Hear the Children Calling (31 page)

Lou put on an innocent face. “Searching? That would mean tearing open doors and breaking locks, wouldn’t it?”

The man shrugged.

“None of you gentlemen did anything like that, did you?” Lou asked.

His fellow officers responded negatively.

“We were only trying to find the source of trouble we’d been told about,” John put in “Something about a little girl being hurt.”

The man paled visibly, and when he spoke again,
there was a tremor in his voice despite his reassuring words. “If any child was being hurt here” he said, “I—I would know about it. I’m the night watchman, and I’ve been on duty since eleven
P.M.
I haven’t heard a sound.”

He’s hiding something, Lou thought.

“Would you mind if we had a better look around?” he asked politely. “Just to be sure, you know. After all, we’ve come all this way, and if a child was being hurt, it’s our duty to put a stop to it.”

“But I told you—”

“Be a lot easier than coming back with a warrant and tearing the place to pieces.”

Again, the man paled. “All right,” he said. “I’ll show you around. But please, don’t touch anything. We’re working with some delicate equipment here.”

As Lou and the others followed the man, Lou pressed for more information. He really wanted to get home, to view the videotapes that lay hidden beneath his and John’s coats. Other than the blood John had found on the viewing-room door, nothing in this place seemed out of order, nothing indicated someone here had planned the murders of three people and the kidnapping of at least two more.

While he was playing the nice policeman, cooperating with the security guard, the real murderers were still on the loose.

“What exactly do you do here?” he asked.

“I’m a security guard,” the man said. “I told you that.”

“I don’t mean you personally,” Lou said, impatient. “I mean, in this place. What do they do in this place?”

The security guard shook his head, opening a door. It was a sparsely furnished office. A huge oak desk sat against the back wall, beneath an oil rendering of the Grand Canyon. Six oak file cabinets stood in threes to either side, and a computer was set up on a metal table to Lou’s right. The cabinets were locked tight, as was a door at the back of the room which appeared to be
a closet. He thought he had never seen so many padlocks in a building.

But his study of the office was giving the guard time to forget his question. He asked it again.

“I don’t really know,” the man said. “I’m not one of the doctors. But I do know they work with braindamaged kids, trying to rehabilitate them. Dr. Adams does remarkable work.”

“Dr. Adams.”

The guard looked down at his shoes. Had he revealed too much? Just showing these men around would get him into big trouble, but what choice did he have? Throwing them out would only arouse suspicion.

“Lincoln Adams,” he volunteered, finally deciding they could find this out easily enough themselves. “He’s the head of this place. If you want to know anything, you’ll have to ask him directly.”

“And where is he?”

“Home, I suppose,” the guard said. “Sleeping. It’s five o’clock in the morning, for God’s sake.”

Lou nodded. “I know. I’m beginning to think the call we received was a crank. Nothing seems out of order here.”

“Then you’ll be going?” There was a hopeful tone in the guard’s voice.

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” Lou promised. “You can forewarn Dr. Adams that I’m coming and that he’d damned well better be here.”

Lou saw the guard’s shoulders sink down about an inch and realized the man had been walking with tensed muscles. Now that the police were leaving, he probably felt he could relax.

“I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you,” the guard said, leading them from the room.

Just as he was about to close the door, he heard a series of taps from the locked closet. He started to cough, covering the noise. He shut the door quickly and started talking. “Can’t get used to this dry air,” he said. “I’m from Washington, originally. Came here
to visit my cousins and fell in love with the place. I’ve been working for Dr. Adams for three years now.”

He was practically shoving them toward the hall that led to the front exit. Lou wondered why he was suddenly so agitated. Had he missed something?

“I’ll tell Dr. Adams you were here,” the guard said.

“I’ll be back,” Lou promised. He opened the door, and the four cops walked out to their squad cars.

None of them could have known the office was just a front, set up in case something like this ever happened. The guard hurried back to it, grateful the cops hadn’t asked him to open up the closet. It wasn’t a closet at all, but a small room complete with a toilet, a cot, and a sink. A prison cell with no windows.

The guard pulled a key from his ring, unfastened the padlock, and opened the door. From the mussed-up bed, Natalie Morse gazed up at him with huge, bloodshot eyes. She struggled to say something from behind the gag she wore, struggled to move in spite of the tape that bound her wrists and ankles.

“Looks like you didn’t get enough of this,” the guard said, pulling a hypo from his pocket. “You almost gave us away, lady, and we can’t have that. No, we can’t do anything to make Dr. Adams mad.”

As Natalie made strange noises behind the gag, the guard plunged a needle into her arm. It hurt like hell—he was no professional—but within moments pain didn’t matter. Natalie slumped back into darkness.

Carefully, the guard shut and locked the door again. Then he went to see what damage the police might have done and how much he had to cover to keep himself on Adams’ good side.

45

A S
HAFT OF LIGHT POURED THROUGH THE HOLE IN
the roof of the cave, warming Michael’s face. Still asleep, he tightened his eyes until something in his brain told him he couldn’t shut out the light and forced him to wake up. Groggily, he pulled himself to his feet, scratching his head. His skin itched from the fine layer of dirt that had come to rest over his body, and his mouth had a disgusting taste. For a few moments, he just stood there, not really thinking and hardly seeing the other two sleeping figures. In spite of all their efforts to keep watch for the grown-ups, they had finally fallen asleep.

As he became more wakeful, Michael was aware of an urgent need to relieve himself. He moved toward the far wall and started to unzip his jeans. Then he remembered Jenny’s presence. Worried she might wake up and see him, he crossed the room to the passageway. Even though he hadn’t had a thing to drink since last night, he peed as if he’d taken in quarts of water. His stomach hurt and he wished there was something for breakfast. Michael thought of the great pancakes his mother used to make and of the French toast his father learned to prepare after his mother disappeared. Tears rose in his eyes, making them sting. He rubbed them away, determined not to cry. Crying wouldn’t change things.

Because his mother and father weren’t really his mother and father. They had lied to him.

Jenny was stirring, and her moans started Tommy
waking up. In a moment, they were both sitting, looking up at Michael.

“I feel gross,” Jenny said.

“I’m starving,” Tommy put in.

Michael frowned at them. “Is that all you guys think about? After what we read last night . . .”

Jenny crawled over to her bag and took out a comb. Tommy shook his head, supposing that only a girl would think to run away with a comb. As she worked it through her hair, she said, “Michael, we don’t understand everything we read in those papers. You didn’t even see our names.”

“Oh, yea?” Michael answered. He picked up the file folder, now neatly put together again, and opened it. He read, “Subject: Male, Age three. Signs of possible telepathy, pyrokinesis. Quick response to treatment. Surrogate parents number 23517. Subject: Female, age four. Telepathy, telekinesis. Stronger treatment needed. Surrogate parents number 58672. Subject: Female, Age three—”

“Okay, already,” Tommy snapped. “So we’re part of some weird project? I never did feel my mother really loved me, and now I know why. It’s kind of a relief, you guys. This may be weird, but I’m glad she’s not my mother. Then at least I know it wasn’t my fault she treated me like that.”

Jenny nodded solemnly. “Me, too. Alice was just too mean to me, and even though Daddy was nice, he never stopped her being that way.”

Michael put the folder down on a rock and sat beside it. “I guess if my parents had been like that,” he said, “I’d feel the way you guys did. But my mom and dad were really good to me. My dad was the best, only now I found out he lied to me. He never told me I was adopted.”

“Maybe he couldn’t,” Jenny said. “Maybe he was afraid.”

Michael looked over at her. Now that she’d combed her long dark hair, she looked neat and clean despite the dirt smudges on her face.

“He did try to get you out of there,” Jenny went on. “And since he gave you that file it means he was going to explain everything. Maybe he was even going to tell you about your real parents.”

“I don’t think I want to know mine,” Tommy growled. “They gave me up.”

Jenny shook her head. “I’m not sure. Do you remember that lady I told you about? I saw her again last night, when I was dreaming. I mean, it felt like a dream, but it felt real too. The way it is when I see someone or hear voices. I tried to ignore her, but she kept calling to me. She said that a man was coming to help me and that I should keep listening until she could tell me where he would be. She said the man would look a lot like me because . . .” She drew in a deep breath. “Because he’s my real father.”

Michael’s eyes rounded. “That lady is your mother?”

“I don’t know,” Jenny said. “But I know she’ll help us.”

“She’s an Outsider,” Tommy warned.

“There aren’t any Outsiders,” Michael snapped. “It’s just a big lie Adams made up. Jenny, where are we supposed to meet this guy?”

“She didn’t tell me,” Jenny said. “I think he’s on an airplane, coming here. I keep trying to contact the lady, but there’s nothing there.”

“Maybe she’s asleep,” Michael suggested.

“I think so,” Jenny agreed. She looked up at the hole in the roof. “Sure do wish we knew what time it was.”

“Time for us to get out of here,” Tommy said. “We’ve stayed too long for this hideout to be safe. Jenny, Michael, can you sense if anyone’s nearby?”

Both children closed their eyes and concentrated. Jenny shook her head, then Michael.

“It’s clear, as far as I can tell,” Jenny said. “But you can bet there’ll be another search team out. We’d better go while we can.”

Gathering their things, the three children walked
single-file through the passageway and out into the valley. They saw now that they were facing a roadway, about sixty yards ahead of them. It was fined with a Cyclone fence, and when they drew closer, they saw a sign on it that read: S
T
. M
ARTHA
’
S
R
IDGE
. Cigarette butts and an occasional crushed can littered the otherwise peaceful scenery. None of the children could be sure it was left behind by tourists or by the search team. They followed the road for a while, sensing there was no one nearby, until Michael stopped and said, “Someone’s calling me.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Tommy said.

“In my head,” Michael said. “It’s that girl, the one with red hair like me. She’s really nearby.”

“She may be with someone from the center,” Jenny warned.

Michael stopped and closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw the red-haired girl, looking as dirty and disheveled as he. What had happened to her? he wondered. And with her was a man he hardly recognized for the bruises on his face.

His father!

“My dad got away,” Michael cried. “He’s coming to look for me.”

“And Adams is probably following him,” Tommy said. “Come on, Michael, let’s get off this road. It isn’t safe. That sign over there says Albuquerque is in that direction, so we should make our way there.”

“But my father.”

“If your father is looking for us,” Jenny said, “it’d be safer to meet him in the city. Dr. Adams wouldn’t dare try anything with other people around.”

Michael hesitated, but Tommy pulled on his arm. “Come on! Your dad and that other girl will find us easy enough, but we can’t walk into a trap. We’ve got to get to the city before Adams starts looking for us again.”

Nodding in reluctant agreement, Michael followed his friends into the crevice between the huge boulders.
A moment later, there was no sign at all of the three children.

46

A
T PRECISELY ELEVEN A.M.
M
OUNTAIN
T
IME, THE
wheels of Flight 444 from Boston bumped hard on the ground, waking Danny Emerson from a deep sleep. He gazed out the window as the plane taxied to its final destination. The airport was washed with a mellow, soft light, beaming down from a sun that hung in a clear blue sky.

Danny didn’t have Kate’s sense of ESP, but somehow he could feel Laura’s presence. She was there, somewhere, in those mountains. Locked up in a horror town called the LaMane Center. But he’d get her out as soon as he could, even if it meant storming the place and taking her forcibly. As long as Kate was able to contact their daughter, Laura would know he was coming and she’d be ready.

When he disembarked the plane, burdened with only a large overnight bag, he hurried toward the exit. He paused at the coffeeshop, thinking he might need sustenance. But it was just a moment’s pause. Laura was waiting for him, after all.

He noticed, but hardly registered, the souvenir shop two doors down from the cafeteria. There was a strange hole in the middle of the glass window, with cracks radiating from it. A yellow police banner blocked off the area.

He was passing the Rent-a-Car desk when he casually glanced at a young woman sitting on a nearby bench. He wouldn’t even have given her a second
thought if the woman didn’t stir suddenly and sit up, stretching her arms. Danny stopped in his tracks. Could that be who he thought it was?

He went to the woman and leaned forward a little, looking down at her.