Read The Goats Online

Authors: Brock Cole

The Goats (8 page)

“Do you see it?” he had asked. “What is it?”
She said something, but he couldn't understand her. There was something wrong with his ears. They were thick with a kind of roaring silence.
Awake, he tried to think what she might have been saying. He couldn't understand. Had she been frightened? He wasn't even sure of that.
When he knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, he got up. He wrapped himself quietly in one of the blankets and went out of the cabin. The air was cool and fresh outside. He remembered that he hadn't eaten much supper, but he still wasn't hungry. He was proud of that. He thought it meant that he was getting lean and hard, so that they would be able to survive.
He found the cabin where he thought the girl must be staying and sat down on the steps outside. He scratched lightly on the screen, but there was no response. She must have been sleeping. He knew that
he couldn't go in and look for her, but that was all right. He was close enough for the moment.
He leaned back against the screen and listened to the dark wood. Somewhere out in the brush something big and heavy was moving around. He could hear twigs and branches crushed and leaves rustling. The sound would stop occasionally, as if the creature itself were listening, and then begin again.
The boy sat very still, but he wasn't afraid. He knew that he wouldn't have to go into the dark alone. She would come if they had to go. It was a relief in a way to know that she was asleep and couldn't hear it. Soon he would be able to go back to the boys' cabin and sleep himself.
When they had been getting ready for bed, the boy had seen that Calvin's arms were marked with small round scars, like bullet holes. They weren't bullet holes. They were burns. Calvin's father had made them with a cigarette when Calvin was little.
The boy couldn't understand how someone's father could do that. Calvin had said that there were some things you didn't want to understand. Anyway, the man was dead.
The boy wondered if Calvin's father was the sliced-up man in the Museum of Science and Industry. He could have been. He probably wasn't, but he could have been.
It would have to be a man and a woman that nobody cared about. They probably hadn't even known each
other. If they had known each other and cared, then they might have been able to stop it from happening.
He could still hardly believe that there were people who would cut someone up this way and put them in a glass case, even if the man and woman were dead and no one cared. But he knew now that there were people like that.
He wondered if Pardoe would be sliced up someday. It was possible. He wondered if they would stop when they were, say, halfway through. He pictured Pardoe's body being run through a big machine like a meat slicer. There would be half a body, and then the rest in layered slices.
They might think, This is a terrible thing we are doing, but they wouldn't be able to stop. It would be too late.
 
She found him the next morning sitting alone and slightly apart at breakfast. He was eating something white and fluffy, covered with syrup. He ate very neatly, like a cat. She felt a sudden raging tenderness toward him. She was so glad he was there. She wanted to roughhouse; to throw her arms around him and wrestle him to the ground. She bet she could do it. She was bigger than he was. She couldn't, of course. He wouldn't mind, but the other kids would think they were crazy. She contented herself with sliding along his bench and bumping his hip with hers as hard as she could. He smiled at her and bumped back.
“Yuck!” she said. “What's that?”
“Grits. It's made out of corn. Did you ever have it before?”
She shook her head.
“Me neither. It's pretty good, though. You just put lots of syrup on it. It's Milo's specialty. You want some?”
“I don't know. Can I try some of yours?”
“Sure. This is my seconds, actually.” He gave her his spoon and leaned his head on his fist so he could watch her eat. He couldn't seem to stop smiling.
“That's a pretty shirt,” he said. He reached out and touched the silky red collar.
“Yeah. Lydia gave it to me. She said my T-shirt was common. You know,
Milk Bar
.” She made a face.
He didn't understand at first. He had to think about it.
“Hey,” he said. “Is that really what it means?” He wondered if someone had tricked the blond girl at the concession stand into wearing the shirt. That would have been mean.
“Do you think that girl knew?” he asked.
“Yeah. She had, you know, tits. Can I put on some more syrup? What are you grinning about?” She felt hot and touchy because she had never said that word to a boy before.
“I don't know.” He wanted to tell her how important she was, but didn't know how, so he said, “We would have been all right in the woods last night, don't you think?”
“Yeah. I wasn't really afraid. Well, maybe a little.
But we would have been all right. It's better just the two of us sometimes.”
“I think so, too. They're nice, though.”
“Except Pardoe.”
“Yes. I thought they were going to beat me up, but Calvin just laughed.”
“Why would they beat you up?”
“Well, I kicked him when he wasn't looking.”
The girl shrugged. “He's bigger than you. I should have kicked him, too, but he was so creepy that I was afraid to touch him. Where's Calvin?” The boy scratched his wrist and looked around the dining room. It was nearly full now, but he didn't see the tall black teenager.
“I don't know. He went to find Milo. He thought he could talk him into giving us a ride into town.”
“Really? That would be great.”
“It's the wrong town, though. It's someplace called Barnesville. I'm not sure how we'll get back from there.”
“Listen. It doesn't matter. I promised Tiwanda that I'd call my mother again and make her come and get us. I didn't explain properly before. If I tell her what they did to us, then she's got to come. What's the matter? Don't you think she will?”
“I don't know. What if she doesn't want me to come back with you?”
“Don't worry about it. She'll let you come. If she won't, then I won't go, either. Hey, I ate it all. Shall I go get some more?”
The boy watched her carry the empty plate through the crowd toward the stove. He wished he could feel as sure about her mother as she did. He knew it wouldn't be hard to separate them once they were with her mother. He knew what it might be like: adults holding them by their shoulders, talking over their heads. They might try to stay together, but he didn't think they would be strong enough. They were really strong only when they were alone.
IN THE morning Maddy visited the sheriff's office. It was in a small addition built onto the front of a house, covered with asbestos siding. It was very clean. The linoleum floor was so shiny that her shoes etched neat, dusty prints.
The sheriff was an old man in a brown knit suit. His manners were dry, precise, and formal.
He didn't think Maddy had much to worry about. Because she had heard from Laura, they were treating it as a case of runaways. Now, he knew that she had heard all these stories on television and milk cartons, but ninety-nine times out of a hundred, runaways showed up safe and sound of their own accord.
The State Police had been notified. They would
check on any hitchhikers Laura's age anyway, as a matter of course. The county juvenile officer had been notified. A Miss Gallagher. There was no point in going to see her, since she didn't know anything.
He expected Laura would turn up tomorrow at the Parents' Weekend, or even at home. That's where runaways from the nearby camps usually went. He hoped she would notify them if that occurred. It was a courtesy they appreciated, and it helped keep their records straight.
There was one thing. A report he thought might be relevant. He began to sort through a pile of pink flimsies on his desk with dry fingers.
“Some personal possessions—clothes—were stolen from baskets at the bathhouse at the municipal beach. The investigating officers were pretty sure that a boy and girl of about the right age were involved … Here we are.”
He held a sheet of paper at arm's length so that he could read it. “Well. This isn't much help. Green sweat shirt, bathing suit. ‘A little fox with glasses.'” The old man smiled at Maddy. “Does that sound like your daughter?”
Maddy stiffened. “My daughter has been badly abused and frightened. I doubt if she has the time to steal things from bathhouses.”
“No, of course not,” said the sheriff. “These kids were probably pretty experienced. The girl apparently distracted the attendant while the boy did the pilfering. The boy is described as very cool. Not the same
class of kids as you have at camp.” He tossed the pink slip back onto his desk. As Maddy watched it drift down among the others, she wondered what he could possibly have meant by that.
 
On the pavement outside the sheriff's office, Maddy stopped and stared up and down the empty street. The day must be got through somehow. She didn't know what to do. A sign over a café next to the motel across the street said EAT. Obediently she crossed the road and went inside.
She sat down near the front window in a booth of quilted red plastic. A waitress in a short skirt brought her a menu. On the menu were large colored photographs of plates crowded with eggs and bacon, enormous sandwiches of three and four layers, and fruit platters incorporating whole melons and pineapples. She felt as if she was being invited to eat herself to death. She ordered cold cereal.
The waitress brought a pitcher of milk and a bowl. In the bowl was a small box of cereal, still sealed. Maddy read the list of contents on the box carefully as she ate. The cereal was largely fiber and of doubtful nourishment. It seemed appropriate somehow.
When the bowl was empty, she remembered that she had not called her office and told them where she was staying. She had left the camp's number, but not the motel's. It was not too important. The camp knew where to reach her in case Laura called, but then she wasn't in her room, and almost at once she became
convinced that Laura had called and because she was sitting alone in the café she had missed the message.
She paid her bill and hurried back to the motel with quick, unsteady steps.
There were no messages. The clerk was sure. He showed her the pad where messages were recorded, and would have explained further, but she turned away. She would still call the office. It was something that she could do.
A young woman in jeans and a patched anorak caught her arm. “Mrs. Golden? I'm Margo Cutter.”
“Is she back?”
“No. We haven't heard anything. Could I talk to you a minute, Mrs. Golden?”
“I'm sorry, I was just …”
“Please, Mrs. Golden. You talked to Laura yesterday, didn't you?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Well, did she say anything about Howie? I mean, did she actually say he was with her?”
Maddy tried to remember. Laura hadn't mentioned the boy. She was almost sure of that.
“No,” she said. “I didn't know there was a boy involved until I talked to Wells. Is it important?”
“I don't know. Maybe not. The thing is, we don't even know for sure if they're together. They were … they were taken to the island separately. I know it's a little island, but they might not have found each other. I'd just feel better if I knew they were together.”
“Why?”
“Does that sound strange? You wouldn't think so if you knew Howie. He's so little and, I don't know, klutzy. I worry more about him than Laura in a way.”
Maddy didn't know what to say. This boy, this Howie, didn't seem very real to her.
“I don't mean to scare you, Mrs. Golden, but I don't think people are taking this seriously enough.”
Maddy looked at her. What did the woman mean? Did she expect Maddy to be sobbing? Tearing her hair? She felt a sudden surge of irritation.
“I'm sorry, Miss Cutter. I must call …” she began, but the woman wasn't listening.
“We just don't know anything! Laura couldn't swim. We don't know how she got off the island. We don't know if they're together. We don't know if someone picked them up, or what. They didn't have anything, Mrs. Golden. They didn't have any clothes or money. I don't understand …”
“What did you say?” Maddy's question fell through the young woman's talk into an enormous silence.
Margo looked up at her, her face troubled and frightened. “Didn't Mr. Wells tell you? They … they were stripped before they were dumped on the island. They were naked.”
Maddy was stunned. How could this have been allowed to happen? She wanted to howl with pain and anger, but instead watched the desk clerk sorting mail with quick, clever fingers.
“The sheriff …” She had to clear her throat and begin again. “The sheriff said that a boy and girl stole
some clothes at the municipal beach. ‘A little fox with glasses,' he said. Does that sound like Laura to you?”
Margo smiled hesitantly. “I don't know. I wouldn't have said …”
“I think it must have been. I think it must have been Laura.” A little fox with glasses. She had been annoyed with the description when she heard it. Now she found it comforting.
“I was just going to call my office. To see if Laura might have called again. Perhaps you'd like to come up.”
 
Margo stood by the door as Maddy sat on the bed and placed her call.
“Mrs. Pritzer? This is Mrs. Golden. I'm fine, Mrs. Pritzer. Has Laura called?”
There was a pause while Mrs. Pritzer considered the question. “Yes. She did call. Just a short time ago.”
“Thank God. What did she say? Where is she?”
“I'm sure I don't know, Mrs. Golden.”
“What?”
“It was a person-to-person collect call, Mrs. Golden. I didn't feel that I could accept the charges since you weren't here.”
“You didn't … But how could you do this? I mean, I don't know where Laura is. Don't you understand?”
“No, I don't, Mrs. Golden. No one has said anything about this to me.”
There was nothing Maddy could say. Mrs. Pritzer was right. Maddy had told her nothing. She had explained,
of course, why she had to leave work to Mr. Alexander, the head of her department. She had done everything but tell Mrs. Pritzer. She wondered vaguely why she had not. Perhaps it was because she expected the woman to know everything.
She explained that if Laura called again Mrs. Pritzer was to accept the charges. Yes, Mr. Alexander would approve. Mrs. Pritzer hung up promptly, her goodbye a carefully calculated reproof.
As Maddy replaced the receiver she realized that she had forgotten, after all, to give Mrs. Pritzer the number of the motel. Perhaps it didn't matter. If her office should try to reach her they would call the camp. That was where she would spend the day.
“Is there anyone else she might have called?” Margo asked. She had overheard enough to understand.
“What? No. There's no one.” No one at all. Of all the people she knew, there was not one that Laura might turn to. Maddy could not understand how she had allowed such a situation to arise.
“I mean, is there anyone at home? In case she calls there?”
“No. An answering machine.”
The two women looked at one another, both thinking of that empty apartment in their own way, and then Maddy dialed with trembling fingers.
The machine had recorded several messages. Someone from the office had called with an inquiry concerning certain contracts. There was a reminder about
a demonstration for the homeless. In case she had forgotten. She was really needed. Her mind began to go numb as she heard her own mother in San Diego explain in a high, unnatural voice how much she hated to leave recorded messages. Her mother paused, as if wondering why she had called, and then Laura's voice suddenly said, “Mom?”
“Laura?” said Maddy, forgetting. It was only a voice. Laura was not there. Miss Cutter took a step forward, but Maddy motioned her away.
“This is Laura. I'm okay. I didn't tell you before, but I'm not at camp anymore. I'm with this boy. I like him a lot, but it's not what you think. His parents are archaeologists. We can't go back to camp anymore because they did something really despicable to us. What …?” Laura's voice changed, no longer speaking into the phone. Faintly, Maddy heard another voice, one she had never heard before. It was soft and urgent. It was coaching Laura. Telling her what to say.
“Mom?” Laura had turned back to the phone. “They said we were the goats, and they took our clothes. I mean everything, even our underwear. They stuck us out on this island, and they were going to sneak up and spy on us, so we left. We really hate them. I mean that. So anyway, we won't be at camp tomorrow when you come up. We'll meet you in the parking lot. He's going to come home with me. His parents are in Turkey and they're not here. So please make it okay
with Mr, Wells. This is very important. We've got to stay together. I don't have any more change, so I have to go. I love you, and I'm sorry that I couldn't get adjusted at camp, but they're really despicable.”
Margo was watching her. Her eyes were wide and questioning. Her lips moved, shaping a question she was afraid to ask.
Maddy punched in the appropriate code so that the message would be replayed, and gave the receiver to the young woman. When the message was finished, Margo smiled. If she had been able to see that Maddy was reassured, she might have laughed.
“They sound okay. Really okay.”
Maddy tried to smile. “Well. At least it's not what we think.” She wondered why she didn't feel the relief that brightened Margo's face. Certainly Laura had sounded all right. Her voice had reduced everything to the commonplace. To the manageable. Why was she still so uneasy?
“I just wish we knew where they were. If they had enough to eat.”
“I think I know where they are. At least roughly. They've probably broken into one of the empty summer cottages along the lake. There are dozens of them. They could find what they need there.”
“Cottages? Can't we go find them?”
“I've already looked. Yesterday.”
“But you didn't find anything?”
“Oh yeah. I found eight at least that somebody had broken into. It's the local sport for teenagers around
here. I couldn't tell if they had been there. It would depend, I guess, on whether they wanted to be found. Listen, Mrs. Golden, I don't think you have to worry. They seemed to be taking care of themselves pretty well. It might be best just to show up at the parking lot tomorrow.”

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