John Saul - Cry for the Strangers

“Hmm?”

“The kids,” Elaine replied. “Keep an eye on them for me while I put lunch together.”

“Sure,” Brad muttered, and went back to work. Elaine smiled softly to herself and continued into the kitchen. The house could fall down around him without his noticing. She poked halfheartedly at the fire in the ancient stove and decided a cold lunch would do just fine.

Fifteen minutes went by, then Robby appeared in the kitchen.

“When are we having lunch?”

“In about two minutes. Are your hands clean?”

Robby solemnly inspected his hands, then held them up to Elaine for approval. She looked them over carefully and nodded.

“Okay. Take these into the dining room and see if you can get Brad to make room for us.” She handed the little boy a tray of sandwiches, then followed him a few minutes later with napkins, silver, and a jar of pickles. The table, she noted, had miraculously been cleared, and Missy and Robby sat flanking Brad, all of them patiently awaiting her arrival.

“Isn’t Daddy coming?” Missy asked as Elaine sat down.

“He’ll be back as soon as he can get here,” Elaine explained.

“Can I save my sandwich for him?”

“What’ll you eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” Missy said softly. “I’ll just drink some milk.”

“I’m sure your—” Elaine began, then stopped short. She had been about to say “mother,” but quickly changed it. “—father would want you to eat your lunch,” she finished.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Missy assured her.

“He would too,” Robby said. “He’d say the same thing Mother would say—‘you eat what’s put in front of you!’ Even if it is liverwurst,” he added almost under his breath. He determinedly bit into his sandwich, and a moment later Missy did the same. The children munched in silence for a moment, then Robby put the remains of his sandwich down and looked quizzically at Elaine.

“Are we going to have to go away?”

“Go away? What do you mean?”

“Are we going to have to move away, after what happened to Mommy?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Elaine replied carefully. “That depends on your father, I suppose.”

“Do you want to move away?” Brad asked. Robby shook his head emphatically but it was Missy who spoke.

“Yes! I hate it here! Mr. Riley told us a long time ago that there are ghosts on the beach, and he’s right. I’ve seen them. They killed Mommy and they killed Mr. Horton and they’ll kill everybody else too.”

Elaine half-rose from her chair, intent on calming the child, but Brad signaled her to stay where she was. “Ghosts? What kind of ghosts.”

“Indians,” Missy said sulkily. “Mr. Riley told us they used to kill people on the beach, and sometimes they come back and do it some more. And I’ve seen them. I saw them the day Mr. Riley told us about them, and I saw them the night Mr. Horton got killed, and I saw them last right.” As she spoke the last words Missy fled sobbing from the table. Elaine immediately followed her.

Robby seemed unperturbed by Missy’s outburst. He picked his sandwich up again, took a big bite, and munched on it thoughtfully. Brad watched the boy eat, sure that he was turning something over in his mind. He was right, for Robby suddenly put the sandwich down again.

“Maybe she really does see things,” Robby suggested hesitantly.

“Could be,” Brad offered.

“I mean, the beach is a weird place during the storms.”

“Oh?” Brad could feel something coming and wanted it to come from Robby undisturbed, uninfluenced by his own feelings.

“I like the storms,” Robby went on, “but it’s funny. I can’t really remember what happens when I’m on the beach. It used to be fun, before all the bad things started happening. It was like I was all alone in the world, and it felt good. Even though it was raining real hard, I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything, except inside myself.” His brows knotted in sudden puzzlement.

“What is it?” Brad prompted him.

“It’s funny,” Robby said. “I can remember how I felt but I can’t remember what I did. I mean, I can’t remember going anyplace or doing anything, but I guess I must have.” His voice dropped, and he seemed about to cry. “I wish I hadn’t gone out last night. If I hadn’t nothing would have happened.”

“Robby,” Brad assured him, “it isn’t your fault.”

But Robby looked unconvinced.

Glen Palmer came back to the Randalls’ in the middle of the afternoon, but when Brad asked him how the talk with Whalen had gone he was uncommunicative.

“I’m going to go up to the cabin,” he said. “Is it all right if I leave the kids here?”

“Of course,” Elaine agreed, watching him worriedly. “But wouldn’t you like one of us to go with you?”

“I’d rather go by myself. I have some thinking to do and I think I can do it best there.”

Brad nodded understandingly and accompanied Glen to the door. When he was sure they were out of range of the children he put his hand on Brad’s shoulder and spoke softly.

“If it’s any comfort, I don’t think that whoever killed Rebecca and Jeff knew what they were doing.”

Glen paled slightly and stared blankly at Brad.

“I had a talk with Robby a little while ago,” Brad explained. “He doesn’t remember what he did on the beach last night. He only remembers feeling good.”

“What does that mean?” Glen asked dully.

“Well, whatever happens to Robby must be happening to someone else. But with the opposite effect: Robby feels good, someone else goes crazy. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Jeff and Rebecca just happened to be there.” In his own mind Brad had dismissed Missy’s story as childish imagination, not worth mentioning.

“Oh, God,” Glen groaned. “It all seems so — so futile!”

“I know,” Brad replied sympathetically. “But we’ll find out what’s happening, and we’ll stop it.”

“I wonder,” Glen said. “I wonder if it really even matters anymore.” He started out onto the beach but Brad called him back.

“Try to get back before dark, will you? Let’s not have anything else happening.”

“Okay,” Glen agreed. Then he turned and started up the beach, his shoulders slumped, his steps slow, uncertain. A few moments later, he disappeared around the corner of the house, and Brad stopped watching. While Glen walked and thought, Brad would work.

Chip Connor arrived at the Randalls’ at five thirty that afternoon and hesitated nervously before knocking at the front door. When Elaine opened it a few seconds later she found Chip twisting his hat in his hands and looking very upset.

“Chip!” she said warmly. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” Chip replied automatically. “Is your husband here?”

“Yes, of course,” Elaine said, her smile fading. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure. But I need to talk to Brad.”

“He’s in the dining room. Come on.”

Brad was at the dining-room table surrounded by stacks of books as he searched for an explanation for the madness around him. He looked up distractedly when he heard Elaine come into the room, then put his book aside when he realized who was with her.

“What brings you out here? If you’re looking for Glen I think he’s up at his place.”

“I need to talk to you.” Chip sank into one of the chairs around the table and Elaine quickly left the room, sensing that whatever Chip had to say, he wanted to say it only to Brad. When she was gone Brad gave Chip a searching look.

“What is it? Has something else happened?”

“I don’t know,” Chip said unhappily. “In fact, I’m not even sure I should be here. But I had to talk to someone and you were the only person I could think of.”