Bill nodded. "I think I'm becoming addicted to them."
"You wouldn't be the first. By the way, I recently downloaded this new article about cloning. It reminded me of that brouhaha back in the sixties over that friend of yours—"
"Jim," Bill said with a sudden ache in his chest. "Jim Stevens."
"Right. James Stevens. Supposedly the clone of Roderick Hanley. The Stevens case, as they called it, was mentioned in the article. Current wisdom, as stated in the article, says that it was technically impossible to clone a human being back in the forties. But I don't know. From what I've picked up over the years, Roderick Hanley was a real wild card. If anybody could pull off something like that, it was him. What do you think?"
"I don't think about it," Bill said.
And that was almost the truth. Bill rarely allowed himself to think about Jim, because that brought on thoughts of Jim's wife, Carol. Bill knew where Jim was—under a plaque at Tall Oaks—but where was Carol? The last time he'd seen her was at LaGuardia in 1968. She'd called him once after flying off with Jonah, to tell him she was all right, but that had been it. She might as well have fallen off the face of the earth.
During the nearly two decades since she'd disappeared he'd learned how to avoid thinking about her. And he'd become pretty damn good at it.
But now Nick had gone and stirred up those old memories again… especially of the time when she had taken her clothes off and tried to—
"It's too bad—" Nick began, but was cut off by the arrival of a pajama-clad whirlwind.
Little seven-year-old Danny Gordon ran in from the hall at full tilt, then tried to skid to a halt in front of the table where Bill and Nick had set up their board. Only he didn't time his skid quite right. He slammed against the table and nearly knocked it over.
"Danny!" Bill cried as the chessboard and all the pieces went flying.
"Sorry, Father," the boy said with a dazzling smile.
He was small for his age, with a sinewy little body, pale blond hair, and a perfect, rosy-cheeked complexion. A regular Campbell's soup kid. He still had his milk teeth, so when he smiled the effect of those tiny, perfectly aligned white squares was completely disarming. At least to most people. Bill was used to it, almost totally inured to it. Almost.
"What are you doing up?" he said. "You're supposed to be in the dorm. It's"—he glanced at his watch—"almost midnight! Now get back to bed this instant."
"But there's monsters back there, Father!"
"There are no monsters in St. Francis."
"But there are! In the closets!"
This was old territory. They'd been over it a hundred times at least. He motioned Danny toward his lap. The child hopped up and snuggled against him. His body seemed to be all bone and no flesh, and weighed next to nothing. He was quiet for the moment. Bill knew that wouldn't last too long.
"Hi, Nick," Danny said, smiling and waving across the carnage of the chessboard.
"How y'doing, Danny boy?"
"Fine. Were there monsters here when you were a kid, Nick?"
Bill answered for him. No telling what Nick might say.
"Come on now, Danny. You know there's no such thing as monsters. We've been through all the closets again and again. There's nothing in them but clothes and dust bunnies."
"But the monsters come after you close the doors!"
"No they don't. And especially not tonight. Father Cullen is staying here tonight." Bill knew most of the kids at St. F.'s were in awe of the old priest's stern visage and no-nonsense manner. "Do you know of any monster—and there aren't any such things as monsters, but if there were, do you know of any monster that would dare show its face around here with Father Cullen patrolling the halls?"
Danny's already huge blue eyes grew larger. "No way! He'd scare them right back to where they came from!"
"Right. So you get back to the dorm and into your bed. Now!"
"'Kay." Danny hopped off his lap. "But you have to take me back."
"You got here all by yourself."
"Yeah, but it's dark and…" Danny cocked his head and looked up at him with those big blue eyes. "You know…"
Bill had to smile. What a manipulator. He knew that only a small part of Danny's fears were real. The rest seemed to be a product of his hyperactivity. He needed much less sleep than the other kids, so the fantasy of monsters in the closets not only brought him the extra attention he craved, but got him extra time out of the sack as well.
"Okay. Stay put for a minute or two while I talk to Nick here and I'll walk you back."
"'Kay."
Bill watched as Danny picked up two of the fallen chess pieces and pretended they were dogfighting jets, with all the appropriate sound effects.
"I can't imagine why no one has adopted him yet," Nick said. "If I were married I'd think of taking him in myself."
"You wouldn't get him," Bill said. When he saw Nick's shocked face he realized he'd been more abrupt than he'd intended. "I mean, Danny's adoptive parents will have to have special qualities."
"Oh, really?"
He could tell Nick was a little miffed, maybe even hurt. He hurried to explain.
"Yes. I'm holding out for an older couple who've already raised a couple of kids. A young childless couple is definitely out."
"I don't get it."
"How many times have you seen Danny before?"
Bill was keeping a close eye on Danny as he zoomed around the office with his makeshift airplanes. He knew from experience that the boy could dismantle a room in under ten minutes if he wasn't watched.
"At least a dozen, I'd say."
"And how long were you with him each time?"
Mimicking the sound of an explosion, Danny rammed the two chess pieces together in a midair crash, then let them fall. Before they hit the floor he was on his way toward Bill's desk.
"I don't know. A few minutes I guess."
"Most of which time he was either on his way in and out, or sitting on my knee, right?"
Nick nodded slowly. "I guess so."
Bill leaned back in his chair and pointed to Danny.
"Watch."
In a matter of a minute, certainly no more than two, Danny had tipped over and explored the contents of the wastebasket, climbed to a standing position on the chair and inspected everything on the desktop, pounded on the typewriter, tried to work the adding machine, drawn on the blotter, opened every drawer and pulled out whatever was in his way, picked up and inspected anything that piqued his interest, then dropped it on the floor as soon as something else caught his eye, then crawled into the knee hole and began playing with the plugs on the electric cords under the desk.
"Stay away from the electricity, Danny," Bill warned. "You know it's dangerous."
Without a word Danny rolled out from under the desk and looked around for something else. His eyes lit on Nick's overstuffed briefcase and he zeroed in on it.
Nick reached it first and snatched it off the floor and onto his lap.
"Sorry, Danny," he said with a smile and a quick glance at Bill. "This may took like a wastepaper basket, but it's highly organized. Really."
Danny veered off in another direction.
"See what I mean?" Bill said.
"You mean he's like this all day?"
"And most of the night. Nonstop. From the crack of dawn till he collapses from sheer exhaustion."
"No nap?"
"Never."
"Oy vey. Was I ever like that?"
"You had your own unique set of problems, but your hyperac-tivity was exclusively mental."
"I get pooped just watching him."
"Right. So you see why I need a pair of experienced parents for Danny. They have to have the patience of Job and they have to go into this with their eyes completely open."