The freshening air coming through the open windows was probably only a degree or two colder than when they had sat down in a circle on the floor, but it seemed to Laura like a chilly late-autumn wind that had mysteriously leaped the months and infiltrated the August night.
Laura said, "But Tammy doesn't really like it?"
"No, I don't think she does," Ruth said. "But she's—"
"— compelled," Thelma said, "can't help herself. Twisted."
They were all silent, thinking the unthinkable, and finally Laura said, "Strange and… so sad. Can't we stop it? Can't we tell Mrs. Bowmaine or one of the other social workers about Sheener?"
"It wouldn't do any good," Thelma said. "The Eel would deny it, and Tammy would deny it, too, and we don't have any proof."
"But if she's not the only kid he's abused, one of the others—"
Ruth shook her head. "Most have gone to foster homes, adoptive parents, or back to their own families. Those two or three still here… well, they're either like Tammy, or they're just scared to death of the Eel, too scared ever to rat on him."
"Besides," Thelma said, "the adults don't want to know, don't want to deal with it. Bad publicity for the home. And it makes them look stupid to have this going on under their noses. Besides, who can believe children?" Thelma imitated Mrs. Bowmaine, catching the note of phoniness so perfectly that Laura recognized it at once: "Oh, my dear, they're horrible, lying little creatures. Noisy, rambunctious, bothersome little beasts, capable of destroying Mr. Sheener's fine reputation for the fun of it. If only they could be drugged, hung on wall hooks, and fed intravenously, how much more efficient that system would be, my dear — and really so much better for them, too."
"Then the Eel would be cleared," Ruth said, "and he'd come back to work, and he'd find ways to make us pay for speaking against him. It happened that way before with another perv who used to work here, a guy we called Ferret Fogel. Poor Denny Jenkins…"
"Denny ratted on Ferret Fogel; he told Bowmaine the Ferret molested him and two other boys. Fogel was suspended. But the two other boys wouldn't support Denny's story. They were afraid of the Ferret… but they also had this sick need for his approval. When Bowmaine and her staff interrogated Denny—"
"They hammered at him," Ruth said angrily, "with trick questions, trying to trip him up. He got confused, contradicted himself, so they said he was making it all up."
"And Fogel came back to work," Thelma said.
"He bided his time," Ruth said, " and then he found ways to make Denny miserable. He tormented the boy relentlessly until one day… Denny just started screaming and couldn't stop. The doctor had to give him a shot, and then they took him away. Emotionally disturbed, they said." She was on the brink of tears. "We never saw him again."
Thelma put one hand on her sister's shoulder. To Laura, she said, "Ruth was fond of Denny. He was a nice boy. Small, shy, sweet… he never had a chance. That's why you've got to be tough with the White Eel. You can't let him see that you're afraid of him. If he tries anything, scream. And kick him in the crotch."
Tammy returned from the bathroom. She did not look at them but stepped out of her slippers and got under the covers.
Although Laura was repulsed by the thought of Tammy submitting to Sheener, she regarded the frail blonde with less disgust than sympathy. No sight could be more pitiful than that small, lonely, defeated girl lying on her narrow, sagging bed.
That night Laura dreamed of Sheener. He had his own human head, but his body was that of a white eel, and wherever Laura ran, Sheener slithered after her, wriggling under closed doors and other obstacles.
2
Sickened by what he'd just seen, Stefan returned from the institute's main lab to his third-floor office. He sat at his desk with his head in his hands, shaking with horror and anger and fear.
That red-haired bastard, Willy Sheener, was going to rape Laura repeatedly, beat her half to death, and leave her so traumatized that she would never recover. That was not just a possibility; it would come to pass if Stefan did not move to prevent it. He had seen the aftermath: Laura's bruised face, broken mouth. Her eyes had been the worst of it, so flat looking and half-dead, the eyes of a child who no longer had the capacity for joy or hope.
Cold rain tapped on the office windows, and that hollow sound seemed to reverberate within him, as if the terrible things he had seen had left him burnt out, an empty shell.
He had saved Laura from the junkie in her father's grocery, but here was another pedophile already. One of the things he had learned from the experiments in the institute was that reshaping fate was not always easy. Destiny struggled to reassert the pattern that was meant to be. Perhaps being molested and psychologically destroyed was such an immutable part of Laura's fate that Stefan could not prevent it from happening sooner or later. Perhaps he could not save her from Willy Sheener, or perhaps if he thwarted Sheener, another rapist would enter the girl's life. But he had to try. Those half-dead, joyless eyes…
3
Seventy-six children resided at the Mcllroy Home, all twelve or younger; upon turning thirteen, they were transferred to Caswell Hall in Anaheim. Since the oak-paneled dining hall would hold only forty, meals were served in two shifts. Laura was on the second shift, as were the Ackerson twins.
Standing in the cafeteria line between Thelma and Ruth on her first morning at the shelter, Laura saw that Willy Sheener was one of the four attendants serving from behind the counter. He monitored the milk supply and dispensed sweet rolls with a pair of tongs.
As Laura moved along the line, the Eel spent more time looking at her than at the kids he was serving.
"Don't let him intimidate you," Thelma whispered.
Laura tried to meet Sheener's gaze — and his challenge — boldly. But she was the one who always broke the staring match.
When she reached his station, he said, "Good morning, Laura," and put a sweet roll on her tray, a particular pastry he had saved for her. It was twice as large as the others, with more cherries and icing.
On Thursday, Laura's third full day at the shelter, she endured a how-are-we-adjusting meeting with Mrs. Bowmaine in the social worker's first-floor office. Etta Bowmaine was stout, with an unflattering wardrobe of flower-print dresses. She spoke in cliches and platitudes with that gushy insincerity that Thelma had imitated perfectly, and she asked a lot of questions to which she actually did not want honest answers. Laura lied about how happy she was at Mcllroy, and the lies pleased Mrs. Bowmaine enormously.
Returning to her room on the third floor, Laura encountered the Eel on the north stairs. She turned at the second landing, and he was on the next flight, wiping the oak handrail with a rag. An unopened bottle of furniture polish stood on the step below him.
She froze, and her heart began to pound double time, for she knew he had been lying in wait for her. He'd have known about her summons to Mrs. Bowmaine's office and would have counted on her using the nearest stairs to return to the room.
They were alone. At any time another child or staff member might come along, but for the moment they were alone.
Her first impulse was to retreat and use the south stairs, but she remembered what Thelma had said about standing up to the Eel and about how his type preyed only on weaklings. She told herself that the best thing to do was walk past him without saying a word, but her feet seemed to have been nailed to the step; she could not move.