The Vanishing by Bentley Little Read Free Book Online Page A

like . . .’’ She shook her head disgustedly. ‘‘Second of all, that couldn’t even happen. It’s not physically possible. Whoever told you that’s a liar.’’
    Sanchez shrugged. ‘‘What’s more likely: a genetic abnormality that makes a human face look like a llama’s or a genetic abnormality that allows a human egg to be fertilized by llama sperm? Take your pick. I don’t know, and I don’t really care. All I’m concerned with is that we get them the assistance they need. These are the people who fall through the cracks. They don’t apply for aid because they don’t even know enough to know what they don’t know. They’re exactly the kind of family we should be helping, and it’s up to us to steer them in the right direction and make sure they receive the proper support so that maybe, one day, they can lift themselves out of poverty.’’
    ‘‘You’re right,’’ Carrie said. ‘‘You’re right.’’
    ‘‘Okay, then.’’ He turned back to his paperwork.
    ‘‘It’s just—’’
    Sanchez looked up again.
    ‘‘—that I feel so . . . helpless here. Because no matter how much time and effort we spend, no matter how much money we throw at the situation, that boy’s always going to be . . . what he is.’’
    ‘‘Yes. And sometimes you have to accept that that’s how things are.’’
    ‘‘But—’’
    ‘‘I know.’’
    Carrie looked down at the case folder in her hand with its pertinent data about Juan Olivera that gave no clue at all to the real facts of the boy’s existence. ‘‘What kind of a life do you think a child like that can have?’’ she asked.
    ‘‘Not much of one,’’ Sanchez admitted. His voice was kinder than usual, almost soft. ‘‘That’s why you have to let this go.’’
    But she couldn’t.
    The llama boy haunted her dreams.
    In one particularly vivid nightmare, Carrie went to the Oliveras’ apartment to meet with Rosalia and was sitting in a torn vinyl chair across from her when suddenly the lights went out. It was night, and a power outage must have affected the entire neighborhood because the streetlamps winked off and every light in the apartments across the street was out. Rosalia moaned chillingly, as though in fear for her life, and said something incomprehensible in Spanish, followed immediately by two words whispered in English: ‘‘He’s coming.’’ Carrie had no idea what that meant, but her body was suddenly covered in gooseflesh and she was filled with a feeling of blind panic. From somewhere within the pitch-black darkness came a raspy chuckle, a terrible, evil sound that made her think of horror-movie monsters. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness. The moon was out, and by its indirect glow she could see Juan creeping out of the bedroom, into the sitting room, toward her. He was naked and walking on all fours, and his llama head rocked crazily from side to side as he advanced on her, still chuckling. Rosalia prayed in Spanish, her desperation obvious even through the language barrier. Juan opened his mouth, showing fangs . . .
    And then Carrie awoke.
    In another dream, Social Services had been contacted by the police. Rosalia had died of starvation, and Juan was alive only because he had eaten her legs. The decision as to what to do with the child had been left up to her, since she was his caseworker, and Carrie decided that as he seemed to be more animal than human, he was to be pawned off to a zoo or sold to a circus.
    It was wrong of her to entertain such thoughts, though she obviously did, and she was embarrassed by her primitive reaction to the boy. She wanted to help him, wanted to ensure that he had as normal a childhood and as easy a life as possible. But that was an intellectual response. Emotionally, she was frightened of him. It still did not seem possible that such a person—
    creature
    —could exist, and her mind had a difficult time simply acknowledging the reality of his being. No matter how hard she tried,