Counterfeit Son (10 page)

"That son of a—" Neil's father reached out to him, and Cameron flinched before he could stop himself.

His father took a deep breath and let it out explosively. "Neil, Hank Miller is dead. He'll never touch you again, and no one else will ever do what he did to you. I will never take a belt or a strap or anything else to you, no matter what you do wrong. That isn't a sign of love, that's—that's violence. That's wrong. Believe me. I may ground you, I may give you extra chores, I may forbid you to ride your bike or watch television, but I will never punish you by physically hurting you. Never."

Cameron looked up at him. The voice sounded as though the man himself was hurting, and Cameron saw that his father's face was drawn in pain. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean—"

"I thought I knew what it must have been like," his father said in a low voice. "I thought I'd come to terms with what he'd done to you. I guess I've got a ways to go." He met Cameron's eyes and managed a smile. "We'll get there, son. Just trust me—I won't hurt you. Now go on out to your mom."

Cameron nodded and turned away, toward the living room. He knew he should feel relieved, but he felt adrift. This man was good. He would never understand how bad Cameron was, letting all those boys die because he couldn't make them understand—letting Neil die. Cameron slowly started down the hall, his guilt as vivid for him as the memory of the cellar's sickly sweet smell. He could never be punished enough to be forgiven. Why had he ever hoped?

"Oh," his father's voice followed him, stronger now, trying to change the subject. "Tell her that when I get there I'll fill you all in on the latest in the police I.D. saga—that Detective Simmons was not very pleased about your dental charts, to put it mildly."

The guilt turned to tension again. What was wrong with the dental charts? But his father didn't sound worried, more amused. Could Detective Simmons take him away even if the Laceys believed he was Neil? Slowly, Cameron made his way to the living room to apologize again to his mother. She hugged him tightly for a long moment, then finally released him and wiped her eyes, smiling unsteadily at him. He looked away, confused because part of him had actually liked her embrace, and eased himself down cross-legged on the floor near the plate-glass window, where he could see the lake. He tried not to notice Diana looking at him curiously.

When his father reappeared, he looked a good deal less threatening in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he was smiling as if the previous conversation had not occurred. Cameron realized that it would stay just between the two of them. His mother handed his father a drink, and he gave her a quick hug before taking a long swallow and dropping down into an armchair. He grinned at Cameron.

"You've got good teeth, Neil."

Cameron realized that this must have something to do with the dental charts, but he wasn't sure what it meant. He looked away and watched Stevie wander in and sit on the floor next to his father's chair.

"So?" Diana asked. She was standing in the doorway between the dining room and the living room, leaning against the wall. "Is that supposed to prove he's Neil or something?"

"Diana!" Her mother looked furious.

"Pipe down, Diana," her father said, keeping his smile in place. "We
know
he's Neil. It's only Detective Simmons who doesn't."

"What do you mean?" Cameron asked, nervous.

"Well," his father explained, sounding like the lawyer he was, the way he had in the hospital, "Detective Simmons has raised quite a stink. He's told the other members of the task force, the doctors, anyone who'll listen, that he doesn't believe in happy endings. So—since he feels compelled to make a positive identification, I was hoping to match up your dental records. You see, before you disappeared you used to go to the dentist regularly, and he has charts of your mouth that show cavities and fillings. If they match the charts of your mouth today, then you're the same kid, right?"

Cameron nodded uncertainly.

"Wrong," his father said. "Because you
are
a kid. When you disappeared you still had a lot of baby teeth, and those have since come out and been replaced by permanent teeth."

"But he had some of his permanent teeth by then," his mother said.

His father nodded. "That's where the problem of the good teeth comes in. You see, Neil didn't have any cavities or fillings in his permanent teeth at his last checkup before he disappeared. He's got some cavities now, but that's a normal part of growing up. If they could definitely match a filling from before with a filling there now, then that would be a positive identification that Detective Simmons would have to accept. Or if they could find an old filling that had magically disappeared, then Detective Simmons could claim that he's not Neil. Unfortunately, there's no proof either way. As far as the suspicious Detective Simmons is concerned"—his father smiled, trying to make it into a joke—"that's not conclusive."

Cameron remembered the hatred in the detective's voice that day in the hospital when they'd thought he was unconscious, and the way he'd been waiting outside the emergency room entrance when the Laceys took Cameron home. Detective Simmons didn't believe he was Neil and was determined to prove it.

"Is there any way to convince that man?" his mother asked, rubbing her arms as though she were cold. "What about DNA testing?"

His father sighed. "Well, Simmons mentioned that, but I'm not sure
what
will persuade him. Now he says it's a matter for forensics. They're still analyzing the bodies and linking them to the missing boys. If there's one left over, and if somehow the forensic pathologist can make a positive match with Neil, Simmons could claim that's conclusive. Conversely, if the bodies are all identified as other boys, then Simmons will have to admit that Neil is Neil."

"Can he take me away?" Cameron asked, his voice shaking slightly. Between the mention of forensics and the question about DNA testing, he didn't know what to think.

"Of course not," his mother said quickly.

"Not without a lot more evidence than he has now," his father said more slowly. "Don't you worry about it, Neil. This time anyone who wants you has to go through me."

"What
about
the DNA testing?" Diana asked suddenly. Cameron looked at her.

"That's not the issue here," her father said evenly.

"But—" Diana started. Then she met her father's eyes and looked away. "Well then, what about the bodies? How long will it take to identify them?"

"Please, Diana—" her mother said. "Don't be morbid."

"But what if he's not Neil?" the girl asked.

"Diana!" Her mother whirled on her and slapped her, hard, then burst into tears. In one swift movement, Neil's father was up from the chair and across the room to his wife. "She didn't mean anything, Annie," he said softly. "Of course he's Neil."

Stevie looked over curiously, and Cameron looked away.

"I'm sorry," his mother whispered, wiping her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Diana." She took a slow, shuddering breath. "All right, then—how long will it take to identify the—the bodies?"

"This is very high priority," his father assured her, keeping one arm around her shoulders. "They want to be able to tell the other families for certain what happened to their sons. Simmons seems to think the pathologist should have answers in a week or so. Twenty-three bodies—that's a lot of work."

Diana lowered her hand from her reddening cheek and glared at her parents, then turned to Cameron, but he barely noticed her reflection in the plate-glass window. As he stared at the lake, the setting sun dipped on the horizon and the water beneath it swirled blood red.

He had read twenty-two files in Hank Miller's cellar. The police had to have found the file cabinet—they'd know the boys went with the files. Pop couldn't have started a file on the last boy yet, Josh, because there hadn't been any news stories about his disappearance before the police had surrounded Miller's house. Twenty-three bodies, including Josh's, meant that forensics would match one body to every file, including the remains of Neil Lacey.

Cameron strode along the downtown sidewalk the next Monday morning, feeling guilty. The Laceys had thought he was upset because the talk of the bodies must have reminded him of the things Hank Miller had done to him, and they'd spent all weekend fussing over him. Except for Diana and Stevie, of course. His mother had asked Mrs. Pierson to make fried chicken for Friday night's dinner—Neil's favorite. Stevie had sulked, pulling the skin off his fried chicken distastefully and crunching the bones, oblivious to his mother's glare. Diana had just sat there staring at Cameron thoughtfully and eating little. She'd gone sailing with him on Friday, but had spoken to him as little as possible. She just kept looking at him, as if she were studying a particularly obnoxious but nonetheless fascinating insect.

Somehow their parents had managed to make a nice family dinner out of the fried chicken in the end. His mother had gotten Stevie talking about his latest computer game, and the little kid finally cracked a smile at her, lighting up his whole face. Then their father had asked Diana about the books she'd gotten at the library, and he discussed some of them with her, sounding like he actually valued what she thought. Pop had never wanted to know what Cameron was thinking. He listened to them discussing the
Dark Is Rising
books, which he'd already read. Diana was saying it was unfair in the books that Will Stanton ended up being distanced from his family because of his powers as an Old One.

"It's unfair," Cameron heard himself saying before he could stop to think, "but it's honest." He shut up, wishing he hadn't spoken. Now Diana would turn to him with that flat look of dislike, and the warm atmosphere of the family meal would die. He'd enjoyed sitting there, watching them, almost feeling a part of them.

To his surprise, Diana and her father both looked at him with interest. "How can it be both unfair and honest?" the man asked, and Diana looked like she wanted to know the answer, too.

"It's also unfair that Bran's dog is killed," Cameron explained slowly. "It's unfair that John Rowlands's wife, who's been so beautiful and so loving, turns out to be so evil. But I think it's honest because the point is that you have to pay a price when the Light stands against the Dark. It seems unfair in regular, everyday life, but it's the price you pay to do the right thing."

Diana studied him for a moment. Then she said, thoughtfully, "I see what you mean. It's unfair if you only look at it and see the here and now. But if you look at it through the eyes of an Old One, who sees all time, it is fair. A heavy price, but a fair price."

Cameron nodded, and nearly blushed when she smiled at him. She almost looked like she approved of him, the way she'd approve of a real brother.

He'd been surprised by how much he liked feeling part of the Lacey family. He'd only hoped to feel safe, and to sail free at last, but he seemed to be on the verge of finding something more—something worth the effort of questioning every action, every moment, always asking,
Would Neil do that?
Being part of a real family, belonging somewhere at last—that would be worth it. Pop certainly wasn't like the families he'd read about in books and imagined. The Laceys weren't, either, with prickly Diana and sulky Stevie, but he'd liked sitting there at the supper table, surrounded by their voices and laughter. He'd liked cooking out with them Saturday, using an air gun to blow on the coals to keep the fire hot, and shooting the air at Stevie, making the little kid laugh. He'd liked going to church with them on Sunday, even with the other people in the congregation staring at him.

And he'd liked seeing the parents holding hands in the evenings, while the family watched television after dinner. He wanted to be a part of that family. If only he could work out what Neil's father had meant about love and punishment. The rules of sailing were clear enough, but the other rules were hazy here, not like Pop's clear-cut punishments and the hope that got Cameron through them. Now he wasn't sure how he'd ever learn to be good. The only punishments he could imagine were what Detective Simmons would do to him when he identified the bodies, and what Cougar would do to him if he found him.

In spite of the peaceful days, Cameron had lain awake in the dark each night, listening to Stevie's even breathing and remembering the nights from his past, and the angry, heavy-fisted young man Pop had nicknamed Cougar. He had been headstrong and short-tempered, not careful like Pop. Look how quickly he got arrested on his own. Maybe it had something to do with the way his own pop had treated him when he was a kid. And the time in prison would probably have turned him meaner.

Cameron had still been awake Sunday night when he heard the floor creak and realized that his father had come in to check on him again. He surprised himself by sliding into sleep while the man still stood at the foot of his bed, and not waking until Cougar strode into his dreams, his fist snapping sharply into Cameron's cheekbone, sending flashing pain into his eye and jerking him upright in bed.

***

He was relieved that both his parents were dressed for work Monday morning at breakfast. He needed some time to think. They'd never discussed the newspaper article last week, and he needed to decide whether he should talk to the Laceys about Cougar.

His mother didn't seem wholly comfortable with the idea of leaving him alone, though. "I could stay home today, Neil—I don't have to go into work this week—I could take some more vacation time." She put down the piece of toast she was buttering and frowned at him, troubled.

Stevie rolled his eyes and spooned more sugar on his cereal, but neither of his parents noticed.

His father reached over and squeezed his mother's hand. "Come on, now, Annie. You know we discussed this. I think we need to get back to our regular routine, and give Neil a chance to relax and settle in."

"I know," she said slowly. "Neil, are you sure that's all right with you?"

He nodded. "Sure," he said, and quickly added, "Mom." That didn't seem to be enough, so he said, "I'll be fine. Really."