needed him. He needed Dad's strength and intelligence and bravery, the things he'd always believed in.
Mark felt like a scrap of nothing.
The phone rang again. This time it was one of Mary's friends. "Keep the calls brief," Walt said.
Mark had just hung up when a car stopped out front. Two men got out, young men wearing neat suits. The family knew at once that the FBI had arrived. The men hurried up to the porch, passing through the little knot of neighbors that was gathering on the sidewalk.
The porch was shadowy and Mark turned on the light. The young men introduced themselves. They came into the house. Realizing that his presence was no longer needed, Mike Gerrard went out to the sidewalk and began conferring in an intense undertone with other neighbors who had gathered there.
The two young men were full of crisp confidence. But they wanted to be taken down the same road that Walt had traveled, the painful road through every corner of Billy's young life.
There were forms to fill out and work to be done. A truck appeared, containing a laboratory team from Des Moines. Suddenly the house was full of people, pictures were being made, fingerprints being taken, steps and couches and every inch of Billy's room vacuumed.
One of the FBI agents, a redhead named Franklin Young, showed Sally and Mark a form. "This is the National Crime Information Center Missing Person Report," he said. "We're going to fill it out together, then it's going to be faxed to Washington."
Young filled out part of the form himself. "I'm going to list Billy as believed endangered in the message key. That doesn't mean we know something you don't. It's policy for any stranger abduction of a juvenile. Also, it'll give the case highest priority."
Once again Mary and Mark addressed themselves to the details of their son's life. As she worked Mary felt a kind of fury building in her. She had a brief, bloody fantasy of seeing the kidnapper's head explode.
Under "Miscellaneous Information" they wrote a description of the kidnapping, the fact that Billy had waked Mark up with the story about the man in the front yard, the detail of the oiled storm door, the missing clothing and bike. The agents were careful and patient; they left nothing out.
When the form was finally completed, Franklin Young took it out to his car. As he drove off to fax it to the National Crime Information Center, one of the police lab workers began fin gerprinting the Nearys so that any prints left by a stranger in their house could be identified.
To Mary all this activity made it seem as if the world's bindings had come loose. She could not move, could not think anymore, could not fill out forms, talk, explain, thank, hope.
When the phone rang again Mary very carefully took a throw pillow from the couch and pressed it against her face. She screamed, then, and screamed again. She felt Mark's hand touching her arm, clasping it, heard his voice as if from a long, long distance. "Mary! Mary, for God's sake!"
She went on screaming, louder and louder. She did not try to stop, did not even want to. She thought she might scream on forever.
10.
Billy knew he was in bed, which was fine, but there was this humming sound. Then he was a balloon full of warm air, and the humming was making him vibrate. He was a red balloon, sailing through a clear sky, sailing slowly higher and higher—
What was that humming, and that jostling? Once in a while, the bed would definitely jostle.
Light flickered behind his eyes. Everything was all warm and soft. But it wasn't nice, not at all. He felt like something very old and very dead had been poured down his throat. Had he come down with the flu during the night? No, the doctor had said—
The doctor?
My house burned down and I'm in the hospital!
He tried to get up but it didn't work, and he remembered why. A long, long time ago he'd waked up, and he'd discovered that he was held down by straps.
So why do they tie you up in the
Mark felt like a scrap of nothing.
The phone rang again. This time it was one of Mary's friends. "Keep the calls brief," Walt said.
Mark had just hung up when a car stopped out front. Two men got out, young men wearing neat suits. The family knew at once that the FBI had arrived. The men hurried up to the porch, passing through the little knot of neighbors that was gathering on the sidewalk.
The porch was shadowy and Mark turned on the light. The young men introduced themselves. They came into the house. Realizing that his presence was no longer needed, Mike Gerrard went out to the sidewalk and began conferring in an intense undertone with other neighbors who had gathered there.
The two young men were full of crisp confidence. But they wanted to be taken down the same road that Walt had traveled, the painful road through every corner of Billy's young life.
There were forms to fill out and work to be done. A truck appeared, containing a laboratory team from Des Moines. Suddenly the house was full of people, pictures were being made, fingerprints being taken, steps and couches and every inch of Billy's room vacuumed.
One of the FBI agents, a redhead named Franklin Young, showed Sally and Mark a form. "This is the National Crime Information Center Missing Person Report," he said. "We're going to fill it out together, then it's going to be faxed to Washington."
Young filled out part of the form himself. "I'm going to list Billy as believed endangered in the message key. That doesn't mean we know something you don't. It's policy for any stranger abduction of a juvenile. Also, it'll give the case highest priority."
Once again Mary and Mark addressed themselves to the details of their son's life. As she worked Mary felt a kind of fury building in her. She had a brief, bloody fantasy of seeing the kidnapper's head explode.
Under "Miscellaneous Information" they wrote a description of the kidnapping, the fact that Billy had waked Mark up with the story about the man in the front yard, the detail of the oiled storm door, the missing clothing and bike. The agents were careful and patient; they left nothing out.
When the form was finally completed, Franklin Young took it out to his car. As he drove off to fax it to the National Crime Information Center, one of the police lab workers began fin gerprinting the Nearys so that any prints left by a stranger in their house could be identified.
To Mary all this activity made it seem as if the world's bindings had come loose. She could not move, could not think anymore, could not fill out forms, talk, explain, thank, hope.
When the phone rang again Mary very carefully took a throw pillow from the couch and pressed it against her face. She screamed, then, and screamed again. She felt Mark's hand touching her arm, clasping it, heard his voice as if from a long, long distance. "Mary! Mary, for God's sake!"
She went on screaming, louder and louder. She did not try to stop, did not even want to. She thought she might scream on forever.
10.
Billy knew he was in bed, which was fine, but there was this humming sound. Then he was a balloon full of warm air, and the humming was making him vibrate. He was a red balloon, sailing through a clear sky, sailing slowly higher and higher—
What was that humming, and that jostling? Once in a while, the bed would definitely jostle.
Light flickered behind his eyes. Everything was all warm and soft. But it wasn't nice, not at all. He felt like something very old and very dead had been poured down his throat. Had he come down with the flu during the night? No, the doctor had said—
The doctor?
My house burned down and I'm in the hospital!
He tried to get up but it didn't work, and he remembered why. A long, long time ago he'd waked up, and he'd discovered that he was held down by straps.
So why do they tie you up in the
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