The Rescue

She'd broken down completely at midnight--Kyle had been gone for three hours--when she realized she wouldn't be able to leave the hospital. She'd begun to scream Kyle's name over and over, as soon as the X-ray had been completed. It was a strange relief to just let go, to scream his name at the top of her lungs. In her mind, Kyle could hear her, and she was willing him to listen to her voice. Come back, Kyle. Come back to where Mommy was. You can hear me, can't you? It didn't matter that two nurses were telling her to be quiet, to calm down, while she struggled violently against their grip. Just relax, they said, everything's going to be okay.

But she couldn't stop. She just kept screaming his name and fighting them until they'd finally brought her here. By then she'd screamed herself out and the screaming had turned into sobs. A nurse had stayed with her for a few minutes to make sure she'd be okay, then had to respond to an emergency call in another room. Since then Denise had been alone.

She stared at the second hand of the bedside clock.

Tick.

No one knew what was going on. Before she'd been called away, Denise had asked the nurse to call the police to find out what was happening. She'd begged her, but the nurse had gently refused. Instead she'd said that as soon as they heard anything, they would let her know. Until then the best thing she could do was to calm down, to relax.

Relax.

Were they crazy?

He was still out there, and Denise knew he was still alive. He had to be. If Kyle was dead, she would know it. She would feel it deep down, and the feeling would be tangible, like getting hit in the stomach. Maybe they had a special connection, maybe all mothers shared it with their children. Maybe it was because Kyle couldn't talk and she had to rely on instinct when dealing with him. She wasn't exactly sure. But in her heart she believed she would know, and so far her heart had been silent.

Kyle was still alive.

He had to be. . . .

Oh please, God, let him be.

Tick.

Judy McAden didn't knock. Instead she opened the door slightly, noticing the overhead light was off. A small lamp glowed dimly in the corner of the room as Judy quietly made her way inside. She couldn't tell whether Denise was asleep or not but didn't want to wake her if she was. As Judy was closing the door, Denise turned her head groggily and peered at her.

Even in the semidarkness, when Judy turned and saw Denise lying in the bed, she froze. It was one of the few times in her life that she didn't know what to say.

She knew Denise Holton.

Immediately--despite the bandage around her head, despite the bruises on her cheek, despite everything--Judy recognized Denise as the young woman who used the computers at the library. The one with the cute little boy who liked the books about airplanes. . . .

Oh, no . . . the cute little boy . . .

Denise, however, didn't make the connection as she squinted at the lady standing before her. Her thoughts were still hazy. Nurse? No--not dressed right. The police? No, too old. But her face seemed familiar somehow. . . .

"Do I know you?" she finally croaked out.

Judy, finally gathering her senses, started toward the bed. She spoke softly.

"Sort of. I've seen you in the library before. I work there."

Denise's eyes were half-open. The library? The room began to spin again.

"What are you doing here?" Her words came out slurred, the sounds running together.

What, indeed? Judy couldn't help but think.

She adjusted her purse strap nervously. "I heard about your son getting lost. My son is one of the ones out there looking for him right now."

As she answered, Denise's eyes flickered with a mixture of hope and fear, and her expression seemed to clear. She broke in with a question, but this time the words came out more lucidly than before.

"Have you heard anything?"

The question was sudden, but Judy realized that she should have expected it. Why else would she have come to see her?

Judy shook her head. "No, nothing. I'm sorry."

Denise pressed her lips together, staying silent. She seemed to be evaluating the answer before finally turning away.

"I'd like to be alone," Denise said.

Still uncertain of what to do--Why on earth did I come? She doesn't even know me--Judy said the only thing she herself would have wanted to hear, the only thing she could think to say.

"They'll find him, Denise."

At first Judy didn't think that Denise had heard her, but then she saw Denise's jaw quiver, followed by a welling of tears in her eyes. Denise made no sound at all. She seemed to be holding back her emotions as if she didn't want anyone to see her this way, and that somehow made it worse. Though she didn't know what Denise would do, Judy acted on motherly impulse and moved closer, pausing briefly beside the bed before finally sitting. Denise didn't seem to notice. Judy watched her in silence.

What was I thinking? That I could help? What on earth can I do? Maybe I shouldn't have come. . . . She doesn't need me here. If she asks me to go again, I'll go. . . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice so low that Judy could barely hear it.

"But what if they don't?"

Judy reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "They will."

Denise drew a long, uneven breath, as if trying to draw strength from some hidden reserve. She slowly turned her head and faced Judy with red, swollen eyes. "I don't even know if they're still looking for him. . . ."

Up close, Judy flashed upon the resemblance between Denise and her mother--or rather, how her mother used to look. They could have been sisters, and she wondered why she hadn't made the connection at the library. But that thought was quickly replaced as Denise's words sank in. Unsure if she had heard correctly, Judy furrowed her brow.

"What do you mean? Do you mean to say that no one's kept you informed of what's happening out there?"

Even though Denise was looking at her, she seemed very far away, lost in a kind of listless daze.

"I haven't heard a thing since I was put in the ambulance."

"Nothing?" she finally cried, shocked that they had neglected to keep her informed.

Denise shook her head.

At once Judy glanced around for the phone and stood up, her confidence rising with the knowledge that there was something she could do. This must have been the reason she'd felt the urge to come. Not telling the mother? Completely unacceptable. Not only that, but . . . cruel. Inadvertent, to be sure, but cruel nonetheless.

Judy sat in the chair beside the small table in the corner of the room and picked up the handset. After dialing quickly, she reached the police department in Edenton. Denise's eyes widened when she realized what Judy was doing.

"This is Judy McAden, and I'm with Denise Holton at the hospital. I was calling to find out what's going on out there. . . . No . . . no . . . I'm sure it's very busy, but I need to talk to Mike Harris. . . . Well, tell him to pick up. Tell him Judy's on the line. It's important."

She put her hand over the receiver and spoke to Denise.

"I've known Mike for years--he's the captain. Maybe he'll know something."

There was a click, and she heard the other end pick up again.

"Hey, Mike. . . . No, I'm fine, but that's not why I called. I'm here with Denise Holton, the one whose boy's in the swamp. I'm at the hospital, and it seems that no one's told her what's happening out there. . . . I know it's a zoo, but she needs to know what's going on. . . . I see . . . uh-huh . . . oh, okay, thanks."

After hanging up, she shook her head and spoke to Denise while dialing a ne

w number. "He hasn't heard anything, but then his men aren't conducting the search because it's outside the county lines. Let me try the fire station."

Again she went through the preliminaries before reaching someone in charge. Then, after a minute or so, her tone becoming that of a lecturing mother: "I see . . . well, can you radio someone at the scene? I've got a mother here who has a right to know what's happening, and I can't believe you haven't kept her informed. How would you like it if it was Linda here and Tommy was the one who was lost? . . . I don't care how busy it is. There's no excuse for it. I simply can't believe you overlooked something like that. . . . No, I'd rather not call back. Why don't I hold while you radio in. . . . Joe, she needs to know now. She hasn't heard a thing for hours now. . . . All right, then. . . ."

Looking at Denise: "I'm holding now. He's calling over there with the radio. We'll know in just a couple of minutes. How're you holding up?"

Denise smiled for the first time in hours. "Thank you," she said weakly.

A minute passed, then another, before Judy spoke again. "Yes, I'm still here. . . ." Judy was silent as she listened to the report, and despite everything, Denise found herself growing hopeful. Maybe . . . please . . . She watched Judy for any outward signs of emotion. As the silence continued, Judy's mouth formed a straight line. She finally spoke into the handset. "Oh, I see. . . . Thanks, Joe. Call here if you find out anything, anything at all. . . . Yes, the hospital in Elizabeth City. And we'll check back in a little while."