A Stranger's Touch Page 8

Of course, she didn’t. But she couldn’t have witnesses questioning their credibility, either. “It’s just that those women were looking at you as though you were some kind of...”

  The word died on her lips. But the way Stafford’s heels hammered across the pavement let her know that he’d received her message loud and clear.

  He was strange. Different. And those were the polite terms. No doubt, he’d heard every derogatory name in the book. Including the one she’d been about to voice. In her terror, she hadn’t once stopped to consider Stafford. Or his feelings. He came across so self-assured. So confident in his abilities.

  While she was thinking about how best to apologize, he broke the silence. “I’ve learned not to worry about what people think.”

  The truth? A lie? She couldn’t tell. She followed him across the parking lot, toward the exterior door of their room. His legs ate up the asphalt beneath him so quickly she had to take two steps to match his one stride.

  Like a man running away from something.

  * * *

  Davie slumped in the backseat. His head hurt. And the sun made it worse. It burned through the rear window of the car, onto his cap, and into the sores that zigzagged around his hair.

  What hair he had left after the woman tried to scalp him.

  He closed his eyes. He was tired of the driving. So tired he almost forgot to be scared.

  Even the toys bored him. She’d given him a canvas bag filled with some cool stuff. A coloring book, crayons, a set of Lego, and a Barrel of Monkeys. After playing with everything, the Lego mostly, he’d run out of things to do.

  So he pretended to sleep. He tipped his cap so the woman couldn’t see his eyes. It stopped her from talking to him. He couldn’t think when she did that. And he had to figure out what to do.

  He wanted to go home. Wanted his mommy to find him. But he had to help her. Somehow.

  So far, reading the signs hadn’t done any good. There weren’t enough of them. They’d passed a really big one a while back, but it went by so fast he couldn’t read the long words. The picture on it stuck out, though. A white bear in a blue circle. Maybe the woman was taking him to a zoo.

  Davie tilted his head to peek at her. She’d been nice to him all day. Hadn’t yelled once. Just drove along, singing little songs.

  She had a pretty voice. It reminded him of when his mommy used to sing to him. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. Or read him a story – Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Hansel and Gretel, or one of the Harry Potter books. She’d stopped after his grandpa died. He guessed she hadn’t felt like reading stories after that.

  And she was always so busy, being a police officer, and all. His daddy didn’t like that part. Davie didn’t like it much, either. It’s why they weren’t a family anymore.

  The car slowed and pulled off the road. Davie stretched up tall. Over the front seat, he glimpsed a parking area. The pavement wasn’t smooth, but had deep cracks, like a giant jigsaw puzzle, only the pieces didn’t quite touch.

  There was a beat-up truck parked way on the opposite side of the lot. No people, though. Just trees.

  Gazillions of them.

  The place sure didn’t look like a zoo. No entrance gate, no buildings. Just a small, blue shed near the road. An outhouse, maybe. He’d seen one like it that time his daddy and Linda took him for a picnic.

  The woman opened her door and got out of the car. She leaned against it and pulled out a package of cigarettes. He had only a few minutes alone. He had to think fast. How was he going to help his mommy find him?

  He could ask to use the bathroom. If he took long enough, he might meet up with the people from the truck. He looked around for them, but didn’t see anyone. Not even the woman.

  Where did she go?

  An icy lump crept into Davie’s tummy. He gripped his hands together, too afraid to turn around. She could be standing right there, staring at him with those dead eyes.

  So he listened, with ears that felt three times the size as they stretched to take in every sound.

  A scraping. A bump. A few words. Then a clunk.

  The woman was behind him, all right. Moving stuff around in the trunk. And muttering to herself. This could be his chance to get away.

  Think, think, think.

  What could he do? Scream? He should have done that at the schoolyard. But everything happened so fast. By the time he remembered to yell, “This is not my mommy,” like he’d been taught, the woman had grabbed him.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He’d been stupid to get close to the car in the first place. But it looked so much like his mom’s, the same color and everything.

  Well ... almost. He hadn’t taken a really good look at it. He’d been so a-scared of Billy Boehringer and his gang coming after him and grabbing at his hockey cards.

  He made a fist and hammered the seat beside him. Stupid. That’s what Billy always called him. A stupid ... puny ... wheezebag.

  And Billy was right. If he’d been bigger, or smarter, or braver, he’d have figured out how to get away by now.

  The trunk closed with a bang and Davie jumped. The woman’s keys jingled as she walked along the side of the car. Coming for him.

  The lump in his tummy crawled up to his throat. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t work up any spit. Then the door on his side opened. The woman tugged the seat forward and smiled.

  “I’ve got something for you.”

  She kept one hand behind her back, like she had a surprise there. That’s what she’d done with the smelly gunk she’d put in his hair.

  Davie kicked. He dove and twisted until the seatbelt wrapped around his chest.

  “Oh, come on,” the woman said, her voice sweet as honey. “You’re going to like this.”

  Something plopped across his legs. He almost screamed. Like a girl. Then he saw what she’d put there.

  A jacket.

  His heart stopped booming. The knot in his throat disappeared as he ran his fingers over the leather. The jacket was soft and smooth, like the one his daddy wore. Only this one was red.

  “Do you like it?”

  He nodded. It was the same color as a Calgary Flames jersey.

  “Well, then. Put it on.” She reached into the car and undid the latch of his seatbelt.

  Davie scrambled to get outside. The earth felt good under his feet. Sitting on his bottom for so long made his behind tingly. He jiggled around to stop the prickles.

  “Hold still a minute.” She helped him out of his regular jacket and eased his arms into the sleeves of the new one. “It fits. I thought it would be too big,” she said, laughing.

  She crouched in front of him and did up his zipper. Her nails were short. Like Garret’s, a kid from class who bit his until they bled.

  “There. Not much driving left,” she told him and stuck her thumb into her mouth for another chew.

  That’s what she said all the time, ‘Not far to go now,’ or ‘Almost there.’ But she was lying. They always got back in the car and kept moving.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll take the ferry to Fort Providence. You like to ride on the ferry.”

  Davie shook his head. He’d seen a movie with fairies in it. Fairies were small. How could they both fit on one? Plus fairies weren’t real. Just pretend.

  He opened his mouth to tell her so but, before he could speak, she began talking again.

  “I want to show you something. Are you ready?”

  Davie reached into the old jacket she still held and grabbed his hockey cards. Once his treasurers were safely inside the pocket of his new coat, he nodded.

  He was ready. Now.

  She clamped her hand around his wrist and led him down the gravel path, toward the trees. Skinny, white trunks shot up and exploded into leaves waving high above him in yellow, lime and orange. Beyond them, he could hear a roar, like a steady rush of air or a bunch of cars zooming along a superhighway.

  When the gravel path ended, they s
tepped onto a low bridge, their footsteps drumming over the wooden boards. It took them over dark, almost black muck – perfect for mud pies.

  Then the woman stopped, so quickly Davie ran into her legs. Still holding his hand, she stepped down off the bridge onto the solid ground below.

  She tugged on his arm. “Come on, slowpoke.”

  This was bad. You weren’t supposed to leave the path. Going off the trail could get you lost. Or hurt. And you could mess up the plants and stuff. He’d learned that at camp. Didn’t this woman know anything?”

  He leaned back, throwing his weight against her. The woman said a bad word. She dropped his old blue jacket and grabbed him in a bear hug, trapping his arms against his sides. Before he even had a chance to kick at her, she’d swung him around and off the bridge. When his feet touched the ground, her hand tightened around his wrist again.

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  Davie wondered the same thing. His legs went rubbery just thinking about it. He was so teeter-tottery that when she stooped to pick up his old jacket, he almost fell on top of her. She straightened, jerked him upright, and led him down a dirt trail through more trees and little bushes – some green, some red.

  As they walked, Davie reached into his pocket. Slowly, he pulled out one of his hockey cards. He moved his arm to his side and held it. Waiting for just the right moment.

  Please, Mommy. Please, find me, he said to himself. So many times the words seemed like another language.

  As they ducked around the trees, Davie dropped the card behind him. Just like Hansel and Gretel did with the breadcrumbs. He turned back to see the card poking out from the bushes, waving to him in the breeze.

  He smiled, proud of himself.

  The woman gave his arm another tug and brought him into the open, alongside a river. Facing him was a tall cliff made of yellow stone. It had dark green trees on top, the kind with sharp needles.

  “Come on.” The woman pulled him out onto a sheet of rock, closer to the water.

  Now, Davie could see what made all the noise. Just a few feet from where they stood, the river dropped away, crashing to the rocks below.

  A waterfall.

  He’d seen pictures of them. And a real one at a park, once. But not as big as this. It was like looking down from the roof of a really tall house while someone threw big buckets of water over the side.

  The yellow rock made caramel-colored ribbons along the river’s edge – butterscotch syrup dripping over vanilla ice cream. Only this river didn’t drip. It moved fast, gushing over the drop, making him dizzy.

  The woman inched him closer, until Davie could almost touch the water. He bent forward, his hand out, but the woman held him back.

  “It’s lovely, don’t you think?”

  Davie nodded. It was neat. And loud. And big. It made him feel real small – the high rock wall in front of him, the tall woman right behind him, the trees stretched out all around.

  Down the river, in the distance, he saw a rainbow. A lucky sign.

  She shuffled him forward, until the water licked the toes of his sneakers. A cool wind whistled by his ears. Cold mist floated up and covered his face with tiny drops. He snuggled inside his new jacket.

  “Fast isn’t it?” She pressed up tight against his back, so near that his head bobbed with every breath she took. “If you fell in, you’d be carried away. The water would take you over the edge. And you’d smash ... like a plate ... down on the rocks below.”

  She gripped him tighter, the fingers of one hand digging into his shoulder. She raised her other arm and held it out. His old jacket dangled over the river.

  “Life is like that. If you’re not careful, if you don’t stay close to me, you could just...”

  Davie waited, holding his breath.

  “Disappear.”

  The woman let the jacket slip from her fingers. It floated down on a blanket of air then the river snatched it. The jacket raced over the edge and crashed onto the rocks below.

  “See what I mean?” she asked him. But she didn’t wait for an answer. Just pushed him another step closer to the water.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Stafford slipped the key card into number sixteen, turned the handle and swung the door open onto a dull room, dressed in dark blues. He’d heard the color promoted relaxation. Here, it looked as morbid as a tomb.

  He stepped inside. The usual hotel fixtures did nothing to brighten the mood. Either the room’s, or his. Laminate and veneers, everywhere. He shook his head. Didn’t businesses invest in genuine wood furniture anymore?

  They couldn’t even spring for a queen-sized mattress. Given his height, size did matter. He threw his jacket on the double bed and surveyed the rest of the suite.

  To his right, another door led to a second room, with two twin beds. Ahead of him, stood a vanity with a sink. He guessed the bathroom was through the door beside it. A hot shower might be his only salvation. Since, as the housekeeper said, the suite looked freshly cleaned.

  Damn. He’d hoped for something, anything that would give him a reading.

  Maggie remained quiet at his side. But he hadn’t forgotten her. Couldn’t. Her energy was inescapable.

  “Are you sensing anything?”

  “Unrest.” But whether it was his own, in her company, or that of the last occupants, he couldn’t tell.

  “I need to call Owens,” she said. “Report what we’ve learned so far.

  “You do that.”

  She looked at him, puzzled. His last words had carried more bite than he’d intended. But he was too tired to care.

  He caught her staring at him. Quickly, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’ll go into the other room. Leave you alone for a while. See if that helps.” She stayed a moment longer then turned and headed for the inner bedroom.

  Stafford sank into the nearest chair, his gut rammed up against his diaphragm. One off-hand remark and the fourteen-year-old in him had gone on the attack.

  “Those women were looking at you as if you were some kind of...”

  Which fill-in-the-blank option would Maggie have used to describe him? Oddball? Weirdo? Creep? Or his father’s favorite choice – Freak.

  Shame weighted his chest, crushed it in a vice. He raked his fingers through his hair, mentally brushing away the years of insults.

  He’d told Maggie the truth. He didn’t care what other people thought of him. Just what she thought. And her unspoken word had hurt. More than she could have imagined.

  He leaned back and rested his head against the wall behind him. He had to clear his mind, or he’d be no use to her. And it was only his psychic abilities she wanted.

  Stafford closed his eyes and went to that familiar place where his thoughts were most receptive. He pictured an open field, a pathway. In his mind’s eye, he followed the trail through high grass, the tips swaying in the breeze like ocean waves.

  “Stafford.”

  He looked up. The field vanished. A forest, dark and dense rose up around him.

  “Stafford. Come find me.”

  He recognized the voice, remembered the area. Fear and dread spun around in his belly. Even though he knew the outcome, he felt compelled to move forward.

  “Help me, Stafford. Help me.”

  He raced toward the sound through a maze of black mangroves, their leaves forming a canopy above him, their air roots reaching up from the ground like fingers. Limbs flailing, muscles on fire, he ran, his heart hammering in his ears as it pounded out the seconds.

  This time it would be different. Please, let it be different.

  Sweat and tears rolled off his cheeks. His shirt clung to his body. Mosquitoes pierced his skin, eager for their noonday meal. With every stride, his runners sank deeper into the soggy ground. He stumbled, lost his balance, and slid into knee-deep water.

  A prison of red mangroves surrounded him. Sobbing, he hacked his way through their spidery roots with his hands, fighting to free himself of the tangled trap. He heard the sc
ream in his head seconds before it reached his ears.

  Stafford lurched forward, jolted from the trance. He catapulted himself out of the chair and ran for the bedroom door, cranked the knob and shoved it back.

  A blanket twisted around Maggie’s small frame, a serpent, sucking her down – her face white, her eyes wide, her mouth open.

  He reached her in one step and drew her into his arms. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Just a bad dream.”

  Her body trembled against his. Two wounded souls, clinging to each other, with him pretending to be the strong one. He cradled her, murmuring soft reassurances that he knew meant nothing.