Cries of the Children(30)
“I had a bad dream,” she said. “I kept dreaming about that man I saw.”
Bettina thought a moment before speaking.
“Maybe he’s a member of your family,” she suggested. “He could be a mean stepfather—or even your real father. There must be some reason why you know him, and why he frightens you. Maybe he was cruel, and beat you.”
“I don’t know,” Lorraine said doubtfully. “It didn’t feel like I was looking at my father, or anybody like that. He just looked like someone I know, someone bad.”
She stared into her Cheerios for a few moments, then bopped her head up quickly, her eyes wide.
“I know!”
“You know?” Bettina echoed. “Do you mean you remember?”
Lorraine frowned. “No, I wish I did. But maybe that man down there is a kidnapper! Maybe he stole me away from my family and gave me bad medicine to make me forget everything. Maybe there’s a ransom!”
Bettina laughed.
“No, really!” Lorraine insisted. “You said I had nice clothes, didn’t you? Maybe I come from a really nice family and they’re looking for me! And if you bring me back, you’ll get a big reward and you’ll never be poor again.”
“Oh, child,” Bettina said. “What an imagination! Surely, if you were a rich family’s child, they would have found you by now.”
“But they don’t know where to look!”
“There hasn’t been anything in the newspaper,” Bettina said. “Or on television. And the police do know where to find us if your family turns up. Don’t you remember, I called them?”
Lorraine’s face fell. Her hopes of being reunited with her family were destroyed for the moment, and tears welled up in her eyes.
“I just want to go home, no matter where it is!”
“Please don’t cry,” Bettina said, pushing her chair back. It made a screeching noise across the tile floor. “Look! I bought a few things for you at the store last night. I don’t want you to be bored.”
She lifted a paper bag onto the table.
“Look: crayons, paper, puzzles, a book. And here’s a little doll you can dress up.”
Lorraine took the doll box in her hands. It was an inexpensive plastic teen doll, and it came with a wardrobe of minuscule fashions.
“We’ll only hide out for a few days,” Bettina promised. “It will be okay, you’ll see. You trust me, don’t you?”
Lorraine nodded.
“Then dry your tears and finish your breakfast,” Bettina ordered. ‘And when we’re through cleaning up, we can enjoy our little home together. Our safe little home.”
Lorraine did as she was told, then took the fashion doll out of the box and began to play with it. Bettina produced a pair of knitting needles and some yam that she had also purchased the night before. She took these to the couch and soon the bare room was filled with the sound of clicking needles. In time, the steady noise, accompanied by boredom, made Lorraine’s head nod forward. She fell fast asleep on the table.
But it was a quick sleep, interrupted by a scratching at the window. Groggily, hardly aware of Bettina sitting on the couch, Lorraine shuffled over to see what was making the noise. When she saw a cat on the fire escape, sympathy filled her heart, and she began to unlatch the window. The cat went on scratching and meowing.
“Don’t worry,” Lorraine said. Her voice sounded strange to her, as if she were speaking in a tunnel. “I’ll save you.”
She turned to look at Bettina, wondering if the old woman would disapprove. But Bettina did not seem to hear her.
Lorraine turned and pulled open the window. She reached out for the cat . . .
. . . but it was a human hand that grabbed her. The man from the street was on the fire escape! Lorraine screamed, pulling away from him. He held fast, and somehow she pulled him right into the room with her! He laughed, holding up a black cord.
“Bettina! Bettina!”
But the old woman still did not answer.
Lorraine screamed and fought as the man wordlessly began to tie her with the cord. Why wasn’t Bettina helping her?
Wake up, you’re dreaming!
“Bettina!”
Lorraine, it’s Marty. Wake up. You’re just having a dream. Wake up. Wake up!
Lorraine spoke to him in her mind.
It’s not a dream. He’s real!
No, he isn’t. You’re just remembering a bad person.
From where?
I can’t tell you yet. Just wake up and you’ll be okay.
Marty, I’m scared! He’s hurting me!
Then listen to me! Wake up and he’ll stop!
At last the strange boy’s words got through to the terrified little girl. She jolted herself awake, and found she was still sitting at the kitchen table, doll clothes strewn all around her. Hearing Lorraine’s gasp, Bettina turned around.