Boys in the Valley(78)

A few boys cry out in fear. David notices James hide beneath his blanket.

Byron is already approaching the doors.

“Byron!” Peter snaps.

Byron turns, looks at Peter patiently. “Just gonna have a listen.”

Andrew leaves Timothy’s side and starts toward the doors, the strange staff gripped tight in his hand, ready to bless or destroy as needed.

David stands, falls in next to Andrew. Peter does the same.

When they reach the doors, Byron has an ear pressed against the wood.

His head jerks back when the sound comes again, louder now.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

They all look at each other, each waiting for another to make the decision of what to do next. Finally, Andrew steps forward, gently moves Byron aside.

“Who’s there?” he says into the thin black seam between the doors. He listens carefully.

David hears someone whispering from the other side, but can’t make it out.

“And you’re alone?” Andrew says.

Again, a whispered reply. As if whoever’s out there doesn’t want to be overheard.

David hears movement behind him, turns to see some of the boys are now standing nearby, staggered, waiting to find out what fresh horror has arrived to greet them. He sees James, Finnegan, Harry, and Timothy—all of them watching warily. Many of the boys are still asleep. Seeing their scared faces in the pale lantern light, David feels a pang of protectiveness sweep through him. It feels sudden, this rush of concern. Like a door has been flung open inside his heart. The guilt of his conversation with Peter springs forward like a trap, stunning him with shame. But he’s made the decision to stay, and that will have to be enough. He never claimed to be perfect, and he’s here now, for whatever that’s worth.

He’s here.

I won’t have them hurt, he thinks, wishing he had a weapon.

Instead, he curls his fingers into fists.

“Who is it?” he asks.

Andrew, who has been leaning over in order to hear the mysterious guest, stands up straight. He gives Peter and David a quick look. “It’s okay, I think. Be ready, I’m going to open the doors.”

“Father!” hisses Harry, but Andrew ignores him and slides the cross free.

“It’s okay,” he says again, and pulls one of the doors toward him, exposing a wedge of black so dense David wonders for a moment if anything at all still exists outside this room or if it’s all vanished into some endless void, one that they’re dropping through forever, unaware that they’re already lost.

But then a slim, pale boy slips through. There are long scratches on his cheek and forehead. His eyes are wide and frightened, but when the door closes behind him and Andrew quickly replaces the cross barrier, he smiles at them.

“Jonathan?” Peter says.

David is bumped to the side as Finnegan rushes to his friend, yelping with unabashed joy. Jonathan laughs and they clutch each other in a tight hug. David sees tears spill from Finnegan’s tightly closed eyes and looks away, letting the two friends have their moment in relative privacy.

After a few moments, they let each other go, each studying the other eagerly. Those who are awake watch the reunion with shocked, happy faces, their despair momentarily forgotten.

“What happened?” Finnegan says excitedly. “One moment you were there, and then you were gone. We thought they’d gotten you!”

Jonathan, smiling grandly, shakes his head. “Nah, I fought them off, Finn. Slipped right through ’em and ran like the devil. Ended up hiding in the dining hall, underneath one of the tables. They come through a few times, one or two of ’em, calling out like. But I lay still, didn’t move.”

He looks around now at Peter, Andrew and the others. “Glad to see you lot are okay.”

Andrew puts a hand on the boy’s head. “You’re hurt.”

“Nah, it’s nothing, Father. Scratches is all.”

And then they’re gone, Finnegan and Jonathan, the twins. They’re talking too fast for anyone else to understand, and walking toward their old cots, side by side, as if nothing happened, as if nothing else matters.

“Jonathan,” Peter calls out, and the boy turns impatiently. “What about the others? Did you see them? Earlier, we thought we heard screaming, but it’s hard to know with the wind. Are they still out there?”

Jonathan’s cheer is swallowed by fear or, possibly, shame. He looks around at all the faces, all the sleeping boys. “Well, I don’t know for sure, Peter, but yeah, they’re still here. I heard ’em when I snuck through the foyer, down by the priest’s rooms. I heard voices.”

David steps forward, sensing the boy is holding something back. “Voices?”

Jonathan looks at David, almost guardedly. He exchanges a glance with Finnegan before dropping his eyes to the floor. “I can’t be a hundred percent sure,” he says.

“What is it, Jonathan?” Andrew says patiently. Coaxing. “It’s important we know as much as we can if we’re all to get through this. You can tell us anything. This is a safe place.”

Jonathan nods. “Like I said, there were voices. Other kids. And Poole, screaming. Like they was hurting him. I heard one of ’em, Bartholomew I think, talking. Right when I snuck by. He was talking to someone. I heard it clear.”