Cries of the Children

by Clare McNally

  “Shit,” Trefill said. Then he said it more forcefully, slamming a fist on the steering wheel: “Shit!”

  He couldn’t bring her to the people in Hartford looking like that. They’d ask questions. And Trefill had a feeling Lorraine wouldn’t need to be forced when asked how she got that wound.

  He’d have to hide with her for a few days. LaBerge was already pissed as hell at him anyway. Let them think he was still searching. One, two days. . . until the wound healed enough to be hidden by her hair. He’d cut her bangs and . . .

  But first he had to find a place to stay. He drove for nearly an hour, and entered the town of Windhaven, a beach town on the Jersey shore. It wasn’t hard to find a motel with a vacancy. Summer vacations had not yet come to bring in a crowd of tourists.

  He found a room in a twenty-room motor lodge called the Conch Cove Inn.

  Leaving Lorraine to “sleep it off,” he went into the main office and purchased a room for two days. Then he came outside, checked to be certain he was alone, and carried the little girl into the room. He laid her on the bed and began to work on her injury. He moved with efficiency, not tenderness, using care only because he didn’t want to hurt the child any worse than he already had.

  Lorraine moved restlessly under his touch, but she did not awaken. He wondered what she was dreaming about. They were all so strange, so different, that group that they’d found. Lorraine had been the most different of all of them. They’d hoped a talk with her parents, combined with a valise full of bribe money, would give them some answers.

  And then Trefill had screwed up, losing her. He’d gone nearly crazy trying to find her. It was only by a stroke of luck that he’d come around the corner when that man had run wildly into the street. He’d screamed about monsters, but Trefill had heard only one part of his ranting; something about a child with weird eyes. He knew at once he’d found his prey.

  He went into the bathroom to wash blood from his hands. Then he came back inside and turned on the television.

  The sound of a loud commercial pushing Toyotas broke Lorraine’s spell. She sat up abruptly, then cried out in pain as her head swam. Tears rolled down her eyes. She turned onto her stomach.

  “Dont move so fast,” the man said. “Just lie still. There’s a candy machine outside. I’ll get you something. You want something?”

  Lorraine did not answer him. She heard him get up and leave the room. She would have tried to escape at that moment, but her head hurt too badly. And where would she go anyway? The bad man had a car. She didn’t, of course. She knew he was crazy.

  Yet somehow she had to get away again.

  Then words that Marty had spoken back in the hotel in New York came back to her.

  You have the power yourself, Lorraine. Power. She remembered that he’d told her she had a special power.

  And then she remembered the landlord and the stove. . . .

  31

  ERIC RETURNED FROM the police station believing he had done all he could for now. Helga met him at the door, holding his overnight bag.

  “Mrs. Freleng asked me to pack this for you,” she said. “She wants you to meet her at the airport.”

  “The airport!” Eric said with surprise. “Why there? Does she knew where Steven went?”

  “She believes he is in New York City, Mr. Freleng,” Helga said.

  Eric, still standing on the front steps, frowned.

  “Did he call here?”

  “You’ll have to ask her that yourself, sir,” Helga said. “You go, now. I’m here to take care of the girls.”

  “But . . .”

  “Mr. Freleng, she is going to get the next flight out,” Helga said, “and she’ll go without you, I am sure.”

  Befuddled, but not wanting to lose Rachel, Eric thanked Helga and headed back to the airport. Rachel met him near the entrance, holding two tickets.

  “I was lucky enough to get two seats on the next flight to New York,” she said. “They aren’t together . . .”

  “Rachel, why are you going to New York?” Eric asked. “Did Steven call? Helga wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  Rachel paused.

  “Eric, Steven sent me a message to go to New York,” she said. “I’ve been trying to pinpoint his exact location, but he isn’t communicating with me now.”

  “Communicating with you?” There was a frown in Eric’s voice.

  “I . . . I can’t explain it,” Rachel said. “When I was in the bathroom this morning, I saw an image of New York City as clear as if it were on television.”

  “Rachel, you’ve been under a lot of stress lately . . .”

  “Don’t baby me, Eric,” Rachel said. “I’m not crazy. I know what I saw, and I know that Steven needs me. I’m going to New York, whether you come or not.”

  She glared at him, a challenge in her gray-green eyes. Eric sighed, his big shoulders heaving up and down.

  “All right, I’ll come,” he said, “but only to make sure you’re safe. You’ve never been to New York before.”

  “Neither have you,” Rachel reminded him gently.

  Eric pointed to the tickets.

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Nearly two hours, unfortunately,” Rachel said.

  “Then why don’t we pass the time over lunch?” Eric suggested. “I know airport food isn’t all that great, but I don’t suppose they could ruin coffee and sandwiches.”

  Rachel agreed, realizing she hadn’t eaten that day. She certainly wouldn’t be of any help to Steven if she fell over from hunger. She and Eric went to the restaurant and ordered lunch.

  Eric sensed that Rachel really wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he respectfully refrained from idle chatter. Instead, he watched her as she watched people passing by, and wondered what was on her mind.

  By now Rachel’s mind was too tired-out to think of much of anything. In those moments of blank thoughts, completely unexpected, she found Steven again.

  She dropped her sandwich with such abruptness that Eric reached across the table and took her hand.

  “Rachel, what’s wrong?”

  Rachel didn’t answer him. She didn’t even see his arm on the table. Instead of plates and glasses, she saw a miniature view of a boardwalk. It curved along a beach until it was out of her “sight,” edging a cluster of large gaudy buildings. It was a daylight image, but she could see thousands of lightbulbs decorting their facades, and knew it would be a brilliant, lively place at night. There were hundreds of people walking along the boardwalk. As clearly as if he were alone, she found Steven sitting on a bench.

  He had his eyes closed, and his face seemed troubled.

  “Rachel!” There was more force in Eric’s voice, and this time she heard him.

  “Steven’s lost,” Rachel said, her voice distant. “He’s gone there looking for someone, but he doesn’t know what to do next.”

  “Gone where?” Eric asked.

  Rachel pointed at the table. Eric saw only their lunch.

  Rachel could hear Steven’s thoughts, and once again the name Marty came up.

  I’m in Atlantic City now, Marty. I don’t know what to do, and I’m scared. Why won’t you answer me? Where are you?

  Rachel tried to tell Steven that she was there, and coming for him, but he didn’t seem aware of her presence.

  A voice came out of nowhere, not part of her vision.

  “Would you like more coffee?”

  The holographic image of the boardwalk in Atlantic City vanished in a nanosecond. Rachel looked up at Eric. His eyes were full of concern, and she knew he thought she’d gone over the edge. She quickly averted her gaze to the waitress.

  “N-no,” she answered. “No more coffee for me.”

  Eric waved the waitress away, then said, “What just happened?”

  “I know where Steven is now,” Rachel said, staring into her water glass. “I saw an image of a place with casinos, and a boardwalk.”

  “That has to be Atlantic City,” Eric said. “B
ut, Rachel, how—?”

  Her head snapped up.

  “I don’t know how,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I can’t explain this. But would you please stop looking at me as if I’m crazy.”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” Eric said.

  “Yes, you do,” Rachel said. “You think something’s been happening to me ever since the night of the concert. Maybe you’re right. I know I’ve been horrible to live with . . .”

  “You’ve just got a lot on your mind.”

  “I’ve been a monster to the children,” Rachel said, “especially Tatiana. But this is something I can’t let go of, Eric. There is a reason we were chosen to take in Steven. I have to find him!”

  “You will,” Eric promised. “We’ll be in Atlantic City by this evening, and we’ll find Steven.”

  Rachel managed a smile for him, grateful for his optimism.

  Neither one of them knew that Marty was already communicating with Steven, and moving him even farther away. When they finally arrived in Atlantic City, it was evening, and the bright lights Rachel had imagined were now real. Eric, although doubtful, asked if she felt anything.

  “Not now,” Rachel said. “If Steven is here, he isn’t thinking strong enough thoughts for me to hear him.”

  In truth, Steven was there. He was sleeping under the boardwalk some distance down the beach, his mind free of dreams.

  A breeze blew off the ocean, and Rachel shivered. Eric put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Then maybe we should try some old-fashioned detective work,” he said. “Let’s walk along and see if there are any places that might attract a young boy like Steven.”

  “Fine,” Rachel said, only because she didn’t know what else to do. The boardwalk seemed endless, but she decided she could try to bring Steven back into her thoughts while they were walking along.

  For the next hours they went into one place after another and asked if anyone had seen the young boy. No one had, and a few merchants pointed out that many families came to the beach during the day. One more little boy wouldn’t stand out in this crowd.

  Disheartened, Rachel sat down on a bench and stared out at the waves. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “I know he’s here, Eric!” she said. “I’m not mistaken about that! Why won’t he call me?”

  “Rachel, was he ever really calling you?” Eric asked.

  Rachel looked at him. Her wet eyes reflected thousands of colored lights.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Eric said. “But it’s been hours since you last had a . . . a vision. And you said on the airplane that you’ve heard the name Marty twice. Maybe he’s calling this guy named Marty, whoever that is. Maybe Steven doesn’t want you to find him.”

  That was entirely the wrong thing to say. Rachel burst into unabashed tears, causing a few heads to turn. Eric quickly put his arms around her.

  “I’m sorry!” he said. “Look, let’s not sit here. We obviously aren’t going much farther tonight. Let’s book a room somewhere.”

  Rachel stopped crying and pulled away from him.

  “Where do you suppose Steven is going to sleep tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” Eric said. He thought for a few minutes. “But since you haven’t picked up on him, maybe he isn’t worried about that. Maybe he’s perfectly safe right now.”

  “I want to believe you’re right,” Rachel said.

  “Then believe it,” Eric said, standing. He kept hold of her hand. “Let’s go find a place to stay.”

  While the Frelengs sought an empty motel room, Steven slept soundly on the beach, exhausted after all his traveling.

  32

  SOMETIMES, WIL THOUGHT, his job was closer to that of an archaeologist than a cop. He drove through the streets of Union Fort, unnoticed in the twilight. When he found Henley’s house again, he pulled up to the curb. He’d hoped it was trash night, and he’d been right. A huge bag sat near the street. Swiftly, acting as if he did this sort of thing every day, Wil picked up the bag, threw it into his car, got back in, and drove away.

  Like an archaeologist, he would comb through the bag to find clues about Henley’s existence. By the time he was through, he would know what Henley ate, whether he shaved or not, who wrote letters to him, and more. And out of that he hoped to move closer to solving Samantha Winstead’s mystery.

  When Wil arrived at Samantha’s place that night, she immediately recognized the hum of his car’s motor. This time, she and Julie went out to greet him.

  “Your suggestion about the amusement park was great,” Samantha said.

  “We had the best time!” Julie put in. “Maybe you can come with us next time?”

  She sounded so hopeful that Samantha and Wil exchanged smiles. Samantha felt the fluttering in her stomach again, and fought it down. This was purely a business arrangement! She couldn’t play damsel in distress to Wil’s hero.

  “Maybe I can,” Wil said.

  Julie showed him a paperback field guide to wildflowers.

  “Samantha bought it for me,” she said. “I’m going to try to name all the flowers around the house tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Wil said. “In the meantime, I’m going to borrow Samantha.”

  The adults went into the house while Julie headed for the kennel. Samantha invited Wil to sit at the kitchen table for coffee and fresh-baked blueberry muffins.

  “So, what did you find for me today?” Samantha asked.

  Wil took a bite of a muffin, opened a file, and pulled out a piece of paper.

  “Raoul Henley called you last Wednesday,” he said. “Look, your number is on his phone bill.”

  Samantha looked at the long-distance listings. Sure enough, her own number was there. The time the call was made was in the morning.

  “That would have been right before I left for work,” Samantha said. “But I swear I don’t remember taking any such call.”

  “You spoke for nearly fifteen minutes,” Wil said. “I have a theory that he coerced you into coming to Durango to get the child.”

  “But I didn’t,” Samantha said, “at least not then. I went to work a double shift.”

  “And when you came home, Henley was waiting for you,” Wil added. “He was the one who drugged you and drove your truck to Durango.”

  Samantha studied the phone bill as if it could tell her something more than a bunch of numbers.

  “I’m beginning to feel like a crazy person,” she said.

  “You aren’t crazy,” Wil said.

  “Where did you get the phone bill?”

  “From his trash,” Wil said matter-of-factly.

  Samantha laughed out loud. “You took his trash? Ugh!”

  “It was pretty unpleasant,” Wil said, “but it’s part of the job. You’d be amazed at what people throw away. That phone bill, for instance, was a real stroke of luck. It absolutely connects Henley with you.”

  He took another muffin, commented on how good they were, and said, “Are you busy tonight?”

  “Not at all,” Samantha said. “We had such a long day, I thought we’d just hang out here and take it easy.”

  Wil smiled at her in a sly way. “Want to play detective?”

  “You told me yesterday you didn’t directly involve your clients.”

  “I said I didn’t endanger them,” Wil said. “I want to drive into Fort Union and knock on Henley’s door. You stay in the car and take a look at him. Maybe the sight of him will jar your memory.”

  “I’m willing to try,” Samantha said. “But what about Julie?”

  “Bring her along for the ride,” Wil said. “She’s as involved in this as you are, and maybe she’ll remember him.”

  “All right,” Samantha said. “We’ll get ready and go right now. It’s getting late, but I think Julie is too wired from our day out to fall asleep, anyway.”

  “But listen,” Wil said, “it might be helpful if you don’t tell Julie where
we’re going. If she’s not prepared, the surprise of seeing Henley may jar her memory too.”

  Samantha went outside and found Julie filling the dogs’ water trough.

  “What a thoughtful thing to do,” Samantha said.

  “I figured the dogs needed fresh water,” Julie said. “Did Mr. Sherer leave yet?”

  “He’s still here,” Samantha said. “And he wants us to go for a ride with him.”

  Julie turned off the faucet, then hooked the hose on its holder.

  “Yeah?” she said eagerly. “Are we helping him?”

  “Sort of,” Samantha answered.

  Wil was waiting for them. He opened their doors, then got into his own side. A little more than an hour later, an hour in which Julie beat Wil in a dozen games of “Twenty Questions,” they reached Union Fort. Wil drove through the town, but stopped a block away from Henley’s place.

  “It’s important you do as I tell you,” he said. “I want you to move into the back with Julie, Samantha. The windows are darkened back there, so he won’t be able to see you.”

  “Who?” Julie asked.

  Samantha hushed her.

  “I’m going to pretend to be taking a survey,” Wil went on. “Even if he refuses, you should have enough chance to get a good look at him. Ready?”

  “It sounds easy enough,” Samantha said, “but I’m not sure it’ll do any good.”

  “We have to try,” Wil said. “Go on, get in the back.”

  Samantha opened her door, pushed up her seat, and climbed in next to Julie. The child looked completely confused.

  “Who are we going to look at?” she asked.

  “You’ll see,” Samantha said. “It’s a secret.”

  Wil drove on until he reached Henley’s address. He parked the car, picked up a phony survey from his seat, and got out. Julie unbuckled her seat belt and crawled nearer to Samantha to get a better view of the house. Wil walked up to the door and rang the bell. He waited a few moments, then rang it again. Then he looked back at the car and gave his head a slight shake.

  “Where’s he going?” Julie asked.

  “Looks like he’s going to check the back door,” Samantha said.

  But if he does, I won’t see the man.