Once Beyond a Time (21 page)

I stand in the middle of the woods watching and listening. How far should I go? All the way to the top? If I go to the top, will you be there?

I push the thought of bears from my mind. And poisonous snakes. The woods are a dangerous place for a little boy. When we find you, son, you will be getting the punishment of your life. Believe me, Digger, this will be one lesson you will never forget. If you’ve never seen me angry before, you will see me angry now. I swear to you, son, as soon as I see you I will … I will … oh dear God, I will grab you up in my arms and hold you, and I’m not sure I’ll be able ever to let you go.

I look up past the tops of the trees. A ghostly moon hangs pale and transparent in the sky.

“Digger!”

Saturday, September 7, 1968

I
HEAR FOOTSTEPS
on the front porch, and my heart leaps up with hope. In the next moment, though, the hope gives way again to fear. It’s Steve, but he’s alone. He lets himself in and shakes his head at me. “I looked everywhere,” he says, “and there’s no sign of him.”

“No sign?” I repeat. My voice is weak. “Nothing?”

Linda grabs my hand. “Don’t worry, Mom,” she says. “Maybe Dad’s found him. He’ll be back soon.”

I turn away from Steve and let Linda lead me out to the backyard where, arms around each other, we wait for Sheldon to return. If Linda weren’t holding me up I’m not sure I’d have the strength to stand.

Did I know what fear was before tonight? I thought I did when Carl went off to ’Nam. That was fear, yes, but now I know that fear has no limits, that it plunges to depths I never would have imagined.

Steve joins us outside and sits in the folding lawn chair. He takes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his shirt pocket. He lip-tugs a cigarette from the cellophane wrapper, his fingers tremble slightly as he lights up. Squinting against the smoke, he inhales deeply, lets it out. He looks off toward the woods. Like Linda and me, he is now helpless to do anything but wait for Sheldon to return.

Dusk has fallen and the moon, round and luminous, is starting to appear. The stars will follow soon, and then darkness. And then I don’t know how I will keep from losing my mind.

“If Sheldon comes back without him,” Steve is saying, “we’ll call the sheriff. I’ll call. I maybe should have done that right away, maybe shouldn’t have waited. But I was sure he’d be right around here somewhere. I mean, a little kid like that can’t go far, can he? But listen, don’t worry, the sheriff and I go way back. John’s a good man, very capable. He and his men will find Digger. They’ll organize search parties and send men out into these mountains so fast your …”

Once he starts talking, he can’t seem to stop. But I can’t take in this steady stream of sound. There’s no room for it. The fear takes up every inch of space inside of me.

Oh God, where is my son? What have you done with my son?

“Mom. Mom.” Linda is squeezing my arm.

“What it is, Linda?” Our voices sound small and distant, like I am only half conscious.

“What’s that light up there?”

She has disentangled one arm from me and is pointing upward. I follow her finger to the darkening sky. I can’t think. I’m groggy and dizzy with dread. “A star,” I say. “Venus, maybe.” Why is she talking to me about anything other than Digger?

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I’ve seen Venus before and that’s not Venus. That’s the biggest star I’ve ever seen.”

I take a deep breath. I do not care about the stars, the sky, the earth, or anything
on
the earth other than my son. Don’t speak to me about anything but my son.

“Meg.” Steve stands abruptly. “I just saw a light in the woods. It must be Sheldon’s flashlight. He’s on his way back down.”

I see it now too, a thin beam bouncing off the trees.

“Sheldon!” Steve hollers. “Did you find him? Did you find Digger?”

Sheldon doesn’t answer. Several excruciating moments pass as the light comes closer. I’m trembling. I forget to breathe.

When Sheldon emerges from the woods, Steve asks again, “Did you find him, Shel?”

But still Sheldon doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even shake his head. He doesn’t need to. He’s alone, and that’s our answer.

Digger is gone, night has fallen, and I know as sure as I’m standing here that life is never going to be the same again.

Saturday, September 7, 1968

“L
ET’S START WITH
the simplest and most likely scenario,” the sheriff says. “Have you called the boy’s friends? Because chances are he’s gone off to another house in town just looking for someone to play with.”

Friends? It never occurred to us to call anyone other than Steve. Digger didn’t have any friends. Except Mac. But how do we explain Mac without falling under suspicion ourselves? A single mention of seeing into time and we’d be condemned as lunatics, capable of doing who-knows-what to our own son.

Before I manage to say anything, Meg speaks up. “We only just moved here this summer,” she says. “He hasn’t had a chance to make friends yet, outside of his cousin Marjorie. He was just starting to get to know the kids at school, but he was only there for three days before …”

Sheriff Fields nods as he shifts position on the edge of the overstuffed chair. A deputy stands beside him, scribbling in a small notebook pulled from his breast pocket. The stub of a pencil scratches at the paper the moment anyone begins to speak.

Both speech and scratching stop in the wake of Meg’s unspoken words. We all know what she had meant to say but couldn’t.
Before Digger disappeared.

The sheriff clears his throat. “I see,” he says. “So he hasn’t ever visited at the homes of any of the kids from school?”

I shake my head. An ache is forming at the base of my skull; it tightens when I take a deep breath. “No,” I say. “Not that we know of, anyway.”

“All right. And you don’t believe he’s come into contact with any kid or group of kids who might have talked him into doing something he shouldn’t be doing?”

I shake my head again, harder this time. “No. No, we’re certain of that.”

We are sitting in the living room, Meg and I on the couch, Steve in the wing chair. Sheriff John Fields and his deputy arrived a few minutes ago. They wear their authority like a second badge pinned to their uniforms. Their imposing presence here both comforts me and fills me with dread.

Just as I finish answering the sheriff’s question, Linda returns from upstairs with last year’s school picture of Digger. She hands it to the sheriff, who studies it a moment before handing it to the deputy. Instead of sitting, Linda moves to the archway between the living room and kitchen and simply stands there, as though she wants to be on the periphery of things.

“Tell me about today, then,” the sheriff goes on. “Anything out of the ordinary happen to him today?”

“Out of the ordinary?” Meg echoes.

“He have a fight with anyone, get in trouble for anything? Were you punishing him for anything?”

My eyes wander over to Linda, who is listening with a fist to her mouth.

I hear Meg say, “No, he wasn’t being punished. Nothing happened at all. Donna and Marjorie came over and the kids were playing in the yard, they were getting along all right, having a good time.”

“Linda,” I say quietly, “do you know anything?”

Her eyes widen. She shakes her head. “No, I don’t know anything.”

“Did you fight with Digger today?”

“Fight with him? I wasn’t even around very much. Gail and I went shopping over in Asheville, and then we went to her house to do homework, and then I was eating supper with them when Mom called to say Digger disappeared.”

“All right,” Sheriff Fields says. “What about school then? He had any trouble with the teachers?”

“None at all.” Meg says. “He says he likes his teachers, and he’s happy at school. We certainly haven’t gotten any reports from the school that he’s been in trouble.”

The sheriff gazes at both of us for a long moment. The house becomes so quiet I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. Finally, Sheriff Fields asks, “Has your son ever run away before?”

Meg gasps. Color creeps up her neck and fans out over her cheeks. I feel my own jaw tighten. By now the ache has climbed to my brow and has fastened itself there like a vise.

“Digger’s never run away,” she tells the sheriff. “He’s a good boy.”

The sheriff’s eyes shift from Meg to me. He’s waiting for me to respond as well. The deputy’s pencil is poised to write.

“There’s no question about him running away,” I say firmly. “He didn’t. He had no reason to.”

“So the boy was happy here at home?”

“Of course!” Meg’s hands clench into fists in her lap. I long to put my hand over hers to comfort her, but I don’t dare.

The sheriff looks at me, and I nod my agreement. Digger was perhaps the one happy person in this house.

“Listen, John,” Steve interjects. He leans forward in the chair where he’s been sitting quietly till now. “I know my nephew. We’re not dealing with a runaway here.”

The sheriff takes a deep breath. “I know how you all feel. I have a boy myself, right about your son’s age. I know this isn’t easy, but there are certain things I have to ask.” He pauses long enough to cough and clear his
throat again. “What was your son wearing when he disappeared?”

Meg puts a hand to her forehead. “Um, a striped shirt—”

“What color?”

“White and green. A white and green shirt and brown shorts. Blue sneakers.”

“Socks?”

“Yes, white socks. And a clover chain necklace.”

“A clover chain necklace?” Two deep lines form between the sheriff’s brows.

“His cousin Marjorie made it for him.”

“I see.”

I know what the sheriff is thinking. Why would Meg mention such a necklace? It won’t last long.

As though she hears the unspoken question, Meg says, “Maybe you’ll find the necklace somewhere. That way you’ll know he was there.”

The sheriff nods. “Any identifying marks? Scars? Birthmarks?”

I think a minute. I almost mention Digger’s loose tooth, but that won’t last long either. It was almost ready to fall out. My heart clenches with the fear that it will never go under his pillow to be exchanged for a nickel.

Meg is slowly shaking her head. “No, no scars to speak of. And no birthmarks.”

We sit quietly a moment, waiting for the deputy’s pencil to catch up. A lift of the young man’s brows tells us he’s almost there.

But I’m unwilling to wait any longer. “I searched the mountain behind our house,” I tell the sheriff, “and Steve walked the road to the bottom of the mountain. We turned up nothing. How soon can you send your men out?”

Sheriff Fields looks apologetic, but his voice is firm. “We can’t do anything for twenty-four to seventy-two hours,” he says.

I am stunned. “B-but why not?” I stutter.

“I’m afraid that’s the way the law works, Mr. Crane. Problem is, at this point, we have nothing to go on. We don’t even know yet whether we have a crime or a missing person.”

“What do you mean, Sheriff?”

“Well, he could be missing because he’s gotten himself lost out in the woods somewhere. Now I don’t like to think of these things, but he may have gotten himself caught in a bear trap. He may have been captured by a bear or some other wild animal. If it’s a scenario like that, we’re not talking crime. On the other hand, Digger may have been abducted. Someone may have taken him.”

“But,” Meg cries, “that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Wherever he is, surely he needs our help now!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sheriff Fields agrees politely. “And that’s why I’d encourage you to call around. Call anyone in town who might know anything at all of his whereabouts. But like I said, the soonest I can put out an APB is twenty-four hours. Without a scrap of evidence, there’s nothing I can do before that. Right now we can’t rule out the possibility the boy will come home on his own.”

The thought of waiting is like a kick in the gut, knocking the breath out of me. Finally I manage to ask, “What kind of evidence are you looking for?”

“Signs of a struggle. Any clue that a stranger might have taken him. Anything at all.”

Megs says, “He was in the backyard, and then he was gone. There weren’t any signs of a struggle. I didn’t even hear Digger scream. How could anyone have taken Digger without me hearing them?”

The sheriff sighs heavily, as though he’s wearied by our questions. “That’s why I’m thinking the boy wandered off somewhere. And the most likely scenario is that he’ll wander back home. Still, we can’t rule out abduction. It’s unlikely but still possible that someone kidnapped your son.”

“But why? Why would anyone kidnap our son?”

“Could be a couple of reasons.” The sheriff looks down at his hands. I have a feeling I don’t want to hear what he’s about to say. “It may be someone looking for money, wanting you to pay a ransom to get the boy back.”

“A ransom?” I ask. “Why would they choose us?” I wave a hand at the room as though to say,
We obviously don’t have any money.
“Don’t kidnappers usually take the children of wealthy parents?”