Samantha shook her head.
“That’s amazing,” she said. “Those two are usually a pair of maniacs, especially around kids.”
She leaned down a little to speak to the dogs.
“What’s up, you guys?” she asked. “Why are you behaving so nicely?”
The dogs didn’t even acknowledge her voice, another first. She straightened.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m really sorry you were cooped up in here. It’s not my fault.”
Julie bent down and whispered something in Sunday’s ear. Instantly the dog turned around and ran to Samantha. He jumped up, putting his big paws on her shoulders. She hugged and petted him as he licked her.
“Good boy!” she said. “What a good boy!”
Lady followed suit, and in moments all was forgiven. Samantha led the dogs outside to run a bit. Julie stood in the doorway and said, “I’m glad they’re okay.”
“So am I,” Samantha said. “But, Julie, how did you know about the dogs?”
“I heard them,” Julie said.
“But they weren’t barking.”
Julie came out of the garage, her eyes fixed on the pair of brown animals that romped under the floodlight.
“I heard them scratching,” she said.
Samantha had to accept this, because there was no other logical explanation. Julie was yawning, and it was obvious all these questions were wearing her out.
“You can sleep in the guest bedroom,” Samantha said. “Let’s take your suitcase inside.”
Upstairs, Samantha opened Julie’s suitcase and found a nightgown and toothbrush. There were several more changes of clothes and another pair of shoes. Someone had seen to it that the child was well prepared; too bad they only thought of the material things Julie would need.
“The bathroom is just down the hall,” Samantha said. “I’ll wait in here until you’re ready.”
When Julie returned, all washed up and dressed in her nightgown, she came to Samantha and put her arms around her.
“I’m so glad you didn’t make me go back,” she said. “I really like you, Samantha.”
She looked up at Samantha with such loving eyes that the woman felt her heart skip a beat. For an instant she felt as if she really knew this child. But that was impossible, of course. She was just feeling sympathetic toward someone in need.
“Would you like to hear a story?” she asked.
“Okay,” Julie said.
There was a shelf of books on the wall, a collection of romances, science fiction, and mysteries. Samantha looked them over, then sighed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “None of these seem right for a little girl.”
“I don’t mind,” Julie said. She pointed to a book with a ringed planet on its spine. “What’s that one?”
Samantha took it down. It was a collection of short stories by some of the greatest science-fiction writers of all times: Heinlein, Asimov, Bradbury, Clarke.
“I’ll read a short one to you,” she said.
They sat down on the bed together, and Samantha began to read. By the end of the ten-page story, Julie’s eyes were closed. Samantha helped her under the covers. Then, as if she had done it every night, she bent over and kissed Julie’s cheek. Julie sighed but did not awaken.
For a long time Samantha stood at her bedside. A twinge of worry began to knit inside of her, worry that perhaps she might become too attached to the child. In the few hours she’d known Julie, she’d come to feel very, very close to her. Was it more than the camaraderie of two victims? she wondered.
No matter, she had to do what was right.
She would call the police, no matter how difficult it was.
But she’d wait until morning to do it, because tonight she was too afraid.
6
AFTER HER ORDEAL the previous night, Rachel was relieved when Eric volunteered to drive the girls to their Saturday ballet class. The day had been rife with tension from the moment they woke up; Eric wanted to discuss what had happened, Rachel refused. Instead, she kept herself busy until it was time for Eric and their daughters to leave. She met them in the foyer downstairs, dressed in a multi-colored neon exercise outfit. Her softly waved brown hair was pulled up into a bun.
“I’m going to work out for an hour or two,” she said. “I need something to push this tension from my muscles.”
“Just be careful,” Eric said.
“Oh, Eric,” Rachel said, “I’ve been working out three times a week ever since you’ve known me.”
“Yes, but . . .”
Rachel glanced down at the girls, then gave her husband a warning look. He silenced himself, and after a quick good-bye they all parted company.
The Frelengs’ house was a large colonial, and a room in the back corner had been converted to a mini-gym. Rachel was an athletic woman, balancing the rather sedentary life of a musician with regular exercise. She headed now for their personal stairmaster. Within half an hour she was so deep in concentration that she did not hear Eric return. When he tapped her on the arm, she gasped in surprise.
“Sorry!” he called over the din of the machine’s levers and pulleys. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Rachel stopped pumping.
“It’s Nina Blair,” Eric said. “You know, the social worker who comes down to the high school on occasion?”
Rachel grabbed for a towel and wiped the sweat from the back of her neck.
“What does she want with me?” she asked.
“She said she wanted to discuss something with both of us,” Eric replied.
Nina was waiting on the black-and-floral chintz couch in the living room. She looked up at them with glassy brown eyes, a small-boned woman with lackluster hair. Rachel had often thought she’d be a perfect Agnes Gooch if the school’s Faculty Players ever put on a production of Mame.
“Hello, Mrs. Blair,” Rachel said. “What can I do for you?”
Nina stood up.
“Oh, Mrs. Freleng,” she said, “I’ve come to ask for a very, very big favor. If you say no, I’ll understand, but please listen to everything before you make a decision.”
“Sit down,” Eric said as he and Rachel took seats on the opposite couch.
“A few nights ago,” Nina said, “the police brought a black boy of about ten years old to the Children’s Shelter. He’d been wandering alone down 315 South. When I spoke to him for a while, I knew you would be the perfect family to take him in for a few days.”
Eric shook his head.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Where is this child’s family? And why on earth would you pick us—out of all the people in Columbus—to take him in?”
“That’s the trouble,” Nina said. “We don’t know who his family is. The child is suffering from amnesia and remembers only a little of his past. But wait until you hear why I decided to take a chance that you might have room for him. Mr. Freleng, it would only be for a few days, and a sensitive, talented child like Steven shouldn’t be kept in an institution. This child is the most musically gifted boy I have ever heard in my life. I thought . . . I thought that perhaps, through Mrs. Freleng’s own musical talents, you could help him open up.”
Rachel was silent for a few moments. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over her, chilling her to the bone. She’d had this conversation before, but when? Consciously she was certain she’d never heard about a child named Steven. And yet . . .
“Where . . . where is the boy now?” she asked softly.
“Rachel . . .” Eric cautioned.
“He’s at the shelter,” Nina said. “You could pick him up this afternoon.”
Eric held up both hands. “Wait a minute! We haven’t agreed to this!”
“Oh, Eric,” Rachel said, “Mrs. Blair said it would only be for a few days. And we have so much room here.”
Nina turned to Eric, her eyes moist.
“I know how busy you must be with two little girls,” she said. “I’m asking an awful lot from you
, but I’m sure you’ll be rewarded. Steven is a good boy, I can tell. He’ll be no trouble at all.”
“But what about . . . ?”
“Eric, please!”
Rachel’s tone was almost begging. It was so unlike her that Eric frowned. Rachel had never made such a snap decision before.
“What about Tati and Olivia?” he asked. “Have you thought what they’ll feel like, having a perfect stranger enter our home?”
“Oh, Eric, stop it,” Rachel snapped. “He’s a ten-year-old boy. Nina thinks we can help him, and if you ask me, it’s high time we shared some of our good fortune.”
Nina was silent, looking from one to the other. She could tell Eric wasn’t at all happy with the idea, but there was a steely determination in Rachel’s eyes that promised she’d win in the end. It was almost as if someone else had come here to prepare her for Steven’s arrival.
“Okay, okay,” Eric said. “If it’s only for a few days, I suppose I can put up with it.”
“Thank you!” Rachel said, throwing her arms around him.
“Thank you, Mr. Freleng,” Nina said, relief in her tone. “I’ll be in touch.”
Nina drove through Columbus in a sort of fugue, some inborn homing device keeping her eyes on the road when her mind was elsewhere. She’d been like this for several days now, losing bits and pieces of time. Nina was a mousy-looking woman, but she’d always been an efficient one. Blacking out was devastating, and embarrassing. It was not until she was in downtown Columbus, passing the relatively congested area of One Nation Plaza, that something snapped. The blare of a horn behind her made her realize she hadn’t moved when the light turned green.
She gripped the steering wheel and forced her eyes on the road ahead. She had to get hold of herself!
Well, she reasoned, she probably had a lot on her mind. After all, placing Steven with the Frelengs had been her idea, and if it went wrong, it would cost her her job.
Nina had lived on a farm outside the city limits since childhood. She had been alone there ever since her mother had died. When she got home, she was grateful to be in comfortable, familiar surroundings. She parked her car and looked around at the barn and silo, the rusting old tractor, the broken-down hay wagon. None of these things had been in use for fifteen years. Her father had done most of the farmwork, and when he died her mother had not kept up with it. None of the fields bore crops, and all of the animals had been sold through the years. All but one—Nina’s Appaloosa horse.
She went to Miracle’s stall now, took down a brush, and began to stroke his spotted hide.
“Let’s take a ride, Mir,” she said. “I need to clear my head.”
Usually nothing would have worked better to get her thoughts in order than a brisk ride over the grass that grew tall and wild on her land. But she was no more than halfway across the acreage when Miracle suddenly reared up, whinnying in panic. Nina gripped the reins and called to him.
“Whoa! Easy, Miracle! Whoa!”
But the horse kept backing away in fear.
“What is it? Is it a fox?”
Nina steered the horse around and galloped away. Almost at once the animal calmed down, as if it knew it was out of danger. Nina left him in his paddock, then headed back across the field to see if she could find out what had frightened him so much.
The grass was waist-high in places, the result of her having neither the time nor the desire to trim it down. Nina followed the path her horse’s hooves had made until she came to the spot where Miracle had panicked. There was nothing to be seen. But when she walked about four yards farther, she came across something half-buried in the ground. Nina walked over to it and knelt down. It was a box shaped something like a canoe, and she was certain she had never seen it before. She stared at the jagged surface of the wood.
Something was staring back at her.
She gasped, and the odd black eyes that had locked with hers were instantly gone.
“A field mouse,” she told herself.
Nina ran her hands over the rough wood. Instantly an image of Steven came to her mind. She sensed this thing had something to do with that little boy. Perhaps, if she looked carefully, she would find an explanation for what had been happening to her these past few days.
She noticed a little door on the front of the box. Maybe there was something inside that would help. She worked at it until, finally, it popped open. Something dark and green came oozing out.
Nina pulled her hand back with a cry of disgust, slightly shaking the box. The action caused another panel to come off. This time, there was nothing inside that she could see. She looked into the small black void. In a few moments something within it began to glow bright and orange. The light drew her to itself, as unrelenting as a magnet pulling steel. Nina leaned closer to the newly opened panel, peering in at the orange glow. It smelled strangely, at first like almond extract, then flowery, and finally like nothing she’d ever experienced. She felt very warm all of a sudden.
She felt a strange tingling all over her skin; she ignored it. The tingling grew more intense, until finally she had to acknowledge pain. With a cry, Nina fell forward. She hurt, badly, all over. It was as if she had been burned.
She looked at the hand where the green ooze had touched her skin.
But there was no skin.
Nina stared down at her arms and hands. Instead of skin, she could see glistening bloody flesh.
Nina began to scream, but in that vast field no one heard her. She tried desperately to run back to her house. It was just a nightmare! She couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten here! It wasn’t real! The pain wasn’t real! She had skin!
Her legs gave out, and she fell to the ground. Tips of bone protruded through the ends of the fingers that grabbed for the weeds.
Nina Blair was disappearing.
7
SOME CHILDREN ARE awakened by the sound of birds singing outside their windows. Lorraine dreamed of birds, strange birds with multicolored feathers, but it was the squeal of a garbage truck’s brakes that awakened her. Her first sight was a dingy beige wall. The bed she had slept on felt lumpy. For a few minutes the little girl didn’t move; she was bewildered by her surroundings. Then slowly she began to recall the previous night. She remembered the gang, the deserted streets, and Bettina.
Lorraine had spent the night in an old appliance box. Her “bed” was a pile of old clothes.
Rubbing her eyes with chubby fists, Lorraine sat up. She pushed a ragged coat off herself and crawled out of the box. Rising to her feet, she gazed out the litter-strewn alley at the people who were walking by.
There was no sign of the old woman. Her two suitcases were propped against the inside back of the box. She found herself too hungry to think about checking to be certain the money was still there. Instead, she plunked herself down on an upturned box and buried her face in her hands. She was a pathetic little sight, a small child in the midst of all that filth, but no one turned to look at her.
Presently she felt a hand on top of her head.
“Here, now, child,” a voice said, “did you think old Bettina had deserted you?”
Lorraine looked up to see the woman standing before her, a white paper bag held tightly in one fist. She opened it and pulled out a buttered bagel and a pint of milk. Lorraine accepted them and ate as if she were starved.
“I talked to Jesus last night,” Bettina said, pulling another crate to sit beside her, “and he told me it’d be all right just to borrow some money from your suitcase. I went to the Y and had a shower. This morning, while you slept, I got rid of my old rags and bought this dress from a street vendor.”
Lorraine sucked hard at the straw, making gurgling noises as the milk disappeared.
“That’s a nice dress,” she said. “And I don’t mind at all that you borrowed some money.”
Bettina smiled.
“You’re sweet,” she said. “It isn’t that I don’t have good intentions. We’re going to have to find a better place to live,
and there’s no hotel that’s gonna rent to a ragged old bag lady.”
She paused for a moment, her vision seeming to focus on a delivery truck that had parked at the curb. Finally she spoke again.
“Well, you work on your breakfast,” she said. “Then we’ll dress you up and look for a room.”
“Are you going to help me find my family?”
“Of course,” Bettina said. “But we have to have a place to stay in the meantime, don’t we? It isn’t proper for a little girl to live on the streets.”
Lorraine nodded and finished her breakfast. Bettina opened the suitcase with clothes in it and found a yellow T-shirt dress for the child to wear. There was a pair of yellow barrettes to match, and a hairbrush. The child stood quietly as Bettina fixed her hair.
Lorraine, Bettina noted, wasn’t exactly a pretty child. But there was something about her. Her almond eyes were a queer gray-green color, and seemed to be watching everything very carefully. Her hair was the blackest Bettina had ever seen on a white child. There was still baby fat clinging to her, and her small teeth were smooth along the edges—an indication they were still baby teeth. For this reason, Bettina guessed that she wasn’t quite six years old.
They spent the morning looking for a place to stay. The desk clerk stared at Lorraine in such a way that the child instinctively felt he was not to be trusted. She took Bettina’s hand.
“Don’t pay attention to him,” Bettina said as they climbed the stairs. “You ignore him, and don’t talk to anyone else either.”
“Why?” Lorraine asked. “What if someone knows me and can help me find my family?”
Bettina gave her head a rough shake.
“No one in this neighborhood would know a nice little girl like you,” she said. “You leave finding your family up to me. I’ll call the police as soon as we’re settled.”
Bettina pushed into the apartment. It was a studio, with a minimal amount of furniture. There was a small kitchen at the back. Bettina found that the refrigerator had been unplugged and opened it to air it out. As Lorraine stood near the door, she checked the sofa.
Cries of the Children Page 3
