Cry Mercy

by Mariah Stewart

  ���Any chance Belinda’s been hiding there all this time?���

  ���None. For one thing, the neighbors would have seen her, they’d have let me know. For another, she didn’t really like to be there by herself. She said the place was creepy and haunted.���

  He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

  ���Here’s the map I printed off the Internet.��� He handed her the paper. ���See if you can figure out where we get off the highway.���

  She unfolded the paper and skimmed the directions. ���It’s the next exit. You’ll go left at the stop sign and then straight for another 3.3 miles.���

  ���Thanks. Would you mind navigating from here? I seem to remember there are a few more turns between the interstate and the clinic, but I’m not sure of the names of the roads.���

  ���Sure. According to this, you’re good for another few miles before we get to the exit.���

  ���You know, if you hadn’t asked about Belinda’s stuff from school, I don’t know how long it would have been before it occurred to me to look in those boxes.���

  ���Well, I’m sure that sooner or later������

  ���Later might have been too much later.���

  ���Was there anything else in the boxes that gave you a clue to what Belinda might have been thinking back then?���

  ���There was a lot of stuff there. Honestly, I don’t know if I’d recognize a clue unless it was pretty obvious. Like the phone bill. Other than that, all I can tell you after going through those boxes is that that girl had a hell of a lot of clothes.��� He ran long fingers through his hair and she watched them glide, front to back. ���I don’t know how nineteen-year-old girls think. I don’t know what’s meaningful to them, or what she might have had in her possession that might have led me to something else.��� He paused and turned to her. ���Am I making any sense?���

  ���You’re not sure if any of her belongings have any relevance to her disappearance or to the investigation.���

  ���Yeah. That’s what I mean.���

  ���Would you mind if I took a look through the boxes?���

  ���Not at all. You just say when.���

  ���Oh, our exit’s coming up on the right.���

  He made the turn. ���Left at the stop sign?���

  She nodded. ���Then straight for 3.3 miles, at which time you will���-she referred to the directions-���make a right onto Howard Road. The clinic will be on the right, about five miles down the road.���

  They drove in silence for a mile or so. Emme watched Nick fidget, first tapping his fingers on the side of the steering wheel, then on the shift.

  ���Are you concerned about what we might learn at the clinic?��� she asked.

  ���I’m more concerned that they won’t tell us anything. If she was treated there or��� whatever it is they actually do there, they’re not going to tell us without a release signed by Belinda, right? There’s a law about confidentiality, isn’t there?���

  ���There is.���

  ���That’s what bothers me. What if the key to the whole thing is here, and we can’t get to it?���

  ���Well, if I was still a cop, and I believed there was information in the records that could help find a missing person, I’d ask a judge for a subpoena. But in this case������ That’s exactly what she’d do. If she was still a cop. ���Oh, there’s Howard Road.���

  He made the turn.

  ���Mallory Russo at the foundation has a friend who’s a detective. Maybe we could get him to help us.��� There were jurisdictional issues and issues of probable cause, but there was no reason to go into all that now. ���Let’s take it one step at a time.���

  She watched the scenery change from hilly farmland to strip malls. ���Did you make an appointment with anyone?���

  He shook his head. ���I didn’t bother to leave a number, so I didn’t get a call back. I figured we’d play it by ear when we got here.���

  Moments later, the clinic-unmistakable with its monster-sized sign-came into view. Nick parked in the nearly-empty lot and turned off the engine. They got out of the car and followed the walk to the front of the building.

  ���There you go.��� Nick touched her elbow and pointed to the sign just inside the door. ���Heaven’s Gate Fertility Clinic. Dorothea G. Drake, PhD., Executive Director.���

  He held the door for her. ���That’s who we ask to see.���

  ���And if she isn’t here? Or she’s booked up?���

  He gestured in the direction of the parking lot. ���There were four cars out there besides mine. I’m thinking she’s free. Think positively.���

  The receptionist sat at a half-round desk twenty feet back from the front door. At the sound of Nick’s voice, she looked up and looked them both over.

  ���Good morning. Mr. and Mrs. Fields? You’re early.��� The woman smiled brightly.

  ���Ah, no. We’re here to see Dr. Drake.��� Nick began.

  The receptionist looked at the appointment book that lay open on her desk and frowned.

  ���You are?������

  ���Nicolas Perone and Emme Caldwell.���

  ���You don’t seem to have an appointment.��� She made a point of turning to the next page, ostensibly to check the next day’s listings.

  ���No, we don’t.���

  ���May I ask what this is regarding?���

  ���It’s personal.���

  ���Mr. Perone, everything that happens here is personal.���

  ���Tell her it’s extremely important that we speak with her today about my niece, Belinda Hudson,��� Nick told her.

  ���I’ll see if she has time to see you. In the meantime, if you wouldn’t mind waiting.��� She gestured in the direction of a sofa and some chairs on the opposite side of the room.

  The receptionist waited until Nick and Emme had taken seats before disappearing through a doorway behind her desk. Nick sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped between his knees, and stared at the floor. Emme sat in a club chair opposite him, her bag on the floor next to her feet. She picked up a copy of a travel magazine that sat on the dark wood coffee table and flipped through it absently before tossing it back. It landed atop another publication and she reached for the second magazine.

  Emme scanned the cover, which had a picture of a sort of crazy quilt comprised of photographs of children. Donor Siblings Reach Out to Connect was written across the sea of faces. Curious, she paged through the magazine searching for the lead article, but was interrupted when the receptionist opened the door and called to them.

  ���Dr. Drake will see you now.���

  ���Thanks.��� Nick smiled at the receptionist when he and Emme passed her, and she closed the door behind them softly.

  ���Dr. Drake.��� Nick said, as he crossed the carpeted floor, his hand extended to the woman who stood next to a wide wooden desk. ���Thank you so much for seeing us. I really appreciate it.���

  ���You said it was extremely important.��� The woman was all business. Tall, in her midsixties, and blond going gray, Dorothea Drake motioned to them to sit before she leaned against the side of her desk. ���Your names again?���

  ���Nicolas Perone. This is Emme Caldwell. I apologize for not calling for an appointment first, but we needed to see you today.���

  ���The extremely important part?��� she asked impatiently.

  ���My niece, Belinda Hudson, has been missing for five months. I’ve gone through her phone records, and it seems she m
ade a number of calls to this clinic last April. I was wondering if you could tell me the nature of her business with Heaven’s Gate.���

  Dr. Drake stared at Nick for a long moment, but before she could speak, he said, ���If she had business with your clinic, as her legal guardian, I’d like to know what that business was.���

  He stood and reached in his pocket. ���Here. I have a picture of my niece. Maybe if you looked at it, it would refresh your memory.���

  ���No need, Mr. Perone. I remember your niece. She was here last spring.���

  ���Can you tell me why?���

  ���Since she wasn’t seeking medical advice from one of our fertility specialists, and she wasn’t undergoing any procedures, I don’t see why not.��� Dr. Drake moved behind her desk and sat, her arms resting on the desktop. ���She was hoping we could give her some information, but unfortunately, in her case my hands were tied. I could not give her what she wanted. I don’t think she really expected me to turn over the file.���

  ���What file?���

  ���Her mother’s file.��� Dr. Drake tilted her head to one side.

  ���Her mother’s file?��� Nick repeated.

  ���Yes.��� Dr. Drake appeared to Emme to be slightly confused. ���She came here hoping to find out who her donor was, but of course, I could not give her that information. Our donors are guaranteed anonymity unless they choose otherwise, and the name would not have been in the file, so access to it would not have helped her.���

  ���Wendy was the patient, not Belinda,��� he said, as the truth became apparent.

  ���Yes. She bought several vials of sperm from us twenty or so years ago, as I recall.��� She stared at Nick. ���You were not aware of this?���

  ���I never knew how my sister conceived Belinda. I assumed it was a relationship that hadn’t worked out.���

  ���I’m sorry. I assumed you knew.��� Dr. Drake appeared flustered.

  Emme’s attention was drawn to a small booklet on the corner of the desk. FAQ: What if my child asks if he/she has siblings?

  ���Donor siblings,��� she murmured, recalling the magazine in the reception area.

  She touched Nick’s arm.

  ���D.S.,��� she said softly. ���Donor siblings.���

  Dr. Drake nodded. ���Belinda said she was the spokesperson for her siblings. They were trying to track down their father and were curious about any-���

  ���Wait a minute.��� Nick leaned forward. ���What are donor siblings?���

  ���Children who were conceived using sperm from the same donor,��� Dr. Drake explained.

  ���How many of these��� donor siblings did she have?���

  ���I can’t really say.���

  ���Is that privileged information?��� he asked.

  ���I can’t say because I don’t know for certain. I know how many live births attributed to that particular donor were reported back to us, but you have to understand, not every woman who successfully conceived and gave birth reported that birth.���

  ���So you could have had fifty women receive sperm from the same donor, and maybe all fifty of them conceived and had a child, but maybe only thirty of them told you of their success.��� Emme thought aloud. ���There would be twenty more children out there who were half-siblings to the other thirty. Theoretically.���

  Dr. Drake nodded. ���Exactly. And keep in mind, some women bought more than one vial of sperm. They may have kept the extras in the freezer until such time as they wanted a second-or third-child.��� She stood and began to pace. ���It’s not unheard of that a woman might give her ���leftovers��� to a friend. Those children would not be in our network.���

  ���Is that legal?��� Nick asked.

  ���I don’t know of any law against it,��� Dr. Drake replied.

  ���How would Belinda have discovered that she had these donor siblings?���

  ���The Internet holds a wealth of information, Mr. Perone. It’s all in knowing where to look.��� Dr. Drake picked up a pen and wrote something on a Post-it note. ���Try this website. I think you’ll be able to find what you’re looking for there.���

  She handed the note to Nick. ���It’s a website where children go to find their half-siblings.���

  ���Half-siblings?��� Nick frowned.

  ���Certainly. These children may have had different mothers, but they had the same fathers.��� Dr. Drake sat back in her chair. ���What would you call them?���

  ���I don’t know.���

  ���If the same man had fathered children by five different wives, what would you call the children?���

  ���Confused, most likely.���

  Dr. Drake smiled weakly.

  ���Of course they’d be half-siblings,��� Nick said.

  ���Because they had the same father but different mothers,��� Dr. Drake pointed out the obvious. ���The same applies to these kids. Same father, different mothers. Therefore, half-siblings. Donor siblings.��� She tapped the pen on the palm of her hand. ���Keep in mind that most of these children will never know who their father is. That one entire half of them is missing. Half of their history is unknown. They know their mother’s side of the family, they can see what traits they’ve inherited from her. But at the same time, there’s this great void that may never be filled, this great unknown about that other part of them. By connecting with their half-siblings-other kids just like them, who were conceived with sperm from the same father-perhaps they can fill in some of those blanks.���

  ���All of their mom’s family is tall and blond, but they’re short and dark haired,��� Emme thought aloud. ���They’d want to know where that dark hair came from.���

  ���Exactly.��� Dr. Drake nodded. ���They see certain traits that they all share, possibly, and by knowing each other-���

  ���They’d know a little something about their father. A means to fill in some of the blanks. To understand where they came from, who they are,��� Emme said thoughtfully. She understood exactly what questions Belinda and the other donor siblings might have, because her entire life, she’d been asking the same ones. In her case, however, there was no website she could go to, no half-siblings she could locate, to help fill in the blanks of her own story. They simply simmered and bubbled under the surface.

  ���Right again, Miss Caldwell.���

  ���So Belinda went on this website, and she asked-��� Nick still appeared puzzled. ���What would she have asked? How would she know her half-siblings from kids who were conceived from another donor’s sperm?���

  ���You’d have to know the sperm donor’s number,��� Dr. Drake told him. ���In this case, it would be Donor 1735.���

  ���How would they know the donor’s number?��� Emme asked.

  ���The number is no secret. The mothers would have had those. That’s the only way the donors are identified. It’s a number assigned by the clinic so we know which vial to give the clients. As a matter of fact, it’s written right on the vial. The potential mothers choose their prospective donors by the traits they’d like passed on to their children. Dark hair or light, blue eyes or brown, tall or short. Some women want the donor to have a similar ethnic background, some are looking for athletes with high IQs.���

  ���So you sort of pick through the available data until you find a donor who has what you’re looking for,��� Emme said. ���You want blond hair and blue eyes and a propensity for higher mathematics and when you find a donor on the list who has those traits, you say, I’d like donor number twelve?���
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  ���That’s right.��� Dr. Drake nodded.

  ���So with just her donor number, and that Web address, Belinda could locate these other kids.��� Nick pondered the possibilities.

  ���She could find her donor siblings, yes, Mr. Perone. There are almost twelve thousand donor offspring registered on that one website alone. I’ve been told that almost five thousand donor siblings have been matched already.���

  ���Five thousand?��� Nick frowned. ���How many of these donor kids are there?���

  ���The estimate is between thirty and forty thousand born every year. But again, because there are no regulations, no one really knows for certain.���

  ���And any one of those kids could be related to Belinda?���

  Dr. Drake shrugged. ���The sky’s the limit, Mr. Perone. Donor 1735 was a popular guy. We sold a lot of his sperm.���

  ���Like how much?���

  ���Over fifty vials. That was back in the day before we starting limiting the number of reported births to eight from any one donor. But remember, every vial did not result in a birth. Some resulted in multiple births. Some vials were frozen and never used. Some were passed on to friends.���

  ���I get the picture,��� Nick nodded.

  ���As I said���-Dr. Drake took a few steps toward the door to indicate, Emme assumed, that their time was up-���the sky’s the limit.���

  TEN

  So the first thing we need to do is find a computer.��� Nick said as they passed through the front door of Heaven’s Gate.

  ���I’ve got that covered,��� Emme told him. ���My laptop is in your car in my briefcase. What we need is a coffee shop that has Wi-Fi.���

  ���That shouldn’t be too hard to find.��� They arrived at the car and got in. Nick started the engine impatiently. ���Though maybe we should look for a town. We’re more likely to find a coffee shop there than on the interstate.���

  He gunned the engine on the way out of the parking lot and bolted into traffic. They followed the main road over a series of hills, past wooded areas and old farms. Finally, Emme touched his arm, then pointed to a small strip mall.