The Homecoming Page 10

“Duncan,” said Eleanor, but Dr. Schmitt held up a hand and smiled to show she was fine with the inquiry.

  “You can count on my discretion, Congressman.”

  “It’s just that I have to deal with the media,” he explained, “and I think it is best not to mention extraterrestrials, especially because I’m the vice chair of the Science, Space, and Technology Committee.”

  Duncan noticed the blank looks and added, “We’re the committee that has jurisdiction over NASA, among other departments.”

  That was a strange coincidence, thought Cheever.

  “We’re so grateful for your visit,” said Eleanor, giving the doctor a hug. “We can’t tell you how appreciative we are.”

  “It’s truly been my pleasure,” said Dr. Schmitt. “I can still remember how saddened I was—how saddened everyone in the practice was—when Stella disappeared.”

  “Let me walk you out,” said Duncan. “I’ll divert the media while you make your getaway.”

  The press started peppering Duncan with questions the moment he opened the front door, and continued shouting questions while he made his way down the walkway. With all eyes on him, Dr. Schmitt was able to get to her car with a minimum of pursuit.

  Duncan remembered the same media throng seven years ago. Facing the cameras hadn’t scared him at the time. It was having a missing daughter that had terrified him, and he’d been willing to do anything to try and get her back.

  He motioned for silence, and the media reluctantly complied. The lights from the cameras were shining in his eyes. During his time in Washington, Duncan had learned how to appear comfortable in front of the camera and personalize his address.

  Making eye contact with the cameras, he said, “Today I am the luckiest man alive. My daughter, Stella, has come home.”

  Duncan ignored the flurry of questions shouted at him, again holding up his hands for silence.

  “I hope you can understand that right now, the only thing I want to do is spend time with my daughter and my family, and because of that, your questions must wait for another time. For seven long years we’ve prayed for my daughter’s return, and we thank God that our prayers were answered.”

  He offered a wave and a smile. As he began walking back to the house, the media clamor rose to a fevered pitch, but he didn’t turn around to their plaintive cries. For once he wasn’t a politician. He was just a dad who wanted to spend time with his daughter.

  The plaintive cries weren’t reserved only for the media. There were plenty of cries coming from the playroom.

  “Michael is a tad competitive,” Duncan acknowledged.

  “I wonder where he got that from,” said Eleanor.

  Her comment elicited a kiss from Duncan.

  “Isn’t that enough PDA?” asked Cheever.

  “No,” said Duncan, kissing his wife again.

  “Did you ever look at our garage after we converted it into a playroom?” asked Eleanor.

  “I don’t think so,” Cheever replied.

  “There’s everything out there kids might like,” she said, “including the Ping-Pong table, a pool table, pinball machines, electronics, free weights, and a big-screen TV with stereo speakers. I’m afraid it was a shameless attempt to keep Michael and his friends close to home.”

  They heard Michael shouting, “I can’t believe how lucky you are!”

  “It sounds like Stella’s table-tennis game has improved,” said Duncan.

  “I wonder if she plays a mean pinball,” said Cheever.

  Michael paused before serving. “It is sort of strange having you back,” he said.

  “It is sort of strange being back,” said Stella.

  “I never thought I’d see Mom all smiley again. I don’t think she’s had a good night’s sleep since you were gone. And for once, Dad was here—I mean, really here. After you left, he sort of got obsessed with one thing and another, and that was even before he was back east most of the time.”

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “I kind of went my own way,” he said. “I guess we all did. I missed you, of course. But I was also pissed at you.”

  “Missed and pissed,” mused Stella.

  “Yeah, I mean I was sad you were gone, but always being in your shadow got old real quick.”

  “My shadow?” she asked.

  He nodded. “In case you didn’t know, you were the perfect child, and you never did anything wrong. Mom worshipped your memory, and Dad was always doing something or other to honor your memory. How’d you like to grow up in that shadow?”

  “It must have been hard,” she said, “but now that I’m back, they’ll see how imperfect I am.”

  “I hope so. I’m tired of being the only black sheep in the family.”

  Then, without warning, he served the ball, catching Stella unaware.

  “My point,” he said.

  “You jackass,” she said.

  “Jackass?” said Michael. “I haven’t heard that . . . since we were kids. I better help you update your insult vocabulary, loser, or else no one will even know you’re dissing them.”

  Duncan looked at his watch. “That shrink should be arriving any minute now,” he said.

  “In that case I’d better have my talk with Stella now,” Cheever said, “assuming it’s all right with both of you.”

  When neither parent voiced an objection, Cheever went to the garage to get Stella. From the doorway he watched the game in process. Michael was clearly a good athlete, able to hit the ball where and how he wanted it. He could spin, slice, and put topspin on the ball, but despite his skill, Stella was able to keep the ball in play. In fact, it was Michael who was red-faced and sweating; Stella calmly returned his ball time and again with what looked like a minimum of effort. For Michael, it must have felt like hitting to a backboard. Finally, though, he snuck a shot by Stella.

  “Good shot, Michael,” she said.

  Cheever wondered if Stella had purposely given him the point.

  “Sorry to interrupt the game,” said Cheever, “but I’m afraid it’s nosy-cop time, which means I need to borrow Stella for a few minutes.”

  Cheever and Stella weren’t the only ones who went up to her room. Copper followed the two of them and joined Stella atop her twin bed. The golden retriever looked like he was smiling and kept extending his paw to Stella.

  “He’s glad to see you back,” said Cheever.

  “He went crazy when he saw me,” said Stella.

  “He should have been named Argos.”

  Stella looked to him for an explanation.

  “One day you might read about Argos in The Odyssey,” he said. “Argos was a loyal dog who waited twenty years for the return of his master, Odysseus. When Odysseus finally arrived at his home in Ithaca, no one recognized him save for Argos, who gave him a rousing welcome. Right afterward, Argos died. He’d fulfilled his last duty.”

  The girl gave Copper a kiss and said, “I’m glad you didn’t die after you welcomed me home.”

  Cheever smiled at them. He had probably been in Stella’s room more than a hundred times over the years. All of its contents were in a file; all of its contents were in his brain. A few years back, Eleanor Pierce had reluctantly given most of her daughter’s clothing to Goodwill, but just about everything else remained as it had been.

  During many of his visits to the home, Cheever had prowled around the room by himself. On one occasion he remembered getting down on his knees and walking around in the hopes of having Stella’s vantage point. It hadn’t helped. But now here he was, back where he’d started.

  He thought back to the time Linda Fabian had walked around Stella’s room. The psychic had been confused. She had said Stella was alive, but that she was far away.

  Far, far away, she had said.

  Cheever took a seat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disrupt Stella and Copper.

  “You’ve grown so tall,” he said. “I’m afraid your parents are going to have to get you a new bed.”

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sp; Stella smoothed the bedcover and shook her head. “I like this one.”

  “I’m curious about a picture that we couldn’t account for, Stella,” said Cheever. “There was a family photo taken in Big Sur that your mother remembered being in your room. After you went missing, your mom couldn’t find that picture.”

  “I took it,” she said in a soft voice.

  She reached inside the pocket of her pants and withdrew a folded and well-worn picture.

  “You’ve had that all these years?”

  She nodded.

  Cheever felt his pulse quicken. When he’d worked the case, there had been so little to go on; they hadn’t been sure evidence like the missing photo could even be considered evidence. “Why did you take it?”

  “I wanted a picture of my family.”

  “So you took it with the knowledge that you were going away?”

  Stella nodded.

  “Did you know how much you’d be missed?”

  “I probably should have, but I didn’t. My only excuse is that I was seven. I guess I was so excited that I didn’t think about it at the time.”

  “You weren’t scared by the prospect of going off with strangers?”

  “I was more excited than anything,” she said. “For the first time it felt as if the stars were within my reach.”

  “So the Travelers asked if you wanted to come with them.”

  “The Travelers don’t speak like we’re doing right now, but I understood their invitation.”

  “How did you communicate with them?”

  “Through mindspeak,” she said. “If it seems that I am having trouble talking to you and the others, it’s because I am out of practice.”

  Cheever tried to hide his surprise. He had noticed Stella’s sometimes halting speech, and had wondered at it.

  He asked another seemingly random question. “What do the Travelers look like?”

  “Their appearance changed depending on where we were and what we were doing.”

  “You make them sound like shape-shifters.”

  “I don’t know that word. The first Traveler I encountered, I thought was an angel.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “She came to me in the form of light.”

  “And you understood her thoughts?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why did you return home at this time, Stella?”

  She thought about that before answering. “The disharmony was growing perilous.”

  “Disharmony?” asked Cheever.

  Stella nodded, and then said, “I think you should talk with my mother.”

  Cheever made a mental note to do that. “Were you glad to come back home?”

  “I’m not sure if I am home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who is to say if my stay here is temporary or permanent?”

  “I imagine you are.”

  “That decision might, or might not, be my own. Time will tell.”

  “So for the last seven years you’ve been traveling around the universe?”

  “Space has been one of my travels.”

  “Aren’t there laws of physics that say that faster-than-light travel isn’t possible?”

  “I don’t know about those laws.”

  “For years I’ve been trying to figure out how you disappeared seemingly without a trace. Tell me how the Travelers were able to take you away.”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Why don’t you know?”

  “I don’t remember what happened after I agreed to go with them. When I awakened, I was on the ship.”

  “How much time passed between your being taken and your awakening?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “Time is different out there.”

  The detective mixed up his questions again, jumping from subject to subject. “Where did you get the clothes you’re wearing?”

  “They were provided for me.”

  “Did you pick them up at the Gap?”

  That made Stella smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the Gap.”

  “Do you know what kind of fabric your blouse is made of?”

  She shook her head, but then added, “I know it’s not made from animal products.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The Travelers don’t believe in killing animals for food or materials.”

  She reached over to her nightstand and opened a drawer. Inside, everything was as she had left it. There were colored pens, some jacks, and a deck of cards. Stella reached for the cards and smiled.

  “Do you like to play cards?” asked Cheever.

  “I haven’t played since I left,” she said, “but I remember I used to love playing Go Fish with anyone who would play with me.”

  “It’s been years since I’ve played that game.” Diane had liked playing it as well, he remembered. It had been a way of passing the time during her stays in hospitals.

  “How about I’ll be the dealer?” said Cheever.

  Stella handed him the deck, and Cheever dealt each of them seven cards. She studied her hand and then appeared to take a read of Cheever.

  “Do you have queens?” she asked.

  “Apparently I’m playing with a cardsharp,” said Cheever, passing over a queen.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Dr. Benjamin Froke sat in the center of the living room. He’d been told when he arrived that some cop was questioning Stella. Froke didn’t like the idea of having to cool his heels, but there had been work to do in the meantime. Ostensibly he was taking down a family history, but what he was really doing was following a script established by the man who had hired him, or, more likely, the organization the man represented. If he was working for the devil, at least the devil was making it look as if he was very well prepared.

  Froke’s acting talents were called upon for much of the interview. He feigned surprise when the parents offered up Stella’s background and where she claimed to have been during her time away. All of that had already been spelled out in the paperwork Froke had been given.

  The psychiatrist paused between asking questions of the family, acting as if he was considering what was being said, and then responding after additional thought. Froke often liked to wing his sessions. Most of his patients didn’t care as long as he filled their prescriptions. His job was to bill and pill. He’d been tempted to end more than one session by asking, “You want fries with that?”

  He briefly glanced at his script. “As a child, did Stella have any imaginary friends?”

  “Yes,” Eleanor said. “What was that name?”

  “Fuzzy,” said Duncan.

  “No,” said Michael. “Fizzies.”

  “Was Fizzies male or female?” asked Froke.

  “Male,” said Eleanor. “I think.”

  “How long did this imaginary friend persist?”

  The Pierce family exchanged glances.

  “About a year,” Duncan answered.

  “How old was Stella then?”

  “Three or four,” said Eleanor.

  Froke wrote the answers down. “Would you say Stella has a very active imagination?”

  “What do you mean?” asked the congressman, his tone defensive.

  “For example, as a girl did she enjoy telling, or acting out, fantastic stories?”

  “To some extent,” said Eleanor. “I remember on several occasions she played the role of a fairy princess with a magic wand.”

  “Do you know if she ever saw the movie E.T.?”

  Michael chimed in: “We watched it together. I remember she cried.”

  “What about any of the Star Wars films?”

  “I think she saw most of them,” said Michael.

  “So, even as a child, she would have been familiar with the concept of aliens?”

  The heads nodded.

  “Did she ever threaten to run away?”

  “No,” said Duncan. His tone was flat and final.

  “
Would you describe her as a happy child?”

  “Very,” said Duncan.

  “Did Stella have any particular fears or phobias?”

  “She didn’t like the dark when she was a child,” said Eleanor. “That’s why her drapes were always open. She liked the light from the night sky, and the moon, and enjoyed looking out to the stars.”

  “Stars,” said Froke, repeating back what Eleanor had said. That was about as much improvising as the script allowed for.

  “She didn’t like spiders either,” said Duncan. “I imagine she still doesn’t.”

  “That’s right,” said Eleanor, remembering. “She was afraid of spiders.”

  “Do you remember Stella ever voicing a desire to travel?”

  Husband and wife conferred with their eyes before Duncan answered, “Almost every night I used to read her stories. She was curious about different places and customs.”

  “You read her adventure stories? Places with foreign settings?”

  Duncan thought about it. “From what I remember, many of the books were set in foreign lands, or even different worlds.”

  “Tell me some of the stories you read.”

  Duncan thought for another moment. “Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves. Aesop’s Fables. The Hobbit. Black Beauty. Mary Poppins. Little House on the Prairie. The Borrowers. Charlotte’s Web. Peter Pan. Sinbad. Cinderella. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Lots of others.”

  “She liked stories with exotic locales?”

  “She liked stories, period,” said Duncan.

  Footsteps coming down the stairway announced the arrival of Stella and the cop. The adults stopped talking while Froke got to his feet and studied his new patient.

  “Cheever,” said the man, stepping in front of Stella and offering his hand.

  Froke grasped Cheever’s hand and said, “I’m Dr. Benjamin Froke.”

  Even though Froke released his grip, the detective held on for a second longer and said, “Stella’s tired, Dr. Froke. For her sake, I’d make your session with her a short one.”

  Keeping his voice carefully neutral and trying not to show his immediate dislike for the man, Froke said, “It would be helpful for me to know what the two of you discussed.”

  “Oh, I doubt if it would be very helpful,” said Cheever, his tone light and playful. Stella was smiling at him. “We talked about favorite foods, and played a few games of cards.”