Hear the Children Calling (5 page)

One of the lab technicians was whispering in the background.

“Wow, wait until we try this on a hu—”

“Shh, you idiot!”

Tommy pretended he hadn’t heard.

On a human? They want me to hurt people?

The monitors skittled wildly.

The donkey made its way toward the cat, but the cat didn’t move. Though it had come to life, Tommy did nothing to make it walk.

They want me to use this on people!

“No! No, I won’t do it!”

The cry broke his concentration and the animals became toys once again.

“I won’t hurt anyone! I won’t!”

Dr. Adams rushed toward him, his previously expressionless face full of grandfatherly concern. “Tommy, settle down,” he ordered. “Calm yourself. No one asked you to hurt anyone.”

Tommy glared at him. “But you’re gonna do it, aren’t you? Someday, you’re gonna make me hurt a person. I know it. I know it.”

“Thomas Bivers, calm yourself this instant,” Helena commanded.

“You go to hell!”

Tommy could hardly believe he’d just said that, and the shock of his words silenced him. He tried to take them back, to apologize, but he just couldn’t speak.

“No one is going to ask you to hurt anyone, Tommy,” Dr. Adams reassured. “But you must go on with these tests. It’s so important, Tommy. You know what would happen if you left the center? The Outsiders would get you, and God only knows what they’d
do to you. You heard what happened to Michael Colpan’s mother. You don’t want that to happen to you, do you?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Then we can go on with the tests?”

Tommy remained motionless. What could he do? He didn’t want to go on, but there was no one here to help him. He suddenly remembered the voice he’d heard the other day, that nice woman’s voice. If only he could get her back again . . .

What am I going to do? Please help me! You said you’d help me!

Faintly, like a bad telephone connection, the voice came to him.

Don’t let them hurt you. Get away as fast as you can. I’m trying to find the people who truly love you, who truly belong to you. But you must wait and give me time. You must not let them hurt you.

She said something else, but her words were lost.

Setting his teeth on edge, Tommy looked Dr. Adams straight in his blue eyes and said, “No way.”

“Tommy! Shame on you, talking to Dr. Adams that way,” his mother cried. “Dr. Adams, you have my permission. If a small dose of that back room is what Tommy needs . . .”

Tommy felt heat in his groin. He squeezed his muscles to keep from wetting his pants. They were gonna lock him in the room with the snakes. They were really gonna do it this time.

Dr. Adams nodded gravely.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy cried. “I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“I’m sorry, too, Tommy,” Dr. Adams said, “but you don’t seem to understand how important this is. You’ll have to be punished so you never forget again who’s in charge here.”

He cocked his head toward the back room. One of the men came to take the boy by the arm. Tommy opened his mouth to cry out, but his mother cut him off.

“One word, Tommy,” she said, “one cry, and I’ll have Dr. Adams increase your time in there. You deserve this for being disobedient.”

I hate you! I wish you weren’t my mother, ’cause you hate me, too. I know you do.

Tommy walked reluctantly toward the door. The technician reached for it, started to open it.

“Stop,” Dr. Adams cried.

Tommy turned to look at him, his eyes pleading.

“Let him go,” Dr. Adams said. “Tommy, have you learned your lesson?”

Tommy’s muscles relaxed instantly. “Yes, sir.”

“And next time you come here, are you going to be good?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go on home, Tommy,” Dr. Adams said. “But remember, there won’t be another chance. Disobey my orders next time and you’ll spend an hour in there. An hour, Tommy. Remember that.”

“I—I’ll remember.”

“Go home, Tommy.”

The young boy ran as fast as he could. Far ahead, he could see the gates leading from the center. He longed to go through them, to keep running. But he knew it was impossible. All the children had been taught from early on that the fence was electrified and that no one left the center without permission.

Instead, he rounded the corner to his own house. Once he was inside, he went to the kitchen and poured himself a big glass of soda. He gulped it down fast then poured another. Like an adult unwinding with alcohol, Tommy felt himself relaxing. Nothing had happened, he reminded himself. He hadn’t been punished, after all, even though he had refused to listen to the grown-ups.

Maybe that lady he kept hearing was making him stronger. Maybe, he had a chance of winning, after all.

7

J
ILL
S
HELDON ROSE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
, grateful for the sunshine that washed away her nightmares. Her dreams were always the same, seeing Ryan hurrying toward her with his arms outstretched, embracing nothingness as he vanished into thin air. Jeffrey was there, too, laughing at her in a strange, mocking way.

But in the daytime she could concentrate on other things. After a light breakfast, she dressed for work, combing her hair to fall in loose curls over the cowl neck of her teal-blue dress.

The question about the stranger’s knowledge of Ryan needled her. Jill thought she might have slipped one time, mentioning the tragedy to someone who eventually told Deliah Provost. But the more she thought, the more she was certain she had never told anyone what happened in Michigan. And this morning, she was determined to confront the woman and find out what she knew.

At the museum, Jill could see evidence of last night’s benefit in bits of crepe-paper streamer curling from the ceiling and forgotten balloons on the floor. She smiled, thinking what a success it had been. They had tallied nearly twenty thousand dollars.

Her phone began to ring as she headed upstairs to her office.

Who’d be calling me at seven-thirty in the morning? she wondered.

The caller introduced herself as Deliah Provost. Jill recognized her name from the byline over her syndicated
horoscope column. She hadn’t been on the guest list last night, and yet it turned out she had been there.

“I’m the one who told you about Ryan,” she admitted. “I was afraid to talk to you last night. Even now, this conversation is—”

Jill cut her off impatiently. “That was a cruel thing you did.”

“I know, dear,” Deliah said in a sympathetic voice. “And I can’t begin to apologize. Please believe that I had no intention of hurting you. But I have been receiving messages from a child named Ryan.”

Jill leaned forward, resting her head on the heel of one palm. “I never told anyone about Ryan. How could you have known?”

“I wish I understood,” Deliah said. “Thoughts come to me unbidden. I’ve seen other images of you, with a little boy. Ryan is your son? A child with light-brown hair?”

“He’s my son,” Jill said, her voice quiet. “But he died six years ago.”

“Oh, no,” Deliah said. “The images I get are of a boy who’s very much alive. Jill, we must talk about this.”

“I know my son is dead,” Jill said. “I saw proof of it six years ago. Why are you tormenting me like this?”

“Jill, you must believe that I’m sincere. Please, if we could meet and talk—”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Jill snapped. “Don’t call me again.” She slammed the receiver down and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing away the cold sensation that had enveloped her. Deliah was crazy, saying Ryan was alive. It was impossible!

Abruptly, Jill pushed back her chair and left her office. There were things to do before the museum’s day began, and there was no time to think of a strange woman who might be either vicious or insane.

Virginia appeared at precisely nine o’clock, followed close behind by a busload of kids from a nearby
Children’s Shelter. Their laughter and delighted questions helped Jill to forget Deliah.

The day passed quickly as Jill welcomed dozens of visitors. When the museum was finally closed for the night, she locked the doors and leaned against them with a sigh of exhaustion.

“What a day,” she cried. “I’m beat!”

Virginia walked through the rooms with her, turning off switches and picking up bits of litter. “Me, too,” she said. “I’m going to sleep well tonight, for certain.”

Jill didn’t answer, unsure whether she’d be able to sleep herself. She went into her office and sat for a long time behind her desk. Now that the museum was so quiet, the thoughts that had been fighting to surface in her mind came out loud and clear. Slowly, like a teenager taking out a secret pack of cigarettes, she opened her desk drawer and lifted out the false bottom. Ryan grinned at her from an eight-by-ten portrait taken at a department store shortly before his third birthday. He hadn’t lost the baby roundness of his cheeks, and his green eyes sparkled merrily.

“Oh, Ryan,” she whispered. “What I wouldn’t give to believe that woman!”

But there had been evidence, and witnesses. Deliah was wrong. Ryan couldn’t be alive!

But what if he is? Don’t you want to be absolutely certain?

“I’m not falling for some crazy woman’s trick,” Jill said. “She probably just wants money, and then she’ll pretend to look for my son only to tell me she failed.”

She never mentioned a fee, did she?

“I hung up too fast,” Jill said.

What if the whole thing was a lie? One of Jeffrey’s tricks? Ryan might need you, Jill. He might be in trouble, or perhaps Jeffrey told him you don’t want him anymore. You have to be sure, Jill. You have to be sure, be sure, be sure . . .

Before she could stop herself, Jill reached for a phone book and looked up Deliah’s number.

“I knew you’d call,” Deliah said when she answered.

“Did you?” Jill asked coolly. “I thought I made it clear this morning that I’m not buying your psychic routine.”

“But you’re calling me now,” Deliah pointed out. “Have you changed your mind? Do you want me to help you?”

Jill leaned back in her chair, ready to offer the bait, expecting Deliah to reveal her true colors. “How much do you want?” She heard a sigh over the other end.

“Jill, I make my money through my newspaper column,” Deliah said. “My powers are a God-given talent, and I never ask money when trying to help someone. The only thing I ask from you is time, so we might clear things up together.”

“I—I don’t know what to say,” Jill stammered, hardly believing the woman didn’t want money. “You really do want to help me? You really do believe Ryan is alive somewhere?”

She realized she sounded like a small, hopeful child, and she forced herself to remain objective. She was merely giving Deliah the benefit of the doubt, only because she couldn’t explain the woman’s knowledge of her son’s death.

“Can we meet for dinner?” Deliah said. “I’m free now.”

“The museum is closed,” Jill said. “Do you know where the Landing Restaurant is, near Cow Harbor?”

Deliah said she was familiar with the place and agreed to meet Jill there in an hour.

After making a last-minute check of the museum, Jill went out to her car and drove home. She changed out of her work clothes into a blue-and-white sweater and slacks, then headed out to downtown Port Lincoln.

Deliah was already waiting for her at the Landing, seated at a table nearest the window. In the setting sun, the boats that bobbed up and down in the water were almost dreamlike. She didn’t look like someone
who dabbled in the occult. Her neck wasn’t laden with chains bearing amulets and charms; she didn’t dress in black or have long red fingernails. Deliah wore a simple brown suit with silver seashell earrings and a matching silver necklace. She smiled at Jill and offered her hand.

No poison rings, Jill thought.

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to talk with me,” Deliah said. “Someone or something is frightening your child.”

Jill sat down, glancing at a family of ducks that swam just a few feet from her table, disappearing under the building. A waitress came to leave menus, and she scanned the bill of fare. “I’m very skeptical,” she said. “When Ryan and Jeffrey died, I didn’t want to believe it. But dental records were traced and proof was given that the victims of that terrible car accident were my son and ex-husband.”

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Deliah said.

“You mean you don’t know?”

Deliah smiled, closing her menu and setting it aside. “Visions come to me in bits and pieces,” she said. “You see, I came to your museum as any other visitor might. But as I walked around, I kept getting feelings that brought the voice of a little boy to my mind. Wondering if it might be the child who called me for help, I took something of yours to strengthen the contact.”

She pushed a small plastic dog toward Jill. It had been sitting on the shelf in her office, and she hadn’t even noticed it was missing.

“Holding the dog helped me see that Ryan was once a bright, happy boy. A child of remarkable talents.”

Jill stiffened. “How did you learn his name?”

“From your own thoughts, Jill,” Deliah said. “There was no effort in that. Even when you aren’t actively thinking about him, he remains on the brink of your subconscious. You often picture him looking back over his shoulder, waving to you.”

Ice formed in Jill’s chest. Deliah had just described Jill’s last image of her son!

No! Don’t give in to her. It can’t be true.

“I see,” Jill said, steadying herself. “This is all very coincidental. How is it you just happened to find me? I don’t live where I used to, and out of all the people in the United States—”

“Maybe it would be better if you told me the story from the beginning,” Deliah interrupted. “If I knew what circumstances led to the boy being in this dangerous predicament, I might be able to help put a stop to it.”

Jill stared at the woman for a few seconds, then shrugged. What did she have to lose? “All right, I’ll tell you what happened. Ryan and Jeffrey were killed six years ago. Jeffrey drove his car over an embankment, and it caught fire. There was nothing anyone could do.”