David Silva - The Disappeared

“He’s got another clinic in Houston.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I just got done talking to an old friend of mine. Apparently, Childs followed them out to Houston and set up a clinic there. He’s been taking care of their kids, Walt. And their oldest one, a girl by the name of Kala – she’s been missing almost as long as Gabe.”

“Christ.”

“I’m beginning to hate this man, Walt.”

“Me, too.”

“He’s been stealing children all across the country and for heaven only knows how long he’s been getting away with it.” She sounded as if she might break down and cry. There was a long pause, then a deep breath. “We’ve got to stop him.”

“We will.”

“No, I mean now. We’ve got to stop him now .”

“Teri, we don’t know enough. Not yet.” Walt stuffed the ticket back into his pocket and checked to see if Childs had moved. He hadn’t, though he had set the newspaper aside and appeared a little anxious all of a sudden. “We still don’t know where he’s keeping Gabe.”

“Well, it’s got to be somewhere local.”

“Not necessarily. For all we know, he could be holding him anywhere in the country. In Houston or Chicago. Anywhere.”

There was complete silence on the other end.

“Teri?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, clearly unhappy.

“Hey, listen to me. I know this is hard, but you’ve got to hang in there. We’re getting closer to him. I’m telling you, his time’s running out, and sooner or later he’s going to lead us right to Gabe. But you’ve got to be patient.”

“I’ve been patient.”

“I know you have, but you’ve got to be more patient. You understand? If we spook him now, we’re risking our only connection to Gabe, and I know that’s not what you want.”

“Of course not.”

“Then hang in with me, all right?”

“I will.”

“Good.” He glanced across the boarding area and noticed that Childs was standing in line now. It was still twenty minutes to take-off. “They’re starting to board. I better get going. Are you gonna be all right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He pulled the ticket back out of his pocket, searching for something else to say, something that might help her to hang in there a little longer. But what was there to say? She had been going through this roller coaster of a nightmare for ten long years now. She knew the turns, the ups and downs, and far better than him, she knew how to keep herself on track. “Oh, there is one last thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Your friend, the one who gave you the lead to Houston, did she have anyone living in the Chicago area?”

“Let me check.”

The boarding line stretched around the outer edges of the room. It was going to be a full flight. Walt watched Childs move forward in line, one step at a time, like a good little soldier. That’s what you are, isn’t it? he thought. A little soldier, following orders.

Teri came back on the line. “I don’t know if it’s the Chicago area or not, but Jeremy and Michelle are in St. Charles.”

“Great. You better give me their address and a phone number in case I need it.”

They landed at O’Hare twenty minutes late due to a strong head wind. Childs didn’t leave his seat the entire flight, and seemed in no particular hurry to get off once the plane had touched down. He calmly collected his briefcase from the overhead storage compartment and stood in line like everyone else.

It was after one in the morning by the time they were both out of the airport. Childs rented a new Buick and took I-90 westbound past Rolling Meadows, Schaumburg, Barrington and into Elgin, where he exited at Route 25 and drove south into a place called St. Charles. Walt followed along behind, trying to stay awake, in a Ford Taurus.

They ended up on the east side of town off Route 63 on Kirk Road. It was primarily an area of corporate and industrial parks, places like the Coca Cola bottling plant and the DuPage Airport and the Norris Cultural Arts Center. At the very outskirts, set well back from the street and hidden behind a wall of trees and shrubbery, was a building called the Devol Research Institute.

Childs pulled into the lot and parked near the front entrance.

Walt passed by, not wanting to be noticed. He circled the block twice, then came back and stopped near the mouth of the long driveway. A scattering of lights gave shape to the building in the distance. In front, parked under the only light in the lot, Walt spotted the rented Buick. It wasn’t likely the good doctor would be going anywhere soon. He was probably going to spend the night here.

“Which means I need a place to stay,” Walt muttered to himself.

“How have things been?” Childs asked.

“Fine, sir.”

“Any changes?”

“No, sir. None.”

He stood at the back of the elevator, admiring the woman’s near-perfect form. Her name was Pam, or more formally, Pamela Sergeant, and she was thirty-seven years old. She had been running this facility for nearly ten years now, overseeing a full-time, skeletal staff of four. Three of those under her watchful eye maintained the monitoring system, the fourth served as the receptionist and public liaison. Four times a year, for a period of two weeks, a team of lab technicians were brought in to work upstairs. It was Pam’s job to supervise them, and to make sure the Institute kept an overall low profile, while they continued to collect and preserve project data.

“Everything set for tomorrow?”

“As always.”

The elevator came to a stop at the basement level. The doors slid open and there was a long dark hallway in front of them, the only source of light coming from two seventy-five watt bulbs over the doorway at the far end. “After you, Dr. Childs.”

“No, please.”

She nodded, officiously, and led him down the hall to the far door, where she fumbled with the ring of keys dangling from the belt of her skirt. She had used one of the keys to enter the elevator, another to access the basement, and now she used a third key to unlock the door. She stepped aside.

Childs stepped through.

On the other side, three more doors walled the small square room. Pam glanced questioningly at Childs, who pointed to the door on the right. The face plate on the door said: KARMA SIX. She sorted through her key ring, came up with the right key, and unlocked the door.

“No changes at all, huh?” Childs asked as he stepped through.

“None,” she said.

The room was long and narrow, with a line of beds on each side. Not all the beds were occupied. In fact, most of them were stripped of their sheets and buried beneath a blanket of shadows, clearly indicating that they were empty. But of the seven that were occupied, all seven had been occupied for a good long time now, and they were all occupied by children.

Childs stopped at the foot of the first bed, glanced over the chart, then hung it over the frame again. The girl in the bed was eight years old. Her name was Rebecca Wright and she had been eight years old for nearly ten years now. She had also been comatose.

He went to her bedside and pulled the covers back, exposing her legs. Even with the daily routine of manipulating and messaging the muscles, the legs had lost some of their mass.

“She’s stabilized at fifty-five pounds,” he noted.

“Yes, she has.”

“That’s remarkable when you think about it.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes.” He dropped the bed sheet back in place, and checked the girl’s pupils as a matter of routine. There was no reason to believe there would be any change and of course he found none. Still, after what had happened with the Knight boy, he had cautioned the staff at each of the centers to keep a closer eye on any changes in a child’s condition. No one wanted to take anything for granted.