The Vanishing by Bentley Little Read Free Book Online Page B

she could not reconcile her knowledge of biology with the boy she had seen in that apartment. Is there a human brain behind those animal eyes? she wondered. Does he merely resemble a llama or is he part llama?
    What is he?
    Carrie did her research. Rosalia and Juan were indeed qualified to receive health coverage if Rosalia was willing to classify her son as handicapped, and Carrie returned to the tenement building on Thursday to discuss the situation. As before, the bedroom was dark, and also as before, there was no sign at first of Juan. She sat on the same torn couch she had the first time, speaking slowly and carefully so that Rosalia would be sure to understand, and explained the situation in detail, glancing every so often toward the darkened doorway, unable to help herself.
    ‘‘No!’’ Rosalia insisted in her heavily accented English. ‘‘Juan es no handicap! He do everything all boy do!’’
    ‘‘I know,’’ Carrie countered patiently, ‘‘but Juan is different, and if you just let me list him as handicapped—’’
    ‘‘No!’’ Rosalia shouted. ‘‘No es handicap!’’
    ‘‘I understand. But—’’
    ‘‘I say no!’’ She started to cry, and Carrie backed off. She felt frustrated in a way that she ordinarily did not, and though it was unethical, she wanted to simply fill out all of the forms herself and then tell Rosalia that the problem had been solved rather than try to convince the woman of the right course of action. She hazarded a glance toward the bedroom door. Juan had crept out from his hiding place once again and was sitting amid the torn newspaper, staring at her. Was there comprehension in those dark animal eyes? She couldn’t tell, but she thought of her dreams and wondered what she would do if he suddenly started scurrying toward her on all fours.
    ‘‘Just think about it,’’ Carrie told Rosalia, packing up her papers. ‘‘I really don’t see any other way for you and Juan to get medical coverage. Besides, this way, if something should happen to Juan, an accident or—’’
    ‘‘No,’’ Rosalia said firmly, wiping away the last of her tears.
    ‘‘Okay, okay.’’ She took a deep breath. ‘‘If you need me, you still have my card, right?’’
    Rosalia nodded.
    ‘‘Call me if you need help or even if you’d just like to talk, all right?’’
    ‘‘Thank you.’’ The woman’s voice was back to its usual soft tone, her pretty face no longer registering agitation.
    Carrie got up to go, and before she did, took one last look at the boy in the bedroom. Juan was standing up now, digging through the right front pocket of his jeans and at that second, he seemed just like an ordinary kid wearing a mask. Then he looked up, and she saw his pointed ears prick up, saw his dark overlarge eyes focus on her, saw a long pink tongue reach between small teeth and lick slimy blackened lips. The sight chilled her to the bone. His face didn’t look quite as much like a llama’s from this angle. It looked more like that of a mutated wolf or some other animal that she couldn’t quite place.
    A monster, she thought, but pushed the idea out of her mind.
    On her way back to the office, Carrie stopped off at a 7-Eleven for a Big Gulp. The afternoon was hot, her car had no air-conditioning, and after breathing the foul stale air of the Oliveras’ dirty apartment, she needed something sweet, wet and cold to cleanse her mouth.
    Carrie never read the tabloids. Even in line at the grocery store checkout, she usually glanced at the covers of the women’s magazines, with their endless prescriptions for better sex, rather than waste her time with the outrageous inanities printed in the Enquirer , the Star and their ilk. For some reason, though, today as she stood behind a hirsute man buying beer and lottery tickets, Carrie bypassed Cosmopolitan and read the cover of the Weekly Globe. PROSTITUTE GIVES BIRTH TO RHINO BOY! the headline screamed. Beneath that was a grainy photograph of