The Freys arrived in Kensington at midnight. Maggie had worked the early shift at Doubles and had gotten home at eleven. Colby had told her all about the Freys, and she was anxious to meet them. He wouldn’t be able to be with her, of course; they didn’t want to sound any alarms for Rock.
Mr. Frey rapped softly on the apartment door. Maggie rushed to open it as Juju stood to the side.
“Hello, I’m Mr. Frey, and this is my wife,” he said respectfully.
“Hi, I’m Jane,” Maggie said and opened the door wider for them to enter.
Mr. and Mrs. Frey took in the sights around them. Only a few steps inside the open door, they were standing in a room no bigger than fifteen feet wide by twelve feet long. To the right was an old stainless steel sink and a small stove. Two cabinets hung on the greasy wall above the sink. One of the cabinets no longer had a door on it, and on the shelf sat one box of macaroni and cheese and a few cans of vegetables. Drip, drip, drip…the leaking faucet sang to Mrs. Frey as if the noise were being played in surround sound…drip, drip, drip. To the right of the kitchen stood a small folding table and a couple of beat-up chairs.
Shoved up against the wall to their left, under peeling paint, was a single stained mattress on the floor. There were no sheets on the mattress, and on top was a mound of old blankets and towels. For a moment, they all stood awkwardly, not knowing how to spark the conversation.
“Do you have a bathroom I could use? It was a little bit of a drive to get here,” Mrs. Frey finally asked.
Maggie pointed to the door behind them. “The bathroom is through that door. You’ll need to use the flashlight on the floor right there,” she explained, pointing down at it. “There isn’t a light,” Maggie finished, flushing with embarrassment as she realized how minimally they lived.
Mrs. Frey entered the bathroom and closed the door. She shone the flashlight around the tiny room. There was a tub with a cheap shower curtain that looked as though it were made of plastic wrap. The toilet was old, and inside the bowl were years upon years of rust stains. There was no sink. A small mirror hung crookedly above the toilet. She thought of all the extravagant things in her own home, and a stab of guilt jolted up her spine. Shaking it off, she walked back into the only other room of the apartment.
“Thank you for coming all this way,” Maggie began. “I know what Colby told you I needed, and it’s true. We need advice on how to cope with everything that’s happening right now. But there’s something else I was hoping you could do.”
“Sure, let’s hear it,” Mr. Frey said, willing to do just about anything after seeing the dismal circumstances in which these young people were living.
Maggie gestured toward the mattress and began to walk over. Mr. and Mrs. Frey followed.
“Hey,” Maggie whispered to Seth. “Do you think you can sit up? There are some people here who might be able to help us.”
Seth nodded. Up until this point, neither of the Freys realized that the child was lying under the pile of blankets and towels on top of the mattress. Seth put his arms around Maggie’s neck, and she hoisted him up as Juju propped a pillow and old clothing behind him.
The Freys literally had to refrain from moaning aloud. The child was so thin. His bones were protruding, and they could see the purple blotches on his neck and wrists.
Mrs. Frey took a long, silent breath, filling her lungs with the stale air of the room.
“Hello,” she said leaning down to look at Seth.
“Hi,” Seth said shyly.
The Freys had read all about AIDS. They knew it wasn’t transmittable by shaking hands or hugging, yet they both refrained from getting too close to the child. Mrs. Frey watched as Maggie fussed over the boy, holding his hand and rubbing his arm as she spoke.
Maggie began, “So, you see, I’ve read that you’ve become very involved with helping people find their lost kids. We were thinking,” she paused and looked at Seth, “that maybe you could help us find his parents. You know, through all of the organizations you work with.”
“I don’t know if it’ll work, but we’re sure willing to try to help. That is what we do. We try to bring families back together. We hope to be reunited with our own child someday. How about you, Jane? Do you want to find your parents?” Mr. Frey asked.
“Now isn’t the time. I work for dangerous people and well…it’s just not the right time,” Maggie said, sadness clouding her eyes. Maggie knew that in a matter of weeks, she could lose Seth to his disease. She found herself thinking of her own parents and brother more and more. “But we thought maybe if he could be reunited with his parents, it could bring…closure for him.” Maggie whispered closure as if it were a very bad word.
“Of course, Jane. We completely understand,” Mrs. Frey confirmed. “We’re going to be staying in Philadelphia for a couple of weeks to see how we might be able to help all of you get through this,” she vowed.
Maggie smiled. The couple watched the young woman. She was magnificent. Maggie radiated an inner and outer beauty that was almost blinding. While they were talking, Seth had fallen back into a slumber. He didn’t have the strength to stay awake for more than ten minutes at a time. The Freys stayed awhile longer, getting to know Maggie and Juju. They found the two girls interesting and funny. Jane Doe seemed well educated even though she dressed like a streetwalker. She spoke eloquently and didn’t use slang, unlike the Asian girl, who referred to herself as Cujo Doe.
An hour after they arrived, Mr. Frey stood to leave and pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. He handed the envelope containing one hundred dollars to Maggie.
“Just a little money so you can buy Baby Doe things he might need to keep him comfortable,” Mr. Frey said.
Maggie blushed deeply. She knew that they lived in a shit hole, and Seth didn’t have even the smallest of luxuries to keep him comfortable. Grateful for the gesture, Maggie took the envelope and laid it on the floor next to the mattress.
Leaning over Seth, Maggie said, “The Freys are leaving. Do you want to say good-bye?”
Seth’s eyelids fluttered a couple of times, and after a moment, he nodded. Maggie turned and looked at the couple. She pointed her chin toward the mattress.
“It was nice to meet you, Baby Doe,” Mr. Frey said, his voice cracking. He was nervous and felt inadequately prepared to address the sick child. Seth smiled in response.
Mrs. Frey walked over to the mattress and looked down on the thin frame that lay beneath the tattered blankets and towels. Get a fucking grip, she told herself. This is a dying child. Give him human contact. She hurriedly sat on the edge of the mattress before she changed her mind.
“It was very nice to meet you. We’re going to come back and visit you again. Would that be all right?” Mrs. Frey asked.
Seth smiled weakly and nodded.
Mrs. Frey involuntarily reached out and grabbed Seth’s hand. “We will help you in any way we can, Baby Doe,” she said.
She looked down at the boy’s hand resting in her own. She almost got up, but looked down again, just to be sure she wasn’t imagining things. On the inside of the child’s wrist were two perfectly round birth marks that overlapped and looked like the number eight. She pulled the boy’s wrist closer. Then she looked at her husband with unadulterated terror. Mr. Frey was swiftly at her side and looking down at Seth’s wrist. Oh dear God, was all he could think.