The doors opened onto a wide hallway lined with narrow metal doors, each with a combination lock. Lockers, she thought. This is a school. As she thought this, a shrill bell sounded and the hallway suddenly filled with teenagers. Samantha threw herself against a bank of lockers to avoid the stampede. She watched the children hustle by, hearing snippets of conversations about a wild party somewhere and an unfair teacher assigning too much homework before a big game.
“What are you doing here?” a girl’s voice said. “Hello, I’m talking to you. Do you speak English? Habla espanol?”
Samantha realized the girl was talking to her. She snapped out of her reverie to find a blonde girl in a pink T-shirt glaring at her. “I’m sorry,” Samantha said. She backed away from the locker, pressing herself between a water fountain and a wall as the flow of children continued to roll by.
“Who was that?” one of the blonde girl’s friends asked.
“I don’t know, some freak,” the blonde girl said. She snickered as she added, “Did you see what she was wearing? She must have got that out of the Goodwill or something.”
“And what about her hair,” another girl said. “She probably cut it herself.”
“She’s probably homeless. She probably lives in, you know, a Dumpster or under a bridge or something.”
“Well, she obviously couldn’t afford to buy any Clearasil for those zits.” The girls broke into peals of laughter. Samantha took off running down the hall, shoving aside anyone who got in her way. “Watch it, you freak!” someone called out.
She burst through another set of doors and down a set of steps, cold air stinging her watery eyes. She kept running without any idea of where to go. She was homeless now. An ugly, homeless freak with a criminal past and a name that didn’t belong to her.
She slammed into someone and bounced off, landing on her rear in the snow. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see you.”
“Samantha, there you are. I’ve been looking for you,” a boy said. Samantha squinted up at him, but didn’t recognize the burly young man she’d run into. “It’s me, Joe Pryde.”
“Joseph?” She squinted again and thought she could make out a vague resemblance in his eyes, although he no longer wore glasses. What had happened to him? Since she saw him last night his ropy muscles had expanded to the point where they seemed ready to burst through his clothes. His hair had grown longer than hers and a thick beard had sprouted along his jaw.
“That’s right. What happened to you? Did someone hurt you? Give me his name and I’ll kick his ass for you.”
Samantha told him what the girls had said about her clothes, hair, and pimples. She couldn’t bring herself to mention what Mrs. Milton had said at the Seafarer Bed and Breakfast. “They’re right,” she said. “I am ugly.”
Joseph knelt down in the snow, caressing her cheek with one long finger. “You’re not ugly. You’re a beautiful girl.”
“No I’m not. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
Joseph seemed to be considering something. His hairy face broke into a smile. “I think I can help you,” he said.
“You can?”
“Sure. Come with me back home and—”
“No! I can’t go back there. Your father could be there with my friends. I can’t let them find me.”
“Don’t worry, they won’t. I’ll keep you safe. Come on, I promise you’ll feel better and nobody will ever be able to laugh at you again. Trust me.”
She looked into his eyes and then held out a hand. He pulled her from the snow, taking her into his arms. Against his body she felt warmer and safer than she ever had before.
Chapter 18: Blame Game
Wendell looked through the back window of Mr. Pryde’s automobile as Samantha disappeared from his life. She had jumped from the moving vehicle for reasons he could not fathom. What had this Mrs. Milton told her to upset her so much?
“We have to go after her,” Wendell said. He tried to open his door as Mr. Pryde stopped the automobile, but the door refused to budge.
“You two ain’t going anywhere,” Mr. Pryde said. “No sense in three of you running around like ninnies.” Mr. Pryde reached over to close Samantha’s door and then accelerated away from the waterfront. Wendell clawed at the door, trying to figure out how Mr. Pryde kept it locked from the front seat.
“We can’t leave her!” Wendell shouted. To his embarrassment, tears came to his eyes. Samantha couldn’t be gone, she couldn’t be! There were still so many things he wanted to say to her. “We have to go back!”
“She ain’t going to get too far on foot,” Mr. Pryde said. He continued driving through the town and along the highway. In the backseat, Prudence stared out her window in shock. Despite what Mr. Pryde said, she knew Samantha was gone. If Samantha didn’t want to be found, then no one would be able to find her.
The automobile climbed up the hill to Mr. Pryde’s house. Prudence flinched as though struck when Mr. Pryde said, “Goddamn it! I told that boy not to take my truck.” Prudence shivered at hearing someone take the Lord’s name in vain so casually. “You kids go inside until I get back.”
“I’m not leaving her. I’ll help you look,” Wendell said.
“I’ll have an easier time finding her alone.”
Wendell folded his arms across his chest. He wouldn’t leave this automobile. He had to find Samantha and tell her everything. No matter what she’d found out from Mrs. Milton, it couldn’t change how much he cared about her. Nothing could make him stop loving her, even if she grew as fat as Prudence or became as little as Molly. He had to tell her all this so she would stay and they could be together.
Mr. Pryde opened the door and glowered down at Wendell. “Come on, kid. Your friend will be fine. I’ll bring her back and we’ll figure all this out,” Mr. Pryde said.
“I’m going with you,” Wendell said. Prudence opened her door and climbed out of the automobile. Mr. Pryde was right: he had a better chance of finding Samantha without them along. Prudence put a hand on her stomach. She would only slow him down. If there was any chance of finding Samantha at all, they needed to work fast before she disappeared.
“Wendell, get out,” Prudence said. “Let Mr. Pryde find Samantha and bring her back.”
“No!” he said. Of course Prudence wouldn’t understand. She didn’t care about anything she couldn’t put in her mouth and swallow. “I’m not going to leave her.”
Mr. Pryde reached into the automobile, unfastening Wendell’s seatbelt. Wendell scurried over to Prudence’s former seat, but Mr. Pryde caught hold of his legs and dragged him from the automobile. He then tossed Wendell over his shoulder like a bag of wheat, not so much as grunting when Wendell punched him in the back as hard as he could. Mr. Pryde dumped Wendell on a couch in the parlor and then reached into his pocket for a cigarette. “I’m sorry, kid, but there ain’t time to argue about this. You two stay here and keep out of trouble.”
Wendell got to his feet and tried to race after Mr. Pryde, but found Prudence blocking the doorway with her wide body. “He said to stay here,” she said.
“You always do what you’re told. If you had let me go after Samantha in the first place none of this would have happened,” he said. “It’s your fault.”
“My fault? I did what Samantha wanted us to do. How was I supposed to know what would happen?”
Wendell tried to break past Prudence, but she was too heavy for him to move. “Get out of my way!” he shouted.
“No.” He reared back and punched her in the center of her bulging gut. Prudence’s face turned red and tears came to her eyes. She pushed Wendell back; he tripped over the couch and crumpled to the floor. Prudence rubbed her stomach as she continued to cry not just from the pain of Wendell hitting her.
Samantha was gone. Her best friend had abandoned her and the other children on Eternity still needed their help. Prudence couldn’t do this herself and scrawny little Wendell wouldn’t be of much use. They were doomed.
Wendell
tried to stand up, but felt a flash of pain in his ankle from where he’d tripped. Stupid Prudence, standing there crying like a baby when they should be out looking for Samantha. He sat up and then used his hands to bounce himself onto the couch. “Are you hurt?” Prudence asked.
“Yes, thanks to you. Is your brain as flabby as the rest of you? We can’t let Samantha go.”
“What good would it do for us to get lost trying to find her? Mr. Pryde will have an easier time without us.” She came over and plopped down next to Wendell on the couch.
“Do you really think he’ll find her?”
“No, but let’s pray he does.” They sat on the couch for a few minutes in silence. Prudence repeated one short prayer over and over again in her mind. Please God, let Samantha be all right and bring her back to us.
“What are we supposed to do?” Wendell finally asked. He couldn’t sit here praying all day while Mr. Pryde searched for the only girl Wendell cared about. He had to do something.
“We wait,” Prudence said. She heaved herself off the couch and then picked Wendell up. She carried him over her shoulder as Mr. Pryde had into the living room. She turned on the television, letting its flickering images and strange noises fill the void of Samantha’s disappearance.
She and Wendell watched a program about a group of teenagers in something called a high school. All of these teenagers were thin and beautiful, not at all like Prudence. At the end of the program, when two of the beautiful girls made up after an argument by hugging, tears came to Prudence’s eyes again. She imagined herself and Samantha in place of the girls on the screen, although she knew that would never happen.
She leapt to her feet when she heard the front door open. “Mr. Pryde? Samantha?” Prudence called out. By the time she got to the hallway, she saw only the blurred shape of a man going upstairs. “Mr. Pryde? Is that you?”
Wendell got off the couch, wincing at the pain, and limped over to where Prudence stood. “Samantha?” he shouted.
A door slammed upstairs. Prudence took Wendell over her shoulder and climbed up the steps. She dumped Wendell at the top and then knocked on the first door she came to. “Hello?” she asked. “Is anyone here?” She heard no response.
She tried the next door while Wendell limped past her to knock on another door. Soon they neared the end of the hallway and a door with the picture of a wild-haired old man sticking out his tongue with the caption ‘Genius At Work.’ Prudence heard something rattle behind the door. “Hello?” she said.
“What do you want?” a man’s voice growled back.
“Who is this?”
“Who is this?” the man asked back. Prudence heard a stifled giggle accompany this.
“Samantha? Are you in there? It’s Prudence.”
“Prudence?” the man said. “What kind of name is that?” Prudence heard someone shush the man. “I’m sorry, but who names a girl Prudence anymore? It’s an old lady name like Mabel.”
“Samantha? Come out, please,” Wendell pleaded.
“Look, Prudence—if that’s your real name—there’s no one named Samantha in here. Now beat it.”
“I’m not Prudence!” Wendell shouted. “I’m Wendell.”
“Wendell? Jesus Christ. Are you two Canadian or something? I can’t imagine any Americans naming their kids Prudence and Wendell.” Someone shushed the man behind the door again. “I’m just saying they got lousy names.”
“Samantha, if you’re in there, please come out. We’re not mad at you. We want to help you.”
“For the last time, she’s not in here. Scram.”
“What’s that mean?” Prudence asked Wendell.
“It means get the hell out of here!” the man shouted. “I’m too busy to fool around with a couple of nosy kids.”
“We’re not leaving until you open the door and let us see Samantha,” Wendell said. “We know she’s in there.” He didn’t know this for certain, but he was reasonably sure the second voice he’d heard belonged to Samantha. Maybe his bluff would cause her to come out of this cretin’s room so they could talk.
The two voices behind the door whispered in a fierce argument, and although Prudence couldn’t hear what they said, she knew the second voice belonged to Samantha. “We only want to talk,” Prudence said. “Whatever happened with Mrs. Milton doesn’t matter to us. We don’t care. We love you, Samantha. Please open the door.”
“I love you too, Prudence,” Samantha said through the door. “I’ll be down to talk with you two later, but right now Joseph and I have some things to discuss. Can you give us a few minutes alone?”
“Of course,” Wendell said. In his relief, he jumped up to hug Prudence. Samantha had come back! He would finally have his chance to set things right with her.
His ankle no longer bothered him as he bounded down the stairs. Then he followed Prudence to the living room to sit on the couch in front of the television again. He stared at the screen without following the program, hoping he didn’t look too anxious. He didn’t want Samantha to see his desperation.
The minutes soon dragged into hours and still Samantha didn’t come down as promised. Wendell grew worried, but he didn’t want to go upstairs and plead with her to come down again. Who was this Joseph person anyway? he began to wonder. Mr. Pryde’s son, he knew that much, but what did he mean to Samantha? The longer the wait grew, the more this troubled him.
Prudence started to wring her hands after the first hour. Samantha had promised to come down and talk. What were she and this Joseph doing up there? Prudence wanted to go upstairs to ask, but worried if she did Samantha might never come down.
Prudence didn’t know when she fell asleep, but the living room had gone dark except for the blue glow of the television when the front door opened. In the dim lighting, Mr. Pryde’s face resembled the Pryde of her nightmares. He met her gaze and then glanced at Wendell curled up on the other end of the couch before stomping upstairs.
Prudence sat rigid on the couch as Mr. Pryde shouted, “Boy, did you take the truck? I told you not to go off driving without asking me. You could have run off the road and ended up floating over to Canada.” There was a pause and then Mr. Pryde said, “Don’t sass me, boy. I can break down that fucking door if I want.”
Prudence strained to hear what happened next, but couldn’t make out anything more than hushed voices. Finally she heard Mr. Pryde stomp off and another door slam. Still Samantha didn’t come downstairs to find them. She doesn’t care, Prudence thought. She found the button to turn off the television so no one could see her cry.
Chapter 19: Family Matters
Molly woke up to find Becky leaning over her. But something wasn’t right about Becky. She looked younger than Molly remembered, not much older than Molly herself. She wore a tight-fitting pink dress Molly recognized as the one Aunt Prudence had given Molly to wear on her third birthday. Strangest of all, Becky was crying.
Molly wanted to tell her not to cry, but all that came out was a gurgling sound. When she reached out an arm towards Becky she saw how tiny it was. She was a baby!
She howled in protest, furiously kicking her chubby limbs. This wasn’t fair! She didn’t want to have to grow up all over again. She didn’t want to learn to walk, talk, eat, and go potty again. She didn’t want to rely on Becky to feed her and change her stinky diapers.
“There now, Molly, hush,” Becky whispered. She picked Molly up off the ground, holding her close. Becky’s face looked pale and her smile more of a wince. “Everything will be fine.”
Molly wanted to say something reassuring, but could only make a cooing sound. Her tiny fingers stroked the side of Becky’s nose, wiping away a tear. Don’t cry! Molly wanted to say. I’m still here, inside. I only look like a baby on the outside. I’m still me!
Becky rocked her back and forth, whispering that everything would be fine even as she cried. Molly understood then. Becky was scared. She was still a little girl herself, a child trying to act like a grownup. But what was she scared of?
>
“I’m here now. I’m never going to let you go.”
Molly cooed and reached out to touch Becky’s nose. Becky kissed her on the forehead and then tickled Molly’s belly until she giggled. Becky pressed Molly to her chest again and then set off through the forest. When Molly whimpered at the darkness from the trees, Becky rocked her and hummed a lullaby.
“You look so pretty. I’m going to take good care of you from now on. I’m going to be your mommy.”
“Molly? Molly, wake up,” a woman’s voice said. Molly’s eyes flashed open and she found Veronica looming before her with a look of concern. “Are you all right?”
Molly held up a normal-sized hand and nodded. “It was just a dream,” she said. She was glad to hear the sound of her own voice. Then she realized that like in her dream she’d wet herself. She hoped Veronica didn’t notice or else she might think Molly still a baby who couldn’t take care of herself. I’m not a baby, she told herself. I’m a big girl.
Veronica pressed a hand against Molly’s forehead. “You feel much cooler now,” she said. “You were so warm earlier I thought you might not make it. Can you sit up?”
Molly sat up in the bed and looked around the hut to make sure there was no sign of Becky. What a strange dream, she thought. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked.
“Oh, I’d say about twelve hours. The way you were kicking and screaming, I thought you were possessed. What were you dreaming about?” Molly explained the dream. Afterwards, Veronica smiled and hugged her. “You’re not a baby. You’re a wonderful little girl. Becky must be crazy to let you go.”
“She hates me,” Molly said. “Everyone there does because I’m the littlest. It’s not fair. It’s not my fault.”
“You’re right, it’s not. You can’t help when you’re born.” Veronica went over to the hearth to retrieve a can of tomato soup. “Are you hungry? I kept it warm for when you woke up.”
Children of Eternity Omnibus Page 42
