkened room, one of the technicians squirmed uncomfortably as he watched the film. His big mouth had gotten him a stern reprimand from the doctor, and now he was on probation. One more stupid remark like the one he’d made hear Tommy, and he was out. He didn’t let himself think what “out” might mean—not after the rumors he’d heard about the Colpan woman.
“Oh, I’m sure you were mistaken, Tommy,” Adams said in a congenial, almost-patronizing tone. “We would never hurt anyone. Only the Outsiders hurt people.”
“Not all the Outsiders are bad, I think,” Tommy answered. “I think you made that up.”
“Are you contradicting me, Tommy?”
There was a threat in the doctor’s tone that immediately silenced the boy. Dr. Adams nodded and beckoned to someone off-screen. A moment later, the wooden donkey was brought in. Tommy stared at it, but when a cat was brought in—a real cat this time—his mouth dropped open.
“No! No! I won’t do it.”
The boy started ripping at the wires, looking like a child trying to throw snakes from his body. He leapt from the chair, landing on the tile floor with a soft slap of bare feet and ran toward the door. “I’m getting outa this place,” he cried.
The nurse moved swiftly, grabbing Tommy by
his upper arms. Vinton struggled to keep hold of him, dodging the boy’s kicks.
“Tommy, calm yourself,” the film image of Adams commanded.
“No.”
“Tommy, you must do this,” Adams insisted in a firm but soothing tone. “It’s the only way you’ll be in control of your powers. Are you afraid?”
“You’re using us,” Tommy cried. “You want us to hurt people. But I won’t do it so you better let me go.”
“Calm down.”
“I want to go home,” Tommy seethed.
In the darkened screening room, Adams sat back and tried to comprehend what he was seeing. In the midst of it, it had all been too confusing. But now that he could observe it as if he were an Outsider, he tried to understand what had gone wrong with his project.
What in the hell had started this rebellion? Although they probably resented the sessions at the clinic, the children hadn’t been mistreated there. He shook his head, unseen in the dark. Correct that, he thought; they hadn’t been mistreated in years. In the beginning, punishment had been necessary to keep them in line. He had to erase any earlier memories, so that the children’s minds became blank slates upon which he could write out his brilliant plan. And it had been brilliant, moving along smoothly, until this Bivers kid started up. It was Tommy’s fault, being threatened with rats. Served him right for being disobedient.
Again, Adams asked himself where the rebellion had come from.
And then he told himself it didn’t really matter. He was the master of all around him and nothing would stop him from seeking his goal. From the first time his experiment worked successfully, he knew greater things were in his future. He smiled, thinking of that first experiment. The young runaway had been so gullible, right up to the day she gave birth to what Adams referred to as “the result of my latest experiment.” But there was too much going on on the screen to give that much further thought.
On screen, his image had been soothing the hysterical Bivers boy. Adams looked up to see himself signal for Vinton to let him go. And suddenly two bigger men appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the child and dragging him back to the chair.
“I can’t let you go without the shot, Tommy,” Adams said. “You are far too hysterical.”
“No, please.”
“I promised you could go,” Dr. Adams reminded. “But first, you’re going to take your medication. Unless you want to be punished, Tommy. The rats?”
Tommy shook his head, his expression wild with fear. “No rats!”
“Then do as you’re told,” Tommy was admonished.
Tommy said nothing and Adams nodded at the nurse. “Hold him down.”
Tommy cried softly, but did nothing in protest. The threat of rats was enough to silence him for the moment. He didn’t even whimper when the shot was administered.
The video went fuzzy.
Dr. Adams turned to the technicians and sighed. “I’ve watched that film three times,” he said, “and I still can’t understand where the boy’s gumption came from, after all these years. We’ve had protests from the children before, but reminding them of the things they fear the most has always stifled any of that. So, what the hell happened this time? Why did Tommy Bivers fight us even when he knew he’d be punished?”
“It’s not just Tommy,” Alice Segal reminded. “My own Jenny and Michael Colpan are also giving us trouble. Just the other day Carl Mendolez blew up one of the machines. There have been other, minor incidents. It’s like a mutiny.”
The third man in the room spoke up. “Maybe the things we put in their minds when they first came here are wearing off,” he suggested. “Maybe we ought to educate them again.”
All eyes turned to Dr. Adams. Everyone in the room knew “educate” was a euphemism for “brainwash.” But the doctor shook his head.
“We did that only because it was necessary for the project,” he said. “The children’s minds had to be erased of all memories of their pasts. But we can’t fool with them now, not this far along. It might ruin everything we’ve been working on.”
Adams stood up, walking to the video machine. He stopped it and pressed the rewind button.
“There are worse problems,” he said. “Someone in the center has turned traitor arid is sending information to the outside.”
“We’ve been working on that, sir,” the male technician who was on probation said. “I’m sure there won’t be any real problems.”
“Make sure there aren’t,” the doctor said. “We haven’t been working on this experiment for the last fifteen years for you to screw up now. I want you to find the traitor, and I want him stopped.”
“Stopped?” Alice said, not quite certain what he meant.
The doctor nodded. The two technicians looked at each other.
“We’ll start a search at once,” one of them promised.
“And I want more emphasis placed on tailing the families,” Adams said. “They’ll be the ones to lead us to the traitor. Make sure no harm comes to them until we find out who he is. But when we do, I want them all dealt with.” He went to the door and opened it. “Within the week!”
25
THE SUN HAD JUST DISAPPEARED BEHIND THE ROCKY Mountains when Jill exited the main building of Albuquerque Airport. She stopped and breathed deeply, taking in the clean, thin air. She had left the pollution, noise, and crowds of New York three thousand miles behind her. It seemed now, as she walked toward her rented car with her keys dangling from her fingers, that the life she had built for herself on Long Island was just an illusion. The science museum; the few friends she’d made were all part of a world created because she thought she had lost the only thing that had ever really mattered to her: her son, Ryan. But now she was going to find him. He was here, somewhere, held captive by people who wanted to take advantage of his extraordinary gifts.
Jill unlocked the car and tossed her one suitcase into the back seat. She hadn’t packed for a long stay. She was certain she’d find Ryan quickly and bring him home.
As she was about to get into her car, she became aware of a nearby presence. She couldn’t have explained it, but something made her turn around and look back toward the doors of the terminal. Of course there were other people there, passengers who had been on the flight with her. But that wasn’t what was bothering her. There was a man standing offside, and though he wore dark glasses, Jill recognized him at once. She had seen him on the airplane from Ft. Lauderdale and just outside her apartment building. She gazed at him for a moment, then caught herself and quickly slipped into her car. Well, she had lost him once; she could do it again. Still, she was relieved when he did not follow her out of the parking lot. She watched his figure in the rearview mirror as far as she was able, but he never moved once.
Jill followed the road signs to Central Avenue. The brilliantly lit sign of a shopping mall stood like a beacon against the purple sky, indicating a landmark she had been told to look for at the Rent-a-Car desk. At the next road, she made a sharp left and pulled into the parking lot of the hotel.
Jill parked under a lamp and exited the car. Carrying her suitcase in one hand and a manila envelope filled with pictures of Ryan in the other, she entered the lobby and checked in. Her room was luxurious—not because she’d asked for first class, but because, at such late notice, there was nothing else available. There were two double beds, two low bureaus, and a round table decorated with a flat terra-cotta pot of cactus. When she kicked off her shoes, her aching feet sank into the pile of the carpet. The television set offered a choice of movies, and there was even a refrigerator stocked with ice.
Jill entered the bathroom. When she hit the switch, she was immediately bathed in red light. She realized it was a heating lamp, and flicked another. This time, the room was washed fluorescent. It made her skin look pale; she could see dark circles under her eyes. In the six-hour airplane ride, she’d rubbed off all her makeup and lost the blown-in wave of her hair.
“God, Ryan, if you could see me now,” she mumbled.
She turned on the faucet and splashed her face with cold water. Then she glanced at her watch and realized she hadn’t adjusted the time. In her mind, it was after seven. Mountain Time made it just after five.
“Early enough to get started,” she told herself.
She put the glass down and went to the bed, sitting on the edge. She picked up the receiver and waited for the front-desk clerk to answer.
“I was wondering if you could get a phone number for me,” Jill said. “The name is Maureen Provost. She lives in Albuquerque.”
“Just a second, ma’am.” The clerk was on the line again in a few moments. “There’s a Maureen Provost on Bryn Mawr. And at University Place.”
“University Place—where’s that?”
“Near the campus, of course,” the desk clerk said. “Mostly students in that area.”
“Then let me try the first number,” Jill said. “If it doesn’t ring through, I’ll get back to you.”
It did go through, and Maureen Provost was only too happy to speak with Jill.
She had a dish of hot sopapillas and a pot of herbal tea ready when Jill arrived at her home. It was an adobe-style house, the wood floors left bare except for handwoven Navajo rugs. The furniture was wood-framed, softened by thick muslin pillows. There was a long, battered table in the dining room, underneath a wagon’s-wheel lamp. At the back of the room, three niches had been dug out and each was filled with an exquisite Indian sculpture.
“How lovely,” Jill commented.
“Steven, my husband, purchased them in Nevada many years ago,” Maureen said. “He wanted them to have their own special places. Since he’s a teacher like myself, he had time one summer to cut through those walls. It took days. This house was built thirty years ago, but the mud and grass used for the bricks are still as sturdy as ever.”
As she spoke, Jill studied her face and thought how different she was from her older sister. Where Deliah had been dark and somewhat matronly, Maureen’s hair was a rich brown and hung in waves over her small shoulders. Jill guessed her to be much younger than Deliah had been, maybe not much older than Jill herself.
Hear the Children Calling Page 14
