Hear the Children Calling Page 22

  “Damn you,” Adams screamed.

  The door swung open and one of the technicians popped his head in.

  “What do you want?” Dr. Adams demanded.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” the man said. “But the mother’s waking up. I thought you should know.”

  Adams waved an impatient hand to dismiss him. He turned and poked Beth’s chest with his finger. “I’ll be back,” he said. “And if you want to get out of here alive, you’ll do as you’re told. If I can’t get Peter back, I’ll kill him. No one screws up my operations. No one!” He left the room.

  Beth sat in the big green chair, crying softly. Anger at the child’s mistreatment and an overwhelming desire to get to his son sent adrenaline through Ralph’s body, which counteracted the drugs. He lifted his fist and began to pound on the glass. A look of confusion passed over Beth’s face as she tried to find the source of the knocking. She looked directly at Ralph, seeing only her reflection.

  With a quick look at the door, she got out of the seat and walked toward the mirror. Pressing her cheek against the glass, she called, “Is someone there?”

  “Unlock the door,” Ralph cried.

  The twisted remains of his mouth and the barrier of glass made it impossible to understand him.

  “What?”

  “Op-en door!”

  Beth hurried toward the door. She twisted the lock and pulled it open. When Ralph stumbled into the room, the child stopped a gasp with both hands.

  “Who—who—”

  “No t-time,” Ralph whispered, his swollen mouth struggling with the words. “I know how to get outta here. We can find M-Michael together.”

  “Find who?”

  “Peter,” Ralph corrected himself. “I—I call him Michael. He’s my son.”

  “Peter’s my brother,” Beth said, staring round-eyed at this bloody, battered stranger.

  “I rec’nized you,” Ralph said. “I’d know that red hair anywhere.” He looked toward the door; Lincoln Adams could appear at any moment.

  “No time to talk. We can crawl through the air-conditioning ducts.”

  “How will we know where to go?” Beth asked, frightened by the idea of being caught in some dark hole.

  “You follow me,” Ralph said. “I designed this building. I know ev’ry twist and turn. I’ll get you outta here, I promise.”

  37

  JILL TRIED TO FORCE THE ZIPPER OF HER JACKET further closed than its teeth would allow, shivering in the icy darkness. The fire in the camp stove offered just a little warmth. She had set it up near the telescope, and now the mix of heat and cold kept frosting up the lenses. For what seemed like the hundredth time, Jill wiped away condensation and peered through the eyepiece.

  She had hoped to get a good look at the center, but she had never expected anything as clear as this. It seemed as if every street, porch, and flood light was on. The whole thing had the effect of a prison yard, completely devoid of shadows.

  But why had she expected anything different? Wasn’t LaMane Center, in reality, a prison?

  A short while earlier, she had seen a man running down the middle of one of the roads. She’d watched as he stopped and turned, beckoning someone else to follow. The two men turned a corner and disappeared from her line of view. Then she saw a woman and another man hurrying in the same direction. It seemed they were looking for someone. Jill’s notebook, illuminated by the light of the fire now, held an entry at six-thirty P.M., her last sighting of anyone in the streets until the four people she’d spotted half an hour ago.

  8:10 P.M.: after nearly two hours, signs of life. One man running, then another. What are they running after? Or from? Or are they chasing someone?

  Her pen was still open, waiting for the next entry. But it was nearly nine o’clock now and she hadn’t seen another soul. Shivering, Jill sank back and crossed her legs. She picked up her mug of coffee and cradled it in her gloved hands. She wondered if this whole damned thing wasn’t futile. Hours peering through the telescope had revealed only two children, both of them girls. Jill still had no doubt that Ryan was down there somewhere. But when she saw how tightly locked up everything was in the center, she began to wonder how easy it would be to just walk right in and take Ryan home with her.

  But she’d do it, she was certain. She hadn’t come this far to give up, and . . .

  A fluttering in the bushes. Jill cocked her head and listened. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Something walking.

  “Deer,” Jill whispered.

  She wasn’t certain if deer came up this high in the mountains. Zoology hadn’t been one of the sciences she’d studied back at Michigan State.

  Crunch, crunch, crunch . . .

  Jill put her mug down and slowly got to her feet. Someone was out there, someone moving slowly toward her. She thought of the man in the hotel bathroom, of Deliah’s murder, of Craig Dylan in his wheelchair.

  She’d been smart enough to buy camping equipment and a telescope. Why the hell hadn’t she been smart enough to arm herself? Those ravines she’d passed on the way up were deep and dark enough to hide a body forever.

  Crunch, crunch . . .

  “Who’s there?”

  The scream came from Jill before she could stop it, an involuntary scream in anger. She looked around herself quickly, searching for a branch or rock. Her eyes locked on the telescope and she quickly unscrewed it from its tripod. She held it up, ready to strike the dark shadow that was emerging from the nearby road. It swung down, skinning only the edge of the silhouette. When he came into view, she saw to her horror that it was the man in the dark glasses.

  “Christ Almighty,” a man’s voice shouted. “Lady, don’t!”

  Overcome by fear and exhaustion, Jill didn’t wait for him to finish. She swung the telescope again, the heavy instrument hitting the man across the shoulder. He stumbled back, his glasses falling off to reveal wide, terrified eyes. For a split second, he seemed frozen against the starry sky, arms and legs flailing. And then he was gone, nothing left of him but a long, horrible scream.

  Jill let the telescope drop and slowly walked toward the edge of the cliff. Numb, she searched the shadows of scrub brush and cactus below. She was too shocked to think of using her telescope.

  “Oh, my God . . .”

  Her words were a choked whisper, barely louder than the wind. And the wind seemed to answer her, stirring up icily, rushing at her face as if to slap her. The cold air shocked her back to her senses, and the reality of what had just happened struck her like a brick.

  Moving rapidly, she worked her way down the steep slope. “Let him be alive,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to kill him.” Desperately, she searched for signs of a body. By the time she found him, her face was soaked with tears. If he was dead, that made her a murderess.

  And if he was alive, you’d probably be the one who was lying down here.

  Jill ignored the practical side of her brain. Carefully, she knelt beside the body. By the unnatural twist of its head she knew the man couldn’t harm her again. Slowly, she reached out and turned him over. His face was a frozen mask of horror, eyes and mouth opened wide. It was a young face.

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Jill whimpered. “He can’t be more than twenty. Those bastards used another kid to go after me.”

  An idea came to her, and without forethought she began to go through the young man’s pockets. At last she found what she was searching for—evidence this kid was connected with the LaMane Center. Though he was a perfect stranger, he carried a picture in his wallet of Ryan and her. It had been taken when Ryan was a baby. Someone had given him this to help identify her.

  So he could kill you, Jill . . .

  That was right. It was exactly what he had intended to do, what he’d been paid for, judging by the five hundred dollars she found in his wallet. His driver’s license identified him as Wilson Barnes, a resident of Albuquerque. There was no other information on him.

  Jill tried to calm herself down, but found it impossible wi
th those eyes staring sightlessly at the stars. She turned away, her fists clenching and unclenching. The mix of fear, anger, and horror was almost too much to take. She breathed deeply, forcing herself to deal with the situation. Somehow, she had to let the people at LaMane think Barnes succeeded in killing her. But how? She could fake a phone call, but they’d know it wasn’t the young man’s voice. But if he didn’t check in, they’d think that he’d either taken off with his pay or that she’d gotten to him first. She decided she’d take the chance and make the call. There were a lot of other things to do, but first . . .

  Jill turned back to the body and stuffed the wallet in Barnes’ pocket, including the money. She’d killed this man by accident, but she wasn’t a thief. Still, she was grateful for the gloves she wore. There would be no prints. It was doubtful much of an investigation would be made anyway. Someone would think he’d fallen from the cliff by accident.

  Washed by a calm mat came from shock rather than acceptance, Jill climbed back up the hill to her campsite, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of there.

  38

  FOR A LONG TIME, DANNY EMERSON WAITED OUTSIDE the ivy-covered brick building. He sat in a rented car picked up when he’d landed a little over an hour ago in Detroit. He’d moved quickly from the airport, unburdened by luggage, and headed north of the city toward the suburb of Wheaton. Though it had been several years since he’d been to his hometown, he could have driven the streets blindfolded. The energy that had begun to smolder back at the hospital was burning furiously now, and he gripped the steering wheel tightly to steady himself.

  He recalled the one and only time he’d ever been inside that building, a small colonial on the edge of the campus grounds. It was the night he acquired his prescription of Neolamane from Ronald Preminger. Now, seven years later, he hoped to find Preminger again. No matter what it took, he’d have the truth about Laura’s whereabouts before he returned to Massachusetts.

  He watched as younger men walked in and out of the building, some dressed in hospital whites and burdened with fat textbooks. Preminger was a full-fledged doctor now, but a phone call to the clubhouse confirmed that he still came here several nights a week to unwind.

  At last, the vigil paid off. Danny’s heart started thumping inside his barrel chest when he saw the familiar face. Preminger had a touch of premature gray around his temples, but he was still as fit as he’d been years ago. Danny watched as the doctor walked up the steps of the building, disappearing through the big white door. Then he got out of the car and followed him inside.

  He was stopped by an armed security guard.

  “I’m here to see Dr. Preminger,” Danny said, glaring at the old man.

  “Dr. Preminger just came by and didn’t say anything about a visitor,” the guard said, eyeing him suspiciously.

  “He’s not expecting me,” Danny said. “But he’ll see me. Tell him Danny Emerson is here.”

  The old guard shrugged, then turned his back to Danny and picked up a phone. He turned back a moment later.

  “Dr. Preminger says he doesn’t know—”

  Danny never could have explained where his next move came from, for, despite his size, he was a gentle man by nature. But he suddenly swung out and knocked the old man to the ground. For a moment, he was so stunned by the action that he only stared at his victim. But when he realized the old man was okay, that he’d only had the wind knocked out of him, Danny rushed by him and down the hall behind the foyer. Looking into one room after another, he finally found Ronald Preminger hurriedly shoving papers into a briefcase.

  “Got plans?” he asked.

  “I’m going to—” Preminger’s mouth dropped open at the sight of his old acquaintance. “How did you get in here?” he demanded.

  Danny stepped forward, and with one shove from his big hand he pushed Preminger into a chair. “I will ask the questions,” he said, his tone dark. “And you will answer them.”

  “I’m going to call the—”

  Danny stopped him, his grip like a vise. “You aren’t going to call anyone,” Danny said. “What good would it do, Preminger? Once I told the police you kidnapped my daughter, they’d have your ass in jail so fast your tailbone would bend.”

  Preminger laughed. “Is that a threat? Don’t bother. Who do you think the police would believe, a doctor with a reputation like mine, or some weirdo who doesn’t even live in Wheaton?”

  Danny didn’t waste another moment. “Where the hell is my daughter?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “She’s alive, and you know where she is,” Danny said. “And if you want to walk out of this room in one piece, you’ll tell me.”

  “She’s dead,” Preminger said again. “They killed her.”

  “Who?” Danny pressed, refusing to be taken in by Preminger’s cruel words. “The LaMane people? I don’t think so. Laura was too valuable a prize. You see, I figured out why they took her, Ron. That stuff you gave me to help Kate conceive had a bizarre side effect. My daughter can see into the near future, Ron. And she can read people’s minds and talk to spirits. Neolamane did that to her. It turned her into a freak.”

  “You’re crazy,” Ronald hissed, though his face had gone several shades paler during Danny’s tirade.

  “I may be just that,” Danny said. “But you people are downright sick. Now, are you going to tell me where to find my little girl or am I going to show you just how crazy a father can get?”

  Preminger stared up at the former football player, having no difficulty imagining what those massive hands could do to him. But worse was the thought of being caught by his superiors, the higher-ups in a long chain of deceptive, evil characters. When they’d thought Ken Safton might reveal too much, they’d murdered him. Preminger realized he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Death at the hands of the people who’d been paying him to keep his mouth shut, or something far worse from an innocent child’s loving father. The fire in Danny Emerson’s eyes was almost supernatural, so full of hate at that moment that there was no telling what he’d do.

  “Christ,” Preminger choked. “You’re as bad as that Sheldon woman.”

  “Sheldon?” Danny asked. He shook his head a little. “Jill Sheldon, right? I remember now. She was trying to get pregnant, too, about the same time as my Kate. She and Kate used to comfort each other, but then Kate got pregnant and we moved away. You gave that stuff to Sheldon’s wife, too? Did he know what you were up to?”

  “Jeff was much more cooperative than you’ve been,” Preminger said. “I almost regretted he had to be destroyed. But we do what we have to do, Dan. No matter what you learn from me, you’re a dead man. You know that, don’t you?”

  “If I die,” Danny said grimly, “I’ll take you with me, but not before I learn what I came here to learn.” He took a menacing step closer to his captive. “I’m tired of talking . . .”

  39

  IN THE CLOSE QUARTERS OF THE DARK AIR SHAFTS, Ralph Colpan’s wheezing sounded like a struggling car engine. Beth crawled before him, praying each time they passed a vent that no one would hear them in here. He had not said a word since he helped her inside and pulled the vent cover closed behind them. She was full of questions, but the fact that these shafts could carry her voice easily to any given room in the building made Beth bite her tongue to keep silent.

  If only the man behind her could stop breathing like that . . .

  Someone had hurt him real bad, she knew. Maybe that creepy guy with the light-blue eyes. Ralph got hurt because he was trying to stop that man from doing something terrible. He had said Peter was his son. No, he called him Michael. Beth didn’t know why her brother had been with this man, or why Ralph insisted he was Peter’s father. But something made her believe he would not hurt her, and her desperation to find anyone willing to help kept her wariness in check.

  Every once in a while, Ralph would tap her on the ankle, and he’d stop to catch his breath. Moving through the shafts was a tight-enough squeeze for a te
n-year-old girl. Beth couldn’t imagine how a grown-up was managing to do it. Especially a grown-up who was all beaten up.

  Beth felt as if she’d been crawling on her stomach for hours, though in reality she had only been moving a few minutes. She came to a dead end and felt a turn to the left. It was the first time she dared to speak.

  “There’s a turn here,” she whispered, her voice unusually loud. Only the presence of Ralph’s body kept it from bouncing down the shaft.

  “Okay,” Ralph said. “We’re almost there.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “A lab at the back of the building,” Ralph said. “There’s a way out. Once we get away from here, we’ll get away from the center and go for help.”

  “But what about my mother?” Beth asked. “That man said she’s here.”

  “And he said she was sedated,” Ralph pointed out. “We can’t risk looking for her.”

  Beth started to whimper.

  “But I want my mother,” she cried.

  “I know, I know,” Ralph soothed, patting her awkwardly on the back of her calf. “But we can’t help her now. We have to get out of here first. You’ve come this far, Beth. Can you make it farther?”

  “Are they gonna kill us?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Ralph growled.

  Beth was silent and unmoving for a few moments. Then she asked, “Why did you say Peter was your son?”

  “That’s a long story, Beth,” Ralph answered. “We don’t have time for it now. Ready to go on again?”

  “Okay,” Beth said softly.

  She turned the dark corner and started making her way along the new path. Whenever light shone through a vent, Ralph would tap her ankle and she’d stop to listen. Now, she felt his signal and paused about three feet back from the next beam of light.

  She recognized Dr. Adams’ voice at once and backed up another foot, nearly kicking Ralph in his injured face. He grabbed hold of her ankle to steady her. Silently, they listened.

  “No one sleeps until those three are brought back,” Adams was yelling. “I don’t care if we have to wake up the whole damned center. How in the hell three children can escape from two dozen—”