THE LAST BOY

by ROBERT H. LIEBERMAN

  “When was the last time anyone saw him and where?” he inquired as he pulled out his notepad.

  “I left at two o’clock, and he was right there,” said Mrs. Oltz pointing emphatically. “On the floor. By that toy box. Playing with two other kids. It was the Ruzicka boy and Patty Bruce. They built a fort out of blocks. And they had a fire truck. They were playing war, and they were getting wild. So I had to get them to pipe down.”

  Molly found herself wondering if Mrs. Oltz was in the habit of bullying the children as she had just done with Cheryl.

  “I remember them playing, too,” agreed Cheryl. Holding her breath, Molly turned to look at her.“And then, about an hour later,” she went on,“I had them clean up so we could have story time.”

  “We always try to get the kids to calm down before the parents start arriving,” added Mrs. Oltz.

  “Was he there—with the other kids?” asked Molly.

  “Yeah,” said Cheryl,“I remember him sitting there. He was joking with the Lifsey boy. Stevie. They kept poking each other and I had to ask them to be quiet so the other kids could hear.”

  “And then?” urged Molly.

  “And then the parents came. And, well…” Cheryl became agitated and her eyes started to well with tears again. “And then…then…he just wasn’t there!”

  Molly stared at her and felt empty.

  “Let me take a look around,” said Pellegrino, pulling a long, black flashlight from his leather belt and heading toward the kitchen. Molly followed. The thing in his hand looked more like a club than a light.“Sometimes a kid’ll just curl up and go to sleep somewhere. You find them and they’re perfectly okay.”

  “But I just searched the place. Everywhere.” Molly was trying to keep up with him as he strode through the debris cluttering the sticky floor.

  Pellegrino kicked aside some pots, opened a cabinet and checked it with his light. “Okay, but I gotta do it, too. Follow procedures,” he explained as he moved from cabinet to cabinet. Down on his knees, he shined his light behind the fridge. Then he was back into the hallway.

  “Are they really out looking for Danny?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” He climbed over the tangle of brooms and mops and overturned buckets as he waded into the storage closet. “We take missing kids very seriously.” He moved past her as if remembering something and went back into the kitchen and stared up at the ceiling. With a grunt he heaved himself up on one of the counters, pulling up one leg at a time until he was standing, his head touching the ceiling. He played the beam across the top of the cabinets. “Hey, anybody check up in here?” he asked, poking the trap door near his head.

  Molly shook her head. He pushed open the portal and hoisted himself into the attic. Molly could hear his radio crackling as he rummaged around overhead, moving and sliding what sounded like boxes.

  When he came down, the dark blue of his uniform was littered with tufts of dust and strands of pink insulation. Coughing, he haphazardly brushed himself off and went systematically again from room to room. “Hey, what's this door?” he asked finding the basement.“Anybody check down here?”

  As he emerged from the cellar, Molly was waiting at the top of the stairs.“Okay,” she inquired, hands on her hips.“Now what?”

  Pellegrino was sweating. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. His gray hair was clipped in a brush cut, like Molly's father used to have. She thought about her father, a man she could only remember as unsmiling, depressed, eyes vacant except when he was drunk and angry—which was often; her mother who had died without ever seeing Danny. Danny, oh God! The evocation of his name caused something to seize up in her breast.

  “I just called in,” said Pellegrino, seeing the look on her face. “We got three units out there now just searching for your boy.”

  “I’m calling the other parents,” said Molly.

  “Yeah, yeah, good idea,” said Pellegrino.

  “Let me call them,” said Mrs. Oltz, trying to take charge.“I don’t want to start getting people all riled up.”

  “Give me the fucking numbers,” demanded Molly, holding out her hand.

  Mrs. Oltz meekly handed over the school directory.

  The route up South Hill past the old Morse Chain factory is steep, an unrelenting incline as the narrowness of Aurora Street spreads into the four-lane highway that is Route 96B. It's a demanding climb for the little boy whose face has been whipped red by the cold wind sweeping off the lake. The sun, obscured at times by billowing clouds, hovers low above the horizon; the air is damp and smells pungently of vegetative decay and vehicle exhaust.

  The afternoon shift at Therm, where they machine the blades for aircraft turbines, has just let out and the highway is jammed with the cars of workers anxious to get home. Delivery vans and tanker trucks headed through town are interspersed with the Sport Utes of Ithaca College kids on their way down to the Commons or out to the mall.

  The boy stops momentarily as if attempting to gain his bearings. He turns to gaze down at the rooftops of the city nestled in the valley below. Shivering with cold, he wrinkles his brow in thought, then pushes on up the highway. Vehicles continue to whisk past, whipping up clouds of blinding dust and sand.

  Further on, the boy cuts diagonally across the highway, prompting the sleepy driver of a large tractor trailer to slam on his air brakes. The line of traffic behind him jerks to a reflexive halt. No one seems to notice the boy, except as an obstacle to be avoided. No one gets out to confront him or question him. It is as if he were invisible.

  Once across the highway, the boy slides down the embankment and pushes through the shrubbery. Now he is moving through the backyards of neatly kept Tudors and gingerbread Victorians, his feet shuffling through lawns deep in crisp fallen leaves. Here the air smells clean, the surroundings feel less frenzied. The boy's features become more relaxed. But he continues to climb the hill, moving ever upward.

  “Mrs. Lifsey? Dianne? This is Molly Driscoll. You may not know me. My boy Danny goes to Kute Kids?” Molly fought to keep her voice from wavering as she talked into the phone in the hallway, the roster of names quivering in her hands. Cheryl and Mrs. Oltz, positioned on either side, listened anxiously. Through the plate glass window, Molly watched Pellegrino outside leaning into a squad car that just pulled up onto the sidewalk. Please dear God, she silently prayed, let him be with one of the other kids.

  “Is Danny with you?”

  “With me?” exclaimed Mrs. Lifsey, her voice leaping an octave. “Why in the world would Danny be with me? What's wrong?”

  “I’m at Kute Kids. I came to pick him up and he's not—”

  “Oh my!” gasped Mrs. Lifsey, then caught herself. “Maybe he just went…”

  “Did you see Danny when you came to pick up Stevie? You know, he's…”

  “Sure I know Danny. Stevie plays with him and—”

  “Look, just tell me if you…”

  There was a momentary silence.

  “Mrs. Lifsey? Dianne?”

  “I’m trying to think. I’m trying…I remember seeing him in the morning. He was there when I brought Stevie. He was wearing a…a red plaid kind of shirt?”

  “Yes. Yes. That's right.”

  “And when I picked up Stevie…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I didn’t see him.”

  “When did you pick him up?”

  “She was here about five,” whispered Cheryl. “There were still others here.”

  “Sometime just after five,” confirmed Mrs. Lifsey.

  Molly called Tanya Dawson. Molly knew her from her days waitressing at the Ramada. Tanya, who worked in the kitchen, had twin girls in Kute Kids. Their father was the assistant manager at Midas Muffler. The girls were coffee-colored and wore their hair in cornrows. Tanya always dressed them like little dolls.

  “Oh, yeah, sure Molly, I ’member you. Howya doin’? Where you workin’ now?”

  “Look, Tanya, I got a serious problem. My little boy vanished from Kute Kids.”


  Mrs. Oltz rolled her eyes in silent protest while Cheryl chewed her nails.

  Molly quickly filled Tanya in.“Did you see him today when you came by?”

  “Sure. In the morning. When I dropped off Keisha and Aisha. Hey, hol’ on a secon’. Wait! Gordy had to go back and bring ’em lunch. Gordy! You know Molly? Tha’ girl that used…Yeah. Yeah. Her little boy is missin’ from—”

  She could hear Gordy in the background saying, “No shit. Missing?” Molly had seen him a couple of times at Midas Muffler, where he worked as the assistant manager.

  Gordy came on the phone. “Yeah, I know your boy. Little wild guy with that big mop of curly hair. The kids call him Salad Head.”

  “That's him,” Molly choked a laugh.

  “Sure, I saw him at lunch. He was eating a sandwich.”

  “Then?”

  “I left the girls their lunch. You know, lunch is expensive there, and me and Tanya…”

  “Sure. Sure.”

  “That's all I know. Geez, we sure hope you find him.”

  Molly kept moving down the list. She called Bea Bruce's number. Bea was a single mother who worked the production line at Borg-Warner. Molly knew her from high school.

  A strange man answered.“Whatta you selling?” he asked gruffly.

  “I’m not selling anything. I just want to talk to—”

  “Well, she's not in,” he said and hung up.

  Molly called right back.

  “Hey, I told you already. We don’ wan’ any!”

  “Oh, God,” said Molly, holding the phone aloft in despair.“He just hung up on me again!”

  Pellegrino was just coming back in the door.“Hey, if you can’t get through just give us the name and we’ll take care of it.”

  Molly kept calling. People remembered Danny, or couldn’t quite place him. Saw him that morning, or didn’t. The further down the list she got, the more her anxiety grew. A couple of parents were out and she left her number on their machines.

  “Now what?” she asked, as much for her own benefit as the room's.

  Mrs. Oltz was uncharacteristically subdued.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Cheryl. “I don’t know how this could have happened.”

  “Every unit's got a description of him,” said Pellegrino, handing her a missing persons form to sign. “We’re checking the neighborhood. We’re talking to anyone who might have noticed anything.”

  Looking out the window, Molly could see that there was yet another squad car on the opposite side of State Street. It stood in front of the bar. A young policeman was talking to a squat middle-aged man she recognized as the owner of the tavern. The cop was consulting his pad while the other man stood with his hands on his hips.

  “Why don’t you go home,” said Pellegrino, taking her gently by the arm and leading her toward the door.“If you’re near the phone, at least we can get you when he turns up.”

  She noticed that he said when not if, and, although she was thankful for the kindness, she started to cry.

  “Hey, come on, Mrs. Driscoll,” he said, and she could feel his beefy arm around her shoulders. When she turned, she saw how Pellegrino was watching her, his lips drawn in a tight, worried line. “We’re on top of this. It’ll all be fine. You’ll see.”

  chapter two

  Molly got into her car and pulled slowly up the street. Could Danny have just slipped out? she wondered. Maybe he tried to make it home on his own?

  Molly drove a half-dozen blocks east, heading up State Street, and then realized he would never have gone this way, a little boy tackling a steep hill like this. She yanked a sharp U-turn and plunged down back into the valley and toward Route 13.

  It was getting darker and harder to see. A few snowflakes hit her windshield. Snow in October? she thought. How bizarre. And Danny without even a jacket. As Molly merged into traffic, she tried to imagine Danny walking along the edge of the busy highway. She slowed down, trailing along the right shoulder, her eyes constantly flipping to the far side of the road.

  Her trailer was dark and empty and there was no sign of Danny anywhere in the park. She turned her car around and headed back into town, tracing yet another path to the daycare.

  For the better part of an hour, Molly kept driving compulsively back and forth, weaving through the city streets now turning vacant, a fine snow powdering the sidewalks and streets. She kept thinking of Danny, their last minutes together in the morning.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she had asked as they hurried up the sidewalk leading to Kute Kids. Daylight was struggling to break through the thick overcast and the air had a bone-chilling dampness which she knew would linger until spring.

  Danny had yawned sleepily. His hands were ice cold and she detected a shiver. When Molly touched his forehead, he felt hot.“We could stay home,” she had ventured tentatively, checking her watch. God, she was really late. Again.

  “And go fishing?” He peered up at her with his big eyes, dark and almond shaped. It caused her to pause, almost forget time. For an instant he brightened, a smile beginning to play on his beautiful lips, his baby teeth so even and small.“And we could get some pizza, too. ’Stead of this.” He lifted his lunch box that he had spent hours carefully decorating. Already the stickers were coming loose in the corners.“I told you a hunnerd times. I don’t like peanut butter.”

  “Sweetie, are you feeling sick? I don’t have a lot of time. We’ve got to make a quick decision. Should I take you home? Or do you just want pizza?”

  “I’m sick and I want pizza,” he said emphatically, but his head drooped as if he were suddenly embarrassed to have made a demand on her.“Anyhow, you can’t stay home. You could lose your job.”And then what would we do? thought Molly.

  When Molly had stooped down to come close, Danny had surprised her by throwing his arms around her neck and giving her a wet kiss. “I have the prettiest Mommy of any of the kids here,” he had whispered in her ear.

  “I have the smartest, best-looking boy of all the kids in the world—but that's our secret,” she said, nuzzling her apple-cheeked boy.

  Molly had given him a quick kiss and then, taking him by the hand, hurried with him up the last yards to the daycare. There never seemed to be enough time in a day for him no matter how much she rushed or how little she slept. And now he was missing and Molly was beginning to wonder if she would ever have the chance to make it up to him. Damn it! she kept cursing herself, why didn’t I just let him sleep in, keep him home this morning? Did I have to drag him off sick to daycare?

  As the darkness settled in, Molly slowly filled with a sense of nauseous dread. She kept darting from the telephone to the window, waiting for the call that didn’t come, then peering out into the approaching night.

  She tried to reach her friend Rosie, but no one was home. And they still didn’t have an answering machine. How many times had she told Rosie to get a lousy machine? At last the mercury vapor lights came on in the trailer park, flooding the neighboring mobile homes in a white, sepulchral light. What if someone had taken Danny? One of those real sickies? At this very moment he could be abusing him, torturing him. Or worse. There was that little boy whose father started that television program, America's Most Wanted. They found his severed head in a canal.“Oh, God!” she caught herself. Danny had to be all right. There had to be a simple, obvious explanation! Damn! Where the hell were the police when you really needed them? Probably out giving parking tickets. People were getting raped and murdered while those idiots worried about alternate-side-of-the-street parking! Then Molly thought of that nice cop, Pellegrino, and her anger ebbed away, leaving her empty inside.

  She paced the length of the little trailer, back and forth, the floor reverberating with each footfall. Outside, the wind was blowing hard and she could hear it whistling through the cracks in the window. The sink was dripping, both the hot and cold side—and the shower. The landlord wouldn’t allow Danny to have a kitten because it might mess up his precious dump! A tin bo
x so small, so narrow, you could stand in the living room and just about touch either wall. It smelled of rot. She felt her face flush as she surveyed her cramped little home.

  In the bedroom she shared with Danny, some of his toys were still scattered on the floor from the previous night—his beloved Nerf gun, his assorted Hot Wheels, a pile of stray Legos near a windmill he had built. Danny's picture—the one she had gotten on special at Penney's last Christmas—sat on top of the dresser. She reached for the photo and suddenly burst into tears.

  Molly's mouth was sore from chewing on the inside of her lips. She didn’t know how much more of this she could tolerate. The police had told her to sit tight. Sit tight and what?

  At least, if Gordy Dawson was right, Danny had eaten lunch. But by now he was probably famished. Peanut butter. He didn’t even like his last sandwich, she thought, wretchedly. Couldn’t she have at least taken the time to have done something better? A BLT, which he loved. On toast. It was now more than seven hours since he…Hell, a kid didn’t starve by just missing a meal! she reminded herself.

  Molly picked up the phone and called Bea Bruce again. This time she got her machine.

  “Hi, you’ve reached the home of Bea and Patty Bruce,” announced a little girl. “We’re not here to take your call right now, but if you leave your…”The message went on and on. She waited for the beep.

  “Hello, this is Molly Driscoll calling. This is an emergency. Please call me as soon as you get in. My boy Danny is missing from Kute Kids. It's now 7:30, and there's still no sign of him.”

  Please, dear God, prayed Molly—who no more believed in God than in the tooth fairy—if there's any justice in this miserable world, please bring him back to me. I’ll do anything, anything. Just let him be safe. Let him be out with Bea Bruce having a hamburger at Wendy's. Or with the Ruzickas.