The Children of the Lost Read online

  Farley rolled his eyes. “Come on, now. You boys are fallin’ for that Hollywood nonsense?”

  “Nonsense?” I asked. “But I thought . . .”

  Farley scowled again. “Do your research, boys. The ‘lost’ myth is just that, a myth. It’s something the media made up to beef up the story, and all the eyewitnesses who reported it just happened to report it after seeing it on the news. I don’t think anyone involved with the case seriously thinks it really happened.”

  I caught Frank’s eye. Innnnnteresting.

  Suddenly, there was a loud beeping sound. I jumped, startled, before realizing the loud noise was coming from . . . my pants! Suddenly understanding what it was, I whipped my phone out of my pocket.

  “You have gotta be kiddin’ me,” Farley grumbled. “You even get reception out here?”

  “Some,” I said vaguely, clicking open my phone. I didn’t want to tell Farley that the souped-up cell phones ATAC supplied us with work everywhere. “Hello?”

  “Joe, it’s Rich. I know it’s early, but—”

  “It’s fine,” I replied, looking back at Farley, who was now eagerly showing Frank something about the river and the way the campsite was situated on it. “As it happens, we were already up.”

  “Rough night, huh?” Rich replied, but he continued before I could respond. “Listen, I need you boys to come to the hospital as soon as possible. There’s been an important development.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, hoping that somehow Rich had learned something that would solve the whole nature vs. man debate. After spending the morning with Farley, I was less sure than ever of what had happened to these kids.

  “The DNA results are in,” he told me. “Justin is definitely the same boy who disappeared twelve years ago. And the doctors are hoping the results might press him to remember something.”

  Something Wild

  Farley wouldn’t hear of us taking a cab to the hospital or waiting for Rich to come pick us up. When he heard that we were needed at the hospital, he insisted on driving us into town himself.

  “Shoot,” he said, putting the Jeep into gear as we bumped over the main road of the park toward the exit. “I don’t suppose it’ll take me twenty minutes, there and back. And I want to make sure you boys get the real facts for this paper of yours.”

  Actually, once we were off the subject of the Misty Falls Lost, Farley wasn’t so bad. He told us about his long career as a ranger and his long marriage to his wife, Sylvie, who had died just eighteen months ago. They had a son, Sean—but he had died years ago, serving in the army during Desert Storm.

  “It’s a heck of a thing,” Farley said, his voice strained, “to lose a child. I know how hard it was for Sylvie and me, and I know how tough it must be for all these poor parents of the children who were lost in my park.” He paused and looked at me, his eyes sincere. “I just don’t think it helps no one to make up stories and legends and call this anything besides what it was—a tragic accident.”

  “Several tragic accidents,” Joe put in from the backseat.

  Farley blinked, then nodded. “Several. That’s right. I’ve seen a lot of terrible things happen in my park, boys. Those children—those just might be the worst. But I’ve seen enough to know that bears do attack, people do slip and fall and die, people do drown. Nature is beautiful and I love that park with all my heart. But she’s dangerous, too. She’s dangerous. You remember that, boys, all right?”

  He’d pulled into the parking lot and now edged the Jeep into a parking space.

  “Are you coming in?” I asked as Farley put the Jeep in park and shut down the ignition.

  Farley looked a little caught off guard by my question, but he nodded curtly. “One of my good friends,” he said, “just had gallbladder surgery. I s’pose I’ll go in and see how the nurses are treatin’ him. Why do you look so surprised, boy?”

  I blinked and shrugged. I hadn’t realized I did look surprised—though maybe I was a little surprised that Farley, who seemed so skeptical of anything to do with the “so-called” Misty Falls Lost, was coming into the hospital that housed Justin. And there was something else, too. There was something . . . wild about Farley. I could see him tracking a bear, I could see him making fire with two sticks, I could see him gutting a rabbit and cooking it for dinner (whether he even liked rabbit, of course, I didn’t know)—but I couldn’t really see him entering a hospital with a cheery face and a “get well soon” balloon. Of course that was my own weird bias, though. It only made sense that Farley was connected to this town; he’d lived here for decades.

  Farley grinned mischievously as we walked to the entrance. “You surprised I have friends, are ya?”

  I shook my head. “No, sir. I find you delightful.”

  Farley laughed then, a deep, long laugh that he had to throw back his head to let out. When he finished, he clapped me on my shoulder. “I suppose you’re all right,” he told me, “for a city slicker.”

  Joe caught my eye and smiled—he knew me well enough to know that I hadn’t been trying to make a joke. I just liked Farley. Still, I seemed to have gained points with the old man.

  Farley accompanied us to the psych floor, explaining that his friend’s room was just one floor above: “I s’pose I can escort you boys to the right nurses’ station, make sure they don’t mistake you for more lost children.” When we reached the nurses’ station and explained that we were looking for Detective Cole, the ponytailed nurse at the front desk held up her hand. “Just a moment. We’ll let him know and someone will be right with you.”

  We waited for a few minutes before a familiar curly-haired candy striper passed by the station. “Well hello there,” said Chloe, looking from Joe (briefly) to me. Her eyes stayed on me for a moment, or maybe I was just imagining things.

  “Hello, Chloe,” I said, hoping I didn’t have a goofy grin on my face.

  “Are you here to see Justin?” she asked. “You heard the news, right? That it’s definitely him?”

  I nodded. “It’s really exciting,” I said, which right after I said it I realized sounded ridiculous. Really exciting? Like this was a roller coaster I couldn’t wait to ride? “I mean . . . I’m glad his parents are sure now. I mean . . .”

  Chloe nodded. “It is exciting for what this means about memory,” she said. “I’ve been talking to Dr. Carrini about it. If he really is Justin, then it means he really has repressed so many of his memories. We’re trying hard to get them back. In fact, Dr. Carrini wants to have an interview with Justin in a few minutes—just to talk to him, to see if the test results trigger anything.”

  Behind me, Farley huffed. I’d actually forgotten he was back there. “They haven’t told the boy yet?” he asked, clearly disapproving.

  Chloe glanced at him. “Er . . . no, not yet. Dr. Carrini wanted everyone here. Oh . . .” She looked behind us, relief crossing her face. “Here he is. I’m sure he’ll fill you in. Frank, Joe, I’m sure I’ll see you in there.” She smiled warmly, looking right into my eyes, and then walked off.

  In the few seconds before Dr. Carrini reached us, Joe let out a low whistle.

  Farley snorted. “No kidding,” he muttered, squinting at me. “Boy, you’re red enough to blend in with a fire engine.”

  Before I could defend myself, Dr. Carrini breezed between us and smiled at Frank and me. If he even noticed Farley was there, he made no indication.

  “Boys,” he said, “I’m glad you could make it. Detective Cole is back in the room with Justin and his parents. We’re just about to tell him the results of the DNA testing, which confirm that he is, in fact, Justin Greer.”

  I nodded.

  “Interesting,” said Joe.

  Dr. Carrini went on: “It’s my hope that this will trigger some memories in Justin. Now that he knows we’re not lying to him or making assumptions—there’s no denying that he is these folks’ child. Because I have to be honest with you, boys—I’m beginning to worry about Justin’s memory.”

  Farl
ey spoke up: “You mean you’re afraid the boy won’t ever remember who he is?” he asked. He looked saddened by that news, and I filed that little piece of info away. It seemed Farley really was sympathetic to the missing kids and their parents. That made him less of a suspect in my book.

  Dr. Carrini frowned at him. “I’m sorry. You are?”

  Farley held out his hand. “Farley O’Keefe, park ranger for thirty years,” he said, forcefully grabbing the doctor’s hand and shaking it hard. “I been showin’ these boys around.”

  Dr. Carrini tipped his head. “I see. Well, yes, Mr. O’Keefe, I am beginning to wonder whether Justin will ever truly remember who he is. Even if he recovers some memories, at this point, I fear he may always have gaps.”

  Joe furrowed his brow. “And the cause of that would be . . .?”

  The doctor shrugged. “Well, that’s what we hope to learn, boys. There are many potential causes. Head injury. Drug abuse. But in the meantime, let’s stay positive: I hope we will be able to help Justin remember today.”

  I heard running footsteps and looked up to see Rich coming up behind Dr. Carrini. “Oh, good,” he said, looking at Joe and me with relief. “You two made it. And hey there, Farley.”

  Farley nodded.

  Rich touched the doctor’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “Listen, Edie and Jacob are very eager to start this. Things are getting a little tense in there. Can we begin?”

  Dr. Carrini agreed quickly. “Sure. Come on, boys. Let’s get this started.”

  We moved to follow them down the hall, but Rich paused and gestured to Farley. “You want to come, Farley? I know you must be curious about the boy. You certainly went through enough with these investigations.”

  I expected Farley to scowl and refuse, but when I turned, the expression on his face was hard to describe. It was a mixture of a lot of things—loss, anger, vulnerability, but most of all, sadness. “No, Richard,” he said softly, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “I’m on my way out. See you, boys.”

  He spun around and had gotten halfway down the hall before we could reply.

  “Wow,” Joe murmured, giving me a sideways glance. “I guess he really does have a heart.”

  I nodded, turning to Rich. “Mr. O’Keefe is a . . . an interesting guy.”

  Rich snorted. “Yeah, he sure is. One heck of a town character, he is. But a decent guy.” He paused. “He lost a son years ago, you know.”

  “He told us,” Joe said with a nod. “Killed in the first Iraq war.”

  Rich nodded. “I always thought . . . well. Of course no one wants to see children hurt. But I think all these disappearances . . . they took a special toll on Farley. Because of what he’d been through with his son.”

  I nodded. For a moment, we were all quiet.

  “Anyway,” Rich went on as we stood in front of Justin’s door. “Let’s see if we can’t solve some mysteries.”

  • • •

  Inside Justin’s room, Edie sat at his bedside, stroking his hand and flipping through a family album. Justin was looking at the pictures politely, but with no emotion in his eyes. Beside his bed, I noticed, was a small piece of wood that slightly resembled an elk, with a whittling knife beside it. Rich followed my gaze and nodded.

  “Another secret talent of Justin’s,” he whispered to me. “We discovered it last night.”

  Hmmm. Where might Justin have learned to whittle? Or had he taught himself? It was an interesting clue, but—like everything we had learned about Justin so far—it didn’t seem to lead us in any specific direction.

  On the other side of the room, by the window, Jacob sat with his nose in a Gearhead magazine. Every so often he would peek over the top, but he always seemed disappointed by what he saw Justin doing. I stepped into the room and was surprised to find another man—around the same age as Jacob and Edie but with short, grayish hair and a neat mustache—standing against the wall next to the door. He glanced up at me glancing at him.

  “Hank Stapleton,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand. “I’m Edie’s husband. And you two . . . ?”

  Rich stepped in. “These are the boys come to write a paper about the missing children, Hank,” he said gently. “Edie and Jacob said they didn’t mind if I brought ’em in.”

  Hank looked surprised, but he nodded absently. “Okay then,” he said, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you boys.”

  “Likewise,” said Joe with an apologetic smile.

  “All right,” announced Dr. Carrini, pulling up a chair to sit beside Justin, opposite Edie. “Justin, I’ve gathered your friends and family here because we have something to announce to you,” he said.

  Justin frowned, turning to Edie, but Dr. Carrini reached over and took his face in his hands and guided Justin’s eyes back to him. “Listen, Justin,” he went on. “It’s very important that you focus on me when I’m talking to you. Understand?”

  Justin stared at him, his expression a bit confused but still mostly blank. “Okay.”

  “What?”

  “I understand.”

  Dr. Carrini nodded. “Good. Your social skills are getting better. Now, Justin, do you remember the tests we ran a couple days ago? I took a swab of cells from inside your mouth.”

  “I remember,” Justin agreed. He turned his head just slightly, seeking out Jacob, who’d put down the magazine and was watching with a pained expression. “That man doesn’t think I’m his son.”

  Jacob coughed. “It’s not that. I just want to be su—”

  Dr. Carrini turned to hush Jacob. “Mr. Greer. Please let me direct the session.”

  Jacob looked stung. “Okay,” he muttered, and he grabbed his magazine again, holding it in his lap.

  Dr. Carrini turned back to Justin, who now was looking directly at the doctor again. “Now, Justin, we have the results of those tests. Those tests have proven, my boy, that you are Justin Greer. There can be no doubt now.” He paused. Justin opened his mouth and closed it. He looked down at the sheets and began fiddling with the top one. He looked confused, as though he understood he was supposed to have some kind of reaction but felt none.

  I caught Joe’s eye across the room. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

  “These are your parents, Justin,” Dr. Carrini went on, gesturing to Edie and Jacob. “Jacob, please come closer. Look at them, Justin.” He paused. Jacob put down his magazine again and shuffled toward the bed. He and Edie both looked at their son, their expressions naked and sad, hoping for even the tiniest sign of recognition.

  “Justin,” Dr. Carrini went on, “I want you to think hard. Do you remember these people? Do you remember anything about them?”

  Justin stared hard at Edie, then at Jacob, his eyes wide. He looked pained, like he was literally searching every crevice of his mind. But I could see from his expression that he wasn’t finding what he knew he should.

  “No,” he said finally. And he pulled away, looking back at his sheets.

  I let out a deep breath. For a moment, it felt like all the air had been let out of the room. Nobody said a word, but you could feel the change in the atmosphere. After a moment, Edie started to weep.

  I looked to Jacob, who seemed completely stunned. His face was still arranged in the same hopeful expression from just moments before, but his eyes had turned dark.

  “No!” he cried finally, slapping his hand down on the edge of the bed. Edie sobbed louder.

  Dr. Carrini was backing up his chair, and he held out his hands. “Now, Jacob,” he said, his voice low and bland. “You know—”

  “I don’t know nothin’!” Jacob shouted, his furious eyes turning on Dr. Carrini. “I don’t know why this boy survived, only to turn into someone I don’t know! And I don’t know how to be a father to this—to this wild thing when he doesn’t even remember who I am!”

  Edie sobbed even louder. Hank moved away from his spot on the wall, taking her in his arms.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” Jacob went on, h
is eyes boring into Dr. Carrini’s, his voice ragged with emotion, “with a wife who’s forgotten who I am and a boy who’ll never remember me. Who’ll never be normal.”

  Edie cried out then, and she suddenly pushed Hank away from her. “Let me go, let me go,” she begged. “I can’t take this another second.”

  She jumped up from her spot in the chair, then darted from the room. Hank hesitated for just a moment before following her. Jacob was sniffling, and he wiped furiously at his eyes.

  Justin picked silently at the sheets. If the proceedings had bothered him at all, if he had even noticed them, he made no sign of it. A few seconds after Edie left, he picked up the wood figure and the knife from the table by his bed and started whittling.

  It was then that I felt Joe’s hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go,” he urged.

  Of course he was right. We probably should have excused ourselves minutes before. This was all too personal for us to witness. But I had been too stunned by what had happened to react.

  Nodding at Rich and Dr. Carrini, we left the room.

  “Wow,” Joe whispered when we were out of earshot. “I know we’ve witnessed a lot of sad things before, but . . . wow.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “I know we were hoping to hear something that would help our investigation, but I almost wish we could go back in time and stay at the park. That felt . . . raw.”

  “Those poor people,” agreed Joe.

  We continued strolling down the hallway, back to the nurses’ station. Right before we got there, Hank spotted us as he was walking back toward the room.

  “Boys,” he said with a nod as we drew closer. “I’m . . . I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

  “Don’t be,” Joe said. “We’re sorry this must be so difficult for you and your wife. You have our sympathy.”

  Hank sighed. He was a gentle-looking man, especially compared with Jacob’s gruffness. His hair and mustache were neat and well-trimmed, he wore a yellow polo shirt and khakis, and even his fingernails were impeccable. If Jacob looked like a bit of a mountain man, Hank looked like a soccer dad from the suburbs.