Free Lightning by Dean Koontz Page B

knees against her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She was ten, two years younger than her roommates, small for her age. In a white nightgown and socks Tammy looked more like an apparition than like a real person.
    “He wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Tammy said hesitantly, tremulously, as though stating her opinion about Sheener—about anything, anyone—was like walking on a tightrope without a net.
    “He would hurt someone if he could get away with it,” Ruth said.
    “He’s just...” Tammy bit her lip. “He’s... lonely.”
    “No, honey,” Thelma said, “he’s not lonely. He’s so much in love with himself that he’ll never be lonely.”
    Tammy looked away from them. She got up, slipped her feet into floppy slippers, and mumbled, “Almost bedtime.” She took her toiletry kit from her nightstand and shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind her, heading for one of the baths at the end of the hall.
    “She takes the candy,” Ruth explained.
    An icy wave of revulsion washed through Laura. “Ah, no.”
    “Yes,” Thelma said. “Not because she wants the candy. She’s... messed up. She needs the kind of approval she gets from the Eel.”
    “But why?” Laura asked.
    Ruth and Thelma exchanged another of their looks, through which they seemed to debate an issue and reach a decision in a second or two, without words. Sighing, Ruth said, “Well, see, Tammy needs that kind of approval because... her father taught her to need it.”
    Laura was jolted. “Her own father?”
    “Not all the kids at McIlroy are orphans,” Thelma said. “Some are here because their parents committed crimes and went to jail. And others were abused by their folks physically or ... sexually.”
    The freshening air coming through the open windows was probably only a degree or two colder than when they had sat down in a circle on the floor, but it seemed to Laura like a chilly late-autumn wind that had mysteriously leaped the months and infiltrated the August night.
    Laura said, “But Tammy doesn’t really like it?”
    “No, I don’t think she does,” Ruth said. “But she’s—”
    “—compelled,” Thelma said, “can’t help herself. Twisted.”
    They were all silent, thinking the unthinkable, and finally Laura said, “Strange and... so sad. Can’t we stop it? Can’t we tell Mrs. Bowmaine or one of the other social workers about Sheener?”
    “It wouldn’t do any good,” Thelma said. “The Eel would deny it, and Tammy would deny it, too, and we don’t have any proof.”
    “But if she’s not the only kid he’s abused, one of the others—”
    Ruth shook her head. “Most have gone to foster homes, adoptive parents, or back to their own families. Those two or three still here... well, they’re either like Tammy, or they’re just scared to death of the Eel, too scared ever to rat on him.”
    “Besides,” Thelma said, “the adults don’t want to know, don’t want to deal with it. Bad publicity for the home. And it makes them look stupid to have this going on under their noses. Besides, who can believe children?” Thelma imitated Mrs. Bowmaine, catching the note of phoniness so perfectly that Laura recognized it at once: “Oh, my dear, they’re horrible, lying little creatures. Noisy, rambunctious, bothersome little beasts, capable of destroying Mr. Sheener’s fine reputation for the fun of it. If only they could be drugged, hung on wall hooks, and fed intravenously, how much more efficient that system would be, my dear—and really so much better for them, too.”
    “Then the Eel would be cleared,” Ruth said, “and he’d come back to work, and he’d find ways to make us pay for speaking against him. It happened that way before with another perv who used to work here, a guy we called Ferret Fogel. Poor Denny Jenkins...”
    “Denny ratted on Ferret Fogel; he told Bowmaine the Ferret molested him and two other boys. Fogel was suspended. But the two other boys wouldn’t support Denny’s