THE LAST BOY (22 page)

“My God, what's the matter?” she whispered as she saw the pale form of Danny in the darkness.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he answered in a whisper of his own. Outside it was now so quiet you could hear the frogs croaking in the swamp behind the park. He kept moving around in the darkened room.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“No. I just couldn’t sleep. I think I’ve got to get used to this place again.”

Molly pulled him close. Every muscle and sinew in his body was wound tightly.“What was the other place like?”

“Different,” he said.

“How?”

“It was quieter. And it had more air. Not so stuffy.”

“Would you like to go out? Is that it?”

“Yes.
Please.
” Something like desperation in his voice tugged at her guilt.

Unlocking the trailer door, she led him out onto the cold metal steps. The night was crisp and clear; the air was still and lightly perfumed with the fragrance of spring. Beyond the immediate lights of the trailer park, the sky was dark and moonless. In the distance, a big truck droned down the highway. Danny took a series of long, deep breaths, exhaling slowly, and Molly could feel the tension in his body dissipating.

She waited, keeping him warm against her side. “Better now?” she finally inquired.

“Yeah,” he nodded.“Much better.”

The sound of the truck had faded, and now all they could hear was the buzzing from the mercury vapor lamp that sat on the power pole overhead. One hundred feet from the house stood a patrol car. A cop sat in the front seat, staring out at them, and she pulled her nightgown tight around her.

“Could I sleep out here?” asked Danny.

She looked at him. Hesitated. “Sure, Honey,” she said finally, went back into the trailer, gathered his blankets and pillow and made him a bed on the grass. Happily, he crawled under the covers.

“Think you can sleep now?”

“I’m sure.”

“Good,” she said, tucking him in.

Molly went back again, put on a coat, and lugged out an aluminum chaise lounge. She unfolded it, stationing herself beside his bed, wondering what the cop would say about this to the others in the morning. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but her mind was in turmoil; she could not drive off the indefinable sense of dread that gnawed away at the edges of her consciousness. The same questions kept circling in her mind. Who had kept him? How did they get him? How did he get away? And why? Why?
Why?
Only with the approach of daybreak did she fall asleep.

When she opened her eyes, Tripoli was standing over her, blocking the glaring sun. She squinted in the brightness, trying to orient herself.

“Where's Danny?” she asked, leaping to her feet.

“Right here, Mother,” he laughed, smiling at her. He was sitting cross-legged on his mattress, naked.

It took Molly a moment to take in the scene. The neighbors gawking. The new cop on duty, leaning up against his squad car, arms folded, watching them.

“Jesus,” muttered Molly, and she scooped up Danny and headed into the trailer.

Tripoli gathered up the mattress and carried it in behind her.

“I’m not going to ask,” he said with a smile.

“There's nothing to ask,” said Molly with a shrug. “We were camping out.”

“That's what I told them when they called last night.”

“Huh? Who?” Molly fumbled with the coffee maker, popping in a filter.

“My men.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Hey, what time is it, anyhow?” Molly answered her own question, checking the clock. “Cripes. It already nine!” She picked up the phone while scooping coffee.

“Hey, make enough for the both of us.”

“Larry,” she said,“I meant to call you last night, but—”

“My God,” exclaimed Larry.“I heard. The papers and news services are full of it. It's extraordinary. I mean, incredible. Wonderful! What happened to him? Where was he?”

She looked over at Danny leaning over his pile of books, his naked little butt in the air. “Hey, how about getting some clothes on.”

“Huh?” said Larry.

“I meant Danny,” she laughed. “Look, I really can’t go into details now.”

“Sure. I understand. Just curious.”

“Look, I won’t be in today.”

“Well, of course not!”

“Let me call you when—”

“Whenever. I’m sure it's crazy on your end. Just one piece of advice. Don’t sign anything. Don’t agree to anything—”

“What?”

“Without having a lawyer or an agent. Danny's story might be worth big bucks.” His other line was ringing. “Hey, we’ll talk later. Just don’t do anything without talking to me first.”

“We’ve got an appointment, remember?” said Tripoli as soon as she hung up.

“Oh…”

He fixed her with his bright green eyes.“And there's no weaseling out of it.”

“Weaseling!” said Danny and laughed. He obviously liked the word.“Weaseling,” he kept saying as Molly took him back into the bedroom.“Trip said
weaseling.
Isn’t that funny!”

“Hilarious. Now go brush your teeth. And use the toothpaste.”

“You mean with that minty stuff?”

A few minutes later, Tripoli could hear the shower pelting the sides of the metal stall and Danny came out dressed, his hair combed, looking a lot cleaner than the day before. He plunked himself into the middle of the pile of books.

Tripoli poured himself some coffee and then ambled over to where Danny sat.“Hey, whatta you got there?”

Danny looked up.“A book,” he said.

Tripoli sat down next to the boy and put his arm around him. Danny snuggled in close.

“Hmmm, seems to me like kind of heavy stuff,” remarked Tripoli, looking closer. It was one of Molly's old textbooks, a psych book, and it was open to a section on nonverbal communication. “Can you read some of the words for me?” he inquired curiously.

“I could try,” said Danny, looking up with his big doe eyes.

“Well just try this,” said Tripoli, pointing to a paragraph.

“Okay, let me see,” said Danny. Pulling the heavy volume closer, Danny began haltingly to sound out the words, his fingers following the text. “All of us…communicate non-verb-ally as well as verbally.” He turned to look back at Tripoli, a proud smile on his face.

“Wow that's terrific!”Tripoli said. “I’m impressed. Keep going.”

Danny read on. Sometimes he stumbled or mispronounced a word, “If irritated, we may—may t-t-tense our bodies or…or press our lips together. With a gaze, aver- averted glance or stare we comm- communicate inti-mecy—no, missy, sub-mission, or dom-dom- dom-”

“Dominance,”Tripoli prompted.

“Yeah, dominance.”

“That's wonderful,”Tripoli said.

Molly, her hair still wet from the shower, had quietly slipped into the room, and stood watching, her jaw slack with surprise. “Holy moly,” she muttered.

Danny smiled eagerly again.“I can read more—if you want.”

“I’ve got a better idea,”Tripoli said.“Let's give you the real test.”

“Okay,” piped Danny, anxious to play along. “Give me the test. I like tests!”

“All right then. Just what does all that mean?” He knew that children could be taught to read at an early age, just how early he wasn’t sure, nor how much, but the true question was the degree of their comprehension

“Well,” Danny began,“I think it means something like…you can speak to people without using words.”

Tripoli was speechless. He looked over to Molly who shook her head in amazement.

“It's just like that funny look on your face right now. And my mother's, too. You’re surprised that I can read so well, aren’t you?” And then Danny laughed.

“Yes. Yes I am,” said Tripoli clearing his throat. “How did you learn this?
Where
did you learn this?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Danny casually moved his head back and forth. “Just around.”

“Did he mention anything else last night?” asked Tripoli in a low voice, after Danny got into the car. He closed the door and turned to Molly.

“Nothing really. Just that you don’t need whole bathtubs of water. You can use a bucket. But you’ve got to make a fire. A
fire?
”

“We went through Danny's clothes. Some things we found in his
pockets weren’t in the original report. Can you recall what he had when you dropped him off at daycare?”

“I’m not sure any more. It was so long ago.” Danny was tapping at the closed window and Molly lifted a finger asking him to wait. Then she looked back at Tripoli.“Well, tell me, what’d you find?”

Tripoli positioned himself with his back to Danny. Blocking his view, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out three plastic evidence bags, handing them to her one at a time.

“We found some pennies.”

“He might have had those.” She shook the bag and then stared up into the lightness of Tripoli's green eyes. “He always liked the sound of money jingling in his pockets. Given the state of his mother's finances, you can’t blame him, can you?”

“Also this string, a yellow piece of Lego, and a stone.”

“Yeah, sure,” Molly said,“this is his lucky stone. He loved it and always carried it with him. And this is probably a piece of his Lego— looks like it came from this little tow truck he has. And the string?” she turned the bag around to examine it in the light.“I don’t know. I think he had it. Looks like some kite string, maybe. I can’t be sure.”

“Now, was there anything you can think of, something that might be missing?”

“Hmmmm.” Molly wrinkled her forehead.

“Think hard.”

“He used to carry this damn whistle he found.”

“What kind?”

“Like a police whistle—you know with a ball in it. It was plastic. Red and white. He was always going around blowing it, driving everybody crazy. Mrs. Oltz kept warning him that if he took it out once more at Kute Kids she was going to confiscate it.”

“Did she?”

“Not that I know of. But…” Molly cut herself off in mid-sentence.

Tripoli saw that Danny was leaning over the front seat to see what they were doing. Quickly, he took back the bags and stuffed them into his pocket.

Tripoli drove Molly and Danny into Ithaca. The sun-drenched streets of downtown were filled with people in shorts and tank tops and summer dresses relishing the mild spring day. Parking in front of the old County Jail on Court Street, he led them upstairs to what the Child Protective Services referred to simply as “The Room.” It was an oblong space filled with toys and colorful cushions, and it was equipped with a one-way mirror. The juvenile psychiatrist, a matronly woman of indeterminate age with short-cropped hair and big-hooped earrings, was waiting when they arrived.

“This is Mrs. Barrie,” said Tripoli.

“And you must be Danny?” she said brightly, stretching out her hand. The woman had a soft smile, and Tripoli hoped she wouldn’t be condescending.

“No. Daniel.”

“Yes, Daniel.”

Danny shook her hand. Tripoli could tell that he didn’t quite trust her; he wondered if she would have better luck than he or Molly had.

“Why don’t you just call me Joan?” she suggested cozily, putting an arm around him and leading him deeper into the room.

“Okay,” he said,“
Joan.
”

“Would you like to play with some of the nice toys we have here?” she asked.

Danny looked them over, then shrugged. “Not particularly,
Joan
,” he said. Tripoli had to suppress a smile.

“I’ve got some really neat trucks and…” She didn’t go much further. It was apparent that Danny was not going to tolerate being indulged with childish distractions.

“Can I please go now?” asked Danny, looking beseechingly toward Molly. Then Tripoli.

“I was thinking that perhaps we could have a little chat,” said the woman.

“I don’t really like it in here,” said Danny.

“Maybe your mother and Mr. Tripoli could…” the psychiatrist lifted an eyebrow in Tripoli's direction.

“Yes, of course,” said Tripoli, taking Molly by the arm.

Molly started to stiffen, but Tripoli held on tight and escorted her toward the door. “Don’t worry, Honey,” Molly called over her shoulder.“I’ll be right outside waiting for you.”

Danny looked apprehensive. He kept staring at the door after it was closed.

“Now,” Mrs. Barrie said when they were alone and she had Danny settled on the floor beside her on puffy cushions. “I understand that you were away from your Mommy for quite a while.”

Danny turned from the closed door and stared at her. Then, slowly, he gazed around the room. At the doll house. The puzzles. The low table with a big box of crayons on it.

“Did you do some traveling? Did you go far away?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes were still scanning the brightly lit space. There were two dolls sitting on a shelf, a boy doll and a girl doll, each with prominent sexual organs. He stared at them. Then at the woman.

Mrs. Barrie waited.

Danny began to hum to himself. It was a strange-sounding melody, the woman noted. In fact, to her ear it seemed hardly melodic. Just a series of atonal, disconnected notes. His voice was high, reedy, almost flute-like.

“When a young man disappears, grownups can’t help but wonder where he went,” she continued, still trying to engage him.

Danny stopped humming and sighed impatiently, still avoiding her gaze.

Tripoli and Molly sat behind the one-way mirror, leaning forward and watching. Beside them stood a young man dressed in black jeans and a sweater, panning with a video camera and taping Danny's every move. As the psychiatrist spoke, her voice issued through the overhead speaker thin and distant.

Danny got up and moved around the room. The woman continued to let time pass. He walked a full circle and then came back to where she sat on the cushion and looked down at her.

“Are we finished?” he asked quietly.

“Not quite,” she smiled.

“I don’t like the questions you want to ask me,” he said pointedly, hands perched on his hips.

“Well, maybe I could ask some questions that you’d like?”

“I don’t think so,” he said in his high little voice.“How long do I have to be here, anyway?”

“Just a little while.”

“What does ‘a little while’ mean?”