Cries of the Children(49)

“No, I haven’t,” Bettina said. “And I’m in the middle of dinner. Good-bye, sir.”

She backed up just a second to allow herself to close the door. But in that brief time the man was able to look over her shoulder into the apartment. He took in the double set of dishes, a doll lying on the floor, a small lavender jacket draped over the edge of the couch.

Instantly Bettina slammed the door shut and locked it.

“Open up! Open this door!” the man cried, in a fury no sane member of the law would ever exhibit.

Bettina turned herself around crazily. He was going to take Lorraine away from her! He was going to take away the only thing in her life that mattered! She had to save the child, no matter what!

She hurried to the bathroom and tried to open the door. When she found it was locked, she said in an urgent voice:

“Lorraine, it’s Bettina! Open up!”

Lorraine unlocked the door and threw herself into Bettina’s arms.

“What does he want?” she asked. “Who is he?”

“He says he’s a cop,” Bettina said, even as the pounding on the door increased. “But I don’t believe him.”

“Bettina, what if he’s the man with the gun?”

A new sound joined the pounding, alternating with it. Bettina realized he was also kicking the door. The old wood might not hold up for long.

“We have to get out of here,” Bettina said. “The only way is the fire escape. Hurry and get the money valise!”

In her mind, Lorraine cried out for Marty, but he did not answer her.

She crawled under the couch and pulled the valise from its hiding place. At the same time, Bettina went to the window and opened it. Then she took the valise from Lorraine and threw it out onto the platform.

“Open up! This is official business, damn you!”

Lorraine gasped to realize she remembered him saying those exact words to the gang of boys. It was the man with the gun, and she instinctively knew he was not to be trusted.

Bettina was already out the window. Lorraine climbed out onto the fire escape herself.

“I don’t know what kind of place you came from,” Bettina said, “but I’ll die before I let you go back.”

Together she and Lorraine began to hurry down the five flights of metal stairs that zigzagged alongside the old building. Bettina carried the valise. Burdened this way, she could not move as quickly as she wanted. Youth was on Lorraine’s side, and when the valise came sailing by her, she suddenly realized she was a full flight ahead of Bettina. She stopped and turned. Bettina was sitting on one of the higher steps, her arms crossed over her chest. She had dropped the money suitcase over the railing.

“Bettina!” Lorraine called. “Don’t stop! We have to get away!”

“I . . . I . . . my heart . . .” Bettina gasped.

Lorraine stared up at her. Bettina had gone very, very pale. Even from down here Lorraine could see her shaking. She ran up to her friend.

“No . . . you run . . . my . . .”

“Don’t talk, Bettina,” Lorraine begged. “You’re hurt!”

Bettina tried to smile reassuringly, but it changed into a hideous grimace of pain. Fire burned over her entire chest, radiating down her left arm. She tried to focus on Lorraine, to gather strength from the loving gray-green eyes (such strange eyes). But the pain was too great.

It had been years since her last heart attack. It had happened just after her husband’s death, perhaps brought on by the stress of losing him.

She had awakened in a bright and sparkling clean ward surrounded by a dozen other beds. She had cried out in indignation—a woman of her standing should not be subjected to a place like this. She wanted a private room!

“You can’t afford a private room, “ her sister-in-law had said to her. “You can’t afford a frigging apartment any longer. Good-bye, Bettina. You’re on your own.”

It was the last contact she’d had with any member of her family.

All this took place in her mind within microseconds. The pain was so great, so terrible . . .

No, there was no longer pain. Just a peaceful feeling. Bright light surrounded her. For a moment she thought she was in the emergency ward again. But she was on her feet, moving. She walked toward the light, the peaceful, painless light.

“Bettina, no!”

She heard the child’s scream. She wanted to tell her it was all right, but she couldn’t. Bettina could do nothing but give in to the light. She entered it, and succumbed.

On the fire escape, Lorraine realized to her horror what had happened. Bettina was dead! Her savior, her beloved Bettina, was dead!

“Don’t do that!” Lorraine cried out. “Don’t go away from me! I need you!”