Crying Child by Barbara Michaels Read Free Book Online

don’t forget. We’ll work them out somehow.”
    “What was she like today? What happened?”

    “Has she ever spoken to you—has she ever said anything about…” It was odd; I couldn’t say it.
    “About hearing a child cry?” From Ran’s tone I knew the subject worried him as much as it did me. But there was a kind of relief in hearing the words said, like the fading of pain after a boil is lanced.
    “Ran, she thinks the baby is alive. At least that’s what I understood from what she said: ‘It is a boy. His name is Kevin.’”
    “She told you that?” Ran’s heavy brows lowered. “My God, Jo, she hasn’t said that much to me. Only about hearing the crying. What else did she say?”
    “That was about all. Mrs. Willard came in then, and I was too shaken to pursue the subject. I wanted to talk to you first.”
    “Kevin,” Ran muttered. “That’s odd.”
    “The whole thing is odd.”
    “Not really. It’s a predictable delusion for a woman who wanted a child so badly. But I wonder where she got the name. We always thought…if we ever had a boy…”
    There was no break in his voice, no change in his expression of concentrated thoughtfulness; but I sensed that this was suddenly more than he could bear, and I realized with a sharp stab of guilt that his desire for children had been as keen as Mary’s.

    “Yes, I know,” I said. “Randall Junior. Elizabeth if it had been a girl…Maybe I didn’t hear the name correctly. I was, as you might say, taken aback.”
    “It doesn’t matter.”
    “I’m not so sure,” I said slowly.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t know…. For a second there, when you said it doesn’t matter, I had the weirdest feeling…of warning, almost.”
    “Cut it out, Jo. Don’t you go psychic on me.”
    The words were brusque but the smile was not. I laughed self-consciously, feeling that peculiar sense of relaxation that follows an emotional outburst.
    “Sorry. The crucial question is, how do I react to remarks like that one of Mary’s? Do I accept it? Question it? Contradict it? I can put on any act that’s required, but I’m afraid of doing the wrong thing.”
    “I know what you mean. I don’t know the answer, not yet, but I did something today that—”
    His voice broke off; and then I heard the other sound.
    It was faint, as though it came from a long, long way away—a high, shrill keening sound. The sound of someone crying.
    Ran moved so fast that the breeze of his passage riffled the pages of the magazine lying openon the table. When I stumbled out into the hall he was already halfway up the stairs, taking them three at a time. The sound was still going on, a desolate wailing that tore at the ears. It was real: there was no possible question of that. But I think I knew the truth, even before I saw.
    Mary’s room was down the hall and across from mine. When I reached the top of the stairs I could see the door—and Ran bent over at an odd angle which made sense only when I heard the click of the lock. He flung the door open and disappeared inside. The sound was loud now, and unmistakable; it came from inside the room.
    They stood locked together near the doorway; it wasn’t apparent, at first glance, whether Ran’s arms were embracing or restraining her. She was still crying, but more normally, with sobs and muffled words.
    “Couldn’t get out…. Let me go, Ran, let me go…. He wants me…. Couldn’t get out!”
    The last word rose to a scream, and then she struggled wildly while Ran tried to hold her. I saw her face as she writhed. I don’t think I’d have recognized it if I hadn’t known who she was. Her eyes, black holes in a white mask, saw me, but without recognition. Then her face vanished behind the heavy shape of Ran’s shoulder. I heard him speak, sharply; and then there was a flurry of movement and Mary went limp. Ran gatheredher up as she fell. He turned toward me with her body cradled against him. Her cheek lay on his breast. On his