Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

When they were finished touring, Hall accompanied Lauren to the cafeteria for coffee at 3:00 p.m. Afterward, Ambrose was waiting for her in the conference room.

“Here’s the bad news,” Ambrose said. “No one’s going to talk about a boy who went missing at age two. Not going to happen. But here’s the good news. My cousin works at OTZ. She said you should be asking questions about the boy who appeared, not the boy who disappeared.”

“What do you mean?”

“You should ask her that. You flying back to Kotzebue today?”

“Yes.”

“Good. She’ll meet you.”

“Where?”

“At OTZ.”

“What’s OTZ?”

“Kotzebue Airport. It’s one of the biggest employers in town.”

Ambrose was a good man doing his best in a harsh place. He didn’t deserve to be used, lied to, or given false hope. But that’s exactly what had happened.

Too bad, Lauren thought. Life was a race. She wasn’t delivering a serum or saving humanity and there would never be a statue of her in Central Park, but she had to be first with this story. She had to be first with every story.

Still, when she said good-bye to Ambrose, Lauren saw the spark in his eyes and the bounce in his step, and for that fleeting moment, all the joy seeped out of her.

ON THURSDAY, NADIA packed two shopping bags with clothes and books. She took the Q101 bus to Rikers Island. It was located on the East River between Queens and the Bronx near LaGuardia Airport. Visiting hours ran from 1:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m., but people started lining up earlier. Nadia arrived at 12:05 p.m. She was twenty-seventh in line but some of the visitors in front of her were children accompanying a parent. By 12:45 p.m., the line stretched farther than she could see.

A huge young man with a shaved head cut to the front of the line. Two women stuck their fingers in his face and screamed at him in Spanish. The young man shouted back. Their threats grew louder until four security guards emerged from the jail. The guards tackled, cuffed, and dragged him inside, all without saying a word. The crowd cheered. Word spread that he was a recently released felon who’d returned for his personal possessions. Nadia was reminded that she was not in Manhattan anymore, and neither was Bobby.

At 1:35 p.m., Nadia entered the visitor’s center. An efficient guard checked her driver’s license and took down her information.

“You got to be announced,” the guard said.

“Excuse me?” Nadia said.

“The prisoner has got to want to see you.”

“Oh.”

“Prisoners only get one set of visitors per day. If someone they don’t want to see comes in, then they can’t see their families later, is why. Sometimes reporters try to get in. Sometimes enemies. You see it all here. You the boy’s mother?”

“Legal guardian. Can you tell him if he sees me then a young woman by the name of Aline Kabaeva will visit him Sunday?”

The guard frowned. “Who?”

Nadia wrote the name on a piece of paper and gave it to the guard. Aline Kabaeva was a former Olympic gymnastics champion, current lawmaker, and rumored paramour of Vladimir Putin. Nadia had duped a cop into believing she was a reporter interviewing the Russian sex symbol during her escape from Russia on a train with Bobby. She’d been so convincing Bobby had believed her, too, until she admitted she’d made up the story. Nadia hoped Bobby would get a laugh out of the message, and that the memory would remind him of the bond they’d formed to survive that trip.

The guard left and returned five minutes later. “He’s in the infirmary.”

“What happened?” Nadia said.

“I don’t know. You got to go to the hospital at the North Infirmary Command. They’ll tell you.”

“Will I get to speak with him?”

“Depends on if he wants to see you and if he can speak.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. He’s in the infirmary for a reason.”

Nadia got directions and hurried to an adjacent building. She had to wait an hour and fifteen minutes in line. She spent most of that time fighting images of Bobby being beaten to a pulp. Once inside, she stored her cell phone in a coin locker per regulations. She identified herself to another guard and repeated her request regarding Aline Kabaeva.

An ambivalent guard escorted her to a small room with two chairs and a table. There were no windows in the room. The air smelled of mold. A gaunt man in a white coat came in and introduced himself as Dr. Champion.

“We had to remove him from the general population,” Champion said. “For his own protection.”

Nadia felt faint. “Why? What happened?”

“Does Aagayuk have problems with anxiety?”

“No.”

“Is he prone to panic attacks?”

“No. Why? Did he have one?”

“Actually, he had several. When the lights went out. He had great difficulty making it through his first night. And he didn’t make it through his second night. I’ve prescribed an antidepressant—”

“You gave him an antidepressant? Without my approval?”

“Aagayuk is in the state’s custody now.”

“But common courtesy—”

“It’s my responsibility to keep him functioning properly.”

“It would have been common courtesy to call his guardian, don’t you think?”

“I treat hundreds of prisoners, ma’am. My job is to keep them healthy. Keep them alive. Phone calls to loved ones are just not realistic.”

The notion of Bobby taking an antidepressant wasn’t as disturbing as a doctor at Rikers Island writing the prescription. “What was the catalyst for all this? Did something happen?”

“He had an altercation with some of the other inmates.”

“What kind of altercation?”

“The unfortunate kind. He cost his neighbors a bit of sleep. They made him understand how unhappy they were about that. He’s going to have to go back in one week. Seven days. That’s the prescribed time for the antidepressants to get into his system. That’s the longest I can keep him. His other wounds will certainly be healed by then.”

“What wounds?”

“If the medication works, it will cut off the extremes of his behavior. He won’t get too happy. He won’t get too sad. It’ll neutralize the panic attacks and he’ll be able to sleep at night.”

“What wounds?”

“More importantly, the other inmates will be able to sleep. Maybe they’ll leave him alone. Though I’m told they’ve seen his ears. Half-ears, I should say. With jagged ridges like some sort of genetic mutation. I’ve never seen that type of handicap before.”

Bobby was born with abnormal ears because his mother had suffered from radiation syndrome. “I’d like to see Bobby, please,” Nadia said.

“Who?”

“Bobby. Aagayuk. His Anglo name is Bobby. I’d like to see my boy. Now, please.”

Champion left.

A guard escorted Bobby into the room. Bobby limped. Bruises shone around both eyes. A large bandage covered his forehead.

“Oh my God.” Nadia stood up to hug him.

Bobby raised his hand for her to keep her distance.

Nadia stopped. The sight of his palm in her face wrenched her heart. But she didn’t want him to read her emotions so she erased the disappointment from her eyes. This was no time for sentiment.

Bobby grimaced as he sat down. He wore a gray jumpsuit and orange flip-flops. The guard stood against the wall. Bobby and Nadia spoke in Ukrainian.

“How are you?” Nadia said.

“I told Johnny to tell you not to come. Why didn’t you listen to him?”