Rumors

by Phil M. Williams

  “Don?” Rick said.

  “Thanks for picking up,” Principal Pruitt said, his voice monotone. “I wanted to let you know that Dr. Matthews and the school board have decided to rescind the resignation offer, instead opting to terminate your employment immediately. You’ll receive a formal termination notice in the mail in a few days.”

  Rick sat on his bed, next to his shotgun. “That’s it? No investigation? No hearing?”

  “Given the latest developments, we feel it’s the right thing to do for the school, the community, and the students.”

  Rick disconnected the call. He sat silent, slack-jawed, in shock. He knew things were bad, but he thought the truth would eventually come out. Maybe not. He picked up his shotgun and thought, Maybe Caleb had the right idea.

  CHAPTER 89

  Janet and Heather

  West Lake High School was back in session on Monday. The blood on the concrete had been bleached. A few news vans still hovered for additional fodder, but the hysteria had died down. For the most part, it had been a normal school day. For Janet, it felt more like a rebirth. Rick Barnett had been fired over the weekend. Gwen Townsend-Walker had been suspended. Soon to be fired, no doubt. Pruitt was on his way out. Janet thought he might resign.

  After school, Janet drove into a run-down neighborhood, smiling, thinking about her good fortune. She lowered her visor, blocking the afternoon sun. Janet parked her BMW in the driveway of the double-wide trailer. Thankfully, the media wasn’t present. The grass was unruly. An old red Pontiac was under the carport. Ashlee’s white Jeep was parked along the street. Mold grew on the trailer where it was shaded by the carport. Janet stepped to the front door and knocked.

  Heather Miles opened the door, wearing yoga pants and a fleece, her face unnaturally tan. “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to personally offer my condolences—”

  “I don’t need shit from you.”

  “I’m friends with Rachel Kreider,” Janet said.

  Heather cracked a tiny smile. “That’s where she’s been gettin’ all that information.”

  “Can we talk for a minute? I tried to call first, but your phone goes straight to voice mail.”

  Heather narrowed her eyes, thinking for a moment. She stepped aside and said, “Come on in.”

  Janet stepped into the trailer. It felt cramped, the ceilings low compared to her home. Ashlee sat in the living room, watching television and tapping on her phone.

  “I had to turn off my phone,” Heather said. “Damn reporters been up my ass.”

  Ashlee stood from the couch and flipped off the television. She glared at Janet and disappeared into a back bedroom, a door slamming behind her. Heather didn’t comment on her daughter’s behavior.

  Janet and Heather sat at a tiny table in a narrow kitchen, Janet brushing off her seat before putting her expensive skirt on it. The kitchen smelled a bit like garbage. The lid of the offending can was partly open, trash overflowing. Plastic cups and plates littered the sink and counter.

  “What do you wanna talk about?” Heather said, leaning back, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “I admire you,” Janet replied.

  Heather blinked, a smirk on her face. “For what?”

  “I think you’re a strong and brave woman. I think you represent a toughness and realness that’s sorely needed in this school district.”

  Heather leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. “I didn’t think nobody noticed what I been doin’.”

  “I’ve noticed. People are following you. You’re a leader in this community now. People listen to you.”

  “Maybe some people. Every day I get more and more people on the Facebook page.”

  “I don’t know if you heard. Rick Barnett’s been fired, and Gwen Townsend was suspended.”

  “Rachel told me. Good riddance. I’m suin’ both of ’em. Pruitt too, the school district, and the cops.”

  “You’ll be a wealthy woman once this is over.”

  “It ain’t about the money.”

  “Of course. You want to do what’s right. You don’t want what happened to Caleb to happen to another child.”

  “Damn right.”

  “As a female principal, I’ve been struggling against the old boys’ club of this district for years. I’m the only female administrator. The school board is made up entirely of old white men. The corruption turns my stomach. Our first priority should be to the students of this community, but you and I know the district cares more about money and power than the kids.”

  Heather nodded along with Janet’s diatribe. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “I’d like for you to be the first woman on the school board.”

  “How would I do that? I don’t know nothin’ about the school board.”

  “There’s an election in November. It’s not too late to add you to the ballot. I have plenty of people who would support you.”

  “What would I have to do?”

  “You’d have to tell your story. The whole story.”

  Heather furrowed her brows. “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “One board member in particular is a total creep. His seat’s up for reelection. Pastor Francis Goode.”

  Heather’s eyes went wide, her mouth slack-jawed.

  Janet leaned forward on the table, her hands held like a prayer. “I know what happened, Heather. I know what he did to you.”

  “I can’t.” Heather shook her head. “I don’t wanna be airin’ dirty laundry.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just a child. He took advantage.”

  Tears welled in Heather’s eyes. “I can’t.”

  “If you stand up and speak your truth, you’re standing up for every girl and woman in this town. You’re telling them that they can be more powerful than a man. You’re telling them that they don’t have to take bullshit from men. They don’t have to break their backs, taking care of children, while the man in their life leaves them high and dry. You just have to tell the truth.” Janet paused for a moment. “We need you to be the voice for all of us. We need you to be a hero, Heather. Will you do it?”

  A smile spread across Heather’s face, reaching her eyes.

  CHAPTER 90

  Gwen Has a Change of Heart

  “This is my last message. I won’t bother you anymore,” Rick said through Gwen’s voice mail. “I’m starting to feel like a stalker. I know this stuff about the essay is bullshit. It’s textbook Janet. This is exactly what she’d do to cover her own ass. And I, um, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for what you went through in Philly. I know it’s none of my business, but I wanted you to know that I’m here if you need to talk. To be honest, I could use someone to talk to. I don’t know if you heard, but they fired me.” Rick exhaled, pausing for a moment. “I thought maybe we could commiserate and compare notes. No pressure. I know my credibility’s not good. That’s probably an understatement. Anyway, I’ll leave you alone now. I’m sorry … about everything.”

  Gwen set her phone on the coffee table. That was Rick’s last message. She’d listened to it at least ten times since Saturday night. His messages had been a comfort to her. Rick had said that would be his last message, and he’d been a man of his word. Forty-eight hours later, he hadn’t contacted her again. He had sounded desperate, like a man groping for a lifeline. He also sounded like a man who was telling the truth. He reminded her of Brian. Honest to a fault. Maybe Janet was waiting at Rick’s house for that picture. I have no idea how that essay ended up in my classroom, but it was there.

  Gwen called Rick’s cell phone. It went straight to voice mail. She disconnected the call. He must’ve turned off his phone. He probably got tired of waiting for me to call. She stood from her couch and walked to the window. Parting the curtains, she surveyed the parking lot. Despite the darkness, enough glow from the streetlights confirmed that the news van was gone. She grabbed her purse, put on her peacoat, and left her apartment. She drove to Rick
’s without incident.

  Her stomach fluttered as she parked behind Rick’s truck. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. His house was pitch dark, the only one in the neighborhood without a single light shining. Something’s wrong. Gwen stepped from her car and walked to the front door, her head on a swivel. The wind whistled through the large oak, the leaves rustling. Gwen knocked on the door, not hard. She waited, listening for movement. Nothing. She knocked again, harder. Still nothing. Another wind gust, more leaves rustling. She heard footsteps, outside footsteps trying to be quiet. Turning to the sound, she saw the silhouette of a man with a shotgun. She screamed.

  The silhouette stepped closer. “Gwen?”

  “Rick?”

  She could see him now. “You scared me.”

  Rick wore all black and held a pump shotgun. “I’m sorry. I’ve been getting threats–”

  “Threats?” Gwen put her hand to her chest.

  “Yeah, I’ve had a few threatening calls and emails.”

  “Did you talk to the police?”

  “I’m not exactly popular with the police these days. They’re probably using fake accounts and anonymous cell phones anyway.”

  “But they could find the IP addresses.”

  “The entire town thinks I’m a pedophile. The cops don’t give a shit what happens to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gwen said.

  Rick shrugged, acting like he didn’t care, but the look on his face said the opposite. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need a friend, and I thought maybe you needed one too.”

  “That’s an understatement.” He forced a smile. “Front door’s locked, so we’ll have to walk around back. I came from the back to surprise whoever was at the door.”

  “You certainly surprised me.”

  Rick led her around back and through the sliding glass door.

  “I tried to call,” Gwen said.

  “I’m sorry. I know I said I’d leave my phone on, but I couldn’t take it anymore with the crank calls and the reporters.” Rick locked the door and put a broom handle into the tracks. He turned on the lights, illuminating the kitchen. “You want some tea? I still have that tea you left here.”

  “Tea would be great.” Gwen sat at the kitchen table.

  He set the shotgun on the counter, the barrel facing the wall. He put on the teakettle and joined her at the table.

  “I’ve been thinking about your situation,” Rick said.

  “I’ve been thinking about yours too,” Gwen replied.

  “My situation’s a done deal.” He looked like death. Bloodshot eyes, dark circles, disheveled hair and beard.

  “What if we got someone to talk?”

  “We?” Rick asked with raised eyebrows.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

  Rick narrowed his eyes, studying Gwen for a moment. “Now you do? Just like that?”

  “My situation’s pretty unbelievable, but here I am, suspended for something I didn’t do. I know it’s selfish to get it only because it happened to me, but I guess that’s where I am.”

  He nodded. “That’s fair.”

  “Your voice mails were sweet.”

  “I hope you deleted them. I was rambling on and on.” A smirk spread across his face. “Your voice mail’s been my best friend over the past few days.”

  She smiled in return. “They’re mine now. I’m keeping them.”

  “It’s you and me against the world then?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I guess so.” Gwen paused for a beat. “Seriously though, why can’t we get someone to talk? Janet can’t be doing this all by herself. What about Rachel Kreider?”

  “She’d stop a bullet for Janet.”

  “What about Bob Schneider?”

  “I think Janet has something on him. I doubt he’d talk.”

  “He might not incriminate himself, but he might give you some information that could help. If Janet has something on him, I’m sure he’d like to get out from under her.”

  Rick paused for a moment, stroking his beard. “That’s a really good point. Maybe I’ll go see him tomorrow. What do I have to lose, right?”

  “If you want me to go with you …”

  “Thanks, but he’d be more likely to talk without an audience.”

  She nodded.

  “I, um, I’m really sorry about everything that happened in Philly. I didn’t know.”

  She looked away for a beat, then back to Rick, her eyes glassy. “I didn’t tell you.”

  “If you ever wanna—”

  “I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s okay?”

  “We don’t have to talk about it, … but I’m here.”

  “Thank you,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “I’ve been thinking about the essay,” he said, changing the subject. “I think Janet planted it in your classroom. She could’ve slid it under the door. She was the last one out of the school. She had plenty of time to do it.”

  Gwen nodded. “I think you’re right. I just can’t prove it.”

  “What about video? The school has cameras.”

  “Wouldn’t the police be looking at that footage?”

  “Probably, but they might not see it if they’re not looking for it. Janet’s not stupid. She knows where the cameras are, so I’m sure she probably did it in a way that would be hard to see. Did Detective Strickland interview you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should send him an email, telling him that you think Janet slipped the essay under the door.”

  “That makes sense. It would be nice if we could get the footage.”

  “You could ask him?”

  “I doubt they would just give me the video.”

  “Greg Ebersole might have the footage or at least access to it.”

  Gwen frowned at the mention of the school’s tech guy.

  “You don’t like Greg?”

  “I can’t stand him. He creeps me out. He’s always staring at me and making weird comments.”

  “You’re not the only one. There’ve been complaints from quite a few female teachers. I coached him for a day when he was a tenth grader. He quit after the first day of two-a-days and never came out for football again. His mother was friends with mine. I think he still lives with his parents.”

  CHAPTER 91

  Rick and the Truth’ll Come Out

  Rick waited, parked on a side street in a middle-class neighborhood of ramblers and colonials. The sun glowed orange and low on the horizon. He listened to a country music station, watching the community entrance, knowing that Bob would be home from practice soon.

  Bob’s SUV drove past, right on time. Rick started his truck and followed. As Bob parked in his driveway, Rick parked directly behind him and exited his truck. Bob stood next to his vehicle, his posture defensive.

  “Hey, Bob,” Rick said as he approached, his tone and expression neutral.

  Bob’s jaw tightened; his face reddened under his bushy beard. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  Rick glared. “You have a lot to say about me behind my back.”

  “I’m not talkin’ to you.” Bob turned and marched toward the front door.

  Rick followed, talking to his back. “What does she have on you?”

  Bob didn’t respond.

  Rick said, “You’re a liar, and you know it.”

  The front door opened, and Ellen appeared, their son on her hip. Her eyes flicked to Rick, then to her husband. “Why is he here?”

  Bob, now standing on the stoop, turned to Rick. “He’s just leavin’.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.” Rick looked at Ellen. “Your husband’s being blackmailed by Janet Wilcox.”

  Ellen’s mouth hung open, her eyes like saucers.

  “Go inside.” Bob shut the door in his family’s face. He turned back to Rick with clenched fists, his face flashing red. “If you don’t get the fuck off my property, I’m gonna call the p
olice.”

  Rick was unblinking and undeterred by the threat. “Eventually, the truth’ll come out. If you think Janet’ll protect you, you got another thing coming.” Rick walked back to his truck, Bob still on the stoop, speechless.

  CHAPTER 92

  Janet and #VoteMiles

  She used it. Janet sat at her desk, looking at her laptop, a shit-eating grin on her face. Heather had taken Janet’s version of her story and copied it word for word. It was mostly true, but Janet did take some poetic license to make Heather more sympathetic. Janet didn’t have to write it, but she was tired of Heather, aka the West Lake Watchdog, sounding like a total dumbass. This was an important post. It had to paint Heather as the victim but also as a strong woman ready to take charge of the school board.

  West Lake Watchdog

  October 18 at 9:55 PM

  Sixteen years ago, Pastor Francis Goode took advantage of Heather Miles. At the time, Heather Miles was an eighteen-year-old single mother. She’d recently been left by her abusive fiancé, also the father of her daughter. Alone, scared, and vulnerable, Heather looked to God for guidance, and what she found was the devil. Pastor Goode was thirty-nine at the time, married, with five kids. He counseled Heather, manipulated her, made her feel like she needed him to survive.

  When the “Goode” Pastor made his move, Heather was powerless to resist. Pastor Goode took advantage of Heather’s pain, using his power and influence as a man of God to have sex with a teenage girl. Heather became pregnant, and Pastor Goode paid her to keep quiet, the money coming from the church collection plate. That child, Pastor Goode’s son, was Caleb Miles.

  Heather didn’t want to take the money, but she had two children to think of. Heather raised her children on her own, struggling and scrapping against adversity, and, even after the tragic death of her son, she’s still fighting for the children of this school district.