Don’t do that! he cried. Don’t sneak in on me like that!
Sorry, but I only have a few minutes.
What happened to you?
I’ve been . . . they’ve been working with me. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.
Standing there on the boardwalk, knish in hand, Steven frowned. An old woman gave him a questioning look, but he ignored her and walked down to the nearest stairs. He sat on the bottom step and listened to Marty while he ate.
You did pretty well on your own, Marty said.
Yeah, well, thanks for leaving me at that airport. Lucky there was a bus to pick me up.
You’ll have to move on now. You were supposed to meet someone there in Atlantic City, but she’s not there now.
Meet someone?
Steven was delighted at the prospect of having a partner in this.
Her name is Lorraine. She’s a little girl, about five years old.
Five years old! What good is she going to do me?
She has great powers. But a man was after her, and he caught up to her. Fortunately, she used those powers to get away from him, but now she needs to be with someone. She’s in a town called Westbrook, a few hours from here. You’ll have to make your way to the nearest train station, in Oakville. It will take you directly to Westbrook, where Lorraine will be waiting.
So now, after using up the last of his money to hail a taxi into Oakville and then buy a ticket to Westbrook, Steven was on his way to meet “one of the others.” He was glad that he’d bought a hot dog before leaving the beach, because now his stomach was starting to protest from hunger. A young boy doing all the traveling he’d accomplished in two days needed more energy than one small potato cake could provide. In a few minutes the grumbling turned to pain, and Steven thought with much chagrin that he was going to be sick.
Oh, please! Not here!
He doubled himself up and begged the pain to go away, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
But someone was suddenly aware of him. Some distance to the north, walking along the boardwalk in Atlantic City, Rachel was struck once more by a feeling that Steven was in need.
She grabbed Eric’s arm.
“Eric!” she whispered, trying not to draw attention to herself. “I feel him again.”
Eric stopped.
“Steven?” he asked. After a night of thinking, he’d decided Rachel’s sudden knack for telepathy was no stranger than anything else he’d seen in the past few days.
“He’s on a train, I think,” Rachel said. “Maybe a bus. Eric, let’s find out where the nearest station is. Maybe they can tell us if a child bought a ticket, and where he went.”
“Then let’s go,” Eric said. “There’s a security guard over there, maybe he can help us.”
He was glad to finally be able to do something concrete.
38
WHEN LORRAINE WALKED down the street now, no one even looked twice at her. She was nicely dressed in an orange-and-yellow-striped shorts set. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail with a bright orange “scrunchee,” and she was even wearing new sandals. The woman in the store had accepted her payment without question. But when the little girl left the store, the shop owner jolted slightly as if coming awake. She had the sense that something strange had just happened, but since she couldn’t explain it, she simply went back to her work.
Lorraine tried calling Marty, but again he did not answer. She hoped he was all right. Then she called Steven. He didn’t answer her with words, but she had a strong feeling he was very, very near. Perhaps he was in town right now, looking for her!
No sooner had she thought that than something made her look beyond the crowd of window-shoppers to the opposite corner. A dark-skinned young boy had just turned onto the block. At once Lorraine knew who he was. She had never felt such an attraction to another human being, at least not in her memory. She wanted to shout to him out loud, but didn’t dare attract attention. Instead, she quickened her step.
Steven?
I’m here now, Lorraine. Don’t be afraid.
And then they were face-to-face. Impulsively the little girl threw her arms around the older boy. They hugged; that drew some discreet stares!
“I’m so happy to see you,” Lorraine said. “I’m so glad I’m not alone!”
“We’ve never really been alone,” Steven said. “Marty has been with us.”
Lorraine shook her head.
“Not always,” she said worriedly. “Sometimes he goes away.”
“I know,” Steven said. “I wish I knew where he was at those times. Because when he’s gone, I don’t know what to do.”
“I know what to do right now,” Lorraine said. “I’m hungry. I hardly had any breakfast.”
Steven smiled. “I didn’t have any at all. Let’s go to that little place over there and have some lunch.”
The two started for a small restaurant across the street. But halfway across, Steven gasped, stopping short. Lorraine took hold of his arm.
“Did you feel something?” she asked in a small voice.
People crossing the street looked back over their shoulders in curiosity. Steven noticed the light had turned yellow, and quickly steered Lorraine to the sidewalk.
“I felt. . . like something was tugging at me,” he said. He looked at Lorraine. “Someone else must be nearby.”
“Marty said there were others like us,” Lorraine said. “Other children.”
Steven looked down at the sidewalk, thinking. Then he shrugged.
“I don’t feel it now,” he said. “Let’s just get our lunch.”
In the restaurant, the children ordered hamburgers and sodas. Over a shared plate of ketchup-soaked fries, Lorraine leaned forward and said:
“What did it feel like to you?”
“Like someone was pulling on me,” Steven said. “All over my body.”
Lorraine’s round head bobbed up and down, her dark ponytail bouncing.
“Me too,” she said. “But. . . but there was something else too. I felt kind of sad.”
“So did I,” Steven agreed. “Whoever it was we felt, that person is very sad.”
Lorraine’s eyes rounded. “Maybe it’s Marty! Maybe they’re hurting him!”
“I never felt that way with Marty,” Steven said. “I either hear his voice or he isn’t there at all. But . . .”
Without warning, a feeling of terrible despair came over the children. Lorraine cried out so loudly that the waitress hurried over. She saw that Steven had dropped the french fry he was holding onto his lap, ketchup leaving a red trail across his jeans.
“Oh, it’s okay, honey,” she said. “That ketchup will wash right out.”
“Thanks,” Steven choked, trying to smile even though he felt terrible inside. “I’m okay now.”
The waitress gave him a questioning look, then walked away. Behind the counter, she commented to the short-order cook that those two children were plenty strange.
Lorraine bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes.
“What . . . who’s doing this?” she asked in a soft voice.
Steven squeezed his eyes shut. His heart was pounding, and he thought if he didn’t control himself he’d burst into tears. As hard as he could, he tried to send thought messages to the mysterious person. But he could see only a vast field of empty blue.
“I . . . I can’t make contact,” he said.
Steven beckoned Lorraine to lean closer.
“We have to work together,” he said. “I’m not strong enough.”
“Let’s wait until we leave,” Lorraine suggested. “Too many people are looking at us.”
They paid for lunch and walked out of the restaurant. The odd devastating feeling kept coming back, but they were getting better at fighting it. They found a deserted alleyway. Sinking to the ground with their backs against a brick wall, they held hands and closed their eyes.
“Concentrate,” Steven said. “Think hard.”
Lorraine did
as she was told.
. . . taken away. My child . . . I want him back!
Lorraine yelped, but Steven squeezed her hand.
I don’t want to be part of this!
Who are you? The question was asked by the children in unison.
But there was no answer. Steven held Lorraine’s hand as tightly as he could; she was too entranced to notice the pain in her fingers.
Please, please, tell us who you are!
There was a scream in Steven’s mind, and suddenly a picture so clear it might have been projected on the wall opposite them. His eyes flew open.
“I saw,” Lorraine said. “It was a lady with dark skin like yours!”
“Rachel,” Steven said, bewildered. “Rachel is calling me. But, how . . . ?”
“Who’s Rachel?” Lorraine asked.
“When I was lost,” Steven said, “a family in Columbus took me in. Rachel was the mother. She was very kind to me, more than anyone else in the family. I felt as if . . . as if I knew her somehow.”
His eyes rounded.
“Lorraine,” he said, “Rachel must be one of us!”
“But Marty didn’t say there were any grown-ups,” Lorraine protested. “And if she is one of us, why did Marty make you leave her? It’s gotta be a mistake, Steven.”
“No!” Steven insisted. “Marty didn’t tell us everything. Lorraine, what if Marty is the bad one? What if he’s pulling us into a trap, away from those we love?”
“Marty helped me—”
“Do you know what he did?” Steven interrupted. “He almost killed a boy. The kid just started screaming like crazy at nothing, and then there was a big windstorm. . .”
Lorraine’s mouth dropped open.
“I saw people who were very afraid too,” she said. “But Marty said I made them afraid. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing, Steven. It’s just to scare people who try to hurt us. Like the horrible man who kidnapped me and tied me up.”
Steven frowned.
“You made them afraid?” he asked. “I can’t do that.”
“Marty says some of us have stronger powers,” Lorraine said. “That’s why we have to get together, away from the adults. So we can use those powers.”
“No,” Steven said, standing up. “I’m not listening to Marty. Rachel wants me back. She wants me so much it hurts me to feel it. And it hurts you too, Lorraine. So I can’t be wrong! If she’s sending messages like that, she has to be one of us.”
Lorraine stood up too. She brushed pebbles from the back of her shorts.
“Except, you know what?” Steven went on. “I don’t think she knows it. If she did, she would have told me.”
He took Lorraine by the arm.
“I’m tired of running away,” he said. “I’m tired of listening to Marty and being lost when he . . . ‘disappears.’ “
He waved a hand to emphasize the word.
“We need help, Lorraine,” he said. “I’m going to call Rachel. I’m going to make her come to us. You have to help me, okay?”
Lorraine sighed. She, too, was tired of running. And just because she had dealt with one bad person didn’t mean there weren’t others waiting.
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe we’ll go farther with a grown-up, anyway. It’s getting to be a pain the way people stare at me.”
Steven took her hand. They sat down again and closed their eyes. The sound around them, traffic, birds, people, faded away until they could hear only their own voices in each other’s minds. With all their mental strength, they began to call to Rachel.
In a motel room roughly forty miles away, Julie dropped the pencil she was using to draw with and swung around. Tears were dripping from her eyes.
“Barbara, I feel something,” she said. “I feel like somebody nearby is in pain.”
Barbara stared at her but didn’t say a word. Julie turned away, hugging herself. Why did she think Barbara would offer consolation? The woman hadn’t said a word since they left Colorado. She’d acted like an automaton, buying airline tickets, hailing taxis, checking into this motel as if someone else was controlling her. Julie knew that someone else was: Marty. He was calling her to him, and using Barbara made it easier.
Marty? Marty, is that you?
Marty did not answer. Julie closed her eyes, but saw nothing. She could hear only sobbing, as if from far away. And then, abruptly, she heard two small voices:
Please, please, tell us who you are.
Marty had said there were others like her. Now they were so close by that she could sense their presence. She had to find out who they were, and where they were! They had done nothing since arriving in New Jersey but sit in this motel room. Julie knew that Marty would contact her, but she could no longer wait for him. She would follow the voices. When they got stronger, she’d know they were nearby.
“Barbara, I have to go now,” she said.
Barbara simply nodded. Julie felt a moment of regret, wondering how much control Marty had over the woman. After all, she was a nice person, and she was Samantha’s friend.
Julie had never wanted anyone more than she wanted Samantha just then. But the need to find the other voices in her mind was greater.
She turned to the desk and pulled out a piece of paper. Then she began to write a note to Barbara, explaining what she was doing.
39
AN ALARM RINGING jolted Samantha out of a deep sleep. Momentarily disoriented, she didn’t realize it wasn’t the alarm at all, but the telephone. She took a deep breath to steady herself, said a quick prayer that it might be Julie, and went to answer it.
“It’s Wil,” the detective told her. “Come over to my place. There’s someone here I want you to speak with.”
Without another word, he hung up the phone. Samantha knew it had to be important, and wondered who Wil could be talking about. She went into the bathroom to freshen up, put on her shoes, and left the house. The dogs barked at her, but she barely heard them.
When she arrived at Wil’s house, the inside door was open. Through the screen door she could hear him talking with someone. It sounded like a man, the voice just barely familiar.
“Come on back, Samantha!” Wil called.
She followed his voice into his office. There was someone sitting in one of his chairs. When he turned around, Samantha gasped.
“Fred Matlin!” she cried. “What . . . . what are you doing here?”
Fred made a self-conscious face and ran his hand through his auburn hair. Behind his red-rimmed glasses, his eyes looked full of worry.
“Trying to answer some questions, I guess,” he replied.
Samantha looked at Wil, her expression demanding an explanation.
“I asked some questions,” Wil said, “and found out Mr. Matlin was one of the last people to see Barbara.”
“Call me Fred, okay?”
Wil swung a chair around and indicated it was for Samantha. Slowly she sat down, not taking her eyes off Fred. He turned and pretended to be watching a hamster racing in a wheel, purposely avoiding Samantha’s gaze.
“Do you know where Barbara is now?” Samantha asked.
“That was my first question,” Wil said.
“I don’t know,” Fred replied. “I’m sorry. She didn’t say anything at all about going away when we were together the other night. I’m just as surprised as you.”
Samantha’s eyes thinned.
“When you were at Barbara’s, you said you went to St. Francis with us,” she said. “But Wil tells me there’s no record of my attendance. How can you remember me?”
Fred turned his hands palms-up.
“I only said I thought I remembered you,” he reminded her. “I could have been mistaken.”
Wil held up a hand.
“You know,” he said, “it’s possible you two did hang around there but never actually registered for classes. That would explain some of your memories.”
“It doesn’t explain how I’ve been able to practice medicine all these years,” Saman
tha grumbled. “Fred, do you remember ever actually speaking with either one of us?”
“I met Barbara at a few parties,” Fred said, looking out the window as if the scene was being played in the yard. “We were introduced, but we didn’t talk. And you? I’m sorry, I just can’t remember. I’m sure I saw you, but I don’t think we ever actually spoke.”
He leaned back a little, turning to look at Samantha.
“Although I’m not surprised,” he said. “Med students have such crazy, busy schedules.”
“Fred,” Wil said, “we must find Barbara if we’re to get to Julie. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t think you’re really involved.”
Fred seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
“I think,” Wil said, “that when plans were made for Samantha, you and Barbara, and maybe a few others, were worked into the deal. Listen to what you’ve said. You remember Samantha, but only vaguely. Her own memories are indistinct, as Barbara’s probably are. But there is something you can do to help. Has Barbara ever mentioned knowing anyone out east?”
Fred shook his head. “Not at all. She has a sister in Texas and two brothers in California. Her parents are dead.”
“There aren’t any more answers here,” Samantha said. “Only more questions.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” Fred said, “but is there any reason for me to stay?”
“No,” Wil said, moving away from Samantha. “But thank you for coming down so quickly.”
Fred stood up. Wil held out his arm and the two men shook hands.
“Maybe you couldn’t tell us where Barbara went,” Wil said, “but you’ve added a few pieces to a very big puzzle.”
“Sure,” Fred said.
He turned to leave, his thoughts full of his days back in med school. There was no question in his mind that he had met Barbara. He left Detective Sherer’s house wondering what this was all about.
In the office, Samantha had gotten up to go look out the window. Now that Fred was gone, she felt she could speak freely.
“I went over Julie’s pictures,” she said. “I realized something for the first time. The child she’s been drawing in these pictures—it’s me. I remember the red pail with the crab on it. And there’s a concession stand with dolphins painted on the awning. The one with the name Haybrook’s. I’m sure I’ve seen it before. Wil, how could Julie know what I looked like as a child? I never showed her any pictures.”
Cries of the Children Page 22
