35
SOMETHING COLD WAS tickling Lorraine’s bare feet. She woke abruptly, jerking her legs up into her torso. She tasted sand in her mouth and sat up, making sputtering sounds. Groggily she looked around herself at the beach where she had collapsed the night before. Where was she? The nearest building was some distance away, and there was no other sign of civilization.
Slowly she pulled herself to her feet and brushed sand-salted hair from her face. Her eyes felt gritty. She rubbed at them. There was a small pool of water near her, the cold that she had felt on her feet. Some child had dug it the day before, but she hadn’t seen it in the darkness.
When had she come here? she wondered? How long had she been walking before sheer exhaustion caused her to collapse on the soft surface of the beach? Marty had guided her only part of the way before she lost contact with him. He had said that sometimes they did things to him. Whoever they were, Lorraine did not want to meet them. That horrible man at the motel had been one of them, and he had wanted to hurt her.
A thought knocked all vestiges of sleep from her chubby little body. Maybe, whenever Marty wasn’t able to talk to her, they were hurting him! The only person who could help her! What would she do if he . . . ?
No, she wouldn’t let herself even say the word. He would be there for her. She would just have to wait. She’d come this far. There had been kind people to help her. Lorraine wondered about Sandy and Donny. Was Donny all right? The police would find that horrible man, and then she’d be okay. But she wasn’t quite certain what condition he’d be in when they did.
She looked around herself, finding her shoes and socks and the valise. Picking them up, she began to head away from the water. She had to fight her way through a quarter acre of sea grass, the sharp leaves cutting at her hands. In a short time she reached a long stretch of road. She saw more houses on the other side, but no one seemed to be moving behind the large plate-glass windows. Lorraine was thankful for that. She didn’t want anyone calling the police about a little girl wandering all by herself along a deserted beach road.
But then, maybe there were kind people in those houses who would help her. Maybe they’d be like Sandy and Donny, or like Bettina.
Unexpectedly, a clump of emotion so strong it was painful formed in Lorraine’s stomach. She crouched onto the ground, holding herself, and burst into tears. For a long time she cried, thinking of Bettina. Was she still on that fire escape?
It’s time to go now, Lorraine.
M-Marty? I was thinking about Bettina.
I know. She’ll be found. But you must think of yourself. You’re upset because you’re alone and hungry. But you won’t be alone for long. There is another who is searching for you. He is one of us. He’ll help you.
Where is he?
He’s coming. His name is Steven. He left a place last night, some eighty miles from here.
But where is here?
You are only a few miles from a place called Westbrook. Listen to me, Lorraine. I’m going to tell you where to go, and when you get there you are to wait until Steven comes. He is a boy with black skin, ten years old. He does not have powers as strong as ours, but when he is near, your minds will touch. Together you will complete the journey successfully.
Slowly Lorraine stood up. She now noticed that someone was watching her from a nearby beach house. She began to walk quickly, and then she began to run.
Where, Marty? Where am I going?
Start walking . . . away from the sun. The very first thing you’re going to do is get yourself something to eat.
A few miles from the beach, Lorraine found a small cluster of stores. She entered a deli and bought an egg sandwich for breakfast, along with a container of milk. After she finished this, she located a telephone. Marty instructed her how to call a taxi, and in a little while one pulled up to the curb in front of the deli. Lorraine expected the driver to ask what she was doing all by herself, but he didn’t. In fact, he had such a strange look in his eyes as he drove that she wondered if Marty had put some kind of spell on him.
I didn’t, Marty answered. He’s just had one too many tokes this morning.
Marty!
Don’t worry. He’s sober enough to drive. He’ll get you to Westbrook in one piece, and he won’t ask questions.
It all happened as Marty promised. Lorraine paid the man, then turned away from the cab to find herself facing a charming tree-lined street of exclusive boutiques. The shops were just beginning to open, and early-morning browsers walked along the sidewalks. Lorraine walked up to a window filled with animals, stuffed, wooden, glass, and more. She could almost imagine Sandy working in a place like this.
This is a pretty place, this town.
You won’t be able to stay for very long. Steven is on his way. He’ll be arriving at the nearest train station in a few minutes, and then it will be only a short time until he finds you. Listen, Lorraine. Do you hear him? He’s very near.
Lorraine moved on to the next store, staring at a beautiful flowered sundress as she tried to hear another voice in her mind. At first it did not come. But then, oh so faintly, she heard him.
Steven? Is your name Steven?
Hello, Lorraine. Don’t be afraid. I’m going to help you.
I’m waiting for you, Steven. I’m tired of being alone.
I’ll be there soon.
His voice faded away, as if the effort of mind contact was too great for him. Marty had said they were not exactly alike. What had he meant? Why were her powers so much stronger than an older boy’s?
What do I do now?
Just wait. There are windows to look at, and benches to sit on. You can find a place that sells frozen yogurt if you get hungry.
Okay. But people are looking at me in a funny way.
It was true. Heads were turning surreptitiously. Lorraine realized she must be a sight with her windblown hair and the wrinkled clothes she’d worn for nearly two days. She had to do something about that, to make herself less conspicuous.
Marty, there’s a children’s clothing store across the street I’m going there.
Marty did not answer.
Steven?
Her mind was silent. She felt a cold chill, wondering what was happening to the boys, especially to Marty. But she knew she had something to do. She held her head up, ignored the whispers around her, and crossed the street. There was a beautiful white church on the corner, the perfect place to take out some of her money. It was peaceful and quiet inside, but Lorraine didn’t give herself time to meditate. She took out two hundred dollars and relocked the valise. Then she left the church, crossed the street again, and found the shop.
Yesterday she wouldn’t have expected the salesclerk to cater to her without question. But after what she’d done to the man at the motel, she believed she could do anything. She’d never had the chance to try mental suggestion on anyone, but that didn’t mean she never did it in her life. Maybe, in the time she had forgotten about, before Bettina found her, she had used this power frequently.
She stopped at the entrance of the store. A woman turned to her from a display of baby dresses. She was dressed in a yellow jumpsuit, tiny moon globes dangling from her ears. The woman frowned, opening her mouth to speak. Quickly Lorraine tried out the powers Marty had insisted she possessed.
To her delight, and a little to her amazement, the woman’s frown turned into a smile.
“Well, hello!” she greeted her. “What can I do for you today?”
“I need some new clothes,” Lorraine said, unable to believe how easy it was to keep a lock on someone’s mind. If only she’d known this a few days ago!
“Of course, darling,” the woman said. “We have some wonderful things in your size right over here.”
As she tried on clothes, she had a strong sensation that others were thinking about her. She knew about Steven, but not about Julie. The other girl was just waking up at a hotel in northern New Jersey. Like Lorraine and Steven, Julie had lost contact with Marty f
or a long time. But that didn’t matter for now, because Barbara Huston was taking care of her.
But Lorraine was not aware of this.
36
WHEN SAMANTHA ARRIVED at Wil’s place, she hardly even noticed the mess in his front room. She did, however, register the fact that he’d never unpacked his suitcase. It seemed he had become so involved in her case that everything else was forgotten.
Wil was feeding a gecko when she entered his office. He smiled at her, but it was a sad, almost pitiful smile. Samantha felt her heart constrict. He had bad news for her, she just knew it. She sank wearily into a chair.
“There wasn’t a thing in Barbara’s car,” she said. “Not even a gum wrapper. She was very thorough about clearing it out.”
“I’m not surprised,” Wil said. “I have a feeling she has some answers to questions that go way back for you. You said she was your best friend at med school, that you roomed together and shared some of the same classes. But there’s something wrong here.”
“What’s that?” Samantha asked.
“I called St. Francis,” Wil said, “hoping to find some connection between what’s happening now and the first years you knew Barbara Huston. I found her easily enough in the records. But I didn’t find you. There has never been anyone named Samantha Winstead registered there.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Samantha protested. “Of course I went to St. Francis. How could I be practicing in a hospital if I didn’t? There must be some mistake.”
Wil shook his head. “I’m sorry. I double- and triple-checked, and I even went back a full twenty years. You would have been only fifteen or so at the time, but I thought it was worth a check to see if you were ‘lost’ in the shuffle of computer work.”
“But my professors,” Samantha said. “Surely . . .”
“I spoke to several who had known Barbara,” Wil said. “None of them had any recollection of you.”
Samantha’s face looked so stricken that Wil came and crouched down beside her seat.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Whatever’s happened, I believe you’re a victim. Maybe Barbara is too.”
“But I went there!” Samantha said. “I remember it! It was this big brick building, across the street from a shopping mall. There was a highway in front of it, and a huge wildlife refuge in the back.”
She closed her eyes, holding out a hand.
“I can remember feeding deer at the fence,” she said. “They were that tame. And then one day . . . one day we found a dead one. And my friend said maybe we should dissect it. I was so angry at him . . .”
“What was his name?”
Samantha opened her eyes again.
“I don’t remember.”
“It wasn’t that long ago, Samantha.”
“Do you remember everyone you ever meet?” Samantha demanded.
Wil took her hand and squeezed it. “Samantha, this is some fabrication that has been planted in your mind. I don’t know why, but Barbara, and Raoul Henley, and even Julie all have something to do with it.”
He stood up and walked back to his desk, opening a drawer.
Samantha shook her head in dismay.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” she said. “Does this mean I’ve been practicing medicine without a license? That I’m not a real doctor? But how did I ever get hired by Sangre de Cristo?”
“Someone did a very thorough job of writing this script,” Wil said.
“What are they planning next?” Samantha asked. “What are they going to do with Julie?”
“I’m still working on Barbara Huston,” Wil said. “I should have my information in a few hours. In the meantime, I want you to go home. You said those pictures Julie’s been drawing remind you of something. I want you to concentrate on them, and nothing else. If there’s a clue in them, there isn’t much more time to find it.”
Samantha agreed. Wil walked her out to her truck.
Before she got in, she turned to him and said, “Julie loved me. We only knew each other for a few days, but it was as if we belonged together. Maybe there’s a reason you thought she looked like me.”
“Maybe,” was all Wil said.
Silent, but shaking inside, Samantha climbed behind the wheel of the Bronco II. She drove home, through streets that were, somehow, newly unfamiliar to her. She’d been living here for nearly five years, and she was a respected member of the medical community. But she wasn’t a doctor at all! It was all a scam, her degree a phony piece of paper.
“No!” she cried out loud. “I won’t believe it! I know I’m a good doctor. I studied somewhere. And I’ll find out the name of the school I went to when I find Barbara.”
Samantha had no doubt in her mind she would find her “friend.” It wasn’t that she knew for certain, but that she was so fiercely determined that nothing would stop her until she and Julie were reunited.
When she arrived home, she pulled the truck into the garage and got out. As she opened the back door an odd feeling of déjà vu ran over her. She had felt something strange happen in the garage the night before all these events took place. When she’d come back with Julie, she hadn’t experienced the eerie feelings. But now that she was alone, a chill was running up her spine.
She closed her eyes and stood in front of the closed door. She tried to bring back those last moments. A sense of fear filled her. The door. There had been something wrong with the door . . .
She felt her hands go up, and come smashing down. Samantha understood the gesture. She’d found the ax in front of the broken door. She’d been trapped in the garage, and had desperately hacked the wood to get out. But she’d never made it.
She wasn’t alone. There was someone else there with her.
With a gasp, Samantha opened her eyes. Her heart was pounding. She was certain now that someone had been in the garage and that that person had done something to her to make her lose her memory. If only she could remember!
The dogs had been barking ever since the truck pulled into the garage, but Samantha was only now aware of them. She left the garage and the vaguely threatening memories it conjured up, and went to let them back out of the kennel again. Sunday and Lady romped around her, wanting to play, but Samantha had to shoo them away.
She went into the house, straight up to Julie’s bedroom. Julie’s pictures were stacked in a very neat pile on her desk. Samantha took them to the bed and sat down. She began to look through them, scrutinizing each one very carefully. Julie had drawn some pictures of flowers, copying them from the book Samantha had given her. Samantha put these aside until she came to the beach pictures.
They were virtually all the same, with only a few minor changes in each. There was always a beach where a little yellow house with green shutters stood near a jetty. A child walked on the sand, her hair windblown to hide her face. Samantha studied every detail of the little girl, from her blue sandals to her yellow bathing suit. She carried an old pail and shovel. There was something very familiar about the little white crab painted on the red bucket . . .
“Oh, my God,” she gasped. The memory of the bucket had come from nowhere, but it was as clear as if she’d held the thing yesterday. And now she understood.
“It’s me,” she said out loud. “The little girl on the beach is me!”
Somehow Julie had managed to draw a very detailed representation of a summer home Samantha had visited during her childhood. She’d had a pair of blue sandals just like the child in the picture, and the house had been yellow with green shutters. Overwhelmed, Samantha let the pictures fall to the floor and curled herself up on the bed. She buried her face in the crook of her elbow and cried her eyes out. How could Julie have known about that place? Samantha herself hadn’t thought of it in . . . in . . . years.
It was some kind of clue, just like Wil suspected. Julie might even have drawn these pictures knowing she would one day have to leave Samantha. Maybe Julia was trying to tell her where she could be found! All Samantha had to do was . . .
; “I can’t remember,” Samantha said. Those words had become achingly familiar in the past few days. “I can’t remember where we spent our summers!”
And then she realized her amnesia was even worse than she’d ever suspected: the more she thought of it, the more she was unable to conjure up a clear image of her family. She saw a mother figure, a woman with dark hair like her own, but with features so vague she could easily have been part of a dream. There was no picture of her father. Samantha’s parents had died when she was a young child, but if she could remember the beach house, why couldn’t she remember them too?
She started to sob again. And even though it was the middle of the day, she soon cried herself to sleep.
37
ALTHOUGH STEVEN GAZED intently out the window of the train, he didn’t really see the scenery that rushed by him. He was tired of all this traveling, of airplanes and buses and the like. He just wanted to settle down someplace and be finished with . . . with whatever Marty wanted from him.
Well, at least he was on his way to a destination. It was much better than sitting on a bench in an unfamiliar place and trying hard not to start crying. When he’d arrived in Atlantic City, he’d been completely overwhelmed. Steven had never seen crowds like that, or at least he was pretty certain he never had. Most people ignored him, but a few glanced back over their shoulders at him. He wasn’t the only young boy there, and certainly not the only black child. Why did he stand out? he wondered.
Steven had been unaware that he kept a perpetual expression of worry, and people were just concerned about him. But there was something about his overall manner that kept them away, and no one ever did question what he was doing there by himself.
He didn’t know that Rachel and Eric were there too, having breakfast in one of the hotels.
He’d been squirting mustard on a knish, a strange breakfast, but all he could really afford, when Marty finally came back to him. It was so surprising that he almost dropped his lunch.
Cries of the Children Page 21
