Hear the Children Calling (40 page)

“Look what my dad bought me,” he said. “Aren’t they neat?”

Beth frowned, looking at her feet. Ralph cleared his throat.

“Well, I still think of him as my dad,” Michael said. “Maybe I really am Peter Morse, but he took good care of me and I love him.”

Ralph shook his head. There was a heavy bandage over one side of his face, but the throbbing pain behind his eye had been eradicated with medicine. The doctor had said he’d be fine in a few weeks, but Ralph couldn’t agree with that.

“What I did was wrong, Michael,” Ralph said. He coughed. “I mean, Peter. That’s your real name, you know.” He looked at the sheriff. “I only learned about it recently,” he said. “But I suspected a long time ago that Michael was no orphan.”

Lou nodded sympathetically. “There are mitigating circumstances here. I’m sure any judge will understand you were almost as much a victim of Adams as Peter was.”

“What about Adams?” Ralph asked. “Have you found him?”

“We’re still looking,” Lou said. “If a man could disappear from the face of the earth, it seems he’s done it.”

Peter looked at his sister, then back at the sheriff.

“What do you mean about a judge?” he asked. “You aren’t going to arrest my dad, are you?”

“He’s not our dad,” Beth cried. “Our real daddy is dead.”

Her face screwed up and she began to sob. Ralph hesitated a moment, then put his arms around her. In their ordeal together, they had become friends.

“It’ll be okay,” he said. “When we find your mom, it’ll be okay.”

Beth pulled away. “That Dr. Adams is going to kill her, too. I know it.”

“No,” Peter cried. “We can’t let him. Beth, Jenny’s real mom used her mind to help us down from the balloon. Maybe we can use our minds to call our real mother.”

Ralph shook his head vigorously. “Nothing doing, you guys. You’ve been through enough.”

“Mr. Colpan is right,” Lou agreed. “You kids need to rest. Leave this to the police.”

“But she’s our mother,” Beth protested. “We’ve got to—”

The door opened and a nurse popped her head in. “Sheriff Vermont? There’s a disturbance down in the emergency room. Could you help us out?”

Lou followed her down the hall to the elevator. When they reached the emergency room, he heard the sounds of a woman’s screams. One of his officers, John, hurried up to him.

“We think we found the Morse woman,” he said. “Fellow over there brought her in unconscious, but when she woke up, she started screaming her head off.”

There was sudden silence. Lou guessed the woman had been given a sedative. He went up to the triage nurse and asked permission to see her. When he was led into the room where she was now sleeping, Lou studied the haggard woman under the white sheets. Despite her strawlike hair and pale skin, he knew from pictures he’d seen that she was, indeed, Natalie Morse. The thing to do now was figure out how she’d gotten here. He left the room and went to talk to the man who had brought her in.

The fellow John was talking to now was more a boy than a man, dressed in faded jeans and an embroidered western-style shirt. He wore his long blonde hair back in a ponytail.

“This is Simon Fisher,” John said.

“I’m Sheriff Vermont,” Lou said. “Want to tell me what happened, Simon?”

The young man nodded. “I was driving my pickup. See, I deliver bundles of newspapers to different stops in the county. All of a sudden this woman comes running out in front of my car, screaming. I couldn’t stop fast enough, and I—I hit her.” He shuddered.

“What happened next?”

“Well,” Simon said. “There were other people who came out of the trees next to the road. It’s pretty foresty in that area. Anyway, one of them said he was her doctor. I believed him, ’cause she did look pretty spacey. So I helped load her into the back of the truck to take her up to the house for them. I thought she might be hurt, but the doctor guy said he’d take care of her. You gotta realize I was really happy not to be in trouble. But I felt bad for the lady, too. So I took one good look at her before I climbed into my truck. Something about her face was real familiar, you know? Then I remembered where I saw it—on page two of the newspaper yesterday. I had a copy on the seat next to me. I checked it and it was her!”

“So what did you do?”

“I was halfway back to the house, following the people who were walking. One of them was in the back of the truck, but I had to take a chance. I spun out and turned back to the road. I guess the other guy jumped off when he realized what I was doing ’cause he wasn’t on the truck bed.”

“Can you tell me where exactly you hit her?” Lou asked.

“Sure,” Simon said. “I can even take you there. What’s going on, Sheriff?”

“I can’t say,” Lou answered. “But I’ll tell you this. You’re a hero, Simon, if ever there was one.” He put his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Come on, show me where this doctor is hiding.”

Lou and Simon left the hospital. The sheriff followed the younger man’s pickup truck, all the while hoping this was the end of this whole insane mess.

58

D
OWN THE HALL FROM THE ROOMS WHERE
M
ICHAEL
and Jenny had been reunited with their real families, Jill waited outside her son’s room with tears streaming down her cheeks. They were not just tears of joy, or even relief. They were tears of confusion. When she arrived at the hospital, Danny Emerson was called right in to see his daughter. She was happy for him, and she was happy to hear that the other little boy’s mother and sister had been found. But Ryan didn’t seem to want to see her. When a nurse exited his room, Jill hurried toward her with a look of hope on her face. The woman smiled and Jill felt every muscle in her body relax.

“He wants to see me?”

“He sure does,” the nurse said. “I know it was hard to wait, but he’s been through . . .”

Jill didn’t hear a word she was saying. For a few seconds, she stood frozen, staring at the closed door. Ryan was in there. Ryan! But in spite of her eagerness, she was still worried about facing her son. She hadn’t seen him yet and had no idea what to expect. In her heart’s eye, Jill was still seeing Ryan as a bright-eyed three-year-old.

She held her breath as she opened the door.

And she knew it was Ryan the moment she laid eyes on him. The baby fat was long gone from his cheeks, and the bouncing curls had softened to waves. But there was still a bright twinkle in his eyes, and the smile was as mischievous as ever. Jill hesitated, unable
to say a word. Her tears had been spent out in the hall.

“I was thinking,” Tommy/Ryan said. “If you came all the way from Long Island to get me, you might just be my real mom. I know I don’t belong to those people. I’m sure of that.”

“Oh . . . oh, God!”

Jill was too flustered to say more. She crossed the room in one long step and landed on the side of Ryan’s bed. She hugged him and kissed him until he groaned in protest. But he wouldn’t let her go, as if trying to make up for all the years of coldness at the hands of his foster parents. He still wasn’t sure if she was really his mother, but it was obvious she cared a whole lot about him. And for Tommy Bivers, to be known from now on as Ryan Sheldon, that was enough.

59

W
ITH
S
IMON AT THE LEAD, A CONVOY OF POLICE
vehicles headed toward Lincoln Adams’ private retreat. When they arrived, they circled the building and climbed from their cars with weapons at the ready. Opened doors were used as shields. Lou held a bullhorn up and called to the doctor.

“This is the police. Dr. Lincoln Adams, and any individuals present in this building are asked to come out peacefully, with your hands in the air.”

He waited a moment. Only the sound of the night wind answered him. His breath turned to steam in the icy October air. One of the officers near him shifted uncomfortably. It was so quiet . . .

Lou raised the bullhorn again. “This building is
surrounded. Come out peacefully with your hands in the air. No one will be hurt—you have my word.”

Lou guessed, from all he had heard about the LaMane Center, that there were children inside. He half-expected to hear them crying. But there was still nothing but cold silence.

“Sheriff, I don’t think there’s anyone in there,” John said.

“It’s too quiet,” another officer agreed.

Lou shook his head. “Could be a trap. Cover me.”

In spite of the bulletproof vest he’d taken the time to put under his khaki shirt, Lou’s heart was thumping in anticipation of what might happen in the next few seconds. But he held his head up and walked with confidence toward the front door of the house. He pulled out his gun, raised a booted foot, and kicked the door open.

“Freeze!”

His gun aimed into an empty hallway.

Slowly, ever alert, Lou walked inside. His deputies waited impatiently, worried about their chief. Lou reappeared at the battered door a few minutes later.

“Place is deserted,” he called.

Simon was the first to stand up. “But this is where we were heading with that woman. I’m sure of it.”

“And you’re probably right,” Lou reassured when he came to the circle of cars. Guns clicked into holsters as the other cops began to stand up. “Bastard’s given us the slip again. John, Kim, you take a good look upstairs. Bill, Pat, and Steve have the main floor. I’ll take the basement. I want every inch of this place searched for clues. We’ll catch that child-snatching son of a bitch if it takes us forever.”

But more than an hour of tearing the deserted house apart brought no clues to the investigation. Lou called his men in and headed back to the station to file a report. It was the most difficult thing that he had ever written. The kidnapping part was easy enough. But how could he explain the unusual way the children were able to contact their parents? And that was another
task to be carried out—getting positive proof that the grown-ups really were parents to these children. No problem there; it would just be a matter of checking footprints and thumbprints taken when the children were born.

As far as finding Lincoln Adams and the rest of the families was concerned, Lou guessed the FBI would be busy for years. And if these kids were all as gifted as he’d been led to believe, it wouldn’t be long before other children were searching out, albeit subconsciously, their true relatives. The sheriff was confident Adams would be caught someday.

60

Ten Days Later

R
YAN
S
HELDON FLIPPED A SWITCH AND WATCHED
model planets orbit around a glowing sun. He wore a pair of earphones and listened as a recording told him of the solar system. It was amazing. There had never been anything like this at the LaMane Center. He was almost totally absorbed in the recording, but aware, too, of his mother standing across the room with her friend. He knew they were talking about him, but he didn’t mind. Lou Vermont had found a really good lawyer who worked very hard and found the prints taken when Ryan was a baby. It was positive proof that Ryan Sheldon, born ten years ago, was the same child as Tommy Bivers, for whom there were no records prior to his fourth birthday.

“I still can’t believe he’s your son,” Virginia said, her elbow resting on the glass top of the souvenir stand. “How could you have kept such a secret?”

“As I told you already,” Jill said, “I had no idea
Ryan was even alive. And when Deliah Provost set my investigation in motion, I thought it too impossible, and then too dangerous, to discuss with anyone.”

Virginia nodded. “Well, thank God in heaven he’s home again. What a gorgeous kid. Those LaMane people must have been ogres to hurt such a beautiful, sweet child.”

“They were monsters, all right,” Jill said. “But you can’t really blame LaMane Pharmaceuticals. It turns out Lincoln Adams’ father-in-law owned the company, and he only named his own division after it.”

“That Adams fellow gives me the creeps,” Virginia said. “He must have been insane.”

“From what Natalie Morse said,” Jill replied, “he certainly was. I only hope to God they find him and hang him. He shouldn’t be allowed to live.”

Virginia saw a spot on the glass and rubbed it with her cuff. She understood Jill’s anger and let her friend rant for a few moments to let off steam. Then she said, “What about the others? Have any other families been reunited?”

“That’s the other mystery,” Jill said. “No one knows where they are. But a full-scale FBI investigation is being started. Adams can’t go very far. And if other children start seeking the truth through their powers, the whole thing is going to come crashing down on him.”

She gazed across the empty room at her son. He looked so forlorn, with his tousled hair and his arm in a sling. So much love welled up in her that she wanted to run across the room and smother him with kisses. But Ryan had shown himself to be the kind of kid who balked at such displays of affection. It was enough for now, the psychologists said, that he accepted her as his mother. Jill prayed the counseling he was receiving would help him on the road to a normal childhood—the normal childhood that had been denied him.

“I hope things are going to be all right,” Jill said. “I just want to hide away somewhere here on Long
Island for a while, to enjoy the holidays with my son. I don’t know how easy that’s going to be with all the investigations going on.”

“Well,” Virginia said with a sigh, “at least you got to bring him home. I really feel sorry for that other family you told me about—the Morses. Imagine losing a father in such a hideous way. This whole thing is crazy, and I don’t think I’ll ever understand it.”

“I don’t want to understand it,” Jill said. “I just want my life, and my child’s life, back again.”

Across the room, Ryan had moved out from under the solar system to a scale model of the moon. He pressed a button, and a small figure of a man began to wave an American flag. The recording told him about Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon. And then the man’s voice began to change, to grow fainter. Ryan winced as static filtered into his ears. He started to take the earphones off, but stopped.