Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

I could hear his voice, feel his fingers crawling over my body and then . . . it made me cringe inside. The idea of returning to Cutler's Cove and living with Uncle Philip and Aunt Bet again terrified me. I couldn't return; I just couldn't. So when I lifted the receiver and started to dial, I changed my mind and called Gavin instead.
    "I can't tell you everything over the phone right now, Gavin," I said, "but I had to get away from Uncle Philip."
    "Where are you?" he asked after a moment. "Jefferson and I are in New York City." "New York City!"
    I told him about my real father and how that had been a disaster and then I told him we didn't have much money left.
    "If you tell your father, he'll probably call my uncle Philip," I added.
    "What did he do that was so terrible you can't tell me over the phone?" Gavin asked.
    "It happened at night, Gavin. In my bedroom," I said, choking back the tears. There was a long silence.
    "Don't do anything else," Gavin said. "Just wait there for me."
    "You're going to come to New York?"
    "I'll leave right away. Can you wait there for me?" he asked.
    "Oh yes, Gavin. Yes."
    "I'll be there, Christie . . . as soon as I can," he promised.
    I hung up and returned to Jefferson and told him about Gavin.
    "Good," he said. "Maybe he'll take me to do something that's fun."
    "I don't know what we'll do yet, Jefferson, but at least . . . at least Gavin will be here," I said, filled with renewed hope. "Until he comes, we'll have to occupy ourselves. It will be hours and hours. Come on," I said, "I'll buy you a coloring book and crayons."
    "And clay. I want to make some soldiers." "We'll see how expensive it all is," I said. "We need some money for dinner, too."
    "Won't Gavin be here by then?" he asked.
    "No. It's going to be a long time, so don't start whining and complaining like a little baby," I warned.
    "I'm not a little baby."
    "Good. Come on. We'll buy you the coloring book." One of the shops sold travel toys and games. Everything was more expensive than I had imagined, however, and I was able to buy him only a small package of crayons and a small coloring book. I had just six dollars left and hoped it would be enough to get us something decent for supper. Jefferson and I went off to a corner of the big lobby and sat on a bench. For a while his coloring book and crayons kept him occupied, but he soon grew tired of it and began to complain.
    "Can I go walking around?" he asked.
    "You can't go far. This is a big place and you could get lost in it," I warned.
    "I won't go far," he promised. I was tired and I didn't have the patience to argue with him.
    "Just go over there," I pointed, "and stay where I can keep an eye on you."
    "Okay." He hopped off the bench and went to look at the posters and watch the people hurrying to and fro. I watched him staring at people and smiled to myself when an elderly woman stopped to talk to him. She patted him on the head and continued on her journey. He glanced back at me and then walked a little farther away.
    "Jefferson!" I called, but he didn't hear me. As long as I could see him, I thought it was all right. But my eyes were so tired and my lids so heavy, I had to fight to keep them open. The emotional burdens from the night before, the traveling and the disappointment I received meeting my real father all combined to wear me down. Fatigue crept up my body. It was as if I had stepped into a pool of exhaustion and sunk deeper and deeper into it until it washed over my face. I let my eyes close, telling myself it would be just for a little while, but almost as soon as I did, sleep took a firm hold of me and I slumped to the side, sliding, sliding, sliding until my head rested comfortably on my suitcase.
    Sometime-later, I woke with a start. A man in a torn and dirty jacket with soiled pants and shoes that had rags tied around them to keep them together and block the holes in the soles stood a few feet away staring at me. He had his hands in his pockets, but I could see his fingers moving against the material. It looked like he had two mice in his pants. I sat up quickly. He smiled, revealing a mouth with many teeth missing. He was unshaven, the dark stubble appearing in patches over his chin and cheeks, and his hair was matted, some strands looking plastered over his forehead and temples. The tempo of movement in his pockets increased and his tongue slid back and forth over his lips as if it were a small animal itself trying to break free and escape.
    I