The God Project

by John Saul

  Randy settled down in the seat and glanced out the window. They were heading out of Eastbury on the road toward Langston. That was where his father lived, so everything was all right.

  Except that it didn’t quite feel all right. Deep inside, Randy had a strange sense of something being very wrong.

  Chapter 4

  IT HAD NOT BEEN ONE of Lucy Corliss’s better days. She had spent the morning making the rounds of new listings coming onto the market. Houses that she privately thought weren’t worth the land they were built on were being priced at well over a hundred thousand dollars. Between the prices and the mortgage rates, she didn’t see how anyone was going to be able to afford to buy. That meant her commissions were going to be off. While pretending to be interested in the houses, she had privately begun reviewing her financial position, and making plans for cuts in her budget For the moment, the situation wasn’t perilous—she had three closings coming up over the next couple of months, and those commissions, if she was careful, would see her through a year. Then what?

  Over lunch, she discussed the matter with Bob Owen, who was not only her employer, but her friend. She’d known Bob since childhood, and he’d seen her through a lot.

  When her marriage had begun to sour, Bob had been there, listening to her complaints with a sympathetic ear, finally telling her that at some point she was going to have to stop complaining and take some action. When the crunch had at last come, she’d gone to Bob for advice.

  The problem, at the time, had been twofold. She was pregnant, and her husband had walked out on her. In fact, she’d admitted to Bob, Jim Corliss had walked out on her because she was pregnant, accusing her of trying to tie him down with a baby.

  “Did you?” Bob had asked. It had taken Lucy a long time to come up with an answer. At last she had admitted that perhaps, subconsciously, she had. Perhaps she had thought that the responsibilities of fatherhood would calm Jim down, make him see that there was more to life than fast cars and dreams of quick money.

  Bob—practical Bob—had advised her to file for a divorce and prepare to go to work. It had even been his idea for her to learn real estate while she was pregnant, so that after the baby was born she would have a way to earn a living. For nine years she had worked out of Bob’s office, and she was good at her job. At first she had hired a sitter to come in and look after Randy, but last year she had decided that Randy was old enough to stay by himself for the two hours between the end of the school day and the end of her work day. Margaret Willis, who lived next door, had agreed to keep an eye on Randy. So far it had worked out Except that today she had a vague sense of unease.

  “What’s the matter with my girl?” Bob asked, pushing the menu aside and making up his mind to settle for a salad. He looked enviously at Lucy, who ate enormous lunches and dinners and never gained an ounce.

  “Your girl—and I don’t think your wife would like to hear you call me that, even though she knows it isn’t true—is feeling worried today,” Lucy replied. She put the menu aside.

  “Anything in particular, or everything in general?”

  “Well, the market isn’t doing a lot for my mood. I can’t see who’s going to buy the overpriced dogs we saw this morning.”

  “Someone will,” Bob said complacently. “People have to buy houses. Well just have to think up new ways to finance them.”

  “But the houses aren’t worth it,” Lucy complained.

  Now Bob frowned, his bushy eyebrows plunging toward the bridge of his nose. “With an attitude like that, you’re certainly not going to be selling any of them.”

  Lucy smiled wanly and brushed a strand of her pale blond hair out of her eyes. “I’m not sure I want to. Lately, every time I sell someone a house, I feel like I’m making him an indentured servant for the next thirty years.”

  “Then maybe you’d better do something else.”

  “Forget it. Besides, it’s not really the market that’s bothering me—it’s Randy.”

  “Randy? Is something wrong with him?”

  “Nothing new. It’s just that he seems so unhappy. He doesn’t seem to have many friends anymore, and he hates school and home and me and everything else. Sometimes I think maybe I should let Jim take him, for a while at least. Except I don’t trust him.”

  “You don’t even know him anymore,” Bob pointed out. There were times, every now and then, when Lucy suspected that Bob was trying to get her back together with Jim. Lately, he seemed to be pushing her to see her ex-husband more often than she had to. So far, she had resisted him. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that he might have changed?” Bob asked now. “It’s been almost ten years. People grow up.”

  “Even Jim Corliss?” Lucy scoffed. “Do you know how many jobs he’s had since he left me? Seven! Seven jobs in nine years, Bob. You call that mature?”

  “But only one in the last four years, Lucy. And he’s good with Randy.”

  “Who he never wanted in the first place,” Lucy shot back, her voice bitter. “To Jim, Randy’s nothing more than a part-time hobby he can deal with over a weekend now and then. But all the time? Come on, Bob, you know damned well Jim would send him back in a week. And what would that do to Randy? He’s miserable enough already—having his father reject him could destroy him. I won’t do it.” She wondered if she should tell Bob that Jim had mentioned the possibility of going to court over Randy, and decided against it Bob—reasonable Bob—would only suggest that it might not be best for anyone to have a court fight over Randy, and that perhaps she should consider at least sharing the boy with Jim. And that, she knew, was something she wasn’t prepared to do.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as their food arrived. “I don’t know why I always wind up crying on your shoulder. Let’s talk about something else, okay? like when you and Elaine can come over for some of my famous burnt steaks? The weather’s getting nice, and I feel in the mood for a barbecue. How about this weekend?”

  And so the afternoon passed, and Lucy kept her mind off her problems. Or, more exactly, she tried to keep her mind off her problems. But by five o’clock, when she left the office, Randy was once more looming at the forefront of her mind.

  As she pulled into the driveway of the small house she had bought five years before, her feeling of unease increased. Usually, Randy was there, standing at the living-room window, watching for her.

  She went inside and called out to him. There was no answer. Quickly, she went through the house, but nowhere was there any sign of Randy. His room was as it had been this morning, and his school clothes, which he usually left in a heap on the floor, were nowhere to be seen. Satisfied that Randy was not in the house, Lucy went next door to talk to Margaret Willis.

  “But why didn’t you call me?” Lucy asked when the elderly widow told her that Randy had not been seen at all that afternoon.

  Mrs. Willis’s hands fluttered nervously. “Why, I simply assumed he’d gone to play with friends,” she said, then flushed a deep red as she realized her error. Even on the days when Randy didn’t come home immediately after school, he was always home long before his mother was expected But today, the afternoon had slipped away, and she hadn’t seen Randy.

  Margaret Willis’s ample chin began to quiver. “Oh, dear, I’ve made a terrible mistake, haven’t I? But surely you don’t think anything’s happened to him? Why, its not even five thirty yet Why don’t you let me fix you a nice cup of tea?” She tried to draw Lucy into her house, but Lucy pulled away.

  “No, no, thank you, Mrs. Willis. I’d better try to find out what’s happened to him.” Lucy tried to Keep her voice calm, but her eyes revealed the fear that was beginning to grip her. Margaret Willis reached out and touched her arm.

  “Now, what could have happened to him?” she asked gently. “It’s not as if this was Boston, dear. Why, nothing ever happens in Eastbury, you know that I’ll tell you what—I’ll make some tea and bring it over to your house.”

  Tea, Lucy thought Why is it that half the people in the world thin
k that a nice cup of tea will fix everything? But she was too upset to argue. “All right,” she agreed. “All leave the front door open.”

  She hurried down the steps of Mrs. Willis’s front porch and cut across the lawn that separated the large Willis house from her own. Inside, the silence pushed her unreasonably close to the edge of panic. She went to the kitchen and made herself sit down at the table that was still littered with breakfast dishes. Consciously, she forced the panic bade, telling herself that Margaret Willis was undoubtedly right, that Randy was fine, and would show up any minute. Her fears were silly; she was overreacting to a commonplace situation. Small boys often took off without telling anyone where they were going.

  Her intuition told her otherwise. She went to the phone and began searching through her address book, looking for the names of people whose children had once been Randy’s friends. She was on her third phone call when Margaret Willis appeared at the back door, carrying a steaming teapot Lucy stretched the phone cord and reached the knob, feeling irritated that the woman hadn’t used the front door. But in Eastbury, neighbors, except for herself, always used back doors. As Mrs. Willis came into the kitchen, she looked inquiringly at Lucy, who only shrugged, then began speaking as Emily Harris came back on the line.

  “Geordie says Randy wasn’t at school today, Lucy.”

  “Wasn’t there at all?” Lucy asked, her voice hollow.

  “Thais what Geordie says,” Mrs. Harris told her. “And he should know—he’s in Randy’s class.”

  “I—I see,” Lucy said. There was a silence as each of the women wondered what to say next. It was Emily Harris who finally spoke.

  “Lucy, have you talked to Sally Montgomery?”

  Lucy groaned to herself. Sally Montgomery should have been the first call she made. If Randy was anywhere, he’d be with Jason. “Oh, God, Emily, I feel like such a fool,” she said.

  “It’s tragic,” she heard Emily Harris saying. “I mean, what do you say when something like that happens?”

  Lucy felt her stomach tighten. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “What happened?”

  Again there was a silence, and when Emily eventually spoke, her voice had dropped to the conspiratorial level that signaled the sort of bad news she loved best. “You mean you haven’t heard? Their little girl died last night. They say it was crib death …” She let the words hang, clearly indicating that she was sure there was more to the story than that Then her voice brightened, and Lucy suddenly realized why she had never really liked Emily Harris. “But I’m sure nothing’s wrong,” Emily said. “Jason wasn’t at school today, of course, and Randy probably decided to play hookey with him. Geordié’s one it more than once,” she lied. “All boys do it, especially in spring. I’ll bet he’ll be home in time for dinner.”

  “I suppose so,” Lucy said without conviction. She decided she had had quite enough of Emily Harris. “Thanks, Emily. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No bother at all,” Emily Harris replied. “Let me know when you find him, all right? Otherwise I’ll worry.”

  Sure you will, Lucy thought angrily. And you’ll be on the phone all night, spreading the latest news too. She hung up, then sipped the tea that Margaret Willis had placed in front of her, and told the older woman what she had just heard.

  “Oh, dear,” Margaret murmured. “Well, I suppose you’d better call Mrs. Montgomery, hadn’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Low replied unhappily. “Oh, I know I should, but what good would it do? Randy couldn’t possibly be there, not today. And what would I say to her? Do I tell her I’m sorry her daughter died, but has she happened to see my son? Margaret, I can’t I just can’t.”

  “Then I will,” Margaret said, reaching for the phone book. But before she had found the Montgomerys’ number, Lucy suddenly hit the table with her fist.

  “His father!” she exclaimed. “Damn it, that’s what happened. Jim took Randy.” Once more she picked up the phone, and began dialing furiously, her eyes, filled with worry only a moment ago, now glittering with anger. “That bastard,” she rasped through clenched teeth as she listened to her ex-husband’s telephone ring on with that strange, impossible tone that seems to occur only when no one is going to answer. Finally, she pressed the button to disconnect the call and dialed the emergency number that was taped to the phone. “I want to report a kidnaping,” she said, her voice level.

  Ten minutes later die sank back in her chair and tiredly closed her eyes. She could feel Margaret Willis’s burning curiosity permeating the kitchen. Even though she knew it would be all over the neighborhood by this evening, she had to talk.

  “They said they can’t do anything,” she began, her voice reflecting the frustration she was feeling. “They said they can’t even list him as missing yet, and they said if his father took him, it’s a civil matter, and I should talk to a lawyer instead of the police.”

  “But what do they expect you to do?”

  “Wait They told me to wait, and try to get hold of Jim, Then, if Randy isn’t back by morning, and I can’t get hold of Jim, I should call them back.” She shook her head helplessly. “How can I do that, Margaret? How can I just sit here and wait?”

  “Well do it together,” Margaret Willis said firmly, standing up and beginning to clear the breakfast dishes off the table. “Well clean up the kitchen and fix supper, and then we’ll start cleaning the house.”

  “But it’s clean—” Lucy started to protest, but the elderly woman waved a gentle finger at her.

  “Then it will be cleaner. No such thing as too clean, Lucy, and I’ve always found that cleaning house makes the time pass faster. So we’ll clean all night if we have to.” Then she smiled affectionately. “But I bet we won’t have to,” she added. “I’ll bet the little rascal will show up in an hour or two, tired, hungry, and dirty. Then we’ll feed him and send him to bed. How’s that sound?”

  To Lucy it sounded horrible, but she knew she would give in to Margaret Willis. It was either that or sit alone, watching the clock tick off the endless minutes while improbable fantasies transformed themselves into frightening realities in the far reaches of her imagination. She would, she knew, go mad with worry if she had to wait alone. Better to fill the time and the emptiness with Margaret’s relentless cheerfulness than to try to cope with the hysteria that was building inside her. Morosely, she began cleaning her house.

  It was nearly midnight, and the house was spotless, when Jim Corliss finally answered his phone.

  “Jim? It’s Lucy. I want him back, do you hear? I want you to bring him back right now, or I’m going to call my lawyer.”

  Jim Corliss knew by the hysteria in her voice that something was wrong. She never called him, except to demand support payments or argue with him about Randy. Suddenly, he became worried. Did she think Randy was with him? But he wasn’t scheduled to see his son for another week. “Are you talking about Randy?” he asked cautiously.

  “Of course I’m talking about Randy,” Lucy exploded. “Who do you think I’m talking about? How dare you!”

  “How dare I what? Isn’t Randy there?”

  There was a silence, then Lucy spoke again, her voice suddenly breaking. “You don’t have him? You didn’t pick him up this morning?”

  “Oh, my God,” Jim said, his heart pounding as he realized the implications of what his ex-wife was saying. “Lucy, what’s happened? Tell me what’s happened.”

  “He’s gone, Jim.”

  “What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Lucy stammered, her rage dissipating, only to be replaced by the fear she had felt earlier. She explained what had happened that afternoon. “I—I thought you must have picked him up,” she finished. “I know how he’s been after you to take him away from me. I thought you’d done it.”

  “I wouldn’t, Lucy. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Lucy asked, her voice brittle with suspicion. “I wonder …”

  “I
’m coming over,” Jim said suddenly. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “No,” Lucy protested. “Please, Tim—”

  “He’s my son too,” Jim said firmly. He hung up the phone. Within minutes he was on his way to Eastbury.

  There was an awkwardness when Jim and Lucy Corliss faced each other across the threshold of Lucy’s house, the kind of uncomfortable silence that comes over two people who have once been close but are no longer sure what to say to each other. For years Lucy had done her best to avoid Jim when he came to pide up Randy, restricting her conversations to a few stilted sentences conveying nothing more than what she deemed to be vital information. Now, as Lucy examined her ex-husband’s face, she had an impression of age, but then, noting that Jim’s face was as unlined as ever, and his hair the same thick, wavy thatch that it had always been, she decided that it wasn’t age that had come to Jim, but something else. The word that came to mind was maturity, but she tried to reject it. If Jim had, indeed, matured over the years, she would have to see more evidence of it than a look in his eyes.

  “May I come in?”

  Lucy stepped back nervously, stumbled, then quickly recovered herself. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Of course.” She held the door open as Jim came in and Mrs. Willis, hands fluttering, mumbled a series of greetings, apologies, sympathies, and good-byes. Then she was gone, and a nervous silence settled over the Corlisses.

  Jim glanced around the little living room, then offered a tentative smile. “Did I ever tell you I like this room? It’s nice—looks just like you. Pretty, warm, and tidy.”

  Lucy returned Jim’s smile stiffly and settled herself into a chair that would, by its placement in the room, separate her from him. The thought that Jim was still very attractive came into her mind, but she put it determinedly aside and began telling him what had happened, ending up with her fear that Randy had been kidnaped.