David Silva - The Disappeared

“I’m strong.”

“I know, honey. But…”

But it wasn’t just the matter of his strength. It was everything: the gray hair, the cane, the color of his eyes, the wondering if he really was Gabe or if he was just some kid who happened to look like him. It was all of those. And it was none of them. Because more than anything Teri was simply worried about the boy.

“But it’s better to be on the safe side,” she finished.

She wasn’t going to play the fool a second time.

Teri called ahead to the doctor’s office and spoke with his receptionist, making certain that Dr. Childs wasn’t off on vacation or out of town or playing golf at the country club, and that he would, in fact, be seeing patients. Once she had been assured of that fact, she tried to make an appointment and when it appeared that it wouldn’t be possible until tomorrow or the day after, she politely thanked the woman and hung up.

“What did they say?” the boy asked.

“The doctor’s booked today.”

He grinned, obviously pleased with the news. “Gee, that’s a bummer.”

“Yes, it is. Now go wash your hands and comb your hair.”

“What for?”

“Because we’re going to see him anyway.”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, we have to. Now go on.”

They arrived at the clinic a little after ten and ended up sitting in the waiting room until well past lunch and into the mid-afternoon hours before a nurse finally called for Gabriel Knight. She escorted them into a small examination room, took his temperature and his blood pressure, and promised the doctor would be in shortly. By the time the door finally swung open and the doctor walked through, Teri was half-way through an article in Woman’s Day on working out of the home.

“Well, let’s see what we have here,” Childs said with barely a glance. He sat on a stool across the room and read down the top page of Gabriel’s file. It had been a long time since Teri had last seen the doctor and she was surprised by how much he had visibly aged. He was wearing glasses now, thin, round, wire-rimmed specs that perfectly complemented a receding hairline and graying around his temples. If pressed, she would have to guess that he was somewhere in his mid-to-late fifties now.

He glanced up, peering over the rim of his glasses, and smiled warmly. “It’s been awhile, Teri.”

“Yes, it has,” she said.

“About time we got you in for a check-up, isn’t it?”

“I’ll make an appointment on my way out. I promise.”

“Good. You do that.” He smiled again, in that warm, fatherly manner, and turned his attention to the boy. “So what seems to be the problem?”

“He’s been feeling a little run down lately,” Teri said.

“Run down?”

“Actually, it’s not so much that as the fact that he seems to have lost some of the strength in his legs and arms. Especially in the morning, when he first gets up. It’s as if he just can’t seem to get going.”

“But he gets stronger as the day progresses?”

“A little.”

“Uh-huh. Has he been running a temperature at all?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Had any flu or cold symptoms?”

“No,” Teri said, somewhat unconvincingly, she feared. Guilt, like an unwanted house guest, had slipped through the door and begun to make itself at home in her thoughts. What kind of a mother am I? she asked herself. Maybe he had been running a temperature. Not today, of course. Not yesterday, either. But maybe the day before that. “You haven’t, have you, honey?”

“No, Mom.”

“I didn’t think so.” She glanced at the doctor, and noted with some relief that his expression had remained unchanged. No surprise or disgust there, just a doctor’s mask of passivity.

“Any weight loss?”

“A little, maybe.”

“Has he been eating well?”

“Not as well as I’d like. He’s been picky lately.”

“Unusual thirst or the need to urinate often?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Uh-hum,” he said absently. He flipped through a page of Gabriel’s file, and set the clipboard aside. “Well, why don’t we take a look and see if we can find out if anything’s going on. If you’ll take your shirt off for me…”

The boy, who had been sitting on the edge of the examination table, his feet dangling over the end, took off his shirt and handed it to Teri. For a brief moment, she was shocked to see how thin he had actually become. It was almost as if he were holding his breath, the skin below his ribcage pulled taut into a small hollow recess, the framework of ribs visibly pronounced. Gabe had never been this thin. Not even when he had begun his first growing spurt, around the age of six or seven.

“Just relax now,” Childs said. “This isn’t going to hurt.”

Teri watched him check the boy’s lymph nodes, the doctor staring off into the distance as his fingers first worked the underside of the jaw, then a spot just below the boy’s armpit on each side.

“No swelling,” he said absently.

“That’s good.”

“So how’s everything else been?” he asked as he pulled a penlight out of his breast pocket and used a tongue depressor to take a look at the back of the boy’s throat. “Say ah for me.”

“Ahhhh.”

“Things have been all right,” Teri said.

“Still working at the post office?”

“Yeah. It seems like forever, doesn’t it?”

He smiled politely, checked the boy’s reflexes—which to Teri’s untrained eye appeared to respond surprisingly well—and used his stethoscope to listen to the boy’s lungs. When he was finished, he sat down on the stool again and made some notes in Gabriel’s file.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, to be honest. Everything appears normal. His lungs are clear, the blood pressure’s normal, the lymph nodes aren’t swollen. There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary going on.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think I’d like to take a urine sample and maybe a little blood, just to be on the safe side. And after that—”

“What about the gray in his hair?”

“Pardon?”

“The gray.” Teri, who had been leaning against the wall, trying to stay out of the way during the doctor’s examination, moved around the foot of the table and had the boy tilt his head to one side.

“When did that show up?” Childs asked.

“A couple of days ago.”

He took a long, thoughtful look under the fluorescent lights.

“What do you think it might be?”

“I don’t know. Is there a history of premature graying on either side of the family?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Well, I’m not sure it’s anything to worry ourselves about, Teri. Not just yet anyway. Just keep an eye on it, and if it continues to get worse or if there are any other symptoms that seem like they might be related, then give me a call and we’ll take a closer look.”

“You don’t think it has anything to do with him being tired all the time?”

“It’s not likely. But just in case, why don’t we wait and see what the test results have to say before we start speculating, all right? My guess is that whatever’s going on—and it’s probably just a virus—he’s already over the hump by now and it’s just a matter of building his strength back up.” He took possession of the clipboard again, and stood at the door with his hand on the knob. “All right?”

Teri nodded. “When will you have the test results?”

“Sometime tomorrow if all goes well. I promise I’ll call you.” He glanced down at the clipboard. “We still have your current phone number?”

“Would it be all right if I called you? Tomorrow’s looking like it might be a little on the hectic side.”