Cries of the Children(22)

Lorraine shook her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t remember. But he didn’t feel like my father when I remembered him. He didn’t feel like I knew him at all.”

At once Bettina’s mind changed and she imagined a kidnapper. The money in the valise was ransom! But why such a small amount? And why wasn’t there a story in the news about this?

Lorraine touched her arm. “Why do you look so worried? Are you okay?”

Bettina smiled at her. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You know what? We need some groceries. Why don’t you take a nap on the sofa while I go to that little market on the corner?”

“But I don’t want to stay here alone, Bettina,” Lorraine said.

“I’ll be only a few minutes,” Bettina promised. “And I think you’re safer up here. What if that gang is around?”

“Please?”

“I’m sorry,” Bettina said in a firm voice. “This is best.”

She took some money, then turned and left the apartment. The sound of the clicking lock echoed in the almost empty apartment like a ghost.

Obediently Lorraine went back to the couch and climbed onto the cushions. She wasn’t tired, and bounced up and down a few times. Then she climbed up onto the back, walking across it like a tightrope. Bettina would have been amazed once more, this time by Lorraine’s sense of balance. But Lorraine was quickly bored with this. She left the couch and went to the window. She pulled aside the blinds and looked out at the street below. It was a flurry of activity, and she had fun watching all the different characters that passed by.

Though she was several stories above street level, Lorraine could clearly see the people’s faces. There were people of dark skin and people of light skin. Any one of them could be her mother or father, coming to look for her. What if they passed by without realizing she was up here?

Lorraine decided to see how many men and how many women there were. Her perception of the crowd was almost instantaneous, and she knew there were nine men and three women below. Did she know any of them? She tried to concentrate on faces, but nothing came back to her.

Discouraged, she was about to turn away from the window when a man turned the corner. He was so ordinary that the people in the street didn’t even glance his way. But something about his face, something about those dark eyes and stony features, made a sour lump congeal in Lorraine’s stomach.

She knew him. She couldn’t exactly place him, but thought he might be the man she remembered from the previous night. For some reason, he terrified her.

She dropped the blinds again and hurried to the couch. Gathering herself up into a tight little ball, she tried to put the man’s image out of her mind.

She saw him coming at her with something sharp, look-ingfor blood. She tried to move away, but found she had been strapped to a table. He was going to hurt her!

Bettina opened the door to the sound of the child’s screams.

“What’s wrong?” she cried, running to her. She took hold of her, trying to calm the hysterical little girl.

“Lorraine! Lorraine!”

Bettina’s voice helped calm Lorraine, and she gave the old woman a fierce hug.

“You were gone so long!” Lorraine cried. “I saw a man on the street, and he scared me!”

“The man from the other night?”

“I . . . I . . . I don’t know,” Lorraine stammered between sobs.

Bettina stroked her cheek.

“Slow down, child,” she said, “catch your breath.”

Lorraine concentrated on the kindly old face. It helped her forget the horrible vision she had just experienced.

“I was looking out the window,” she said, calmer now. “It was fun watching all the people. Then he came around the corner, and I felt so scared!”

Bettina seemed to understand the hurt the child was feeling. Mumbling words of consolation, she held her close and stroked her long black hair. She began to wonder more about the child’s background. Lorraine’s thoughts of someone trying to hurt her was a very telling thing regarding her loss of memory. Maybe she had been so badly abused she blocked everything from her mind as a sort of defense mechanism. Bettina did not know any psychology, but she did have a good deal of “people sense.” And she sensed this little girl had run away from a deplorable life.

“Well, sweet Lorraine,” she said, “that man will never find you up here. I have a plan.”

She let go of the child and walked to the two bags of groceries she had set down by the front door.

“I’ve stocked up on supplies,” she said. “I have eggs, cheese, milk, and bread. Lots of crackers, peanut butter and jelly, some canned vegetables and fruit, some soup. . .”