"Hail Mary," the voice whispered. "Hail Mary, full of grace."
Rosary beads. The click of someone counting off rosary beads. A distant door banged. The voice gasped, choking back her prayer mid-word. Footsteps sounded in the hall—the thud of heavy, booted feet. I stepped through the door. No one was there. Yet I could still hear the footsteps, growing louder as they came down the hall toward me.
From inside the room came a muffled whimper. As I looked around, a new sound filled the air, a steady thumping, softer than the footsteps, growing faster as they drew nearer. The tripping of a frightened heart.
"Holy Mary, mother of God."
The prayer came out no louder than a breath, whispering all around me, barely audible over the patter of her heart. The footsteps stopped outside the door. A jangle of keys followed. A whimper, sounding as if it came from right beneath me. A key screeched in the lock.
"No, no, no, no."
The door hinges squealed, and I heard it open, yet the door stayed shut. The woman gave a sudden cry that nearly sent me to the rafters. I whirled around, but I was still alone. From beneath me came the frantic scuffle of someone scrambling across the wooden floor.
"Hail Mary, full of—"
A laugh drowned out her prayer. The door slammed shut. The woman screamed. Then a slap resounded through the room, so loud I reeled as if I'd felt it. Another scream, a bloodcurdling scream of fury and fear.
And all went silent.
I looked around, tensed, waiting for the next spectral sound. But I heard only the faintest scratch of tiny claws from a distant rat.
Slowly, I stepped from the cell. The boy was right there. I jumped, letting out an oath. He waggled a finger at me, then motioned with the same finger, and took off.
I hesitated, getting my bearings, then went after him.
Chapter 15
THE BOY LED ME THROUGH YET ANOTHER BOARDED-UP door, into another room that stank of rot and stale air. There, wedged between two towers of rotting wooden crates, he'd hidden his stash of treasures—a handful of marbles, some colored stones, feathers, a tin cup painted sky blue, and a hand-sewn animal that was either a dog or an elephant. "I think you're missing something," I said as I crouched beside the pile.
I pulled the green marble from my pocket. The boy gave a wordless chirp, then threw his arms around me. I hesitated, surprised, then hugged him back.
"What's your name?" I asked.
He only looked at me, smiled, and nodded.
I pointed at myself. "Eve. I'm Eve. And you are… ?"
The smile brightened another few watts but, again, he answered only with a nod.
"I'm going to help you get out of here. Take you someplace nice. Would you like that?"
He nodded, still smiling. I suspected that if I asked whether he wanted me to take him dogsledding in Siberia, he'd have given the same nod and smile, having no clue what I meant, but perfectly amenable to anything I suggested.
"We'll leave soon, hon," I said. "I just have to do one thing first. Find someone. Someone here." I paused. "Maybe you could help."
His head bobbed frantically, and I knew that this time he understood me. So I described Amanda Sullivan. But as I did, his eyes clouded with disappointment, and he gave a slow shake of his head.
Finding someone was a concept he understood—applying a verbal description to that person was beyond him.
I concentrated on the news article I'd read, the one with Sullivan's photo, and tried to make it materialize.
Nothing happened. No problem. My skills on this side might be weak, but I could do it easily enough in my own dimension, so after promising to be right back, I popped into the ghost world, conjured up the photo, and returned to the other side.
"This is a picture of the woman I'm looking for."
He let out a tiny shriek and dove behind me, clutching my leg, face buried against my thigh. I dropped to my knees. He pressed his face into my shoulder. His thin body quaked against mine and I cursed myself.
He knew—or sensed—what Sullivan had done. For a few minutes I held him, patting his back and murmuring words of comfort. When he stopped shaking, I shoved the photo into my pocket.
"Forget about her," I said. "Let's get you—"
He grabbed my hand and tugged, his tear-streaked face determined. When I didn't move, he sighed in exasperation, released my hand, and took off. I raced after him.
I followed the boy back through the underground row of cells, up through the hatch door, through the cell block, through a few more rooms, through another guard station and even more heavily armored doors, into a second, smaller cell block. All of these cells were full. The maximum-security ward. He led me to the last one. Inside, reading Ladies' Home Journal, was Amanda Sullivan.
I turned to the boy. He'd ducked back behind the cell wall, so Sullivan couldn't see him.
"It's okay," I said. "She can't hurt you. I promise."
A slow smile, and a nod. He darted out, arms going around me in a tight, fleeting embrace. Then he raced off back down the hall.
"No," I shouted, lunging after him. "Come—"
A hand grabbed my arm. I turned to see Trsiel.
"The boy," I said. "He's a ghost."
"George."
"You know him?"
"His mother was an inmate. He was born here, and died here five years later. Smallpox."
"He lived here?"
"When George was born, the prison doctor was at home. Apparently, he decided not to lose any sleep by coming in. George was born with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. His mother's cellmate revived him but the damage to his brain was done."
"So no one wanted him," I murmured.
Trsiel nodded. "He was allowed to stay here, with his mother."
"Why's he still here? Shouldn't someone—"
"Rescue him? In the beginning, we tried, but he always found his way back here, like a homing pigeon."
"Because this is all he knows. And he's happy here." I thought of the boy pretending to open doors before walking through them. "He doesn't realize he's dead.'"
"Is there any reason to enlighten him?"
I gave a slow shake of my head. "I guess not."
"This"—Trsiel gestured at the building around us—"won't last forever. When they tear it down, or abandon it, we'll take the child, probably reincarnate him. In such a case, that's the most humane thing."
Rosary beads. The click of someone counting off rosary beads. A distant door banged. The voice gasped, choking back her prayer mid-word. Footsteps sounded in the hall—the thud of heavy, booted feet. I stepped through the door. No one was there. Yet I could still hear the footsteps, growing louder as they came down the hall toward me.
From inside the room came a muffled whimper. As I looked around, a new sound filled the air, a steady thumping, softer than the footsteps, growing faster as they drew nearer. The tripping of a frightened heart.
"Holy Mary, mother of God."
The prayer came out no louder than a breath, whispering all around me, barely audible over the patter of her heart. The footsteps stopped outside the door. A jangle of keys followed. A whimper, sounding as if it came from right beneath me. A key screeched in the lock.
"No, no, no, no."
The door hinges squealed, and I heard it open, yet the door stayed shut. The woman gave a sudden cry that nearly sent me to the rafters. I whirled around, but I was still alone. From beneath me came the frantic scuffle of someone scrambling across the wooden floor.
"Hail Mary, full of—"
A laugh drowned out her prayer. The door slammed shut. The woman screamed. Then a slap resounded through the room, so loud I reeled as if I'd felt it. Another scream, a bloodcurdling scream of fury and fear.
And all went silent.
I looked around, tensed, waiting for the next spectral sound. But I heard only the faintest scratch of tiny claws from a distant rat.
Slowly, I stepped from the cell. The boy was right there. I jumped, letting out an oath. He waggled a finger at me, then motioned with the same finger, and took off.
I hesitated, getting my bearings, then went after him.
Chapter 15
THE BOY LED ME THROUGH YET ANOTHER BOARDED-UP door, into another room that stank of rot and stale air. There, wedged between two towers of rotting wooden crates, he'd hidden his stash of treasures—a handful of marbles, some colored stones, feathers, a tin cup painted sky blue, and a hand-sewn animal that was either a dog or an elephant. "I think you're missing something," I said as I crouched beside the pile.
I pulled the green marble from my pocket. The boy gave a wordless chirp, then threw his arms around me. I hesitated, surprised, then hugged him back.
"What's your name?" I asked.
He only looked at me, smiled, and nodded.
I pointed at myself. "Eve. I'm Eve. And you are… ?"
The smile brightened another few watts but, again, he answered only with a nod.
"I'm going to help you get out of here. Take you someplace nice. Would you like that?"
He nodded, still smiling. I suspected that if I asked whether he wanted me to take him dogsledding in Siberia, he'd have given the same nod and smile, having no clue what I meant, but perfectly amenable to anything I suggested.
"We'll leave soon, hon," I said. "I just have to do one thing first. Find someone. Someone here." I paused. "Maybe you could help."
His head bobbed frantically, and I knew that this time he understood me. So I described Amanda Sullivan. But as I did, his eyes clouded with disappointment, and he gave a slow shake of his head.
Finding someone was a concept he understood—applying a verbal description to that person was beyond him.
I concentrated on the news article I'd read, the one with Sullivan's photo, and tried to make it materialize.
Nothing happened. No problem. My skills on this side might be weak, but I could do it easily enough in my own dimension, so after promising to be right back, I popped into the ghost world, conjured up the photo, and returned to the other side.
"This is a picture of the woman I'm looking for."
He let out a tiny shriek and dove behind me, clutching my leg, face buried against my thigh. I dropped to my knees. He pressed his face into my shoulder. His thin body quaked against mine and I cursed myself.
He knew—or sensed—what Sullivan had done. For a few minutes I held him, patting his back and murmuring words of comfort. When he stopped shaking, I shoved the photo into my pocket.
"Forget about her," I said. "Let's get you—"
He grabbed my hand and tugged, his tear-streaked face determined. When I didn't move, he sighed in exasperation, released my hand, and took off. I raced after him.
I followed the boy back through the underground row of cells, up through the hatch door, through the cell block, through a few more rooms, through another guard station and even more heavily armored doors, into a second, smaller cell block. All of these cells were full. The maximum-security ward. He led me to the last one. Inside, reading Ladies' Home Journal, was Amanda Sullivan.
I turned to the boy. He'd ducked back behind the cell wall, so Sullivan couldn't see him.
"It's okay," I said. "She can't hurt you. I promise."
A slow smile, and a nod. He darted out, arms going around me in a tight, fleeting embrace. Then he raced off back down the hall.
"No," I shouted, lunging after him. "Come—"
A hand grabbed my arm. I turned to see Trsiel.
"The boy," I said. "He's a ghost."
"George."
"You know him?"
"His mother was an inmate. He was born here, and died here five years later. Smallpox."
"He lived here?"
"When George was born, the prison doctor was at home. Apparently, he decided not to lose any sleep by coming in. George was born with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. His mother's cellmate revived him but the damage to his brain was done."
"So no one wanted him," I murmured.
Trsiel nodded. "He was allowed to stay here, with his mother."
"Why's he still here? Shouldn't someone—"
"Rescue him? In the beginning, we tried, but he always found his way back here, like a homing pigeon."
"Because this is all he knows. And he's happy here." I thought of the boy pretending to open doors before walking through them. "He doesn't realize he's dead.'"
"Is there any reason to enlighten him?"
I gave a slow shake of my head. "I guess not."
"This"—Trsiel gestured at the building around us—"won't last forever. When they tear it down, or abandon it, we'll take the child, probably reincarnate him. In such a case, that's the most humane thing."
