and everyone who’s gone died That’s what happens. You come here, and you die.”
“Shut up, Eric,” Peter said once again. “We don’t know what happened to David and Kevin. Maybe their fathers came for them.”
“I hope so,” Adam Rogers said, and when Randy looked at him, he saw that Adam’s face was pale. “I’ve been here almost six months. Longer than any of you. I—I hope …”
His voice trailed off. The six boys finished their breakfast in silence.
Lucy Corliss sat at her kitchen table and tried to decide what to do. All night she had lain awake, hoping to hear the front door opening signaling Randy’s return, or the sound of the telephone notifying her that the police had found him. That was the one thing Sergeant Bronski had promised her last night—that he would put together a search party and comb the woods in which Randy had gotten lost a year ago. He hadn’t promised anything; indeed, he had reluctantly told Lucy that the odds of finding Randy in the darkness were almost nil.
But all night long her house had been filled with an eerie silence. Finally, as the eastern sky had begun brightening into dawn, she had made one more call to the police, only to be told that no trace of Randy had yet been found; then she drifted into a fitful sleep, from which she had awakened an hour later. Since then she had been sitting in the kitchen, waiting, resisting the constant impulse to call the police yet again, knowing that if there was anything to report, they would call her.
When the phone suddenly came to life just before nine, its jangling sound nearly made Lucy drop her coffee cup. She grabbed for the receiver, her heart pounding.
“Hello? Hello?”
“It’s Jim, Lucy.” There was a hopelessness in his voice that told her instantly that the search party had found nothing, but she had to confirm it. “You didn’t find him, did you?”
“No.”
“Oh, God, Jim, what am I going to do? I just feel so helpless, and—and—” Her voice broke off as she fought to control the tears that threatened to engulf her.
“Take it easy, Lucy,” she heard Jim say. “It’s not over yet.” There was a short silence, then he added, “Are you going to work?”
“Work?” Lucy echoed. She felt a tentacle of panic at the edge of her consciousness, and her voice pitched higher. “How can I go to work? My God, it’s my son that’s missing. I’ve got to do something about it.” The panic was beginning to grow, and Lucy lit a cigarette, drawing deeply. As she exhaled the stream of smoke, a little of her tension eased.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she heard Jim saying. “I just meant that there’s nothing you can do right now. It won’t do you or Randy any good for you to sit around the house going out of your mind.”
“You’re a fine one to say that,” Lucy shot back. “How would you know what’s going to do me or Randy any good? You can’t just come waltzing back into my life after nine years and start telling me what’s good for me and what’s not. Was it good for me to have you walk out and leave me to bring our son up by myself?”
If he was stung by her words, he showed no sign. “Tell you what,” he said. “You do what you think is best, and I’ll keep at it with the police. It’s all we can do. Okay?”
Lucy took another puff on her cigarette and nodded, even though there was no one to see her. “Okay. But call me if you find anything. Anything at all!”
“Sure.” There was a long silence, and then Jim’s voice came over the line once again. “Lucy? Are you going to be all right? Do you want me to còme over?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m all right, and no, I don’t want you to come over.”
“Gotcha,” Jim said, and the word almost made Lucy smile. It was a word he had used throughout their marriage on those rare occasions when he understood exactly why she was angry with him and was trying to apologize for having gone too far with whatever excess he was currently involved in. Now, as the word echoed in her mind, she could almost feel the warmth she knew must be in his eyes. “If you need anything,” he went on, “you know where to find me.”