THE LAST BOY (29 page)

“Can I take these books, too?” he asked.

“Sure. Let's see if we can fit them in.”

He seemed curious and eager to accompany her to work.

“And Ben and Sandy—you remember them?—they’re all excited about seeing you again.” She kept up a constant babble as they drove down Route 13, and for once he didn’t complain about getting into a car.

Giving Tasha at the front desk a wave, she took Danny by the hand and led him directly into her office.“Big, huh?” she asked.

“Yup,” he said, looking around. His eyes went right for the window.

“And it's all ours.” She bent over and nuzzled his neck. Straightening up, Molly flipped on the overhead fluorescents and went to her desk. Awaiting her was an intimidating heap of mail and papers nearly a foot high. Her heart began to sink. It would take her days merely to organize and look through this morass.

She hurriedly fingered through the pile.“I leave and everything
grinds to a major halt,” she muttered in frustration.“Just look at this mess!” In the neighboring copy room, the Xerox came on with a high-pitched whine. Then it started clanking through copies, shaking the floor.

Danny, who was standing with his backpack still strapped to his shoulders, watched as his mother marched into the outer office.

“Tasha,” she called out, waving a bunch of envelopes. “Doesn’t anybody believe in opening the mail? Look at this. These are checks. Money. From advertisers. New subscriptions. And here's a second notice from the electric company. You want them to cut the power?”

“But nobody told me to open the mail.”

Molly resisted the urge to say something, just shook her head and strode back into her office.

“Oh, there you are,” she said with a laugh, seeing Danny still waiting.“You think your mother forgot you, right?”

“I don’t know,” he said, quietly.

“Of course not! Come on, let's take care of first things first. And that means you. Let's get you set up.” She cleared off a small table, fetched a chair from the waiting room, and started helping Danny unpack. The phone rang. It was the outfit that did the color separations. Someone had sent them the wrong cover photo. As she helped Danny unpack, Molly kept talking, using a shoulder to pin the phone against her ear.“Look what nice crayons Rosie got you,” she whispered to him.“You’ve got every color under the sun. And take a look at these books!”

After she hung up, she scribbled a reminder on a Post-It and stuck it to her computer screen. Then another.

Danny hung back.

“Come on, Sweetie, let's take off this jacket. It's hot in here.” He obeyed and shed his jacket.“Now, why don’t you sit over here.” She patted the chair.

Danny came over and sat down.

The office seemed to Molly more tumultuous than ever: the copier spitting out pages, Larry's TV blasting away, the phones and faxes hissing and beeping. And the place smelled, too, of carpets and cleaners and electronic machines—her senses heightened by apprehensiveness.

“I know it's noisy out there,” she said, “but in here it's kind of cozy, isn’t it?” she asked, worriedly.

“I suppose so.”Though he managed a sweet smile, his voice was flat. She feared a repeat of the scene at the mall. But Danny seemed as if he could handle it, and Molly decided it was best not to fuss over him too much.

“Would you like to read or make some pictures first?”

“What would you like me to do?” he asked.

Finally, she got him drawing. He worked on a picture, but kept stopping, his gaze drifting toward the window.

Turning on her computer, Molly held her breath as the whining hard disk gathered speed. Danny looked over in her direction. Their eyes met briefly; then he turned and went back to his picture. She silently exhaled.

But she had hardly started work when Sandy dropped in. “I’ve been dying to say hello to Danny!”

Then there was Ben.

“Hey watcha drawing? Well, look at this!” Danny had drawn a small person encased in a tight, vice-like box, arms pressing against the confining walls. “Whew, looks like we’ve got another Edvard Munch in the making,” he said, trying to laugh it off.

“Would you like a lollipop?” asked Sandy ten minutes later, waving a big, red, cherry-flavored pop. Danny accepted it with a smile, took a lick, and then, when Sandy was gone, laid the sticky candy on his desk.

Maybe, if everybody just left him alone, thought Molly. The staff, however, kept finding excuses to drop in.

“This is getting to be like Grand Central Station,” she said when Tasha found an excuse to stop in for the third time. “Come on, you’ve got work to do and so do I.”

“Sorry,” said Tasha. “I just can’t help myself. He's so sweet that you just want to be around him, and—”

“Well, let me help you,” said Molly, leading the girl out and finally closing the door.

“Back to work,” she said, pointing at Danny who was watching her.“You do yours. I do mine.”

Dutifully, Danny picked up a book. He started to read, but a minute later it lay forgotten in his lap as he stared blankly out into space. The color had drained from his face, and he was beginning to look ill.

“You okay, Honey?” She stooped behind him and draped her arm around his shoulder.

“What?” he said without even turning. He seemed in a daze.

Molly tried to focus on her work, but the presence of Danny's silence was unnerving.

Later in the morning, Larry dropped by. He was surprised to see Danny in the office.

“Hi Danny,” he said, but his eyes were on Molly, and she could read the look on his face: was this just a visit or was she thinking of keeping Danny here as a regular fixture?

“Where are we on those proofs?” he asked, swinging by once more shortly before lunch. Again she sensed that he was checking up on her.

“You must be joking, Larry. I’m still missing some of the stories.”

“Well, we’ve got to get cracking.” Leaning against the wall, he drummed his fingers on the door. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” he smiled, catching himself. “It's only the first day back. Well,” he said throwing up his hands,“it just goes to show. Without you, things just don’t function.” He turned to Danny. “Hey kiddo, no more disappearing acts, please. You’ll destroy my magazine.”Then he laughed—a little
too loudly, Molly thought.

“Huh?” said Danny, shaken from his reverie.

Molly laughed. “Larry's just making a joke,” she explained.

“Oh…” said Danny and gave a small, polite chuckle.

Tripoli decided to divide up the county between Sisler and himself. He would scour the outlying areas of the southern and eastern townships, and Sisler would cover the rest. It would take them at least a few days to do a cursory search, but it seemed time well invested. The chief, together with the mayor and the press, were still yapping at his heels. And Molly would never have any peace until the old Hermit was under lock and key. Then, too, there was his own intense curiosity.

“I don’t get it,” said Sisler, leaning over Tripoli's desk to get a closer look at the contoured map. Shaded in red were all the areas that were uninhabited or heavily wooded. It included the state forests in Caroline, Danby, Dryden, Newfield, the vast Hector Land Use area, the Connecticut Hill Wildlife Management Area, as well as a number of abandoned farms. There was more land out there than a person could walk around in a year. And steep hills. Tons of them. “What are we supposed to do? Climb mountains and become marathon walkers?”

“Talk to people—the folks who live on the edge of these areas,” Tripoli encircled the marked dwellings with his finger. “Maybe they’ve seen the old guy. Or noticed something unusual in the woods. This isn’t Christ walking on water. He eats and shits like everybody else, and he can’t exist without leaving a trace. Wherever he is, he's near livestock. Sheep for sure. Goats. They make noise. Goats eat every fucking thing in sight. Leave droppings. And we know he's got a fire.”

Sisler looked a little overwhelmed. “Why don’t we just at least stick to the south? That's where the kid says he went.”

“He could be trying to throw us off.”

“That little boy?”

“He may be little, but he's not stupid.”

“But look at all this area!” complained Sisler with a plaintive whine.

“All right, all right, I’m taking the lion's share. I’ll even cover Connecticut Hill since I live out there. All you’ve got to do is…”

Molly took Danny outside for lunch.

As soon as they were out on the street, Danny sprang back to life. There was a hop in his gait and his cheeks were pink. Molly picked up a couple of vegetarian pitas on the Commons, and they went over to the green that was Dewitt Park and sat in the cool shade under a broad oak and ate.

“It's much better here,” said Danny chewing eagerly.“And this is yummy, too.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

A puppy came by and jumped right into Danny's lap. He wrapped his arms around the squirming puppy's neck and giggled as the puppy swept his face with its long, wet tongue.

“Maybe…” he ventured later as they relaxed on the lawn, a beseeching look in his eyes, “…maybe we can just stay out here instead of going back?”

“In this world you don’t make money sitting under a tree and munching sandwiches.”

“It was just an idea,” he said backing off.

“Oh, Sweetie,” she uttered, and kissed him on lips that tasted of balsamic vinegar.

Danny seemed to be trying—trying his darndest that afternoon not to make any demands on Molly, attempting to melt into the routine of her office. He was quiet and didn’t complain; mostly just stood by
her window staring down at the flowers in the courtyard below.

Larry, too, was obviously doing his best to be accommodating. He could see that having Danny around was making Molly tense. In the late afternoon, he took Danny by the hand and showed him the big-screened computer in his private office.

“I’ve got a high-speed link to the Internet,” he explained eagerly. “Much faster than even your Mommy's. Just take a look at this.”

Danny hung back, reluctant.

“You see, you type in a word here. Anything in the world that interests you, and up comes—wait, name something for me. Anything.”

“I don’t know,” Danny murmured.

“Just the first thing that pops into your head.”

Danny wrinkled his brow as Larry waited. “Earth,” he said, finally.

“Perfect!” Larry typed in the word, went through a couple of links and… “Voila!” A film clip of the earth taken from space filled the screen.

Intrigued, Danny took a step forward.

“You can find almost anything you want,” he explained as Danny edged yet closer. He lifted the boy to his lap.

“And look at this! Here's Saturn with its rings. And now…” He showed Danny the pocked terrain that was the moon.“With a click of a mouse you can put yourself into the Amazon rain forest or even out in the Gobi desert!”

“I’d rather be there,” admitted Danny a little sadly, “than just look at a picture.”

“Maybe one day you will. Or maybe you’ll be an astronaut in space.”

Danny laughed at the notion.

“Well, you just never know.”

“But I know,” answered Danny with conviction.

Tripoli checked with Herb Jensen, the local forester. He found him marking cull trees on the side of the hill close to Shindagin Hollow in the Danby State Forest. The black flies were incredible, circling Herb's head in an angry cloud. He had a paint canister in one hand and with his free hand he kept snatching flies out of the air and squishing them.

“Well,” said Herb, putting down his sprayer and wiping his palms on his green fatigues.“We had a hermit like that. Living over in the state lands in Dryden.”

“When was this?”

“A couple of months ago. Turns out he was an ex-con who decided not to report to his probation officer. He had built himself a little hideout made from scraps of lumber and shit.”

“How old?”

“Oh, ’bout forty, maybe. He was having quite a time of it. His girlfriend used to come out and visit, bring him food and stuff. He was poaching, too, naturally.”

It didn’t sound anything like Danny's Hermit.

“Damn these flies!” cursed the forester, digging a pair of them out of his ear. “Never seen a year like it. Usually they don’t bother me like this.…It's this weird weather. I don’t know what's going on, but these buggers are having a ball. Oh yeah, your Hermit,” he said turning back to Tripoli.

“Well, I’m looking for a guy who's probably older. Gray hair. Full beard.”

“The kidnapper. Right. I heard about the flyover by the troopers. Glad you nailed those dirtballs cutting our trees. Appreciate it.”

“My guy has got to be living out somewhere here in the woods,” Tripoli pushed on.“He made it through the winter so he's got to have some kind of shelter, got to be leaving some trails. Something.”

“I’ll grant you that.” Herb took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Though his face was tanned, there was a line of white that began just above his eyebrows. “But if you want to get lost, there's one hell of a lot of territory out here.”

Tripoli kept swatting around his head. His exposed arms and neck were already covered with red welts and the flies were trying to crawl into his ears and nose. He wondered how the Hermit was faring with these clouds of bugs.

“We could really use a hand,”Tripoli ventured. “Maybe if your people could take a good look around.”

“You must be joking! Before the state cutbacks we were short-handed as it was. Now all we’ve got are two people to cover all of this,” he swept his arms in a circle.“Two lousy guys! Can you believe it?”

The next day was a total waste. Tripoli was tied up in court. He was supposed to testify in a rape case, but the lawyers and prosecutors kept him waiting outside on a courtroom bench. Then when he tried to pass the time reading a book he had brought along, he couldn’t concentrate. He kept thinking about the Hermit. Where the hell was the old guy? How could this keep going on? Why hadn’t Sisler at least picked up a lead? Somebody. Something.

Across the hall from him an
Ithaca Journal
was half sticking out of a trash can, and he pulled it out to look at the baseball scores. The front page had a color picture of Danny, apparently shot somewhere in the city without Molly's knowledge. Top left was the story by Wally Schuman. It told about Danny's mysterious life in the woods, his return to town, dramatically transformed, and the reporter's observation that there was something remarkable about him, not just his capacity to read, but his uncanny ability to tune into his surroundings. The article kept referring to “the opening of the mind's eye,” whatever the hell that was. For a level-headed and normally serious newspaperman, thought Tripoli, Schuman seemed to have gotten a bit carried away.