Hear the Children Calling (4 page)

Kate washed up and dressed in brown wool pants and a quilt-lined flannel shirt. Though it was only the middle of October, it was already nippy cold in the coastal Massachusetts town. She tied on a pair of black high-top sneakers, then walked down the stairs to the kitchen. The fog had burned away and the morning sun shone brightly through the windows. Danny and the boys were on the patio, watching Boston Blackie romp on the grass. She gave all three of them a hug and kiss, then turned and left. As she was passing the mantel in the living room, something made her stop short. She went to it, lifting a picture of her daughter that had been taken just a month before her death.

Disappearance, Kate corrected herself. She just disappeared.

“Laura,” Kate whispered.

She heard Danny and the boys coming into the house and quickly shoved the picture into her handbag. Then she turned and hurried from the house. Her mind was so full of Laura that it was pure instinct that brought her into downtown Gull’s Flight that morning. Trim Cape Cods with sparkling white fences, older homes weathered by the salt air, trees brilliant with yellow and orange, all flew by her unseen. Kate had wished them all away, trying to bring back the desert where she had seen her child last night.

Laura had sent her a message. In spite of anything Danny thought, and no matter how hard she tried to think his way, Kate could not believe the incident had been just a dream. It had been too real. Kate could feel her daughter right down to her corpuscles. Somehow,
her daughter was trying to tell her she was alive. And it was up to Kate to find the child.

As was usual on Saturday morning, the downtown area was alive with people. Kate pulled into her reserved parking space, right behind the little gift shop she had been working at for the past four years. But she didn’t go directly into the Baby Bear Boutique this morning. Instead, she walked through the parking lot to the side street. Elserman’s Drug Store took up most of it, having been expanded twice in its hundred-year history.

Sol Elserman was standing at the doorway with a broom in hand, dressed in a white apron and looking like he belonged in the nineteenth century. He greeted Kate. “’Morning!”

“Hello, Sol,” Kate said, not stopping.

Sol scratched his head and watched her, wondering what her hurry was on such a beautiful fall day.

Kate crossed the boulevard and sidled between a park bench and a fiery-red gum tree to get to the brick walkway. She pushed open the door to Walter Suskind’s Photography Shop.

“Hello, Wally,” she said.

“Good morning, Kate,” Wally said, his eyes sparkling behind round glass frames. “Come in to buy film for Halloween?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Kate said. She opened her purse and pulled out the picture of Laura she had taken down from the mantel. What would Walter think of her when she made her request? She thrust the picture forward. “I need fifty copies of this.”

Walter took the picture. He frowned up at her, then looked back down at it again.

“That’s Laura,” he said.

“I know who it is.”

“Something happening?”

Kate shook her head. “I’m not sure. Maybe. But please, Walter, not a word about this to anyone.”

Walter looked doubtful.

“Sure, Kate,” he said. He slipped the picture into an envelope, then ripped off the top and handed it to Kate. “I’ll have them sent to your shop in a few days.”

Kate thanked him. She turned and walked from the store, somehow feeling more at ease than she had in days. No matter what would happen, at least she knew she had taken the first positive step in the search for her daughter.

Walter Suskind stood in the door of his shop, watching Kate Emerson’s retreating figure. He rubbed a thumb behind his ear, wondering what Kate planned to do with fifty pictures of a dead child.

Unless, of course, Laura wasn’t really dead. Unless Kate knew something and was doing some sort of amateur investigating.

Walter turned and hurried to the phone, dialing Sol Elserman’s number.

“Elserman’s Drug Store,” a man’s voice answered.

“Sol, it’s Wally,” Walter said. “You ain’t gonna believe what Kate Emerson just asked me to do.”

6

T
OMMY
B
IVERS SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, STUDYING
his mother as he ate. She was so absorbed in some technical manual that she seemed oblivious to him. Tommy had been watching his parents a lot lately, though he wasn’t sure why.

Well, he thought, maybe it’s ’cause I’m mad at ’em.

Parents could be such pains sometimes. Until a few months ago, he had never questioned the weekly visits to the clinic, even though he hated them. The word of his parents was law, and all it took was a stern look
to silence him. Gosh, they were strict. Tommy wished for a nice guy like Michael Colpan’s dad—poor Michael’s mom had disappeared a few weeks ago, but they weren’t supposed to talk about that. He would even like to live with Billy Randolph’s mother and father, who were always playing games and telling jokes. Candy Kilmer’s mother was a great cook.

But all his parents did was read books with big words and numbers. When they did talk to him, it was to tell him how important he was and how he had to try harder at the clinic to control his powers.

Powers. What a funny thing to call this gift that frightened him so much. He didn’t like bringing objects to life, or making living things behave like other things. His earliest memory of the clinic stayed with him, like a waking nightmare.

Suddenly, the kitchen was forgotten and he was six years old again.

Good, Tommy. Very good! You made the little donkey open his mouth and bray.

That’s the first time you got a sound out of them, Tommy. Good work!

Let’s try something new, Tommy. Something fun . . .

Something fun . . . Tommy snapped out of the reverie, afraid to let himself remember what had happened that day. But it pushed itself into his mind, unbidden. He saw an image of the wooden donkey, an articulated creature that stood about waist-high to him. It was cute, and it was even funny to see it bray. But what they made him do next wasn’t funny at all.

Make him walk over to the cat, Tommy.

Tommy had made him walk, easily as imagining it in his mind.

Now make him kick the cat.

Kick the cat? Why? It’ll hurt the cat.

Just a gentle kick, Tommy. Nothing to hurt the kitty. Just a nudge to wake her up.

I can’t! What if I hurt her?

Make it kick the cat, Tommy.

No!

The cry had been so loud that even today Tommy winced at the memory of his own, voice. His mother didn’t even look up at him.

Tommy, do we have to threaten you? You know you must do as you’re told.

I don’t want to hurt her.

You won’t hurt her. But if you don’t do what we tell you, we’ll have to punish you. There’s a cage of snakes in the back room, Tommy. We could lock you in there, open the cage—

I’ll do it!

And he had tried to have the wooden donkey push the cat very gently with his hoof. But he was so frightened that he lost control, and instead of a gentle nudge, the wooden donkey’s leg kicked hard.

So hard it crushed the poor cat’s ribs. Tommy had screamed and screamed until Dr. Adams gave him a shot of something. The next thing he knew, he was lying in a bed at the clinic. A whole day had gone by. Shock, they told him. Dr. Adams had apologized for the mistake. They had been so excited about his ability to bring sound from an inanimate object that they had pushed him too far. They’d give him a few weeks to rest and then they’d try again.

They’d been trying for three years now, but Tommy had never given in to them. Sure, he made things move and even had stuffed animals attack an occasional store mannequin. It scared him, but thoughts of snakes in the back room scared him even more. Tommy didn’t know why he was afraid of snakes, but the very thought of them made him break out in a cold sweat.

The worst part was that he couldn’t talk to anyone about it. He’d seen the way Michael Colpan’s daddy hugged Michael all the time, and how even Jenny Segal’s mom—strict and mean-tempered as she was—sometimes had a kiss for her daughter. Maybe he had no right to be loved. His mind had cried out for caring. And somehow, a few days ago, someone had answered him. He’d heard her voice in his mind, and for the first time in years he felt comforted. The voice had
spoken to him a long time, a nice lady telling him he didn’t belong here, that there were people outside the center who really did love him.

Tommy wished he could know who they were. He tried to send thought messages to the woman again, but he couldn’t contact her. He sighed, finishing the sandwich. Maybe it was just his mind playing games. His brain did funny things like that sometimes, playing tricks on him. He was stuck here forever, with parents who didn’t love him, going to a place he hated to do things that terrified him.

“I’m finished, Mom,” he said, carrying his plate to the sink.

Her book closed with a thunk. She tucked it under her arm and stood up. “Then let’s be going,” she said, pulling on a sweater. There was a black name tag on it, with Helena Bivers engraved in white.

They walked out to the car, an unnecessary luxury since the clinic was less than a mile away. Helena worked at the clinic, as did Tommy’s father, Martin. Many of the adults here worked at the clinic. Jenny Segal’s mother was one of the nurses and Bobby Hocson’s parents were both doctors.

The closer they got to the clinic, the more nervous Tommy became.

“You will do as you’re instructed today, won’t you?” his mother asked. “You won’t embarrass me like you embarrassed your father the other day? Because I won’t tolerate it, Tommy. This is nothing new, coming here for tests. You know it’s necessary. The only way you’ll ever be able to use your talents to the fullest is to test them out now, when you’re young.”

“Uh-huh,” Tommy mumbled, fidgeting in his seat.

Helena turned her eyes back to the road. “Tommy, Dr. Adams has so many wonderful plans for you children,” she said. “It’s so important that you listen to him and follow his orders. You’re too young to understand how important this all is, but you must trust us.”

“I don’t like to hurt things,” Tommy said.

“Someday you may have to use your powers to hurt,” Helena said, pulling into her, parking space. “If you ever need to defend yourself, you must learn now how to do it.”

“But I—”

Helena took hold of his shirt, twisting it in her fist. “You’ll do as you’re told, Tommy. Don’t forget about the snakes.” With that, she hurried ahead of him, into the building.

Slowly, reluctantly, Tommy followed. Well, it would all be over in an hour. They’d wire him up and ask him to make something come to life and then they’d let him go.

The wooden donkey was sitting next to the green chair.

Tommy gasped, freezing in the doorway. His eyes went wide at the sight of the carved animal, something he hadn’t seen since the day the cat was killed.

“Come in, Tommy,” Dr. Adams said. He was smiling, his light-blue eyes sparkling. The doctor had a perpetual sunburn that was a weird contrast to his snow-white thatch of hair. His teeth were just as white and he was always grinning. Most of the kids at school liked him. Some of the girls even had crushes on him. Tommy thought he was a creep, though he couldn’t explain why.

Tommy stood his ground.

“Come in, Tommy,” Helena urged, a hint of unspoken threats in her voice.

“Don’t be afraid of the donkey,” Dr. Adams said. “You see, I had a long talk with your father. We think we know what the problem is. We think you’re suppressing your gifts because of that unfortunate accident with the cat.”

It wasn’t an accident.

Tommy didn’t dare speak the words aloud. He walked to the chair and sat quietly while the electrodes were fastened to his skin.

“Now, Tommy,” Dr. Adams said, “we’re going to
try something. We’re going to reenact the scene of that day three years ago.”

Tommy gasped.

“Oh, not with a real cat this time,” Dr. Adams reassured. “Only with a toy. But you’ll make both animals come to life. This time, the donkey will kick the cat, but it won’t hurt it. It can’t hurt something that isn’t alive, right?”

Tommy nodded slowly.

“Good,” Dr. Adams said. “Now, concentrate, Tommy. You know what you have to do.”

Dr. Lincoln Adams stood back from his subject, his face a mask of cool, scientific detachment. But inside, he was churning with excitement, as he always did when he watched these children in action. He never grew tired of comparing them to the monstrosity that had been Lincoln Jr. Who could have known, back in the late 1960s, that his life would be dedicated to great work like this? Who would have thought the tragedy of his first child’s death would make him a man honored in all medical and scientific circles? It hadn’t happened yet, not in years of work, but one day it would. Provided none of these little guinea pigs screwed things up. He’d noticed some changes in the older ones, most notably Jenny Segal, Michael Colpan, and Tommy here. He’d keep a close watch on them. Nothing, not even the children he’d created, must stand in his way.

He wondered what Tommy was thinking of right now. He imagined the thrill of studying one of those brains. But that would come later . . .

Tommy was staring hard at the wooden donkey. Where had they been keeping it? he wondered. He had hoped it had been destroyed. That poor kitty.

The monitors around him went crazy for a few seconds.

“Concentrate, Tommy,” his mother said.

Tommy pushed the memory of the cat from his mind, and the monitors calmed down.

Within a few seconds, the donkey began to walk, stiff-legged, toward the cat.

“Now, the cat, Tommy.”

Tommy turned his eyes to the stuffed feline. Slowly, slowly, its back arched up and its tail went straight and puffy. Lips that should have been sewn shut curled back. Spit came from a mouth full of stuffing.