Shelter (50 page)

    * * *

    What was she going to do? Every principle she had told her to call the people she knew at shelters, the people she'd met through her work with CALM, to get help for this Henry, whoever he was. But he knew too much. If he knew about Bluebell, he knew too much about Nicholas. Just two nights ago, there'd been a story on the news about a boy, a teenager, who'd been brainwiped because he'd been setting fires and stealing from his parents. She couldn't let that happen to Nicholas. She couldn't.

    And maybe Henry wasn't even real. Maybe Nicholas was just making it all up. Maybe he'd taken Bluebell from school and let her go on the side of the hill, where she'd be able to forage for food, at least until one of the feral cats got her; maybe he'd invented Henry as a way of consoling himself and fooling the monsters. This was Nicholas she was dealing with, and Nicholas, Goddess help them all, was not exactly sane. It could just be a story.

    Or not. The coincidence with the names and the cats was too neat. What was she going to do?

    Think, Meredith. Think. What would you do if a normal child, a sane child, told you a story about a mysterious man living in the side of the hill near school?

    She didn't have a normal, sane child. How could she even answer the question?

    She should call the school to see if they knew anything. But she couldn't. She couldn't take the risk of alerting Fred and Roberta to Nicholas's extracurricular activities. And obviously they didn't know anything about Henry—did they?—or they'd have called her. No school, surely, would allow its children to make friends with mysterious strangers who lived in the bushes.

    She had to talk to someone. Who could she talk to? There'd been a CALM presentation, a few weeks ago, by some community-relations guy for the police department, talking about the homeless problem. Where was his card again? She dug through her briefcase, through CALM position papers and KinderkAIr parent mailings, until she found the small square of cardboard. Ben Witts. He'd seemed like a decent man, a compassionate man: he saw the homeless as people, not automatically as criminals. She'd call him.

    * * *

    "Henry Carviero?" Ben said. "Sure, everybody knows Henry. He's been a local institution for years. That restaurant on Levi Plaza feeds him from the Dumpsters, and he feeds the cats. We kicked him out of there when the school opened, got him into a halfway house. When did he come back?"

    Meredith closed her eyes. Henry Carviero. It was the same Henry. The Henry she'd found at the Maddie Center, sleeping on the couch. The Henry she'd gotten into trouble with the police, although she hadn't meant to. How could this be happening? It was impossible. "I don't know," she said. "I haven't seen him. I only know he's there because my son told me about him."

    "He's been talking to your son?" Ben's voice was sharper. "How long has this been happening? Has he hurt the child?"

    This is bigger than I am, Meredith thought. "I don't know how long it's been happening. I don't think he's hurt Nicholas—he told Nicholas not to tell anyone he was there, but if he's afraid of being relocated–"

    "Meredith, he shouldn't have gone back there in the first place. We told him to stay away. We got him into a halfway house. And if he snuck back and now he's engaging in secretive behavior with children–"

    "I don't think he's hurting Nicholas," Meredith said. He's trying to help Nicholas, but I can't tell you about that because I can't admit that Nicholas needs help because then he'll be brainwiped oh Goddess help me. "Ben, I didn't call you to get the guy locked up." Well, that's not entirely true, but I don't want him to get into trouble again, either. "Please don't—look, please don't punish him. Just ... just ... " Just what, Meredith? If you weren't trying to get Henry in trouble, why did you call the police in the first place?

    "You did right to call," Ben Witts said firmly. "But I'm afraid we have to take action. We've repeatedly tried to get Henry into a more appropriate situation, and we've repeatedly warned him that he can't keep living in the side of the hill. Especially now, when there's a school there. We're going to follow up on this immediately, and I'll call you to let you know the outcome."

    "Don't brainwipe him," Meredith said, her mouth dry. Repeatedly: she knew what happened to street people who repeatedly got into trouble with the police. They got resocialized. Henry was someone's child; as foul and smelly as he was, he'd been somebody's little boy once. She couldn't have this on her conscience. "Ben, please don't brainwipe him. If he keeps going back to the hill, that must be because he feels it's his home."

    "A cave in Telegraph Hill isn't an appropriate home for anyone. I appreciate your compassion, Meredith, but the outcome isn't up to me. We have protocols for situations like this; I don't set policy. You can be assured that we'll do the kindest thing we can for Henry. Don't worry."

    "Please don't brainwipe him," she said, but even as she said it, she realized with a chill that part of her wanted Henry to be brainwiped, to lose all memory of his interactions with Nicholas. No. That was evil. It was wrong. She couldn't save Nicholas by sacrificing Henry. Could she?

    Henry would be brainwiped anyway, eventually. Someone else would see him and call the police. He'd had all those previous chances.

    No. That was evil. How could she think that way? Henry was someone's child.

    "I'll let you know the outcome," said Ben Witts. "Thank you for calling, Meredith. Good-bye, now."

    * * *

    She learned the outcome that evening, when there was a knock at the door. Kevin wasn't home yet; she and Nicholas had been making salad in the kitchen, Nicholas tearing lettuce leaves into shreds with alarming ferocity. When the doorball rang she frowned and peered at the outside monitor.

    "Who is it, Mommy?"

    It was the police. She could see the uniforms. Her heart sank. "Nicholas, stay here. I'll be right back." She went into the living room, her feet like lumps of lead, and opened the door. "Yes?"

    "Mrs. Walford-Lindgren," one of the police said, "would you come outside and talk to us, please? Henry Carviero is in our patrol car, at the bottom of the steps. He can't hurt you or the boy."

    The boy? She turned and saw Nicholas standing behind her, his thumb in his mouth. He took it out long enough to say, "Is Henry in trouble? Why is Henry in trouble?"

    "He—Nicholas, the police are going to help him find a better place to live."

    "He likes where he lives now," Nicholas said. Meredith could tell from his voice that he was working himself up to a tantrum, and in response she made her own voice far firmer than she felt.

    "Nicholas, everything will be fine. The police are going to help Henry."

    She wanted him to stay at the house, but he had to come along; there was no one home to watch him. He followed her, tugging at her hand and pleading with the police, as the small party flied down the steps, through gardens lush with the scent of flowers. Meredith wondered how many of the neighbors were watching this little procession, and what they were making of it.

    "Henry's nice," Nicholas said. "He's nice! He hasn't done anything bad! He takes care of my mouse! He's scared of the police! He told me so! Why does he have to talk to the police? He's a nice man!"

    "Sweetheart," she said gently, "nice people aren't afraid of the police. And nice people have houses to live in. They don't have to live in caves." It wasn't true. None of that was true; plenty of decent people were homeless and frightened. Why had she even said any of it, any of those convenient lies? She knew better.

    Even Nicholas knew better. "That's not true!" he said, beginning to sob. "Lots of people don't have houses! I see them all the time when we're in the car! Mommy, you have to help the Hobbit. He's my friend. Tell the police he didn't do anything."

    The cops were looking at her. She'd started this: What was she going to tell Nicholas? "They just want to talk to him," she said weakly. "They're going to get him a better place to live. They're going to help him, Nicky."

    "He's scared of them," Nicholas said. His small face was tear-stained in the glow of garden lamps. "He'll think I told on him. He'll think I got him into trouble."

    Meredith's heart twisted. "Nicky, you didn't do anything wrong. And maybe the Hobbit didn't, either. We don't know. The police are our friends. They're going to help him." But she didn't believe it. She remembered Ben Witts, with his ominous repeatedly. Carviero was probably headed for a brainwipe, and she didn't know if there was anything she could do to help him. Worse, she still wasn't sure if she wanted to.

    They were at the bottom of the steps now, two patrol cars parked at the curb. Meredith saw two officers in one of them, with someone else in the backseat.

    "Okay," said one of the cops who'd walked them down from the house.

    "Heeeere's Henry." He opened the door of the patrol car. "Henry, get out and talk to the nice lady, please."

    The first thing Meredith noticed was the overwhelming stench, ten times worse than it had been outside Henry's cave, a sensory assault that made her take an involuntary step backward. "I know," the cop said sympathetically. "It's pretty bad, isn't it?"

    "Sorry," said Henry. He wore far too much clothing, all of it filthy, but his voice was clear, pleasant, even. "I haven't had access to a shower for a while. Nicholas, are you all right? Why are you crying?"

    "They're taking you to jail," Nicholas said, and then, pleadingly, "Mommy, tell them to let him go!"

    "Ah," Henry said, looking at her searchingly. "I know you. I know you, Mommy, don't I? You're the cat girl. You just love calling the cops on people. I love cats too, you know. That was a long time ago. You haven't learned much."

    Meredith swallowed. Whatever else Henry was, he wasn't stupid. "Mrs. Walford-Lindgren," said the cop, "do you want to press charges for molestation? You don't have to. We've got him on vagrancy, anyway."

    Molestation? "Of course not," Meredith said, revolted. "There's no evidence of that." She drew herself up to her full height, trying to look imposing. "You're going to help him, aren't you? Find him a better place to live?"

    One of the cops sniffed. "Sure we are. Just like the other six times. This guy wants to live in a cave."

    "It's my home!" Henry said fiercely. "It's the best home I've found, and people keep trying to kick me out of it. They kicked me out of the ones before that too. My mom kicked me out because she was crazy, and other people kept kicking me out because they thought I was crazy. What's crazy about wanting to get out of the rain?"

    "We've gotten you out of the rain," one of the cops said. "Six times."

    "She kicked me out too," Henry said, gesturing at Meredith. "Out of that room. A cat could live there, but I couldn't because I didn't smell good enough. She doesn't mind smelling cat pee, but another person—"

    "You know Henry?" Nicholas said, looking bewildered. "You met Henry before, Mommy?"

    "A long, long time ago, Nicky. I'd forgotten about it until just now. It's just—a coincidence." Was it? Well, what else could it be?

    "Now Nicholas here," Henry said conversationally, his voice softening, "Nicholas doesn't mind that I smell. Do you, Nicholas? Nicholas could teach the rest of you a thing or two."

    Meredith's sympathy for Henry was quickly eroding. Be honest, she told herself Everything he's said is the truth. That's why you're afraid of him.

    "Henry," said one of the cops, shaking his head, "what the hell were you doing talking to a kid? How could you think that wouldn't get you into trouble? You go back to your cave and befriend a kid? That's asking to be picked up! Come on, Henry. You're a smart guy. You have to know that! Ma'am, are you sure he hasn't hurt the child?"

    "He didn't hurt me!" Nicholas said, outraged. "He's my friend! He was helping me!"

    "Nicholas," Henry said, his voice still gentle, "it's okay. Don't be scared. Everything will be fine." But the glare he shot at Meredith indicated that he knew otherwise.

    "I hate you," Nicholas said, looking up at his mother.

    "He's been conducting a clandestine friendship with my son," Meredith said stiffly. She was only telling the truth. If the truth sounded damning, so be it. "I only found out about it today. Evidently he told Nicholas not to tell anyone about him. I thought that sounded suspicious."

    The cops were on full alert now. "Yes, ma'am. If you find out anything else we need to investigate—"

    "I hate you!" said Nicholas.

    "No investigation," Meredith said. "I told you, I'm not trying to get him into trouble. Really I'm not. If you can help him, that's great. Just get him out of here, all right?" She pushed her hair back with her free hand—Nicholas had begun a high-pitched whining—and said, "Look, I'm sorry, but secretive strangers make me nervous, and if anything ever happened to Nicholas I'd never forgive myself"

    "Of course," the head cop said gently. She knew they were thinking of Raji. There was some advantage, after all, to having been one of the main figures in a cultural tragedy.

    Meredith swallowed and said, "And this may sound hypocritical, since I just said I don't like secrecy, but I'd really rather not read about this on ScoopNet in an hour. If you can keep it away from the media—"

    "Of course," the older cop said soothingly. "Of course. No secrecy there, ma'am. Just the normal level of privacy any family would want, and that yours doesn't get too often."

    They must have sent this guy to community relations school. Meredith relaxed slightly and said, "Thank you. Nicholas, let's go back inside now, okay? And I'll make you some warm milk."

    "No! I'm never going anywhere with you again! I hate you!"

    Henry hunkered down on the ground so that he was at Nicholas's height, and said, "Don't. Nicholas, you have to go back home. You're lucky she's not kicking you out. Don't push your luck. And Nicky, you have to take Bluebell back now, okay?" He reached into the capacious folds of his reeking clothing and pulled out a small black mouse. "I know you gave her to me for safekeeping. But she has to go home with you now, Nicky."