“It may only be coincidence,” Wil said, although he didn’t sound convinced.
“It’s strange how I remembered that time at the beach,” Samantha said. “I don’t have very many memories of my childhood. My parents died when I was very young, and I don’t remember any relatives. I must have lived in some kind of foster home or in an orphanage, but I just don’t remember it. Could something bad have happened to me, something so terrible it put holes in my memory? I’m not sure I want those holes filled in, but if Julie is part of them, then I know I want her back again! She’s a link to my past, Wil. Answers to my questions. I can’t . . . stand . . .”
She started crying again. Wil hurried across the room and took her into his strong arms. He held her tightly until she calmed down again. He was about to say something when the phone rang.
“I have to get that,” Wil said, pulling himself gently away. He picked up the phone. A surprised look came over his face and he handed the receiver to Samantha. “It’s Barbara Huston!”
Samantha’s eyebrows went up. She took the phone.
“Barbara, where are you?” she demanded.
“I seem to be in a motel in New Jersey,” Barbara said. “Do you remember how you felt when you woke up in that motel in Durango? The same thing has happened to me! I don’t remember coming here! And I think I’ve done something terrible. I think I kidnapped Julie!”
Wil had switched the phone to a speaker. He looked up at Samantha and mouthed the words “she thinks?”
“What do you mean?” Samantha asked. “Is she there, or isn’t she?”
“She . . . she was here,” Barbara said. “She left a note.”
“Read it to us,” Wil said.
“Oh . . . uh . . .” Barbara’s tone indicated she hadn’t realized Wil was listening. “Sure. She says: ‘Dear Barbara: I am sorry Marty made you bring me here, but it was the only way. Now I must go to find the others like myself. Go home and tell Samantha that I love her and I hope I can see her again. I will be okay. Love, Julie.’
“That’s all she writes,” Barbara said.
“Marty?” Samantha said. “Who’s Marty?”
“Julie never mentioned the name?”
Samantha shook her head. “Never. Barbara, do you know who she’s talking about? She said Marty made you bring her there.”
“I never met anyone named Marty,” Barbara said. “The last thing I remember is being in my apartment. I’m sure the doorbell rang. After that, it’s a blank.”
Like the night in my garage, Samantha thought.
“Samantha, what have I done?” Barbara asked worriedly.
“I wish you could tell me,” Samantha said. “I have a thousand questions for you.”
Wil held out a hand.
“But right now we have to find Julie,” he said. “Barbara, it will be hours before we can get to New Jersey. Can you stay there in case Julie tries to call you?”
“I . . . I suppose I could,” Barbara said uncertainly. “But I have no idea where she’s gone.”
“Is there anything else in the room besides the letter?” Wil asked. “Anything she left behind?”
“Well,” Barbara said, “nothing but some drawings she made. That kid sure likes to draw, Samantha. Especially beaches.”
Samantha stood up abruptly.
“Look at the pictures, Barbara,” she said. “What exactly is in them?”
There was a pause; then Barbara answered.
“A house with shutters. A girl with a dog. And a jetty. Oh, wait, this looks familiar. Yes, yes, I’ve seen this place. Where? It’s a concession stand with dolphins painted along its awning.”
“Haybrook’s,” Samantha said.
“How did you know?” Barbara said. “Never mind. You must have heard about it sometime. It’s pretty famous on either coast. Like Nathan’s or Red Lobster. There’s one in California, where my brother lives. They sell fried clams and shrimp and stuff like that. But it has a bigger name than just ‘Haybrook’s.’ “
There was another delay as Barbara racked her brain.
“I know,” she said. “It’s called Haybrook’s Seaside Clam Bar. It’s a very old business that was established at the turn of the century.”
“Can you find out if there’s such a place in New Jersey?” Wil asked.
“Sure,” Barbara said, confidence suddenly filling her voice. She was happy to be doing something constructive.
“Give us your number,” Wil said. “We’ll call you back in a little while.”
Barbara did so; then Wil hung up. Samantha was staring at the calendar on his bulletin board, lost in thought.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
“The concession stand,” Samantha said. “When Julie drew the pictures at my house, she drew the snack bar as it might have looked when I was a child. It was in nearly every picture, along with the yellow house. Why would she be so consistent?”
“Because she’s giving you a clue to where she is,” Wil said. “She may not even be aware of it, but that little girl wants us to find her as much as we do.”
Samantha looked up at him with hope in her expression.
“And we will find her,” she said. “Won’t we?”
Wil smiled, his teeth stark white in a tanned face. “You bet we will.”
40
IT WAS NEARLY an hour before Rachel and Eric arrived at the Oakville train station. The ticket house was a chunky little brick building with a gray roof, its windows hidden behind locked blue shutters. Eric tried the door and found it closed.
“This early?” he asked.
“The sign says the office closes at one P.M. today,” Rachel pointed out. She was despondent. “Eric, we’ve lost him again.”
Eric looked around at the parking lot, where a hundred cars waited for their commuters. Several pieces of newspaper blew across the blacktop, skittling along like birds that had been shot.
“Maybe not,” Eric said. “Come on.”
He thought the newspapers might have been bought right there at the station, and when they rounded the corner of the building he found his guess to be correct. There was a newsstand set up on the opposite side from the ticket window, rows of magazines, papers rimming racks of candy and cigarettes. A elderly man dressed in paint-spattered khaki trousers and a plaid flannel shirt stood trying to latch a wooden board on a hook over his head.
“Closing up?” Eric asked.
“No use staying open,” the man replied.
“Can I help you with that?”
The man glanced quickly at them, then shook his head.
“Been doing it for years,” he said, and he managed to lock the board to its hook. He pushed it into place, then locked his wares behind the board with padlocks placed at each corner.
“We just missed the ticket office being open,” Rachel said.
The man turned to her. There was a half-day’s growth of white razor stubble on his chin, and he rubbed at it.
“You don’t have to pay a penalty on the train,” he said, “if the ticket office’s closed.”
Eric put an arm around Rachel’s shoulder.
“We weren’t looking to buy tickets,” he said. “We’re trying to find someone. Our . . . our son.”
Rachel did a double-take that Eric pretended not to notice. Then she picked up on his story.
“He’s run away from home,” she said. “We’re so worried about him. We were wondering if you might have seen him.”
The man nodded. “Yup, I saw him. Hard to miss a child of color when everyone else on the platform is as white as me.”
Rachel reached toward him to grab his arm, but Eric gently pulled her back.
“Do you know where he went?”
“Can’t say exactly,” the man said. “But he did get on a train to Pearmont. Stops at Verkill, Copiague, Rockling, Westbrook, and Pearmont.”
He rattled them off as if he were a conductor himself.
“How do we get to Pearmont?” Eric asked.
“There’s a schedule posted—”
“We mean by car,” Rachel said.
The man turned and pointed toward the highway.
“Follow it along,” he said. “You’ll see signs. It’ll take you a while, though.”
“Let’s go, Eric,” Rachel said, not wanting to waste time.
Eric thanked the man, and they returned to the car. As he turned on the engine, Rachel rested her head back and closed her eyes. She began to think of Steven.
Lorraine picked up a rock and threw it at the brick wall.
“I’m tired,” she said. “I can’t do this anymore. Nobody’s answering us.”
Steven stood up. “We aren’t strong enough. Not without Marty, anyway. Come on, let’s go for a walk. There isn’t anything else to do until he calls us again.”
“I hate it when he disappears,” Lorraine said.
I’m back again.
Lorraine and Steven looked at each other. Steven answered.
Why did you go away again? Are they hurting you?
Sometimes it hurts. Not always. I think they’re curious about me. They do so many strange things to me. Steven, Lorraine, who were you calling?
This time when the children exchanged glances, there was guilt on their faces. How much had Marty heard?
What . . . what do you mean? Lorraine asked.
I could sense that you were trying to contact someone.
We felt someone nearby. Someone so sad that we felt sad too. Steven says it’s Rachel, the lady who took care of him.
That’s impossible! She can’t call to you! She isn’t like us!
How do you know? Steven demanded in his thoughts. People passing by barely noticed the look of annoyance on the young boy’s face. I saw her in my mind. She’s thinking about me, Marty. We tried to contact her because we’re tired of being alone. We need a grown-up to help us!
You don’t need anyone but me!
They’d never heard Marty so defiant. Lorraine felt afraid, and said so.
But I get so scared when you disappear. That man at the motel could have hurt me!
You are strong, Lorraine. Stronger than you know. And with Steven, you’re even stronger. When the third child of this area comes to join you, you’ll be invincible.
Where is she? Steven asked. Why haven’t we heard from her?
She is not as strong as either of you. But she heard your calls to . . . to this Rachel. She is on her way. Her name is Julie.
What do we do while we wait? Lorraine asked.
There isn’t time to talk, Lorraine. They’re coming again. They have strange machines that seem to know when my brain is more active than usual. I don’t want them to know about you. I have to go now.
“Marty?”
Lorraine realized she had spoken the name out loud. Steven shook his head.
“He’s gone again.”
“What did he mean when he said there isn’t much more time?” Lorraine asked. “What’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know,” Steven said. “But I think that girl named Julie will probably come here on the train. It’s three miles to the station. Let’s walk there and wait for her.”
The children headed out of downtown Westbrook. A block behind them, a car cruised the streets, the driver searching for a little dark-haired girl. Joe Trefill held the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. Madness had etched red lines in the whites of his eyes, eyes that darted furiously left and right in search of his quarry.
41
AT DENVER AIRPORT Samantha walked away from the ticket counter triumphantly waving two red-and-white envelopes. Wil acknowledged her with a thumbs-up sign, then continued to talk into the public telephone he was using to contact Barbara Huston. He hung up just as Samantha reached him.
“I can’t believe how lucky we are,” Samantha said. “There are very few seats left on the next flight out. We board in half an hour.”
“I told Barbara you got the tickets,” Wil answered. “She’s going to meet us at Newark airport.”
“Did she have any luck finding that concession stand?”
Wil shook his head. “No. But she’s still trying. She asked a few people, but my guess is that she’s too far away from it for anyone to really know what she’s talking about. I suggested heading for the library, or maybe even a local travel agent. They book weekends at motels, you know.”
“Well, I hope she finds an answer by the time we arrive,” Samantha said. “I think this going to be the longest six hours of my life.”
“You’ll be amazed how quickly it passes,” Wil said. “We’ll use the time to plan our strategy once we arrive in New Jersey. And it wouldn’t hurt you to rest. You look exhausted.”
Samantha looked down at the floor, thinking how she’d somehow fallen asleep earlier that day. What would Wil think if he knew?
“I . . . I’m okay,” she insisted. “Come on, let’s see where our gate is. This overnight bag is getting heavy, and I’d like to sit down.”
“Let me carry it for you,” Wil offered.
Samantha smiled at him. “You do enough for me already. I’m upset, and frustrated, and yes, I’m tired. But I’m not weak. I’ll carry it myself.”
“All right, then,” Wil said.
He hooked his arm through hers and they went off to find their plane.
Barbara thought it was no wonder the people around here didn’t know about the concession stand. She’d never seen such congestion; so many buildings, cars, and people! They probably saw a beach about three times a year, if they were lucky. But Wil had suggested either the library or a travel agency. She opted for the latter, simply because there was a travel agent within the hotel itself.
The woman gave her a friendly smile and offered her a seat.
“What can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s kind of tricky,” Barbara said. She had planned this speech already. “You see, I want to surprise my husband by taking him to a place he visited many years ago. I know it’s on a beach, but there’s only one thing I know specifically about it. There’s a snack bar there, named Haybrook’s Seaside Clam Bar. It’s somewhere on the Jersey shore.”
The woman grinned. “How romantic! I’m afraid I don’t know where Haybrook’s is located, but I’ve heard of it. I could make some phone calls.”
“Oh, I’d really appreciate that,” Barbara said.
“Why don’t you come back in an hour or so?” the woman suggested. “I should have some information by then.”
“I’ll do that,” Barbara said.
She left the travel agency, then walked out of the hotel. Glancing at her watch, she estimated she had more than five hours before Samantha arrived. She hoped she would have some information to give her friend regarding Julie’s whereabouts.
And at the same time, she hoped the clue would lead her to some answers of her own.
Julie had begun her journey in a southerly direction, based on the sensations she was picking up. Sometimes they weakened, but when they grew strong again she would change course accordingly. She wished she could take a train or a bus, but moving on foot was the only way she could keep track of any changes in feeling.
She moved along the Parkway, keeping well hidden in the trees that grew alongside the road. Whenever she’d come to an exit or entrance ramp, she’d hide until she was certain she could make it across without being seen. It slowed her down, but she couldn’t afford to arouse the curiosity of passing motorists.
Julie wondered who was sending out the emotions she was reading in her mind. Was it the other children, waiting for her? She wondered if they were in Atlantic City, as Marty had planned originally. Or had they moved on? How long would it take her to find them?
She was hiding in the bushes near an exit ramp when Marty spoke in her mind. His voice was so clear that she gasped, thinking someone had caught her.
It’s all right, Julie. The others are waiting for you, but you’ll never get there if you walk.
H
ow do you expect me to find them? Julie’s tone reflected her annoyance. She was exhausted, her feet burning inside her sneakers. I can only follow what I sense.
You can listen to me. I’ll tell you where they are.
Why didn’t you tell me before I walked a zillion miles? Where’ve you been, anyway?
Marty did not answer her question.
Julie, two more of us are waiting in a town called Westbrook. If you move on to the exit, you can walk up it into a little town called Rockling. You can take a train there to Westbrook, and you’ll arrive in just over an hour’s time.
Why not Atlantic City? What happened there?
There were . . . problems. But Lorraine and I fixed them.
Lorraine?
One of us. The youngest of our group, but with strong powers.
Julie saw a chance to get across the exit. She ran as fast as she could, half-expecting to hear the sirens of a state trooper’s car. She made it to the other side and began to move along behind the trees.
Marty, when am I going to learn who I really am?
But once again Marty was silent.
42
RACHEL AND ERIC had marked off two towns on their list; they had been told that no little boy had gotten off at those stations. Now Eric drove along the Garden State Parkway in silence, knowing that Rachel would speak when she was ready. It seemed she was asleep, with her head pressed back against the cushion behind it. But the tension in her features told him she was still trying to contact Steven. He still wasn’t quite sure about all this supernatural business, but she hadn’t been wrong yet.
When she spoke, her voice seemed unusually loud over the quiet hum of the motor. She didn’t open her eyes.
“What are we going to do when we find Steven?”
“Take him home, of course,” Eric said. “And when we get back, I’m going to raise hell with Children’s Services. I don’t think they’re making enough effort in finding that child’s parents.”
Cries of the Children Page 23
