by Kristie Cook
“Sheriff Weiss wants to meet with us at four-thirty today,” he said. It was hard to decipher his mood when he spoke in this tone. He turned and looked out the window. The silence in the room grew to an ear-piercing level.
“Mark?” My voice was soft. I didn’t know if he’d heard me, so I repeated his name. Finally, he broke out of the trance captivating his thoughts.
“Be ready to go by four.” He rubbed his forehead. “I need to go for another run. I’ll be back soon.” He pivoted and was out of the house before I could even respond.
For the rest of the day, I felt like I was awaiting sentence. In a way, I guess I was. Mark’s usual laid-back attitude was anything but, and it got even worse when we walked into the police station.
Humor was my default, especially in stressful situations. Trying to lighten his blackening mood, I asked Mark if he had handcuffs, so he could walk me in like the criminal I was. He smiled at my joke, but not like he normally would. The summons was upsetting him more than he let on. His body was defensive and stiff. Mark was angry with the police and the principal for accusing me of such a ridiculous thing, but I felt his anger was an act of denial that his daughter could really be the problem.
“Do they have any proof?” he yelled out to no one in particular on the ride downtown. “How in the hell can they blame you for faulty wiring? Shouldn’t they be questioning the electrician?”
***
We were shown into Sheriff Weiss’ office. It held all the basics: an old desk piled with manila files, an ’eighties-style, black phone that blinked continuously, a desk lamp, several chairs, and a banged up file cabinet in the corner.
***
Sheriff Weiss sat behind his desk and Principal Mitchell already occupied one of the chairs opposite the sheriff. Being under the florescent lights of the police station made the reality of what was happening fill me with dread.
“Mr. Hill, Ember, thank you for coming in,” Sheriff Weiss said. Both he and Principal Mitchell stood and reached out to shake Mark’s hand. They each gave me a short, curt nod.
Sheriff Weiss motioned for Mark to sit in the only available chair. Guess I was standing. This meeting seemed to have little to do with my input anyway; they had already made up their minds about me. I wanted to be invisible, so I pushed myself against the wall, hoping I’d blend in with its chipped, off-white texture.
“I really don’t understand why you called us here. I can’t fathom how you’ve come to the conclusion my daughter had anything to do with last night,” Mark declared.
“I’m not saying she did. I have a few questions.” The sheriff’s patronizing tone wasn’t lost on Mark.
Mark’s demeanor hardened. “Let’s cut the crap, Sheriff.” He leaned forward. “We all know you didn’t call us here because you think she’s innocent.”
Weiss pressed his lips together and sat back in his chair. “You’re right, Mr. Hill, I do think she knows more than she’s letting on, and I do believe she’s somehow involved.” He shot me an accusatory glance. “Do I think she was alone in this? No, it’s far too complicated and complex for a girl her age to pull off by herself.”
“Excuse me? A girl my age? You think it’s too ‘complex’ for me? Are you serious?” I shot off before I could stop myself. Mark gave me a look that made my mouth shut with an audible click. It often got me in trouble. My brain and my mouth didn’t always communicate when my buttons were pushed. I definitely got this from my mom. She could be a hothead, reacting first, thinking later. Mark loved and hated that about her. He loved her passion, but sometimes it would come out at inopportune times—kind of like this one.
A slight smile formed on Weiss’ mouth, like I had proven his theory and he had baited me into a confession. He didn’t understand I couldn’t admit to anything even if I wanted to. There was nothing to confess except a guilty feeling.
“What proof do you have?” Mark asked. “I’m furious about how this whole thing has been handled. You are treating my daughter like a criminal. Do you have any proof besides your insane theories about how she climbed into the rafters and messed with the lighting?”
“Mr. Hill, what the fire investigation team came up with was inconclusive, but they haven’t ruled out foul play yet,” Principal Mitchell stated.
“So what you’re saying is you have no proof?”
“Proof or not, these explosions aren’t a new occurrence. They mysteriously began around the time your daughter starting attending my school. And she has been at the center of every single episode.” Principal Mitchell leaned forward in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk for emphasis. “I will not put the other students, most of whom I’ve known their whole lives, in harm’s way simply because you think your child is innocent!”
The tension was becoming unbearable. Sheriff Weiss held up his hand to calm the principal. “Mr. Hill, how many of these ‘electrical incidents’ has Ember told you about?”
Mark looked surprised. “Well, there was a small one a couple years back, and one at the beginning of the school year, I think, and then the one last night.” Doubt crossed Mark’s face. “Why?”
My innards twisted. I knew exactly where Weiss was going with this.
“Three, huh?” A condescending smile twitched on Weiss’ lips. “Mr. Hill, what if I told you since the day your daughter started in the school system five years ago, we have been called out there six times? Six times, Mr. Hill, and that is not counting the metal shop incident. For the record, the school never had anything similar incidents before she started. Circumstances and common sense makes this event pretty cut and dried to me.”
Mark looked at me, dumbfounded. “What are you talking about? What metal shop episode?”
I had hoped he would never learn about what happened there. It was something I tried to block from my mind. On that day, we had been sculpting with iron. I should have tried to get out of the project. Ignoring my intuition, I continued. I knew better, but I hadn’t wanted to explain why I couldn’t touch the metal.
Ever since I was very young, I had this strange allergy to certain forms of iron. My skin would itch and buzz, and I would feel really sick. The purer the iron, the more tired and worse I felt. Thankfully, most things nowadays weren’t made with pure iron. I guess I had hoped in metal shop it would be different, or I could ignore the symptoms.
The moment the blowtorch got close to the metal, I knew I made a huge mistake. The odd feeling arose in me, and my organs felt like they were vibrating and tearing apart. The torch exploded in my hand, burning a hole in the ceiling. The chunk of iron flew across the room and hit a kid in the head, knocking him out. It was declared an accident, but I could see the speculation and doubt in every face afterward. I never had a partner in shop class again.
“What’s he talking about, Em?”
I avoided Mark’s gaze, ashamed of the embarrassment and pain I was causing him. It didn’t change the fact I couldn’t tell him anything. The only things I could say to him would send me straight to the funny farm.
“So there were other times you didn’t tell me about.” All I could do was nod. “I see,” he said.
He didn’t see. He didn’t know how far things had progressed and how real my hallucinations had become.
I limited how much I told Mark about my crazy experiences, and now it was coming back to bite me in the ass. I watched his face as his emotions went from anger toward Weiss and Mitchell, to disbelief, back to anger, and then to disappointment in me. Seeing uncertainty in his eyes tore me apart. Because I hadn’t told him the truth before, he doubted me now.
The sheriff leaned back in his chair, pulling a file toward him. “Also, the incident yesterday isn’t the first time something like it has happened at a school your daughter attended, right, Mr. Hill?” There was a smug glint in his eyes. “I see two similar incidents happened at a school she attended in California. She was asked to leave after half of the building burned down. It was even recommended she be placed in a psychiatric hospital. Now, tell me, Mr. Hil
l, can you really not see the connection between your daughter and these occurrences?”
An icy sensation trickled down my spine. The truth was right in front of his eyes. Mark could no longer deny I was crazy.
“So what is your plan for me, then?” I whispered.
“Well, Ember, the sheriff and I have been talking, and we both agree it would be best if you’re in a different environment for a while,” Principal Mitchell replied.
“You’re kicking me out of school?”
Principal Mitchell pulled some pamphlets from the leather briefcase sitting at his feet. “This is what I’m talking about.” He handed the material to Mark.
“You want my daughter to go to juvie?”
“That’s not exactly what Silverwood is, Mr. Hill. It is a facility for troubled teens, those in trouble emotionally or with the law.”
“We think such a move is in her best interest and for the other students who go to Olympia High,” Weiss stated firmly.
My mouth went dry. I was paralyzed and speechless. Observing all of the conversation, I was powerless to do anything about what was unfolding.
“You can’t do this! You have no proof she did anything. You conclusion is wrong!” Mark threw the documents down onto the desk.
“I was trying to be considerate of Ember, Mr. Hill. I could expel her from my school. I have that right. We have statements from several students, parents, and even a teacher, who all feel their safety is threatened if she continues at Olympia High.”
“What?” I spat. My outburst was ignored.
“I am providing a compromise. If she attends Silverwood, temporarily, and her marks remain satisfactory, she will graduate in June like planned. On the other hand, you could take her out of school completely. The online GED will take six months. Most colleges won’t bother with her application, if she is planning on going to college, that is. It is really up to you.” He thought for a second and then added, “It’s only for a few weeks, Mr. Hill, and then we will reevaluate Ember’s progress. If everything’s good, she can come back and resume her classes.” Principal Mitchell sat back in his chair, looking like he should get a gold star for being such an agreeable guy. I still wanted to deck him.
“This is bullshit, and you know it. Ember is not a threat to anyone.” Mark looked like he wanted to punch Principal Mitchell, as well.
“Think what you like, but I have to consider everyone at the school, not only Ember,” Mitchell shot back. “I’m sorry, but Ember is no longer welcome at my school, at least for the time being.”
No one breathed; the air was ripped from the room, holding the room in tense silence.
“Ember, why don’t you go get some coffee,” Mark’s taut voice shattered the silence.
“What? No … not if this has to do with me.”
“Ember,” his voice warned. “Let me talk to the sheriff and Mr. Mitchell alone for a moment, okay?”
I bit my lip to keep me from vocalizing any more protests and nodded. I pulled myself off the wall and headed out of the room, not caring if the door shut harder than it should have.
FIVE
The waiting room held a generic coffee vending machine. I absently plopped quarters into the slot, my mind reeling with what had just happened. A few people mingled or sat around the room, but my attention immediately fell on a guy sitting in the corner. A hoodie covered his head, and a beat-up paperback book in his hand blocked his face from view.
My skin tingled, and the hair on my arms stood on end. My body went on high alert as if to warn me of danger. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I got my coffee from the machine. He continued to read his book, seemingly oblivious to me. But for some reason, I felt he was aware of every inch of space around him. This strangely intrigued me, but of course, it had been well proven I wasn’t right in the head.
I sat on a chair near him and picked up a magazine. I tried to focus on the scalding, cheap coffee in my hand and the gossip magazine in my lap, but my attention and my eyes wandered back to him. Not seeing anything but his fingers, which were curled around the well-worn book, I couldn’t tell how old he was. From his body language and his form, I guessed he was in his early twenties.
There was something familiar about him, which was odd. I was pretty certain our paths had never crossed. I would remember meeting him; his presence was not something I’d forget. He didn’t seem to fit in the room. Even though he had to be well over six feet tall, he seemed to take up even more space than his physical form.
He shifted in his seat, making some instinct in me kick in. I jumped up defensively, spilling half my coffee. Every head turned my way—every head except his. He didn’t even flinch. The entire room watched me with curiosity and apprehension while his attention stayed locked on his book. My face flamed as I realized he had only shifted and was not springing to attack me.
Babbling out a lame excuse, I wiped up the coffee I’d spilled. Eventually, people went back to their own businesses. I sat again, watching him cautiously through my lashes. It felt similar to being in a cage with a wild animal, which tested its limits before it would bite me. It was normal to react during sudden movements or a commotion, but he didn’t. He seemed to be making a point of not looking at me, and it aggravated me more than it should have.
Returning my focus onto my reading material, I couldn’t stop my eyes from continuously slipping over the top of the magazine. My relentless desire to see his face sent my eyes slinking back to him over and over again. The more I watched him, the more he seemed to stir in his seat. He knew he was being watched, and part of me wanted him to look up and catch me, so I could see his face.
“Look up,” I mumbled.
His head shook slightly underneath his hood as if he said, “Not a chance, girlie.”
Chagrin flushed into my cheeks. There was no way he could have heard me. No one could have. I was being silly. Shaking his head had nothing to do with me. It was probably something he was responding to in his book. I still felt flustered, unnerved, and oddly hurt.
A police officer entered the room and approached the hooded mystery guy. “Okay, you’re free to go, Mr. Dragen. You know the drill. Sign the forms, and you can leave.”
The officer’s familiarity with the guy should have been a red flag. It was clear he had been here before, probably more than once. But if that didn’t send a warning, the clank of metal on metal as the officer leaned down and unlatched the guy’s wrist cuffed to the chair certainly did. Why was he manacled in a public area of the jail? What did he do? This is what they called public safety?
I noticed several things when he got up: his movements were so smooth and quick I almost didn’t see the transition. Also, I had been wrong about his height. He had to be at least six-four, if not taller. The extraordinary strength and confidence exuding from him eclipsed everything else in the room.
He shifted his head back into his hood, making it impossible to see his face clearly. That, of course, made me want to see him even more. My hands balled into fists; the desire to reach under his hood and lift up his face overwhelmed me.
As he passed, he cocked his head enough so I could see a hint of his chin and mouth. His lips twisted, curving into a terrifying, malicious smile I somehow knew was meant for me. A chill crept over me, and I didn’t move until he and the officer disappeared from the room. When he was gone, I sighed and dropped my face into my hands.
“Ember?” Mark’s voice made my heart leap into my throat. The last few days had left me even more jumpy than normal. From the stony look on his face, I knew this day would not be improving. “Let’s go home,” he said and started walking before I even got up from the chair.
It was dark by the time I stepped out to the parking lot, and only a few dimly-lit streetlamps guided me to the truck. Mark was already behind the wheel with the engine on, waiting for me. I picked up my pace, knowing the trouble that lay ahead of me.
Halfway across the lot, my skin prickled again, and an eerie feeling of being watch
ed whispered at the back of my neck. I scanned the parking area and stopped dead in my tracks. A gasp caught in my throat.
Across the poorly lit lot, leaning against a motorcycle, a pair of electric-green eyes looked back into mine. Even though he was hidden by the shadows, I knew it was the guy from the waiting room. The way his eyes glowed reminded me of my own. I had never seen anyone else’s like mine who wasn’t somebody I had dreamed up or hallucinated. To see another breathing person whose eyes illuminated was a bit startling.
I quickly turned away, running for the truck, feeling his gaze burn into me. Shivers ran through my body. I didn’t know why he was in the police station cuffed to a chair. It could’ve been for something minor, but for some reason, fear filled me knowing he knew my face.
SIX
Mark and I were silent on the way home. I sat back, letting some of the tension in my shoulders leave, glad to be out of there. The night was exceptionally dark. Only a sliver of light from the waning crescent moon broke the blackness along Delphi Road. The country road didn’t have streetlamps, and the truck’s headlights did little to keep the shadows at bay. Mark slowed at the approaching stop sign. A strange feeling came over me. The hair on my arms stood on end. Chills skirted down the back of my neck as I checked out the dark, murky forest around the truck.
Loud, piercing roars came from behind us. About half a dozen motorcycles surrounded the truck. The unlit street kept me from seeing the detail of the bikes or the riders, but I knew from the deep rumble of the engines vibrating around the truck they were classic Harleys. The road was long and dark. It would be difficult for a group of motorcyclists to be behind us without us seeing their headlights or hearing them before they were on us. So why hadn’t we seen or heard them approach? The question was forgotten as one of the riders pulled up on the passenger’s side and turned his head to me. I sucked in a gulp of air. Electric green eyes locked onto mine.
Something deep in my gut stirred as we held each other’s gaze. Finally, he turned away. The black, gleaming motorcycles shot off, leaving me with cold chills blanketing my flesh. I couldn’t explain what I felt, but fear didn’t seem to cover it.