THE LAST BOY (3 page)

From above she could make out the sound of the girl moving around the other rooms. Then her muffled voice. She was on the phone. Talking, Molly guessed, to Mrs. Oltz.

“Hey, where the hell's the light switch?” Molly shouted.

“I think the bulb went out,” the girl called back, coming to the head of the dark stairs.

“You mean you don’t have a goddamn light down here?” Molly's terror was turning to fury.

“Here,” said the girl, returning with a flashlight.

Molly swept the beam around the basement. There were piles of trash on the floor, heaps of soggy newspapers and crumpled milk cartons, a discarded sofa black with mildew and embroidered in networks of spider webs. Had she known this place was such a pigsty, that the workers were so
stupid
, she would never have sent Danny here, she thought in a fit of guilt.

“Anybody ever come down here?”

“Yeah. To do the diapers,” explained the girl. “But he can’t be down here. I’m sure of that.”

“How can you be so…Oh, shit,” mumbled Molly, fear gripping her. Up against a wall at the far end of the cellar near the furnace was a commercial washer and next to it a bulky gas dryer. When she got closer, she discovered that there was just enough space between the dryer and the wall for a kid Danny's size to squirm his way in. She poked the flashlight into the gap and forced her head into the opening to take a look. From what she could see, there appeared to be some kind of compartment at the bottom of the housing. It was where the burner or motor—or whatever the hell it was—sat. Just
large enough to accommodate a small body. If a boy were hiding there and someone turned it on, she thought, her imagination reeling free, he’d be burnt or mangled in the belts.

She tried to slide the big steel casing away from the wall, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Here. I’ll help you,” said the girl, and together they pushed and heaved. Inch by precious inch they wedged the dryer further away from the wall.

“Little more,” Molly huffed. Then she was down on the floor, the rough concrete fraying the knees of her stockings, the white dust caking her navy skirt. There was a substantial space below the tumbler but, except for the burner, it was empty.

“He's not down here,” the girl said. “I’m sure. You’ve got to believe me.”

“Are there any other doors?”

“There's a side door. But it's boarded up.”

“Let me see it.”

Molly raced back up the stairs. The doorway was covered with a sheet of plywood. She pounded her fists against it. Nailed shut.

A wave of nausea and dizziness swept over Molly. The room began to turn and Molly had to sink down on one of the low tables just to keep from keeling over. She sat with her head lowered into her hands and could slowly feel the blood draining back. There was no way Danny was still here.“What's your name?” Molly asked, trying to get a grip on herself.

“Cheryl.”

“Cheryl,” she repeated.“I need you to think. Think real hard.”

“I’ve thought. I’ve thought of everything, don’t you know!” She was now bawling openly.“I remember him, of course I do! He's that nice little boy with the blond hair. With those curls. Big brown eyes. Always jumping around,” she blubbered.

Molly got her pocketbook which lay by the door where she had
first dropped it. She rummaged through it and found some crumpled tissue. She wiped her eyes and then held one out to Cheryl. “Here.”

The girl loudly blew her nose. She kept her gaze lowered, studying the damp tissue, afraid to meet Molly's eyes.

“Look, either someone took him or he got out on his own, right?” Molly tried to reason with the girl.

“No one took him.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m
positive!
We keep the front door locked. We always do. That's the rule. Nobody could get past me.”

“So how did he get out?” she asked, as much for her own benefit as the girl's.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know!”

“Where exactly is Mrs. Oltz?”

“I called her. She said not to do anything. That she’d be right over.”

“Well, I’m calling the police,” said Molly.“Where's the phone?”

Molly was just hanging up when Mrs. Oltz came storming through the front door. She was holding an icepack to the side of her face that was swollen like a balloon. Her eyes were tiny, angry slits cut into the white sea of her fleshy face. Her gray hair stood in wiry knots.

“What's going on here?” thundered Mrs. Oltz, her words garbled through a twisted mouth wadded with cotton. “What the…?” She took in the scene of the littered floors.

“That's just what I’d like to know!” said Molly advancing on her. “Where's my boy?”

“You didn’t pick him up?”

“What the hell do you think I’m doing here?”

“Well then somebody else must have picked him up.”

“Who?” asked Molly.

Mrs. Oltz turned on Cheryl.“Well, who?”

The girl shook her head and started to cry again.

“I leave you for a few minutes,” said Mrs. Oltz,“and look what happens! And look at this mess!”

The girl was now sobbing uncontrollably.

“Please!” Molly tried to inject.

“Just let me handle this,” Mrs. Oltz threw up a hand to silence Molly. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.” She turned back to Cheryl. “Now stop your sniveling, girl.”

Cheryl cried louder and Mrs. Oltz grabbed her and shook her. Molly was dumbfounded. She thought Mrs. Oltz was going to slap her. Why did I leave Danny here, thought Molly, why?

“When did Danny Driscoll leave?” she demanded.

“But he didn’t! Let go of me!” Cheryl tried to struggle free.

“Well, he couldn’t just disappear,” said Mrs. Oltz, releasing her grip.“You kept the door locked, like you were supposed to, right?”

Cheryl nodded.

“I want to call the other parents,” Molly said.“The police are on their way.”

“The police? The police?” Mrs. Oltz looked daggers at Molly, then turned on Cheryl.

“
I
called them,” said Molly defiantly. Just then a patrol car screeched up in front.

“Come on, let's just
all
calm down.” Officer Richie Pellegrino held up his hands. All three women were shouting at once and he couldn’t understand a word. “There's probably a real simple explanation.” He was a short, barrel-chested man with a belly that arched over the wide belt holding his equipment. The cop looked vaguely familiar to Molly. She had met him somewhere, somehow in the past, but for the moment couldn’t place him.

“Okay,” said the cop,“Who was on duty here?”

“I was,” said Cheryl.“And I saw every parent who came in.”

“Then he should still be here!” Molly jumped in.“His jacket and lunch box are still here. Look!” She held them up.“But he's not!”

“What about the father?” asked Pellegrino.

“There is none,” said Molly not missing a beat.

“Grandparents. Other relatives who might—”

“No, no.”

“Or a—”

“No! I’m the only one.” Molly jabbed a finger deeply into her chest until it ached.

“I’m gonna need a good description of the boy.” Pellegrino took out his pad and started jotting notes.“You got a picture on you?”

Molly fumbled through her wallet. “This is old. He was only a baby here. I got a better one—”

“This’ll do the for the moment.”

“Look, we’re losing time just standing here.” Molly pleaded. “If someone kidnapped Danny, he could already be miles away.”

“
Kidnapped?
” echoed Mrs. Oltz indignantly. “No one's kidnapped anyone!”

“But I was watching—” Cheryl tried to chime in.

“Whoa! Hold on everybody,” Pellegrino said.“Let's just do this one step at a time.” His radio squawked and he mumbled something into the mike clipped to his collar. “Give me a description.”

Molly raced through it. Every last detail. From his curly blond hair to the sneakers he was wearing—those expensive Nikes that she had finally broken down and bought for Danny, the ones with the green
whoosh
on the side that he called “wings.”

Pellegrino, scribbling, could hardly keep up with her.

“
Please
,” Molly begged.“Do something.
Fast!
”

“Don’t worry. All the units picked up this call. Hang on,” he said, and turned back to his mike.“Blond four-year-old. ’Bout forty-five
pounds. Last seen wearing denim overalls. Red flannel shirt. White and green sneakers…”

When he finished, he turned to Molly. “Look, I know you’re worried. My boys were little once, too, you know,” he said gently. “But kids have a way of getting into things. It usually isn’t as bad as it first looks. We’ll get everything ironed out. You’ll see.”

Molly had never liked cops. As a kid growing up in Ithaca, she had been dragged in a couple of times. Once for shoplifting some lipstick up at the mall, and once for drinking beer at the falls near the high school. The kids she was hanging out with were always getting hassled, too. The cops in town had always struck her as cold and robot-like. They got their kicks out of busting you. This guy, with his soft blue eyes and silvery temples, however, actually seemed to care and she desperately wanted to trust him.

“When was the last time anyone saw him and where?” he inquired as he pulled out his notepad.

“I left at two o’clock, and he was right there,” said Mrs. Oltz pointing emphatically. “On the floor. By that toy box. Playing with two other kids. It was the Ruzicka boy and Patty Bruce. They built a fort out of blocks. And they had a fire truck. They were playing war, and they were getting wild. So I had to get them to pipe down.”

Molly found herself wondering if Mrs. Oltz was in the habit of bullying the children as she had just done with Cheryl.

“I remember them playing, too,” agreed Cheryl. Holding her breath, Molly turned to look at her.“And then, about an hour later,” she went on,“I had them clean up so we could have story time.”

“We always try to get the kids to calm down before the parents start arriving,” added Mrs. Oltz.

“Was he there—with the other kids?” asked Molly.

“Yeah,” said Cheryl,“I remember him sitting there. He was joking with the Lifsey boy. Stevie. They kept poking each other and I had to ask them to be quiet so the other kids could hear.”

“And then?” urged Molly.

“And then the parents came. And, well…” Cheryl became agitated and her eyes started to well with tears again. “And then…then…he just wasn’t there!”

Molly stared at her and felt empty.

“Let me take a look around,” said Pellegrino, pulling a long, black flashlight from his leather belt and heading toward the kitchen. Molly followed. The thing in his hand looked more like a club than a light.“Sometimes a kid’ll just curl up and go to sleep somewhere. You find them and they’re perfectly okay.”

“But I just searched the place.
Everywhere.
” Molly was trying to keep up with him as he strode through the debris cluttering the sticky floor.

Pellegrino kicked aside some pots, opened a cabinet and checked it with his light. “Okay, but I gotta do it, too. Follow procedures,” he explained as he moved from cabinet to cabinet. Down on his knees, he shined his light behind the fridge. Then he was back into the hallway.

“Are they really out looking for Danny?”

“Yeah. Of course.” He climbed over the tangle of brooms and mops and overturned buckets as he waded into the storage closet. “We take missing kids very seriously.” He moved past her as if remembering something and went back into the kitchen and stared up at the ceiling. With a grunt he heaved himself up on one of the counters, pulling up one leg at a time until he was standing, his head touching the ceiling. He played the beam across the top of the cabinets. “Hey, anybody check up in here?” he asked, poking the trap door near his head.

Molly shook her head. He pushed open the portal and hoisted himself into the attic. Molly could hear his radio crackling as he rummaged around overhead, moving and sliding what sounded like boxes.

When he came down, the dark blue of his uniform was littered with tufts of dust and strands of pink insulation. Coughing, he haphazardly brushed himself off and went systematically again from room to room. “Hey, what's this door?” he asked finding the basement.“Anybody check down here?”

As he emerged from the cellar, Molly was waiting at the top of the stairs.“Okay,” she inquired, hands on her hips.“Now what?”

Pellegrino was sweating. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. His gray hair was clipped in a brush cut, like Molly's father used to have. She thought about her father, a man she could only remember as unsmiling, depressed, eyes vacant except when he was drunk and angry—which was often; her mother who had died without ever seeing Danny. Danny, oh God! The evocation of his name caused something to seize up in her breast.

“I just called in,” said Pellegrino, seeing the look on her face. “We got three units out there now just searching for your boy.”

“I’m calling the other parents,” said Molly.

“Yeah, yeah, good idea,” said Pellegrino.

“Let me call them,” said Mrs. Oltz, trying to take charge.“I don’t want to start getting people all riled up.”

“Give me the fucking numbers,” demanded Molly, holding out her hand.

Mrs. Oltz meekly handed over the school directory.

The route up South Hill past the old Morse Chain factory is steep, an unrelenting incline as the narrowness of Aurora Street spreads into the four-lane highway that is Route 96B. It's a demanding climb for the little boy whose face has been whipped red by the cold wind sweeping off the lake. The sun, obscured at times by billowing clouds, hovers low above the horizon; the air is damp and smells pungently of vegetative decay and vehicle exhaust.

The afternoon shift at Therm, where they machine the blades
for aircraft turbines, has just let out and the highway is jammed with the cars of workers anxious to get home. Delivery vans and tanker trucks headed through town are interspersed with the Sport Utes of Ithaca College kids on their way down to the Commons or out to the mall.

The boy stops momentarily as if attempting to gain his bearings. He turns to gaze down at the rooftops of the city nestled in the valley below. Shivering with cold, he wrinkles his brow in thought, then pushes on up the highway. Vehicles continue to whisk past, whipping up clouds of blinding dust and sand.