Hear the Children Calling (18 page)

“No! No! I won’t do it.”

The boy started ripping at the wires, looking like a child trying to throw snakes from his body. He leapt from the chair, landing on the tile floor with a soft slap of bare feet and ran toward the door. “I’m getting outa this place,” he cried.

The nurse moved swiftly, grabbing Tommy by his upper arms. Vinton struggled to keep hold of him, dodging the boy’s kicks.

“Tommy, calm yourself,” the film image of Adams commanded.

“No.”

“Tommy, you must do this,” Adams insisted in a firm but soothing tone. “It’s the only way you’ll be in control of your powers. Are you afraid?”

“You’re using us,” Tommy cried. “You want us to hurt people. But I won’t do it so you better let me go.”

“Calm down.”

“I want to go home,” Tommy seethed.

In the darkened screening room, Adams sat back and tried to comprehend what he was seeing. In the midst of it, it had all been too confusing. But now that
he could observe it as if he were an Outsider, he tried to understand what had gone wrong with his project.

What in the hell had started this rebellion? Although they probably resented the sessions at the clinic, the children hadn’t been mistreated there. He shook his head, unseen in the dark. Correct that, he thought; they hadn’t been mistreated in years. In the beginning, punishment had been necessary to keep them in line. He had to erase any earlier memories, so that the children’s minds became blank slates upon which he could write out his brilliant plan. And it had been brilliant, moving along smoothly, until this Bivers kid started up. It was Tommy’s fault, being threatened with rats. Served him right for being disobedient.

Again, Adams asked himself where the rebellion had come from.

And then he told himself it didn’t really matter. He was the master of all around him and nothing would stop him from seeking his goal. From the first time his experiment worked successfully, he knew greater things were in his future. He smiled, thinking of that first experiment. The young runaway had been so gullible, right up to the day she gave birth to what Adams referred to as “the result of my latest experiment.” But there was too much going on on the screen to give that much further thought.

On screen, his image had been soothing the hysterical Bivers boy. Adams looked up to see himself signal for Vinton to let him go. And suddenly two bigger men appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the child and dragging him back to the chair.

“I can’t let you go without the shot, Tommy,” Adams said. “You are far too hysterical.”

“No, please.”

“I promised you could go,” Dr. Adams reminded. “But first, you’re going to take your medication. Unless you want to be punished, Tommy. The rats?”

Tommy shook his head, his expression wild with fear. “No rats!”

“Then do as you’re told,” Tommy was admonished.

Tommy said nothing and Adams nodded at the nurse. “Hold him down.”

Tommy cried softly, but did nothing in protest. The threat of rats was enough to silence him for the moment. He didn’t even whimper when the shot was administered.

The video went fuzzy.

Dr. Adams turned to the technicians and sighed. “I’ve watched that film three times,” he said, “and I still can’t understand where the boy’s gumption came from, after all these years. We’ve had protests from the children before, but reminding them of the things they fear the most has always stifled any of that. So, what the hell happened this time? Why did Tommy Bivers fight us even when he knew he’d be punished?”

“It’s not just Tommy,” Alice Segal reminded. “My own Jenny and Michael Colpan are also giving us trouble. Just the other day Carl Mendolez blew up one of the machines. There have been other, minor incidents. It’s like a mutiny.”

The third man in the room spoke up. “Maybe the things we put in their minds when they first came here are wearing off,” he suggested. “Maybe we ought to educate them again.”

All eyes turned to Dr. Adams. Everyone in the room knew “educate” was a euphemism for “brainwash.” But the doctor shook his head.

“We did that only because it was necessary for the project,” he said. “The children’s minds had to be erased of all memories of their pasts. But we can’t fool with them now, not this far along. It might ruin everything we’ve been working on.”

Adams stood up, walking to the video machine. He stopped it and pressed the rewind button.

“There are worse problems,” he said. “Someone in the center has turned traitor arid is sending information to the outside.”

“We’ve been working on that, sir,” the male technician
who was on probation said. “I’m sure there won’t be any real problems.”

“Make sure there aren’t,” the doctor said. “We haven’t been working on this experiment for the last fifteen years for you to screw up now. I want you to find the traitor, and I want him stopped.”

“Stopped?” Alice said, not quite certain what he meant.

The doctor nodded. The two technicians looked at each other.

“We’ll start a search at once,” one of them promised.

“And I want more emphasis placed on tailing the families,” Adams said. “They’ll be the ones to lead us to the traitor. Make sure no harm comes to them until we find out who he is. But when we do, I want them all dealt with.” He went to the door and opened it. “Within the week!”

25

T
HE SUN HAD JUST DISAPPEARED BEHIND THE
R
OCKY
Mountains when Jill exited the main building of Albuquerque Airport. She stopped and breathed deeply, taking in the clean, thin air. She had left the pollution, noise, and crowds of New York three thousand miles behind her. It seemed now, as she walked toward her rented car with her keys dangling from her fingers, that the life she had built for herself on Long Island was just an illusion. The science museum; the few friends she’d made were all part of a world created because she thought she had lost the only thing that had ever really mattered to her: her son, Ryan. But now she
was going to find him. He was here, somewhere, held captive by people who wanted to take advantage of his extraordinary gifts.

Jill unlocked the car and tossed her one suitcase into the back seat. She hadn’t packed for a long stay. She was certain she’d find Ryan quickly and bring him home.

As she was about to get into her car, she became aware of a nearby presence. She couldn’t have explained it, but something made her turn around and look back toward the doors of the terminal. Of course there were other people there, passengers who had been on the flight with her. But that wasn’t what was bothering her. There was a man standing offside, and though he wore dark glasses, Jill recognized him at once. She had seen him on the airplane from Ft. Lauderdale and just outside her apartment building. She gazed at him for a moment, then caught herself and quickly slipped into her car. Well, she had lost him once; she could do it again. Still, she was relieved when he did not follow her out of the parking lot. She watched his figure in the rearview mirror as far as she was able, but he never moved once.

Jill followed the road signs to Central Avenue. The brilliantly lit sign of a shopping mall stood like a beacon against the purple sky, indicating a landmark she had been told to look for at the Rent-a-Car desk. At the next road, she made a sharp left and pulled into the parking lot of the hotel.

Jill parked under a lamp and exited the car. Carrying her suitcase in one hand and a manila envelope filled with pictures of Ryan in the other, she entered the lobby and checked in. Her room was luxurious—not because she’d asked for first class, but because, at such late notice, there was nothing else available. There were two double beds, two low bureaus, and a round table decorated with a flat terra-cotta pot of cactus. When she kicked off her shoes, her aching feet sank into the pile of the carpet. The television set offered
a choice of movies, and there was even a refrigerator stocked with ice.

Jill entered the bathroom. When she hit the switch, she was immediately bathed in red light. She realized it was a heating lamp, and flicked another. This time, the room was washed fluorescent. It made her skin look pale; she could see dark circles under her eyes. In the six-hour airplane ride, she’d rubbed off all her makeup and lost the blown-in wave of her hair.

“God, Ryan, if you could see me now,” she mumbled. She turned on the faucet and splashed her face with cold water. Then she glanced at her watch and realized she hadn’t adjusted the time. In her mind, it was after seven. Mountain Time made it just after five.

“Early enough to get started,” she told herself.

She put the glass down and went to the bed, sitting on the edge. She picked up the receiver and waited for the front-desk clerk to answer.

“I was wondering if you could get a phone number for me,” Jill said. “The name is Maureen Provost. She lives in Albuquerque.”

“Just a second, ma’am.” The clerk was on the line again in a few moments. “There’s a Maureen Provost on Bryn Mawr. And at University Place.”

“University Place—where’s that?”

“Near the campus, of course,” the desk clerk said. “Mostly students in that area.”

“Then let me try the first number,” Jill said. “If it doesn’t ring through, I’ll get back to you.”

It did go through, and Maureen Provost was only too happy to speak with Jill.

She had a dish of hot sopapillas and a pot of herbal tea ready when Jill arrived at her home. It was an adobe-style house, the wood floors left bare except for handwoven Navajo rugs. The furniture was wood-framed, softened by thick muslin pillows. There was a long, battered table in the dining room, underneath a wagon’s-wheel lamp. At the back of the room, three
niches had been dug out and each was filled with an exquisite Indian sculpture.

“How lovely,” Jill commented.

“Steven, my husband, purchased them in Nevada many years ago,” Maureen said. “He wanted them to have their own special places. Since he’s a teacher like myself, he had time one summer to cut through those walls. It took days. This house was built thirty years ago, but the mud and grass used for the bricks are still as sturdy as ever.”

As she spoke, Jill studied her face and thought how different she was from her older sister. Where Deliah had been dark and somewhat matronly, Maureen’s hair was a rich brown and hung in waves over her small shoulders. Jill guessed her to be much younger than Deliah had been, maybe not much older than Jill herself.

“Please, sit down,” Maureen said. “My husband has taken our children out to pick up their Halloween costumes. We won’t be disturbed. The sopapillas are hot. Would you like some honey for them?”

“Thank you,” Jill said. She accepted one of the airy pastries and savored a few bites before speaking again. “Mmmm. I’ve never had these before. You really didn’t have to go to such trouble.”

“It was no trouble,” Maureen insisted. “I knew you were coming. I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”

Jill set the pastry on a blue spatterware dish and looked across at her hostess. “You were?” she said. “You have the same talents as Deliah?”

Maureen smiled. “To a lesser degree. It wasn’t psychic powers that told me you’d be here. It was my sister. You see, she told me she planned to contact you. After I learned of her death, I knew it would be only a matter of time before you came to me.”

“If you knew about Ryan,” Jill said, “why didn’t you pick up where your sister had left off?”

“And how was I to know where that was?” Maureen asked. “You saw what happened to Deliah, Mrs.
Sheldon. The police told us there had been no one on that boat. They chalked it up to a weird accident, but we knew better. My sister was murdered. Do you think I’d chance my own death—as well as yours and that of an innocent child—by contacting you?”

Jill sighed. “I understand. You’re right. It’s been terribly dangerous. This whole thing is a nightmare.”

“But you’re almost at its end,” Maureen said. “That’s why you’ve come to Albuquerque. You finally learned where Deliah picked up her feelings of Ryan’s existence.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Jill said. “Deliah never finished telling me what happened. I’m hoping you can fill in the gaps.”

“I’ll try,” Maureen promised. “But first, pour yourself some of that tea. You’re shaking, and it will warm you.”

Jill realized suddenly that she was cold. She filled her cup and sat drinking while Maureen relayed what had happened.

“Deliah had been camping in the Sandias with my children,” Maureen began. “She told me that, as they were driving home the next morning, her mind was suddenly filled with a voice so loud, so full of terror, that she was forced to stop the car. That was Ryan calling her, Jill. A frightened little boy begging someone to put a stop to his torment.”

Jill gasped, her breath sending a cloud of steam up from the tea.

“She tried to communicate with him,” Maureen went on. “She tried to find out where he was, but as suddenly as the voice came to her, it stopped. Deliah was convinced there was a child in trouble. She pursued the thought connection and was able to ascertain that the child had something to do with a woman named Jill Sheldon.”

“If she was able to read that in Ryan’s mind, why didn’t
he
know me? Why didn’t he contact me?”

Maureen shook her head uncertainly.

“Perhaps fear of the memory forced the knowledge
into his subconscious. She made a connection with Florida, too.”

“Where we used to live,” Jill explained.

“Deliah could not let it go,” Maureen said. “She worked hard until at last she traced you to Long Island.”

“Someone else knew what she’d picked up,” Jill guessed. “And they murdered her for it, before she could give me more information. But I’ve been stronger. In spite of everything they’ve tried to do to stop me, I’ve come this far.”

“No doubt they know you’re in Albuquerque,” Maureen said. “Please be careful, Jill. I’m sure they’ll be watching your every move.”

“I know,” Jill said, and went on to tell about the man who had been following her. “But now I’m on the lookout for them. Just let them try to stop me. But I need to know where to go now. Did Deliah say exactly where she heard my son’s voice?”