Cries of the Children(13)

“I’m amazed,” she said. “You count faster than anyone I’ve ever met, and you read Chinese. I wonder what else you can do.”

“I don’t know,” Lorraine said. “But my family will tell me.

“When we find them,” Bettina said noncommittally.

Their meal came and they enjoyed it immensely. When they were finished and had paid the bill, they said goodbye to the kind maître d’ and left. With the lunch-hour rush behind them, the platform down in the subway was all but deserted. Bettina dropped two tokens in the turnstile and helped Lorraine push through. It was dark down here, all the lights dimmed by a coating of greasy dust. Bettina saw that the change booth was empty.

“When will the train come?” Lorraine asked, looking down the tracks into the dark tunnel.

“Any minute now,” Bettina said. “Let’s sit on that bench.”

As they approached the seat, they suddenly heard a whooping holler. With amazing speed, like rats scurrying out of water pipes, nearly a dozen tough-looking hoods raced down the stairs and jumped over the turnstiles. Lorraine moved closer to Bettina, fear making her tremble.

“I saw them the other night!” she whispered. “They were in the street when I woke up!”

Bettina moved quickly.

“Hide under here,” she said, pushing Lorraine off the seat.

Lorraine obeyed instantly. Bettina felt deep in her pocket for the tape-wrapped knife blade she kept as a weapon.

“Yo! Bitch!” one boy yelled.

From her hiding place Lorraine heard the sound of running feet, yelling . . . and what seemed to be Bettina’s screams. She curled herself up and wished it all to be a nightmare. It had to be, because she was certain she’d never been so scared.

They’re gonna kill us!

Her young mind screamed in terror.

And suddenly a voice cut into her silent cries.

No! You’re stronger! You can control them!

Lorraine opened her eyes. Where had the voice come from? There was no one looking under the bench. She could see only scuffling feet—most in sneakers, Bettina’s pumps among them.

Close your eyes.

Bewildered, but too frightened to protest, the little girl did as the voice commanded. She realized now that it wasn’t from outside, but from within her own mind.

Who . . . who’re you?

My name is Marty. I’m here to help you, Lorraine.

You know my name!

I have heard you thinking it.

Bettina’s screams brought the child back to reality. She didn’t know how this strange voice came to be in her head, but she was too young to separate it as fantasy. To her the voice was very, very real.

Help me, Marty! I’m scared!

Crawl out from under the bench.

No!

You have to! It’s the only way. Crawl out and look one of them straight in the eyes. You can control them!

Shaking all over, but almost powerless to resist the voice in her head, Lorraine crawled out from under the bench. She glanced quickly at Bettina, who lay unconscious on the platform.

Look at the biggest one!

Lorraine’s head snapped up, her gray-green eyes as round as if she were in a trance. She found the biggest, most evil-looking member of the gang and fixed her gaze on him. He said something to her she didn’t really hear or understand. With Marty’s words encouraging her, she continued to stare at him. Another hood pulled out a knife and moved toward the child, but the big one snapped a commanding hand to keep him away.

“That’s the little bitch we saw the other night,” he said. “She’s mine.”

Just keep looking at him. Don’t move. I’ll help you.

Lorraine tried to draw strength from Marty’s words.

Menacingly the big boy moved toward the little girl. Lorraine, though her knees were wobbling, held her ground.

Tell him he’s a coward!

“You’re a coward,” Lorraine said in a grim little voice.

Some of the other boys laughed. But without warning or explanation, the big thug stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened and he screamed.

“No! No! Oh, shit, man! N-n-n-n-o-o-o-o!”

“Whazzamatter?” someone yelled.

None of the other kids could see anything.

The gang leader backed away in horror, his whole body going into convulsions of fear. It was as if he were seeing something that no one else could. He tripped over his untied shoelaces and landed hard on the platform, screaming and crawling away from Lorraine crab-style.

“What the hell’s wrong with him?” someone shouted.

The boy rolled over on his stomach and began to retch. Humiliated, he dragged himself to his feet and wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he commanded.

“What’re you so afraid of, Royce?”