She had made some small talk and had asked about their children and somehow the conversation had always seemed to work its way around to Dr. Childs. Listening to them talk about her calls, Michael had slowly begun to piece together a little of what Teri was after and what she had apparently discovered. There were other children in this group that had disappeared around the time that Gabe had disappeared. And in one way or another, all of the children had been in contact with Dr. Childs.
That was as much as he knew at the moment.
No one had heard back from her.
The line of cars moved forward and it became Michael’s turn to order, which he did: a Quarter Pounder with cheese, the meal, Super Sized with a Diet Coke. He wasn’t as hungry as he was thirsty, but it there was no telling how long it would be before he might get a chance to eat again.
He finished placing his order, and glanced in his rearview mirror at the car behind him. A Chevy minivan. A woman was driving; the back seats were loaded with half-a-dozen kids. She moved up behind him and rolled down her window, her face drawn and haggard. There was another car behind the minivan, a Honda Civic it appeared to be, from this angle it was hard to be sure.
Michael was getting fairly adept at knowing who and what was in the vicinity.
They were no longer following him (whoever they had been). That had stopped the night he had walked out the back door of the police station after his interview with Lieutenant Sterns. Michael was staying at a run-down motel off Market Street now, with all the amenities that such accommodations afforded: lumpy bed, rust-stained toilet, broken television, and a smell that he didn’t even want to venture a guess as to its origin.
But he could look out his window at night without seeing that dark-colored Ford sitting across the lot like a vulture waiting for the last throes of death to kick in. And that was all the peace he needed to sleep through the entire night. A comfortable bed and a clean bathroom weren’t necessities at this point. They could wait their turn. With a little luck, it wouldn’t be that long.
He listened to the idle of the engine, thought about the last time he had talked to Teri over the phone, and wondered for the thousandth time how they had come to find themselves in this bizarre situation. It’s what happens when you learn not to trust anyone, he supposed. First you quit trusting strangers, because any one of them could be the one who has walked off with your son. Then you begin to lose trust in the police, who either seem indifferent or incompetent. And finally you begin to lose trust in each other. That’s what got you here. You lost trust in Teri and she lost trust in you,
and…
He finally arrived at the pick-up window. Michael paid a young high school girl with braces that looked terribly uncomfortable, then accepted his burger, fries and drink, and drove out of the lot.
He knew exactly where he was going. And he knew exactly what he was going to do when he got there. What he didn’t know was if it would lead him to Teri.
[120]
Tilly apparently wasn’t after another sample after all.
She stepped through the door and asked Gabe how he was doing today. All right, he told her, having learned never to offer anything more than absolutely necessary. You never knew what the crazy woman was going to do. She could be your grandmother when she wanted. Or she could be Nurse Ratched, depending on the kind of mood she was in or if you happened to say the wrong thing.
She did not move all the way into the room as was her usual routine. Instead, she stood by the door, her hands clasped behind her. “Got a surprise for you,” she said.
Gabe didn’t say a word.
“How’d you like to have a roommate?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On who it is.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, it really isn’t up for debate. Like it or not, you’ve got yourself a little playmate now.”
She wheeled in a boy who looked as if he might be nine or ten years old. He was pale and on the thin side, had blond hair and a spattering of light freckles across the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, taking it all in, making no secret of his fear and confusion. Tilley wheeled him over to the first bed on Gabe’s left, and helped him out of the chair and into the bed.
“He’s still a little weak,” she said. “But he’ll get stronger.”
His name was Cody, and he was neither nine nor ten. He was eight. After Tilley left, they talked for awhile and he told Gabe that he didn’t remember how he had gotten here, only that he had gone to the park to play. He tried not to cry, but eventually lost the battle, and tears filled his eyes. He missed his mommy, he said. And he didn’t like it here. And he wanted to go home again.
Gabe missed his own mother.
And he wanted to go home, too.
[121]
“It’s the same scenario,” Childs said, doodling absently on the calendar pad on his desk. There were two other participants in this meeting. One was a muscle man by the name of Mitch. The other man Childs knew only as D.C., though he suspected this man—who had been his primary contact almost since the very beginning—was a man of many names. They were names you didn’t want to know, because when you started to know too much about these guys, you made yourself dangerous to them, and dangerous men lived short lives.
“What about the others?” D.C. asked.
“What about them?”
“You tell me. Are they all going to start coming up?”
“There’s no way I can answer that.”
Mitch stood in the corner, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. It was the same position he had taken up every time he had been in this room. He coughed into his hand and crossed his arms again, not saying a word. He had said more than enough already, Childs supposed.
D.C. was perched on the folding table, next to the copy machine. His hands were curled around the edge, elbows locked, knuckles white, and he was swinging his legs through the air as if he were trying to pick up speed. He was not terribly pleased about anything he had heard this afternoon.
“Why not?” he asked.
“I never imagined any of them would wake up,” Childs said.
“Well, they did. And now we’re going to have to figure out what the hell we’re going to do with them, aren’t we?”
“All we need is a little time.”
“How much time?”
“Six months, eight months, maybe a year. Both boys are beginning to show signs of aging. They’ll die naturally if we just wait it out.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Knight won’t mind waiting,” Mitch said.
“She is a problem, doc. No matter what we do.”
“I know,” Childs said, leaning back in his chair. He studied the ceiling, which had a dark gouge over the conference table where two years ago the janitor had crushed a spider under the handle of his mop. “We could transfer the kids to another facility until things settle down. Maybe Houston or St. Charles.”
“The two boys?”
“Yeah.”
“What about the sleepers?”
“We could move them all.”
“How soon?”
“It won’t be easy, not with the sleepers. They’ll need special care. I’d have to make some arrangements.”