Suffer the Children (22 page)

“Oh, I might have some idea,” Sylvia said gently. She came to stand behind him, her hand resting gently on his shoulders. As she continued to talk, her fingers began massaging the tight muscles of his neck, and he relaxed under her touch. “I’m not inhuman, you know. I hurt. I carry some pain and guilt with me, too. And I do the same thing you do. Try to hold it in, and try to deal with it. Sometimes I wish I could do what you do and get drunk a few times.” She smiled wanly. “But I don’t. I’m not allowed.”

“What stops you?” Jack said quietly.

“Me, I suppose. Me, and my puritan background, and my high ideals, and all the other stuff that got bred into me and keeps me from liking myself.”

Jack reached up, and his hand closed over hers. He felt her stiffen, but she did not pull her hand away. Slowly he drew her around until she stood in front of him and he was looking up into her eyes. They were blue, a deep blue, and Jack had the feeling he had never seen them before. He stood up.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and put his arms around her.

“Sorry?” she said. “For what?” She tried to keep her eyes on his, but she couldn’t. After a moment she broke their gaze and leaned her forehead against his chest.

“I’m not sure,” Jack said above her head. “For everything, I guess. For all the trouble you’ve had, and for all the things I haven’t been able to give you.” He tilted her head up and kissed her.

It was a soft kiss, a tender kiss, and it surprised Jack. He had not planned to kiss her, nor had he realized
he wanted to. But as he kissed her it became very clear that he did want to kiss her and did not want to stop with a kiss. He felt a heat flood through him that he had not felt in a long time. And then he felt Sylvia pull away, and he was ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and this time he was sure she knew what he meant. And then he had the distinct feeling that she was no longer in a serious mood, that, indeed, she was laughing at him. He looked at her, and there was a mischievous delight playing in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be able to do that,” she said suppressing a giggle. Jack felt his face flush as he realized what she was saying.

“I haven’t, for the last year,” he said nervously. “I certainly didn’t expect—” He began floundering. “What I mean is, I hadn’t intended—”

“Don’t apologize.” Sylvia laughed. “Be happy. At least you know the problem isn’t all yours. Apparently it’s your wife you don’t turn on to, not everybody.”

Jack stared at her, and he felt a weight lifting off his whole being. Maybe, he thought, things aren’t so bad after all.

“Now what do we do?” he said.

She shrugged and walked from the room. “Nothing,” she tossed back over her shoulder. “Not for a while, anyway.” He heard her close the front door of the office behind her, and realized she was right. He would need time to think. So, he hoped, would she.

Port Arbello sat up late that night.

At ten o’clock, when she was usually in bed, Marilyn Burton found herself getting into her car and driving out the Conger’s Point Road to spend however long it took with Norma Norton. The two women sat drinking coffee and talking quietly about anything except their children, each of them mentioning several times that the coffee would surely
keep
them awake all night. They carefully avoided mentioning that they expected to be awake all night anyway. Instead, they simply went ahead and drank the coffee.

Shortly after eleven, Martin Forager appeared at the police station, his breath reeking of whiskey and his manner truculent.

“Well,” he demanded. “Now what have you got to say for yourself?”

Ray Norton glanced up at Forager, and his finger stopped dialing the telephone on his desk. He was in the last stages of organizing a search party, and Marty Forager’s interruption was annoying. But he put his annoyance aside and spoke mildly. “About what, Marty?”

Forager sat heavily in the chair opposite the police chief, a surly expression darkening his face. “She hasn’t showed up yet, has she?”

“No,” Norton agreed, “she hasn’t. But I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“I know what this town thinks,” Forager challenged.
“I hear the rumors too. They think my Annie lied. That nothing happened to her.”

“By now Anne was home, wasn’t she?” Norton replied quietly. He glanced at his watch. “Unless I’m wrong, Anne came in at eleven. It’s nearly eleven thirty now.”

Forager glared at him. “You wait,” he said. “You just wait, and you’ll see. Shell turn up, and she’ll turn up with the same story.”

“I don’t care what story she has,” Norton said. “I just hope she turns up.”

“She will,” Marty Forager repeated. “You just wait.”

“I will, Marty,” Ray Norton said as the man opposite him got to his feet “Where you heading?”

“Saw Conger’s lights on,” Martin Forager said thickly. “I thought I’d go over there and see what he’s up to.”

Ray Norton put on his best policeman manner. “I think I’d go on home if I were you,” he said, his voice turning it from a suggestion into an order. Forager swung slowly around to stare at the police chief.

“You telling me what to do?”

“Not really,” Norton said affably. “But it’s a busy night around here, and I think it’s a busy night at the
Courier
, too. And it doesn’t concern you, Marty. Go on home, and talk to Jack Conger in the morning if you still think you want to.”

“You and he are pretty buddy-buddy, aren’t you?” Forager said suspiciously. “And you both live out on the Point Road, where all the trouble seems to be, don’t you?” He leered drunkenly at the policeman, who considered the advantages of putting him in the one cell Port Arbello possessed to sleep it off. He decided against it. Instead, he smiled agreeably.

“That’s right, Marty. I thought you knew. Ever since I got to be chief of police and Jack Conger took over as editor of the
Courier
, we’ve been entertaining ourselves by kidnapping little girls. The woods are full of
the bodies, but nothing will ever be done about it, because everybody knows that Jack and I are buddies and covering up for each other. In fact, and don’t spread this around, we’re queer for each other, and the real reason we’re out messing with little girls is so that no one will suspect that it’s really each other we turn on to.” He stood up. “Now, why don’t you go out and spread that one around, even though I asked you not to? It’s at least as plausible as the story your daughter told.”

He immediately regretted his last statement, but then he realized that Forager was too drunk to put together everything he’d said.

“That’s all right,” Forager muttered under his breath. “You’ll see. Something’s going on in this town, and it started with my daughter. You’ll see.” He shambled out the door, and Ray Norton stepped out from behind his desk to see where Forager was headed. He watched until he was sure the drunken man wasn’t headed toward the offices of the
Courier
, then went back to his desk. On an impulse, he picked up the phone and dialed quickly.

“Jack?” he said when he heard his friend’s voice answer. “If I were you I’d lock my front door.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack Conger said, and Ray Norton thought he heard a sharpness that didn’t fit with the light tone in which he’d couched his suggestion.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Marty Forager’s wandering around tonight, and he’s pretty drunk. He was just here, and he said he was going to see you next.”

“Is he headed this way?” Jack asked.

“Nah. He looked like he was heading for the tavern, but after a couple of more belts, he just might forget what I told him. Or worse, he might remember.”

“What’d you tell him?” Jack asked curiously.

Ray Norton recounted the ludicrous story he had
made up for the benefit of the drunk, and was surprised when Jack Conger didn’t seem to think it was funny.

“That’s great,” Jack said, annoyance twisting his voice.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Norton said uneasily. “I imagine he’ll forget all about it by morning.”

“I hope so,” Jack Conger replied. Then he changed the subject “What about Kathy Burton?”

“Nothing,” Ray Norton replied, shifting to his business tone. “She hasn’t turned up, and no one’s seen her. I don’t know what to think. Marilyn Burton’s out at my house now, and Norma’s staying up with her. I have a feeling they’ll be up a long time.”

“Along with the rest of the town,” Jack observed. He had swung his chair around, and was staring pensively out the window. There was a lot of traffic; cars cruising slowly around the square, and knots of people standing talking under the street lamps. He knew what they were talking about, and it made him uncomfortable. “This town talks too much,” he said.

“Only when they have something to talk about,” the police chief responded, “and that’s not often enough. How much longer are you going to be over there?”

“I’ve about got it wrapped up. What about you?”

“Same here. I was just finishing the calls for the search party when Marty came in. The boys should all be here in another half-hour, and I want you, too.”

“Why me? Not that I’m objecting.”

Norton chuckled. “You’d better not. We’re starting the search at your place, and I need you to help me lead it. Since we know the area best, and we’re both more or less responsible citizens, I thought we’d split into two groups. I’ll take my bunch to the quarry and you can comb the woods.”

Jack felt a sudden chill, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He hadn’t been in the woods for a
year. He tried to keep his discomfort out of his voice when he spoke again.

“All right. I’ll close up here and head over your way. See you when I get there.”

He didn’t bother to wait for the chief to say good-bye before dropping the phone back in its cradle. He cleared his desk off and locked it, then his office. He left the lights on in the main office of the paper, and made sure he locked the door behind him when he stepped out onto the sidewalk. What with the traffic, and the questions of the curious, it was a half-hour before he made it to the police station. That worked out to just about ten feet a minute.

Rose Conger had tried to work after her husband had left the house, but hadn’t been able to concentrate. She had given it up, and turned her attention to a book, but again had found herself unable to concentrate. Finally she had given it up, and simply sat, listening to the old clock strike away the quarter-hours, the half-hours, the hours. The night was beginning to seem endless. Then she had decided to call Norma Norton, to see if she had heard anything about Kathy. Norma, a bit uncertainly, had invited her to come over and join the watch. Though their husbands were close, the women had never hit it off particularly well—partly, Rose suspected, because Norma Norton regarded her not as a human being but as
the
Mrs. Conger. She welcomed the opportunity to try to dispel the image.

“I’d love to,” she said. I’ve just been sitting here getting more nervous by the minute. Let me find out if Mrs. Goodrich is still up. If she’s not planning to go to bed for a while, I’ll have her keep an eye on the girls. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, or call you back.”

She found Mrs. Goodrich watching television in her room off the kitchen, and the old woman assured her that she’d be up most of the night. “Seems like the
older you get, the less sleep you need,” she said grumpily. “Or maybe it’s just arthritis. But you go ahead. Nothing’s happened in this house for fifty years that I haven’t been able to handle.”

Rose thanked her and went upstairs to check on the girls. They were sleeping peacefully, and she kissed Sarah lightly on the forehead. She didn’t want to disturb Elizabeth. Two minutes before the end of the allotted ten, she had parked her car in the road in front of the Nortons’, and a minute later she was gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from Norma.

“I’m so sorry about what’s happened,” she told Marilyn Burton. “But I’m sure Kathy’s all right. It’ll be just like Anne Forager.” The trouble was, none of them knew what had happened to Anne Forager. They sat together, an uneasy group, and tried to numb their fears with caffeine.

Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open when she heard the click of her bedroom door closing. She didn’t know why she had pretended to be asleep when her mother opened the door. Usually she would have spoken, if only to say good night But she had kept her eyes closed, and maintained the slow, steady, rhythmic breath of sleep. And now, with the door closed again, and her eyes open, she still maintained that slow, steady rhythm. She lay quietly, listening to the night sounds, and heard the purring of her mother’s car as it moved quickly down the driveway.

When the sound of the engine faded from her hearing, she rose and went to the window. She stared off across the field, and almost felt that she could see into the woods that stood darkly in the night For a long time she remained at the window, and a strange feeling came over her, a feeling of oneness with the forest and the trees and a desire to be closer to the sea beyond the woods. She turned away from the window and, her eyelids fluttering strangely, began to dress.

A few moments later she left her room and moved to the top of the stairway. She paused there, seeming to listen to the silence, then began to descend, as silently as the night She passed the grandfather clock without even noticing its loud ticking. At the bottom of the stairs she turned and began making her way toward the kitchen.

She didn’t hear the droning of the television set in the little room next to the kitchen; if she had, she might have tapped at the door, then opened it to see Mrs. Goodrich dozing fitfully in her chair.

Elizabeth opened the refrigerator and stared blankly into its depths for a moment Then her hand moved out and her fingers closed on a small package wrapped in white paper. She closed the refrigerator door and left the kitchen. In the little room next door Mrs. Goodrich’s sleep was not disturbed by the soft clicking of the front door, or by the heavy chiming of the clock as it struck midnight.

Elizabeth moved across the field quickly and faded into the woods. Once she was there, hidden by the trees, her pace increased.