The Holes Binding Us Together
Vincent Berg
by
The holes in your life are permanent.
You have to grow around them, like tree roots around concrete;
You mold yourself through the gaps.
A story only matters, I suspect,
to the extent that the people in the story change.
The Holes Binding Us Together
Copyright © 2020 Vincent Berg, all rights reserved.
Bookapy Edition
ISBN: 978-1-941498-46-0
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
Product names, brands, and other trademarks referred to within this book are the property of their respective trademark holders. Unless otherwise specified, no association between the author and any trademark holder is expressed or implied. Nor does it express any endorsement by them, or of them. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark, registered trademark, or service mark.
I tell people to write the stories that you’re afraid to talk about,
the stories you wish you’d forget, because those have the most power.
Those are the ones that have the most strength
when you give them as a testimony.
As always, I’d like to thank all of those who’ve put up with me during the highs and lows of this story’s creation. It’s hard supporting temperamental authors, and the rewards aren’t always as clear cut as more time and attention.
I’ve got a long line of people who’ve helped with the story, but I’d like to thank:
• Editors: Harry Stephen Wood, Steve Mintz and Vlad Williams.
• Cover image, “Bright ideas in her head” by Sergey Nivens (all images are from AdobeStock.com).
• Cover and Chapter Title fonts, Orbit by faqih sandri of Drizy Studio on creativemarket.com and Debock Regular by Tama Putra on Fontspring.
• Chapter header graphic: “Set of decorative border” by lumyaisweet.
• Section break graphic: “Set of decorative border” by lumyaisweet.
• Section break images:
I: “gold rings in smoke” by d1sk.
II: “Color of brick wall on grayscale brick wall texture background” by blindturtle.
III: “Boy and girl walking on the street” by Aliaksei Lasevich.
IV: “Halloween devil smoking cigarette” by tverdohlib.
V: “Portrait of an elegant, blond angel” by konradbak.
I always tell people that I became a writer
not because I went to school
but because my mother took me to the library.
The Holes Binding Us Together
Threatened, Peg ventures into her worst fear, the holes she’s avoided her entire life, and discovers magical gates to other places. Are they a blessing, a curse, or evidence of mental illness?
Not-Quite Human
Discovering more in common with aliens than the rest of humanity, a group of misfits set out to learn who they are and search for their ancestral home, or somewhere to call their own.
1) The Cuckoo’s Progeny
2) Lost With Nothing to Lose
3) Building a Nest of Our Own
A House in Disarray
Investigating her boss, NYPD Police Commissioner Eddleson, Detective Em Rules’ life is thrown into disarray by the arrival of her sister-in-law and niece, Becky.
Demonic Issues
Seeing the demons within, the world of those afflicted with mental illnesses radically changes, dragging Phil Walker, the medical establishment and everyone else along as he battles demons, dragons and fairies.
1) The Demons Within
2) Speaking With Your Demons
Zombie Leza
A decade after the zombie apocalypse, Leza lives, communicates with and controls thousands of undead. Whether she’s mankind’s last best hope or the source of their demise is anyone’s guess.
The Nature of the Game
The athletes at Windsor High are aiming for professional sports careers. They don’t make waves. When Taylor meets the flamboyant Jacob there’s a distinct cultural clash, as casual meetings under the bleachersr risks millions.
Singularity: The Synthesis of the Ethereal and the Corporeal
An experimental interstellar voyage goes horribly wrong and the deceased test pilot ends up back home, unhurt. Battling through internal, personal and Congressional investigations, Eric Morgan struggles to perceive exactly what he’s become.
Stranded in a Foreign Land
Discovering an injured, shipwrecked alien, Josh shelters it and seeks to rescue its companions, despite being pursued by the American and other militaries.
Upcoming Books:
Stumbling Over
Peering into the past, physicist Adrian Moore and his peers shatter history, struggling to find each other and preserve the knowledge to restore reality.
1) History Ain’t What it Was
2) Reclaiming a Limited Life
3) Finding Time For Lost Souls
Books can be found on my website at:
www.vincentbergauthor.com
As a reader I loathe introductions …
Introductions inhibit pleasure,
they kill the joy of anticipation,
they frustrate curiosity.
I’ve struggled with this book, without writing a word, for much of my life. Having lived and worked in Chicago and Manhattan, I witnessed thousands of homeless children forced to sell their bodies to survive, and the utter indifference of everyone to their plight. I’ve also had several discussions with the same ‘helpful’ pedophiles described in the story. The issues weighed on my mind and has been brewing for decades.
It’s a story which demanded a different approach: one told from a child’s perspective, yet not presented as a typical children’s tale. Thus, this is more of a children’s book for adults, focusing on adult themes with nothing explicit aside from a few stray profanities befitting the characters. It doesn’t focus on the depraved acts of abuse, but on how those affected cope. Using fantasy elements allows readers to consider the topic without relying on traditional perspectives.
Pulling my recollections into a novel was especially challenging, as the timeline presented challenges. No longer living in either city and without contact with the kids or those supporting or abusing them, I’m unfamiliar with how the practices evolved.
I also didn’t want to dump the characters into the Manhattan of the ’80s and ’90s, when so many were infected with and died from AIDS. It would put an entirely different perspective on ‘Pretty’ Paul’s role in the story. Thus, I crafted an alternate universe, where the video parlors persist into the modern age, and AIDS never became the polarizing and deadly influence it remains.
Few of the gay men I knew from those days survived, including my brother, who introduced me to the helpful pedophiles providing the only safe alternatives for these kids. While hardly innocent or selfless acts, they at least helped a small number when no one seemed inclined to do anything besides sweeping the problem under the rug, where it continued to fester. Being young myself when I first visited the gay Manhattan bathhouses, these men were more than willing to open up to me as they flirted—though their interests ran much younger.
As you read the novel, consider this one of the alternate worlds Peg journeys to, before conveying the story on this particular world. The issues continue unabated, and while the solutions presented aren’t permanent, at least a few individuals sought to express their pedophilia in ways that are voluntary and somewhat beneficial. I’ve never been comfortable with either side of the arguments, though.
This book offers no solutions, no rallying cry demanding justice. Instead it is merely an adventure including a few kids who manage to survive the terrifying, soul-sheering dilemma faced by so many. This is more of a ‘dipping your toes in the water’ exercise rather than a factual exposé. But, it’s still a darn good yarn!
The novel also proved challenging to publish, as most sites strictly forbid depictions of childhood sexuality, whether fictional or a victim’s true account. For those worried, there is no explicit sex in the story, nor descriptions of abuse suffered in the past. The worst you’ll find are admissions that select individuals had been abused at one time.
It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door.
You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet,
there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.
There will be a few times in your life
when all your instincts will tell you to do something,
something that defies logic, upsets your plans,
and may seem crazy to others.
When that happens, you do it.
Listen to your instincts and ignore everything else.
Ignore logic, ignore the odds, ignore the complications,
and just go for it.
Interrupting her skipping, Peg stopped while wrinkling her brow. “This is a new one. I’m familiar with the others, but have never known one to just appear like this.” She circled the same eight inches of concrete, carefully studying the empty space. “They’re obnoxious enough, but holes that won’t hold still are hardly helpful.”
Sighing, she returned, resuming her skipping, the prior non-entity entirely forgotten.
“Hey, wait up,” someone called, running after her a few minutes later.
She turned and glanced back. A young boy she’d never seen ran up to her.
“Who are you?” she asked. “You’re not from around here.”
“No,” he said, stopping to catch his breath before responding. “I’m from Westville.” He pointed at a building three houses down. “My mom is visiting my Aunt, who lives in the house down the street. They’ve been talking, but it was boring, so they suggested I play outside. I’m Jason. Who’re you?”
“I’m Peg.” When he started to say something, she cut him off. “No. It’s not short for Peggy, and I’m not Pegs. The name is Peg.”
He nodded. “Okay. I got it. I’m not related to any Greek boys gluing wings to their arms and flying too near the sun, and I’m not Jase or Jazz.”
“Good,” she said. “Would you perhaps like to play?”
“Definitely. You look so happy, skipping down the street like you have no cares.” Jason was cute, with moderately curly hair and a dark t-shirt. He had the clearest skin, with almost no blemishes and long eyelashes that highlighted his deep brown eyes.
Peg was taller, with a wide somewhat-forced smile that revealed a lot of teeth, but emphasized her dimples and a small notch in her chin. She had blue eyes and curly hair that hung in ringlets which bounced as she skipped. However, whenever she relaxed, she displayed a playful grin, like she planned something unexpected. Jason was eager to find out what it might be.
She frowned. “I don’t skip because I’m happy. I skip so I’ll feel better. You can’t be sad while skipping. I tried. It doesn’t work.”
“Then lead on. I’ll happily skip along,” he said, grinning.
“No,” she said, dancing away. “You’ll skip, and then you’ll be happy.”
Jason watched her bouncing down the sidewalk and mumbled to himself. “And I’m happy watching you having so much fun.”
After they stopped, laughing, giggling, Peg stepped aside, walking in the grass for a few steps, only to jump back on the sidewalk beside him.
“Any reason for that?”
She shrugged, holding her hands up. “Nope. I just like doing things different. I’m ‘’centric’,” she declared. “I do things just ’cause. It’s no fun doing what’s expected, but it is watching people wonder what you are up to.”
“Yeah, you’re different all right. We need fewer boring normal people, and more fun ones like you.”
Jason was curious. While clearly older, she kept pretending to be younger than him. He didn’t have a problem with it, and she didn’t seem to be teasing him. He shook his head and ignored it.
They ran and played until both were winded. Stopping to catch their breath, he turned to her. “How can someone as cheerful as you ever be unhappy?”
She frowned, glancing into the distance, her eyes unfocused. “Things aren’t always as simple as they appear.” She paused. “My fa—”
“Ah,” Jason said, cutting her off. “Say no more. My parents give me a hard time too. No matter what, I can’t do it well enough.” He stretched his arms out. “Sometimes, you just want to have fun.”
Peg nodded sagely. “When you’re not, you have to make your own. And if you can’t, you play inside your head, where there’s room to dance and you can make all the noise you want. Even if you need to be quiet and ladylike.”
“Or your mother drags you to the middle of nowhere, to talk to someone you barely know.” His eyes seemed to shimmer. “But then, you meet someone magical, who makes your world come alive.”
“Please,” she said, dancing backwards. “It’s only ’cause you’ve skipped.”
He took off after her, as Peg squealed, running away, giggling.
They hadn’t gotten far, when an older-model, plain-white van pulled up. The side was scratched and dirty, the windows smudged, and rust pitted the finish. A man rolled his window down.
“Are you Peggy Winchester?”
“I thought you were Peg?” Jason asked, as they both stopped.
“No one calls me that,” she hissed before answering the stranger. “What if I am?”
“Your father wanted us to pick you up. Your mother’s been injured. He took her to the hospital, and asked us to bring you so you could see her.”
“He’s not my father,” Peg insisted, not responding to the news about her parents.
“Look,” the man climbed out of his van, as the driver came around the front, “Your mom needs you. She’s in serious trouble and might not make it. We can’t afford to waste time.”
“I don’t know either of you,” she said, backing up. “Who are you?”
“Peg,” Jason whispered, staring at her, his eyes wide. “It’s your mother!”
“So they say. More likely, they’re friends of Frank’s.”
“Yeah, your dad.”
She spun on him. “He’s not my father!”
The two men approached cautiously. “Come on. We wouldn’t know who your parents were if we didn’t know them.”
“What’s the safe word?” she demanded, backing up faster. Jason glanced from Peg to the older men, uncertain why she was upset.
“Uh …” the driver said, pausing.
“Stranger Danger!” she screamed, turning and bolting. Jason watched her run, unsure what was happening.
“Damn it!” the passenger mumbled. “Get the boy. I’ll grab the smart ass!”
Peg ran as hard as she could, not glancing back. She heard Jason yell, and the sounds of him struggling, but didn’t dare stop. She raced past a neighboring apartment building. “Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger! Help!”
Hearing no response, she sprinted around the corner, ducking under a barricade.
“Help!” she yelled. “Help. They want to hurt me.”
She tried the recessed back entrance. Finding it locked, she banged the metal door with her fists. “Help. Someone is chasing me.”
Hearing someone grunt as they jumped the fence, landing hard on their knees, Peg turned. “I got this one,” the driver shouted in the distance. “You best hurry, we don’t have much time.”
“So much for an ‘easy job’!” his companion said, sneering as he stood, glaring at her.
Scanning her surroundings, she took off down the alley, her sneakers kicking up gravel from the crumbling pavement.
“Come back, you little bitch! You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Rounding a parked car, Peg saw her path blocked by a heavy metal fence. Desperately glancing around, she bit her lip, and approached another empty space to the side.
Looming before her stood a large black hole, hovering inches off the ground. The edges shimmered, as if radiating energy. No light showed through, and nothing reflected off its surface. It seemed like a well of nothingness, from which nothing escaped.
Peg had been plagued by these holes her entire life, as they surrounded her wherever she went. She continually encountered them. After all, it’s hard to ignore something you had to continually avoid. When she’d mentioned them to her mother, she told her to stop ‘talkin’ such nonsense’. When she persisted, she was taken to some doctor who talking about schizo something or other. She quickly learned to shut up and never brought them up again.
Reaching out, she held her hand near the flat featureless surface. She’s experimented with them when young. Whenever she’d put her hand in, it disappeared. It always reappeared when she pulled it back, but nothing extended beyond it. Her hand simply ended where it met the hole. Curious, she’d dropped items in a few of them. Barbies, bangles and balls banished, never to be seen again, making no sound when they disappeared. Knowing there was no return from inside, no way back, she’d avoided them ever since. At least, as much as she could, as they were everywhere.
“Ha! You’re trapped, little girl. You’ve got nowhere to go, no place to run, and nowhere to hide. Give up now, and you won’t get hurt.”
Biting her lip and clenching her fists, Peg walked forward, holding her breath. With no clue what she’d see on the other side, she had no idea whether she’d ever return. The man trotting after her stopped dead in his tracks when she vanished from sight. There one instant, nowhere the next.
“Damn. The guys are gonna kill me. They won’t believe this crap! Helpless victims don’t just vanish without someone betraying everyone.”
I’m killing time while I wait for life
to shower me with meaning and happiness.
Peg didn’t know what to expect, but feared being trapped in the same utter void she observed when staring at the holes. Instead, she found herself facing a wood-paneled wall. Turning, she discovered herself in a hallway. The hole she used was floating in front of the men’s and women’s bathroom. It overlapped each just enough to make entering either one tricky. It floated higher than when she entered it, though it was hard to tell as the edges kept flickering in an almost hypnotic complexity. She shivered, imagining exiting only to have part of her body transported somewhere else. The holes might not be as dangerous as she feared, but still merited caution.
Glancing around, she noticed a closed door at one end, and a large room at the other from which she heard clinking silver and muted conversations. Figuring she wouldn’t learn anything more standing there, she walked towards the open room.
She was surprised to discover the room easily stretched sixty to eighty feet, filled with people sitting in booths and a large bar with stools. There were various items against the back, pictures on the wall, and movements in the kitchen beyond. She was in a diner. Who knew hell had its own diners, ready to serve whatever poor soul arrived from the surface world? Curious, she glanced out the front windows, observing a dismal gray sky, in sharp contrast to the warm sunny day she had left back home. A couple American and red and white flags fluttered, and scattered brown leaves waved on the scattered trees.
Swallowing, she walked in at a measured pace—uncomfortable with most adults—and made her way through the establishment, struggling to sit on the high metal counter stools. It took a bit, but once settled she glanced around at the offerings. The waitress, whose nametag identified her as Midge, approached.
“Anything I can get ya, hun?’ She was older, with long curly hair, graying around the edges. She had small age lines around her lips, and a concerned, compassionate gleam in her eyes.
Peg’s brow furrowed and she dug into her pocket. She retrieved—one at a time—two quarters, a dime, six pennies, and a tiny doll her real father had given her long ago.
“Uh, I’ll have a water … please.’
The older woman smiled. “Sure thing, hun’. You waiting for someone?’
She shook her head, before reconsidering. “Maybe.’
Midge considered her for a moment and shrugged. She stepped aside to pour some water and set the glass before Peg, who glanced up.
“Do you have a phone I can use?’
She drew back, scowling down at her. “The house phone is strictly for business use.’ When she pouted, jutting her lower lip out, Midge’s expression softened. “Where you calling? Is it local? To your parents, perhaps?’
Peg sulked—after perked up at her initial question. “It’s to … Georgia.’
“Honey, that’s a long ways away. What’s a young thing like you doing calling there?’
“No. What … where are we?’
She smiled. “You’re in Tom’s Diner, hon, as the sign over the door says.’
Peg turned, realizing she was referring to the entrance. “No, what … state is this?’
Her scowl returned, her features darkening. “Sweetie, we’re two and a half hours from the border. Unless you drove here yourself, and couldn’t see over the dash to read the road signs, there’s no way you wouldn’t know where yo’ is.’
Instead of answering, Peg stuck her lower lip out, widening her eyes and playing with her dangling curls. It always worked on her father, and sometimes her mother.
Midge shrugged, admitting defeat. She leaned forward, crossing her forearms on the counter so she was level with the young girl and considered her. “You’re in Arkansas, dear. Do you mind telling me what’s going on?’
She sat silently, glancing down, her brow furrowing again. Peeking back up, she tried again. “There’s a boy whose life is in danger. I need to contact the police so he doesn’t get hurt.’
“Right …’ She tilted her head. “You’re sitting smack dap in the middle of Arkansas, and somehow know some boy in Georgia is in peril.’ She paused, considering her. “Did you talk to him on your cellphone? If so, you should use it to contact someone.’
“I don’t … own one. My parents won’t let me.’
“At least they did something right, though I question leaving a little girl on her own in a town she’s unfamiliar with.’ She acknowledged a patron waving her down. “Pardon me, I have to wait on customers. Enjoy your drink and we’ll talk later.’
Peg felt bad for Jason. She realized he didn’t understand what was happening when she ran. She didn’t know why the men were chasing them, but recognized the look in their eyes. She had faced the same all-consuming hunger before. But what could she do, especially now, from so far away?
If she returned, they would grab her too. Since they knew and were clearly after her, she hoped they would let Jason go, yet doubted it. Their look was anything but forgiving. She also didn’t dare go back to warn anyone. She instead planned to return after their pursuers left and report him missing to … someone.
Glancing at the clock behind the counter, she noted it was earlier than she thought. Not only was she unsure how long she’d been here, she considered whether the hole might alter time. Maybe it took a while sending her somewhere. But if so, it would be later, not sooner. The only other option was that, in addition to ferrying her far away, it also sent her to another time. Not like into the past, but at least a few hours or a couple of days one way or another.
Then she considered the most bothersome question, rendering the others largely irrelevant. Who were the men and why were they after her? She had no doubt they targeted her. Jason was just in the wrong place, an accidental meeting threatening his life.
She was sure they knew Frank, but her mother hadn’t provided their safe word. That was what alerted her they were up to no good. Yet she didn’t know whether her mother was really in the hospital and unable to tell them. Somehow, it didn’t seem as likely, which was a relief.
“Are you okay, dearie?’ Midge asked.
Peg glanced up, shocked out of her reverie.
“You’ve been sitting here for some time, lost in your own thoughts.’ She indicated her water glass. Do you want another?’
Peg picked it up, peering inside. She didn’t recall drinking it, wondering where the water went. Glancing up, she nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.’
“Are your parents supposed to pick you up here, or are you lost?’
She knew it was a trick. If she said the wrong thing, she’d call someone to take her away and contact her mother. Trying to explain how she ended up in Arkansas of all places, was impossible. Even if she did, her mother couldn’t afford to fly her home, and couldn’t get off work to come for her. That meant they might take her away from her mother.
“No, they’re busy next door. When I got bored and asked to go outside, they said to stay here so they could find me when they’re done.’
“Next door, huh?’ Midge studied her a moment. “You’ve been here for a while. Do you want me to contact them?’
Peg shook her head, her locks jiggling around her face. “No, they’re talking business. They asked me not to get into trouble, so they won’t like it.’
Midge nodded, refilling her water. When she set it before Peg, she frowned a moment before coming to a decision.
“Are you hungry?’
Peg looked up, glass in hand. She hated asking for things. Her mother chided her that ‘we don’t beg for handouts’. Anything we get, we earn, she insisted. So instead, she meekly nodded, and drank her water so she wouldn’t have to see any pitiful, disapproving looks.
“I thought so. I’m not supposed to do this, but you’ve been patient, not causing any trouble. I think we can cheat a little, don’t you?’
Unsure how to respond, she stared at Midge, the glass frozen at her lips.
Midge grinned. “So, do you want it, or not?’
“Yes, Ma’am. I’d appreciate it.’
“I figured. I wish my kids were half as polite as you, after not waiting nearly as long.’
Accepting something freely offered was different. Yet she knew, if she looked like she was pouting, it wasn’t ‘attractive’ in her mother’s words. When Midge returned, setting a slice of blueberry pie before her—the afternoon sun glistening off its thick glaze, she looked up.
“Thank you. I’m really hungry. It was very kind of you.’
She smiled, watching as Peg dug in. She ate judiciously, shoveling a small forkful in before pausing to savor the rich flavors. She rolled it around in her mouth before relenting and chewing slowly.
Midge wondered what to make of the young girl. She was obviously lost. She claimed her parents were nearby, and there was no reason to doubt her. Yet her behavior was decidedly odd. Their town was small, so it’s not like it was a haven for runaways. The child tugged at her heartstrings, making her want to clutch her to her breast. But she knew it wasn’t appropriate, and doubted Peg would be comfortable with it, anyway.
The girl’s behavior was odd. While older than she pretended to be, she was perceptive and thoughtful, yet reluctant to open up. She had definitely been hiding something for a long time, afraid to admit it to anyone. More than anything else, she needed someone she could confide in—once she learned to trust them. Midge had no idea if she would ever see her again, but hoped she might find someone trustworthy.
She considered again whether she should contact someone, but realized the girl would clam up and disappear, likely forever. She could sense the girl was troubled, but had a strong, resilient iron core under her fragile exterior.
After finishing her treat and quietly nursing her water a while longer, Peg decided it was safe to return. Midge noticed her nervous glance and stopped by.
“Thank you for the pie, the water, letting me sit here and everything. I appreciate it. My parents will be here soon, but I’m going to the little girl’s room first. If they ask, you can tell them where I am.’
Midge smiled with a sense of relief. The girl apparently wasn’t alone and destitute. “Sure thing, hun. I’ll keep a look out for them. I’d love to tell them what a little sweetheart you are.’
Peg slid off her stool more easily than she clambered on, and headed towards the rest room. When she didn’t return after a full five minutes, Midge started to worry, but assumed Peg was having digestive problems. Ten minutes later, she was definitely worried, especially as her parents hadn’t arrived.
She went to check on her, but she wasn’t there. The window was intact—unopened to allow someone to slip out. There was no other way out. It was then that Midge decided she should contact someone.
That which does not kill us makes us stronger.
Peg faced the hole lurking before the rest room, as if awaiting someone exiting to tumble into its hungry maw. Shaking her head, she swallowed, took one last glance around, and stepped forward.
She hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake. That the men chasing her had left and weren’t waiting for her. Even more, she prayed time meant the same thing here as it did there. If she returned to the same moment she’d entered the hole before, all her waiting was for naught.
Closing her eyes, she reopened them feeling the bite of icy wind on her face. Glancing out, she noted she was right—the holes did funny things with time. It was now dark, with a thin sliver of moonlight. When she left the cafe, it was two-twenty in the afternoon. Only … something was different. There were no tall buildings, no dark alley with cars parked beside the apartment building on her left. Instead, scrawny trees, desperately clutched their few leaves for the scant insulation they provided. Beyond the trees stood tall mountains capped with snow jutting into the night sky. The neighborhood was dotted with dark houses and roofs unlike any she’d seen before.
Turning, she saw she was near the end of a narrow suburban street. Wooden houses with red-tile roofs that dipped down, sweeping up at the ends, stood on either side. They were beautifully crafted, the tiles a rich dark red, as bright as fresh blood.
Wrapping her arms around herself, the wind pierced her thin shirt as she stepped forward. The crunch announced she was walking on the scattered remnants of crusty snow. Taking another hesitant step, she slipped on a layer of ice under the thin white covering, her hands extending to catch her. Not falling, she landed on one knee, the cold seemingly draining the warmth from her leg. Putting her bare hand out, she stabilized herself as she stood. When she started forward again, her hand stung, the pain pulsing through her palm. She climbed the narrow, steeply carved stairs, stood before the bright red door, swallowed, and knocked.
It only took a few moments for her to begin shivering from the wind whipping through the stairs, which offered little protection for someone dressed for warmer Georgia climates. Fearing no one would answer—or could even see her from inside—she glanced behind her, considering the alternatives. The door opened, and an older woman cried out in fright on seeing her. “Joh-eun junim, ai, dangsin-eun chuwie honjaseo mueos-eulhago issseubnikka?’
Surprised, Peg turned, and seeing the older gray-haired woman waving her hands, stepped back and slipped. Rather than falling, she caught herself, but not before sliding down several stairs, each delivering a jarring blow. When her unexpected slide stopped, she glanced up to see not one but three older, oddly-dressed Asian women, exclaiming in a language she couldn’t understand. Each seemed upset at the strange little girl knocking on their door, waving their hands and shouting excitedly while advancing. Terrified, Peg pushed herself up and ran.
She only got a few steps, each sending a jarring pain that radiated to her already aching hand. Unsure where to go, and glancing in different directs, she slipped again, falling to her knees. Hearing the women clamoring behind her, she rolled over and, lying on her back, scurried backwards using her hands and feet on the icy ground.
“Budi! Ulineun dangsin-eul haechiji anh-eul geos-ibnida. Ulineun danji dobgo sipseubnida,’ one exclaimed.
“Yeogi eolgi jeon-e deul-eo oseyoi Gos-eun neomu eolige nugungaleul-wihan gos-i anibnida?’ another cried, glancing around, searching for someone to step in. “Bumonim-eun eodi gyesi ni? Eodi saseyo? Eotteohge wass-eoyo?’ Clearly, she wasn’t wanted here, and needed to escape before they did something.
The more she scampered away, the more her hands stung as the cold, rather than numbing, intensified the pain.
“Meomchwo! JIGEUM!’ the gray-haired women shouted, sounding angry. “Na-ege gihoeleuljuseyo. Geunyeoege malhae julge’ Peg froze as the other women backed away, cowering before their diminutive elder. As she approached, Peg flattened herself, raising her hands to fend her off.
Rather than attacking as Peg feared, she instead lay a hand on Peg’s leg, saying nothing. The warmth of her hand was reassuring, a sharp contrast to her own. The warmth spread through her leg. As Peg glanced up in confusion, the woman held her finger to her lips, leaning over and offering her hand.
Glancing at the other women, who remained several feet back, Peg reluctantly grasped it and was pulled to her feet. Waving the other women along, she guided Peg inside.
“I … I can’t. It’s just a short distance to home. I can easily return to Georgia where it’s warm and …’ However, none of the women responded to anything she said.
Instead, they led her in, positioned her in a smaller wooden chair, and ran in various directions. When she tried to stand, the older woman pressed her back down. When she tried to argue, she held her finger to her lips, saying nothing, but was insistent. Peg heard the familiar sounds of water running in the nearby kitchen, striking a metal container. The woman leaned in and rubbed her arms. After a few moments, she lifted her feet and removed her shoes and socks, tossing them in the corner. A few minutes later, the other woman returned and draped a heavy woolen blanket over her. The older woman tucked it under her.
Soon, the third woman entered carrying a tiny white porcelain mug. It was so pretty Peg’s mother would never allow her to touch it. Accepting it, she noted it was steaming. When she went to drink, the eldest touched her wrist, shaking her head. Maintaining eye contact, the woman drew her cupped hands up and held them before her. Waving them under her nose, she indicated Peg should hold it near her face in both hands, warming her until it was cool enough to drink. Doing so, Peg was thankful, as both actions were having an effect. Though her hands and feet still ached, she was feeling better. She began flexing her hands and stretching her feet to hurry the process. She also noted her shoes stowed under a chair by the door, suspecting she’d soon need them.
A knock sounded at the door, and Peg spun, nearly spilling her hot tea. The old woman once more put a reassuring hand on her thigh, as another answered the door. There was a brief exchange, which Peg couldn’t make sense of, before the newcomer was led in. A younger Asian woman, with a clear face and kind eyes smiled and knelt beside her. She also had a blue streak down the side of her jet-black hair.
“You speak English?’
Peg nodded, eager to get this settled.
“Are you lost? Should we call your family?’
“I’m not lost. I can return any time I want,’ Peg insisted. The women glanced at one another.
“Are you from the hotel up the street? That’s the only place Americans stay around here.’
Seeing an out, Peg nodded. “Yes. It’s where we’re staying.’
The young woman paused. “The hotel is seven miles away. How did you get here? Did someone drive you?’
“No, we’re staying there, but … my father is talking business and didn’t want to be disturbed.’ It was the excuse Frank used whenever he came home late, so Peg hoped it might work here.
Before the woman could respond, one of the other women said something, which set off a discussion between them. Peg glanced from one to the other, trying to guess what it was about. The younger woman turned back to her. “We think we should call the police. Even if your family is nearby, you are in no condition to walk far.’
“There’s no need to call the police!’ Peg protested. “My home … my parents are nearby. I can show you.’
“I think that would be wise,’ she said.
When Peg tried to rush to the door, the woman restrained her. “You no go out like that. It is too cold outside.’
Realizing her predicament, yet seeing a way out, Peg nodded. Someone brought her a heavy shawl, which almost covered her entirely, and they slipped into their winter boots. Having nothing but her sneakers, Peg leaned against the wall and wiggled her feet into her shoes.
Seeing she was ready, they opened the door and the frigid air swept in. The young woman placed a retaining hand on her shoulder.
“Show us where they are.’
“I’ll show you,’ Peg said, walking down the steps holding firmly the thin railing.
“Wait up,’ the woman cautioned. Despite having the proper footwear, they moved slower than Peg.
“It’s this way,’ Peg urged. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, her feet on the solid ground again, and rushed forward.
“Not so fast.’
Turning, Peg pointed down the street. “Look!’
The women turned, seeing nothing, but when they looked back, Peg was gone. There was no sign of her, nor any footprint aside from the few starting a few yards from their front steps. Nor were the police able to locate her, despite their bringing in a search dog. There was simply no trace of her anywhere.
These are the things I learned (in Kindergarten):
When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic,
hold hands, and stick together.
Stepping into the hole, she was surprised it felt as foreboding as the foreign land she’d just visited. Thinking back, the holes felt more welcoming, less dread-inducing. Gaining more experience, she was beginning to appreciate their differences. Yet before she could contemplate what it meant, she was already through—confronting three lanes of fast approaching vehicles, including several eighteen-wheeled tractor-trailers. Drawing back, she didn’t venture into the onrushing traffic on either side. The hole she’d entered straddled the lanes, though it wouldn’t help if a vehicle changed lanes.
A car passed within arm’s reach. The wind irritated her face as much as the tire-flung gravel stung her legs. Yet she daren’t budge, as an SUV whizzed by on her left, the rear-view mirror narrowly missing her.
Biting her lip and biding her time, she realized there wasn’t much opportunity to wait before being struck. Waiting for the next two cars to pass on her right, she ran in front of a black sedan bearing down on her. Like the others, its driver leaned on his horn—but there wasn’t any other way to escape her predicament. Remaining any longer was asking to be smooshed!
She made it to safety as the car barreled past. The occupants glared at her, though she didn’t dare respond. Running into the concrete barrier dividing the oncoming from the outgoing traffic, she held on tight, panting as her heart pounded.
The vehicles continued blaring their horns, warning that she was in their way, rather than avoiding her. No one slowed in the slightest, much less pulling over to ask if she required any help. But given how congested the traffic was, they were almost upon her before noticing her. All she could note of those inside, even now when relatively safe, were wide, terrified eyes glaring at her in horrified shock.
Glancing around, she didn’t see much relief. There wasn’t any apparent exit in either direction, and she needed to cross three-lanes whichever way she tried. There was also a chest-high concrete divider, low enough to see over, but awkward to climb. Its surface was rough, irritating and scraping her skin as she ran her hand along it.
“It’s no wonder the hole felt so unwelcoming,” she reflected, though the noise made her words almost impossible to hear. She surveyed her surroundings as a longer gap appeared in the traffic. There were few options, and she didn’t want to risk returning to the hole she’d arrived through. There was another, some distance down on the opposite shoulder—beyond the wire fencing and in the scrub brush—and another through which multiple vehicles passed. That one was also shorter and broader than the one she’d entered.
The surrounding country looked bleak, with few houses nearby and nothing but telephone poles, desert plants and mountains on either side. She could probably scale the fence past the three lanes of traffic, but it was a long way to the nearest homes. She didn’t know whether she would be welcomed or not. Plus, it was incredibly hot, and without water, she wasn’t sure how long she’d last over open ground.
In the other direction, there was a closer chicken-wire fence separating a smaller local road, and a railroad track. Then only row on row of tall white wind turbines until the grayish mountain range looming on the horizon.
Seeing no better alternative, she started walking along the shoulder. Her left hand running along the divider as her right sheltered her eyes from the dust and grit thrown up by the passing cars. Making it difficult for anyone to stop and pick her up, she walked facing the oncoming vehicles, not daring to take her eyes off the traffic bearing down on her. Remaining beside the road reduced the number of honking automobiles. People didn’t object as strenuously to a lone girl on the edge of the highway as when her actions forced them to slow down.
Peg was getting tired, hungry and thirsty. She’d been on the go for hours. Although she ate the small dessert in Arkansas, it was a while ago. Meanwhile, the frigidity of her last stop contrasted with the hot sun blazing down now. Her skin was covered with a sheen of sweat and her T-shirt stuck to her flesh, stretching and twisting with each step. Pulling it free, it stuck to her again as if drawn by magnetic attraction.
She finally observed a nearby hole. She’d seen a couple, but they weren’t readily accessible on the far side of the railroad track, including a fence which looked like barbwire. This one though, was on other side of the freeway. She stopped, scratching herself and fluttering her shirt, before reaching a decision.
Placing her hands on the concrete divider, she leapt up and managed to get one leg over after a few tries. More cars honked as she struggled to raise the other without toppling face first to the shoulder below. Once up, she availed herself of the view, walking a short distance atop the barrier—attracting more honks from drivers on either side. Deciding it was her best option; she sat and lowered herself before dropping to the ground. Stopping to reorient herself, she timed the passing cars. The hole was in the middle of traffic, but only halfway across the nearest lane. She thought she could manage it—realizing that once she did, she would again be whisked away somewhere new and perhaps equally dangerous.
She crouched, preparing to bolt, when shocked by a short siren blast from behind, almost causing her to jump into the roadway. Turning, she saw a police car approaching with its lights flashing on the far side of the barrier, still a ways off.
She considered trying for it before they arrived, but she’d lost the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Having to wait for another, she turned towards the oncoming squad car.
“Back away from the highway,” the police vehicle warned from the barrier’s other side. Reconsidering the height of the divider, she decided against climbing it again. She instead sat as far from the congestion as possible, with her back against the cool concrete, and waited.
“Damn it, where the hell is she?” she heard a voice demanding, the sound of hard-soled boots crunching gravel behind her.
“You’d best climb over John, lest she throw herself into traffic while you stall.”
The cop cursed to himself, as he fumbled as Peg had before him. She responded in kind, using the closest thing she could think of from her recent adventures.
“Kon-ichy-wall, Ima!” she yelled at the steady stream of cars, assuming the passing vehicles would somehow carry her shout over her head.
“What?” the officer asked. “Stay where you are. Don’t move.”
“I won’t,” she promised, “though it would be easier if I did.”
“Suicide is not a solution,” he urged, huffing as he rolled awkwardly over the barrier, letting his legs dangle over the edge. Listening to him struggle, Peg turned to face him.
“I wouldn’t hurt myself, but you won’t like the answers to the questions you’ll ask.”
Officer John landed near her, his boots scuffing as he slipped. Falling on one knee, he scraped his clean uniform. “Hell!”
“Watch the language,” his partner cautioned. “Is she OK?”
“She’s fine, and looks quite cozy sitting here comfortably,” he said, sounding annoyed as he stood.
“I didn’t have far to go, and it’s better than where I was. Do you have a tissue? I’m soaked.”
He studied her, taking in her age and appearance. His nametag showed his last name was Talbert. Growling, he knelt, grunting as he lifted her from under her arms. “Incoming Peter!” he shouted as he swung her until her legs dangled over the island. Seeing how awkward it was holding her, she put her feet on the lane divider and stood atop it again.
“Don’t!”
“Get down, NOW!” Officer Peter ordered. Peg giggled at the name.
“OK,” she said, leaping off and raising her hands. “Wheee!”
“That’s enough, young lady. Don’t move.” The senior policeman, De Alba, paused, evaluating her. “What are you doing playing in the middle of a freeway?”
“I wasn’t! I’m trying to get home.”
“Where’s your home at?” he inquired as John struggled once more to cross the barrier.
She pointed with her thumb behind her, indicating the traffic on the far side.
“What town do you live in?”
“Uh …” she said, hesitating. “Where are we?”
Tilting his head, he considered her anew as the other officer joined him. “You’re straddling the Christopher Columbus Transcontinental Highway, between the Banning Airport and Morongo exits.”
“How’d you get past the fencing,” John asked. “Surely you didn’t walk here from Morongo. Someone would have spotted you walking down the entrance ramp.”
“No, where are we? Are we in America?”
The two cops glanced at each other, one raising his brow.
“Yes, we’re in the U.S. We’re from the California Highway Patrol.”
“Uh, where in California?”
“What are you—” John started to yell, but officer Peter held his hand up, calming him.
“You’re between Beaumont and Palm Springs.”
“I don’t know where those are,” she admitted, clutching her chin as she recalled her geography class’s wall map. “Either way it’s a long way from Arkansas and Georgia,” she noted, glancing at the long line of cars stretched out behind her.
“We’re a long way from Arkansas. Do you know where you stayed, or anyone we can contact?”
“I don’t know what town it was, but it was Mel’s diner in a place I visited in Arkansas just a couple hours ago.”
The both shared a suspicious glance. “Is your family nearby? Did someone drop you off on the side of the road?” John demanded. “Why are you here?”
“I … uh … don’t wanna say.”
“Any reason why?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try us,” officer Peter said, guiding her to his patrol car by the arm.
“No thanks.”
“Did you run away? Are you in trouble?”
“No. Just trying to return home.”
“Let me guess, your home in Georgia? That’s a little hard to accept.”
“Wherever you live, we can help,” John said. “We’ll drop you off at a shelter where they’ll give you a fresh bed, some food and maybe some clean clothes.”
“That would be nice. I haven’t eaten and I’m awfully thirsty.”
“We can assist, but need to know where your home is and who to call: your parents, the local police, social services or child protection.”
“I’m not lost,” Peg insisted, sitting in the back seat as Peter closed the door, locking her in.”
“I can’t imagine she’s gonna make this easy,” officer John said, examining his torn pants’ leg before climbing in the passenger door.
“The most interesting cases are always mysteries. If we can guess how it ends, it ain’t worth time investigating.”
“Only, Highway Patrol doesn’t investigate missing persons.”
“It appears we are now. We can hardly turn her over to the local agencies when she isn’t aware where she is. I’m guessing she’s been traveling for some time, wherever she’s from. Finding who gets her might take time.”
“Well, Peggy, despite your refusing to cooperate, we’ve identified who you are.” Officer De Alba said. “Your fingerprints are on a national children’s database to identify missing children. We’ve alerted your family, who’ve been searching for you.”
She froze with the take-out cheeseburger inches from her face. “My name is Peg,” she said, recovering.
“So, the obvious question is how you got here from Georgia? It would have taken days to reach here by car, even if you stopped somewhere in Arizona or Nevada. We need to know who drove you. Did someone take you, did you run away, hitchhike? With the legal penalties, few will transport unrelated minors across state lines. More importantly, what happened? Did you escape, or did they dump you on the side of the road? We’re not interested in punishing you, but we are in anyone who wanted to harm you.”
“No one did anything. I came here on my own,” she stated, continuing to eat.
“That’s not possible, and taking you was an act of kidnapping, no matter what they said.”
“If it isn’t, then why am I here?” she challenged, staring at him. “Did you see anyone waiting for me? Do I have any bruises, any marks?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine. These cases don’t always involve physical coercion, either. We’ve listed you as a missing child, hoping someone will volunteer information concerning you. It’s only a matter of time until we discover the truth.”
“Good luck. You won’t believe it anyway.”
“Look, this approach isn’t working, and she’s not a suspect in her own kidnapping,” Lilly, a social worker assigned to her argued. “What are the plans for returning her to her home?” She turned to Peg. “You do want to return home, don’t you? Is there anything we should be aware of? Do you feel safe at home?”
She shrugged. “My home is fine, and I’ll be home long before anyone comes for me,” she assured them.
“Whoever abandoned her threatened her life,” Officer Peter declared, leaning over them both as he glared at her. “She could have been struck, and was trying to cross the highway by foot when we encountered her. Why ever they had her, they were breaking the law and need to account for their actions.”
“She’s obviously not ready to reveal that information yet. Badgering the victim won’t earn her trust.”
“Her parents are making plans to come for her. You’ll need to arrange for where she’ll stay until they arrive, which will take several days, at least.”
“We’ll make arrangements. It’s something we routinely do.”
“Can I use the restroom?” Peg asked.
“Sure, honey. I’ll escort you, as a police station isn’t the safest place for a little girl.”
“The Highway Patrol doesn’t house criminals,” Peter reminder her. “We’re also not currently holding anyone, so there aren’t any unpleasant individuals.”
Lilly offered her hand, but she refused, instead heading to the door and waiting. Shrugging, her social worker followed as the officer opened the door for them. Entering the patrol room, Peg scanned it, identifying each of the holes residing there.
As they crossed the room, she veered to the side.
“It’s this way, Peggy.”
“I know,” she said, not stopping. Reaching a nearby desk, she swept a stack of open cases off the surface, scattering papers that fluttered in the air, drifting to the floor.
Peg bolted for her target, pausing before entering to gauge how it felt. This one felt secure, though with an undercurrent of risk. Given her options, she didn’t hesitate.
“Peggy Winchester!” Lilly scolded. Yet when she glanced back, there was no sign of her charge. She’d simply vanished.
Intoxicated, I say nought,
Bewitched by the magic potion.
I cannot differentiate
Between my drunk and sober state.
We are all strangers in a strange land,
longing for home, but not quite knowing what or where home is.
We glimpse it sometimes in our dreams, or as we turn a corner,
and suddenly there is a strange, sweet familiarity
that vanishes almost as soon as it comes.
Entering the hole in California, Peg found herself in a familiar location, though she was a bit stuck. Long ago, too afraid to risk experimenting, she’d pushed her bed against the wall blocking access to the one in her bedroom. The other one was in an unused side of her closet her mother kept putting things in that she was terrified of retrieving.
Now, she found herself halfway inside her room with her legs dangling out the other side. Scampering onto her mattress, she rolled over and lay on her comfortingly welcoming bed and sighed at being home once more. Her adventures were hardly over, still needing to explain where she’d been. But at least she was somewhere she knew; however uncomfortable it might be.
She considered her latest jump. She’d wanted to escape, knowing no good would come from the policemen’s help. The only reason she could imagine why she returned here was that she was seeking safety. It felt anything but, so maybe she sought comfort or simply a familiar setting she knew how to handle. The questions were almost overwhelming. Were the destinations random, could she choose them—and hadn’t figured out how—or was she reading too much into it? She’d been prepared to go anywhere, as long as it didn’t involve answering questions. So, what brought her home from that specific hole? However, trying to connect the puzzle pieces together was exhausting.
She glanced around the room. Most everything was in its place. The few small teddy bears were where she left them on pillows against the headboard, her favorite books on their shelf. The only thing amiss was … “My diary!” she gasped.
Leaping up, she crossed to her dresser, the bottom drawer sitting open. Checking under her few sweaters, she discovered her precious journal was gone—undoubtedly confiscated by her mother. Knowing her mother always searched her things, she never confided much to print. She learned long ago to keep secrets. Other than the few embarrassing confessions, there was nothing compromising in her tiny book. However, it was something else she had to explain, so she needed to determine what she’d say before she was asked. While they’d likely accept the truth about the boys in her class, they wouldn’t about what lay behind the holes they couldn’t see.
Peg tried explaining to her mother why she avoided certain spots when she was younger. After telling her, Melinda hadn’t responded well: dragging her father in to speak with her, forcing her to recount her story, before they both lectured her. They also discussed sending her to a psychiatrist, which broadened into a discussion over whether they could afford it, which hadn’t gone well. After a few more one-sided arguments, Peg learned her lesson and said she’d only been playing. She always danced around the same locations, but never again said why, and her parents never pressed the point.
The kids at school regarded her as weird. While she never mentioned the holes, their reactions spoke volumes about how much they’d accept. Just as her family might reject her if she admitted what she observed every day, her friends would dump her in a heartbeat. The holes were one of many things she never talked about.
Now that she realized they weren’t as dangerous as she’d feared, she was still terrified of telling anyone. Unable to prove what she knew, they’d continue treating her as unstable, someone better kept in an institution than at home. Everyone took her refusal to open up as further signs of a mental imbalance, marking her as more damaged than she already was.
She may be young, but Peg had seen enough to know how others responded. Two kids were exposed as gay at school—though she wasn’t sure what it entailed. One was beaten and both transferred, claiming the school they attended for years wasn’t safe. Another girl confessed she liked girls and ended up living in another state with her great aunt. She’d observed how parents reacted whenever a child questioned their moral teachings. Countering something everyone believed was not well-received, and this was much more difficult to explain than liking someone.
Having resolved that, she considered their nature. Learning each hole led to different destinations, she was interested in experimenting, but didn’t want to risk getting lost again. Sitting at the edge of her bed, she realized she had a unique opportunity. While she could extend a hand into the holes, once you stuck your head in you seemed to be committed. She couldn’t determine their depths, though she was aware of being in them before exiting, but didn’t continue walking.
The transition was instantaneous, yet she had time to consider each. She needed to explore where each went and how the feeling determined its destination. She’d discovered the holes led to multiple places, but didn’t know whether each was random or could be controlled somehow.
Now, kneeling on her bed, she could lean in without entering this one. While it might unbalance her while standing, her body counterbalanced her head. She could also hold herself stationary using the wall to preventbeing sucked in.
She leaned in, putting her face near but not touching it. Feeling the nature of the hole, it felt familiar. Imagining the feel of her last trip, she braced herself and thrust her head in.
She was right. Peg was back in the California police station—or her head was—but it wasn’t like before. It was darker with fewer people, occupied with other things.
“Holy Crap! Is that the missing girl?” someone muttered. She saw an officer in the corner gawking at her. Not wanting to expose herself or alert anyone to her hidden abilities, she pulled back. But she’d proven she could control whether she entered it entirely.
Back in her room, she considered the hole again. She tried to imagine someplace peaceful, but without any people. The feel changed, so she repeated her previous action and found herself leaning over a dark, expansive ocean. The atmosphere was cold and damp, waves cresting around her, the water seemingly extending without end and the view lit by moonlight. Glancing up, she saw threatening storm clouds, highlighted by isolated moonbeams slicing through their gloom. The moon didn’t seem like the one she was familiar with, though she wasn’t sure why. It was a fuller, but appeared to be in the wrong position. Despite the lapping water surrounding her, she pressed against the walls on either side of her head and eased herself back.
Realizing she needed to carefully select her destinations, she tried again. This time imagining a sparsely populated area, she found herself peering into a public park. Like her previous trip, it was vast, stretching far into the distance. There were several people, but none anywhere near her, and a large lake surrounded by rocks and trees lay on the horizon. She pulled back before anyone noticed her.
Peg realized that simply imagining a destination wasn’t enough. She needed to know what the hole leading to such a location felt like. She now felt she could differentiate between this park or another somewhere else. Secure with what she’d learned, she drew back and considered what she might do with it. Rather than fearing them, they now felt familiar. While they often led to dangerous places, they at least came with warnings alerting her there was some danger. It was her responsibility to quickly identify its nature. Reflecting on it, she realized her initial discomfort over returning to her room reflected her mixed feelings about her home: both comforting and disquieting.
Her stomach growled, and she held her tummy. She’d missed both lunch and dinner and was unsure of the time. While the one cheeseburger helped, she was still starving. Sliding off her bed, she removed her shoes but left her socks on and slipped out the door and into the hallway. It was something she learned long ago when moving about the house.
Not noticing anyone, she made her way to the kitchen. She picked up a peach, poured some orange juice and was putting peanut butter on celery stalks when someone gasped.
“Peg!” her mother exclaimed. “When did you get here? Where have you been?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I was out playing and forgot the time.”
‘Uncle’ Frank—though they weren’t related in any way—appeared behind her, his mouth gaping as his eyes widened.
“We were told you were in California?”
Peg giggled, glancing back at her sandwich so she wouldn’t need to face them. “How could I ever travel that far and return again, all on my own? I’ve been here the whole time. I just lost track of time.”
“Those damn cops.” Frank swore. “I knew it was nonsense that she was across the country. There’s no way anyone would take her.”
“We should still tell them,” her mother argued.
“I won’t make things easier for them, Mel. They screwed up a simple identification, and can figure it out for themselves.”
“Still, we need to alert someone. If not them, then at least the local police.”
“We don’t owe them anything either,” Frank said. Peg turned, paying attention. This was something new.
“Maybe not, but they’ll likely call to investigate the missing boy. If we don’t—”
“Someone’s missing?”
“The Eddings, who were visiting the Jensens, haven’t been able to find their son. They called, asking whether we’ve seen him.”
“Jason?”
“Yes,” her mother said, turning and placing her hands on her hips. “How do you know him?”
“We played for a while,” Peg admitted, glancing down, her voice barely audible.
“Excuse me?”
“We met outside and spent some time playing.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
“Uh … no. He … we saw some men staring at us, so I left. I don’t know what happened after that.”
Frank glared at her, raising his brow, but didn’t say anything.
“We need to call the police then.”
“She doesn’t know anything,” he stated. “She didn’t see or witness anything.”
“Still, she was the last person to see him. That has to mean something.”
Frank was never one to say much. He always warned against trusting the cops, saying they were always after something. How if she talked, they’d take her away and put her in a foster home. Peg didn’t know why he distrusted them, but his words influenced her. Combined with her other secret, she wasn’t eager to answer questions.
“We only talked a little.”
Her mother turned to her. “How long were you with him?”
Peg glanced down again, breaking eye contact. “Not long. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”
“Still, you can identify the men lurking nearby. I’m calling the family. They’ll undoubtedly call the police, so either way we’ll talk to them.”
As she left, heading for the phone in their bedroom, Frank continued staring at Peg.
“What?”
“You’re right not saying anything. Whatever you say, they’ll turn it around on you. Nothing good comes from talking to cops.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, munching on her celery as she took her plate to her room. “I didn’t see nothin’.”
Unsure what to do once in her bedroom, Peg lay back to consider her options. Knowing she could now escape unnoticed whenever she needed, she realized she was partially responsible for Jason’s fate. While she hadn’t hurt him, she also didn’t say anything. Her mother was correct. Not revealing what happened helped ensure his fate. She hoped he was still alive, but wasn’t confident after being missing this long. The men were intent on them both; only he didn’t have the forbidding holes to escape into like she did.
The thought she abandoned Jason to face whatever befell him tore at her conscience. Yet she hadn’t a clue what else she might have done. If she’d turned back or not run as fast, she’d have suffered the same fate. But the justification didn’t make her feel any better.
She needed to ask someone, but couldn’t admit anything to anyone she knew. Her secrets were too shocking to escape notice. What she required was someone she trusted, but who didn’t know her. She thought of a potential advisor, but wasn’t sure where to find her.
Squeezing beside the wall and the foot of her bed, she leaned into her bedside hole. Thinking of her onetime friend and searching for a welcoming, comforting location, she tried the various destinations holding her face near it. Finding one, not knowing whether if it was correct, she squeezed between her bed and the wall and carefully edged sideways. She found herself beside the restroom at Tom’s diner again. Steeling herself for the grilling she knew was coming, she straightened the blouse she’d worn to so many places and entered the café.
Glancing around, she didn’t see Midge anywhere and assumed she’d already gone home. The restaurant was still open, as there were a few customers remaining, but was largely empty. Mostly older couples or lone men sat at the bar drinking coffee. As she was preparing to return, Midge entered from the kitchen with a box she set down, and started refilling the stationary rotating-pie display.
Taking a deep breath, she marched in, approaching her previous seat. With a little trouble, and help from the man sitting beside her, she sat on the stool nearest her. Midge didn’t immediately recognize her.
Peg tucked her wayward curls behind her ear, wishing she brought her brush, and patiently waited. Midge finished replacing the missing pies, and disappeared in the back again.
She sighed and the old man beside her chuckled. “Midge is consistent, but she’s no longer a spring chicken like you. She’ll get to you, but it sometimes takes a while.” He winked at her. “Those frequenting Tom’s mainly come here so we won’t be questioned, knowing there’s someone familiar we can turn to when needed.”
Peg stared at him, wondering how he guessed her dilemma, but he grinned while sipping his coffee. When she reentered, he raised a hand, signaling her.
“Midge, need more hot Joe!”
“Hold on to your pants ’for they fall down again, Joe. The last thing we need is more of your likes!” She grabbed a damp cloth to wipe down the counter. Approaching she stopped dead when she recognized Peg, the only patron without gray or balding hair.
“I’d like another glass of water, please.”
“Sure thing, hon,” she said, putting the washrag back. “I was concerned when you disappeared.” She filled a glass from a squeeze-trigger hose and placed it before her. “I asked around and no one could find your parents, or remember anyone new arriving or leaving. We didn’t know where you’d gone.”
Peg shrugged, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “I went home. I appreciated the pie, but I spent too long here.”
Midge raised her brow, like her stool-neighbor had. “Your home in Georgia?”
Unable to help herself, Peg giggled. “Yeah, that one.”
The waitress took a moment to respond, but made up her mind not to dwell on the inexplicable.
“Would you like another pie?”
“I still don’t have any money.”
“Don’t worry. I’m so relieved you’re OK, it’s my treat”
“Leave your tips in your pocket.” Joe reached in his and slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “Add it to my tab, and you can give me another when you bring my coffee.”
Midge glared at him, but pulled out two slices when he ignored her. Placing the pies by Peg, she refilled his mug from the pot near the kitchen, setting it by the old man’s pie, leaving his cash where it was.
When she turned back, Joe raising his cup to toast their newest companion. She started again as Peg dug into her pie.
“So, what brings you back to Arkansas? As nice as free treats are, surely you’ve got things just as pleasant back home?”
She put her fork down, considering her request. “I need some answers, but can’t ask my parents. They wouldn’t understand.”
“Ayup. Midge is always ready with her advice.” Joe took another sip of coffee, “though she rarely digs so relentlessly for it.”
“What’s up, dear?” she asked, once more shooting him a glare, which he deftly ignored.
“I need to tell somebody something, but I can’t. It’s … serious, and might be a matter of life and death, but I don’t know what to say.”
Midge considered it, as Joe continued listening, not offering any comments.
“Does this affect the boy you tried to contact earlier?”
Peg nodded; her pie forgotten. “He’s missing. No one knows where he is, but …”
“But you know something,” she guessed. “I imagine the someone you need to speak with are the police?
Peg glanced at her nervously, but nodded. The free advice was too valuable to ignore.
“And you think you know what happened to him?”
“I’m pretty sure,” Peg admitted, “but I definitely know who’s responsible.”
“That’s our Midge,” Joe said, winking playfully at his new companion. “Even when you think she ain’t paying attention, she recalls everything.”
“Like a few others I know,” she chided.
“I don’t mind,” Peg said, taking pity on the kindly older man. She speared a spare gooey cherry, and shifted it to his plate. “I just need to know what to do?”
Midge considered her dilemma. “Well, if you’re convinced something happened, you’ve got to tell the police, but … it doesn’t mean you need to speak to them directly. You can always call anonymously by dialing 911. They track those too, so they’ll still ask, but if you tell them you don’t want to be identified, they’ll approach it more delicately.”
“That means you call the coppers,” Joe translated, “but tell them you want to keep what you say private. The cops will be more polite, but will still come to your house to question you about it.”
“But I can’t tell them how I know. If I tell them anything, they’re going to ask questions I can’t answer.”
Considering it again, Midge leaned back and held her chin, awkwardly shifted her dentures and pruning her lips. Peg was so intent it didn’t bother her any more than Joe’s eavesdropping.
“Would it help if I asked Sheriff Mason to speak to them, keeping your identify secret?”
Peg sighed. “I’d still have to explain how I know.”
“I hate to ask, but how do you?”
“I was there. Two men tried to grab us, and we both ran. I got away, but I don’t think he did.”
Joe whistled, keeping the pitch low. “That’s a tough one alright.”
“Still, you’ve got to tell them, otherwise you’ll never forgive yourself. Even if they can’t protect him, at least you’ll have done something.”
“If it were me, which it ain’t, I’d leave a note. Or as Midge suggests, have someone—like a minister—pass the message along after promising to keep your identity secret.”
“So, it’s OK to leave a message, even if I’m not there to answer questions?”
Midge frowned, though Joe kept his crusty, concentrating scowl. “That’s harder to do. They’ll just return.”
Peg considered it. “That’s OK. I’m good at disappearing,” she asserted, digging into her pie again as if she was in a race to finish.
“Yeah,” Midge acknowledged. “We noticed. Are we to assume you’re heading back to the restroom?”
Peg blushed, scooping up the last remnants of her treat—purchased by her new confidant, Joe. “Yes, I can only keep this in for so long.”
“Well, I doubt we can stop you, but … stay safe. This sounds like a dangerous game you’re playing.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” she assured them. “I’ll let you know how it turns out. It’ll probably be a while before I can return home again once I do.”
“That was the police,” Peg’s mother said, walking into the kitchen the next morning. “Mary Eddings spoke to them, and they want to speak with you. They’ll be by later.”
“Wha … what are they gonna ask?” Frank asked.
“There’s not much they can. They’ll ask what you saw and you’ll tell them. It’s that simple. You’re unlikely to crack the case, but you may provide an insight that might help them find the boy.”
“Jason,” Peg added.
“Right. But whatever you offer, the Eddings will appreciate it. It’s horrible not knowing what happened to your child. I was worried enough when you didn’t come home last night, and then getting that call.”
“The State Police called too,” Frank confided. “It seems whoever they were holding slipped out of the station unnoticed. I told you they were bozos. How can you misidentify someone when she was never on that side of the country? I told them not to waste their time, she’s here.” He chuckled. “Saying they were shocked is putting it lightly. Now they have no idea who they lost, and no way to find her.”
“I’m not sure it’s something to laugh about. It’s still a missing child. One who’s destitute and on the run.”
“And likely running back home to their mother,” he said, glancing at Peg. “Who’ll be glad having her home without being questioned by the cops.”
“Still, why ever she was picked up, it’s not always easy returning home again.”
“Yeah, remember that,” Frank said, still looking at Peg.
“Don’t worry, I know what to say,” she said, putting her bowl away and heading to her room. Once there, she locked the door, took out the knapsack she’d stowed in her closet, checked the contents and laid a couple handwritten papers on her pillow, reviewing them one last time.
Sorry I’m not here to answer your questions.
There were two big men wearing dark coats and dress shoes. One than taller than Frank with dark hair, the other was slightly shorter, with brownish hair. He also has bushy eyebrows, and an old cut over his right eye. The first man has a large mole on his left cheek and a tattoo of a heart on his wrist.
Peg Johnson
The other note contained a crude sketch of both men, detailing as much as she could recall. Ensuring everything was set, she returned. She unlocked the door and slipped her backpack on before squeezing in between the bed and the wall, not disturbing the papers lying there.
As she neared the familiar hole, she thought of the comforting feel she’d felt before, along with a place with lots of children. As the feel changed, she bit her lip and stepped in, having no clue where she might go this time.
I like adventures, and I’m going to find some.
Exiting the hole, Peg found her presumptions correct. There were hundreds of people, including children, with tall buildings towering overhead. She spun in place, taking in the city. She’d seen pictures of marvelous, gleaming cities like this, but never imagined visiting. Completing her turn, she noticed an arcade directly in front of the hole, filled with loads of kids her age. Her technique worked well, though it wouldn’t take much to find herself floundering in the middle of an ocean clueless of where she was.
Entering, she noted the storefront had seen better days. The video games were clearly dated and the other games were older than her. Still, it was amazing to see so many kids enjoying themselves, most completely unsupervised. She never felt as free as at that moment. Not only to do whatever she wanted, but hopefully discovering others willing to help her navigate the city.
She stopped a particularly handsome boy near her age.
“Pardon me, where are we?”
He pointed out the grimy glass display, indicating the street outside with his thumb. “Eighth Avenue and Forty-second Street.”
“That’s fine, but … what city is this?”
He turned, considering her. “You’re really new to town, ain’t cha? Just off the bus? This is Manhattan, as you’d know if you spent a couple minutes glancing around.”
“Yeah, I’m new. Could you tell me how someone our age is supposed to survive here?”
Giving her his full attention, he pulled her aside. “You running from family, or seeking others like you?”