by Geof Johnson
Everyone pressed closer to look. “Click on her home page,” Melanie said.
Sammi stood on tiptoes. “I can’t see!”
Bryce picked her up and set her on his hip as the screen display changed to Nova’s Facebook page. Her picture, a selfie, was on the left. She had dark skin — not as dark as Rollie’s, closer to light caramel — and had delicate features, her expression serious. What really stood out to Jamie was her hair: brown, shoulder-length dreadlocks, a few of them bleached to a reddish-blonde.
“Oohh,” Fred said. “She’s kinda cute, don’t you think?” She looked up at Rollie, who was peering intently over her left shoulder, but he didn’t answer.
Melanie pointed at the screen. “Send her a friend request.”
“Wait wait wait!” Rollie leaned over and reached for the computer keyboard, but Fred fended him off with her arm and gave him a harsh look. Rollie frowned and said, “I’d like to pick my own girlfriend, if you don’t mind.”
“Who says I’m doing this for you?” Fred said. “If she’s a witch, then maybe she’d like to meet me. I know Momma Sue will be interested in her. She and Mrs. Malley told me to let them know if I run across any more witches.”
“Like me,” Sammi said brightly, still sitting on Bryce’s hip with her arms around his neck.
“Yes, like you.” Fred turned back to the computer. “What am I gonna say? I should send her a message, shouldn’t I?”
“You need to word it so that she gets it that you’re a witch, too,” Jamie said, “without being too obvious.”
Melanie rubbed her bottom lip with her index finger. “Something subtle.”
“We saw what you did and we know who you are,” Bryce offered with a grin.
“No!” Melanie slapped him lightly on the arm. “That’s an old murder movie. We don’t want to scare her off.”
“How about....” Fred wrinkled her brow and said, “I have the same secret as you. A few of my friends do, too.”
Jamie nodded. “You should add we need to talk.”
Fred typed while everyone watched. Rollie scowled and said, “Just to be clear, I’m gonna be ticked off if you guys try to set me up with her.” He poked his chest with his thumb. “I’ll make my own decisions about my love life. Understand?”
Fred turned in her seat and looked up at him. “Relax. What’s the harm? She may not even respond.”
“She will,” Sammi said. “I know it.”
“How do you know that? Melanie asked. “With your witchin’ power?”
Sammi shook her head and smiled. “I just know. She’s going to answer, and she’s gonna be Fred’s friend on Facebook, and everybody’s gonna like her.”
Somehow, Jamie knew that she was right. He wasn’t sure how. He just knew.
* * *
Duane Gundy waited in his car in the gas station parking lot around the corner until he was sure his wife had gone to work and that it was safe to go back to his house. He didn’t want her to know that he had called in sick and had better things to do than drive a delivery van all day.
Of all the disguises he’d used during his time as a bounty hunter, one of the best ones was the simplest: a dark blue dress suit. When he got home, he pulled it from the back of his closet and tore off the dry cleaner’s plastic that covered it like a shroud. He found the black leather shoes, still polished to a glossy shine, in the box under the bed. He frowned when he took the top off and examined them. Hate these. So uncomfortable. Then he sighed. But it’ll be worth it, wearing these damn things, if it helps me find my Sweetness.
He dressed meticulously. Black socks, slacks with a leather belt, white shirt, and suit jacket. The gray tie was last, and he wore it loosely, intending to tighten it to his neck at the last possible minute. He examined the finished product in the mirror over the dresser and frowned. Glad I don’t have to dress like this every day.
He pulled his best prop for the disguise, a leather briefcase, from the top shelf of the closet, blew the dust off it, and carried it to his car.
The fifteen-mile drive to Haynesville was tedious on the two-lane winding road, and he found himself robotically reaching for the pack of cigarettes in the drink holder under is right elbow, only to shake his head and curse to himself. Don’t want to stink like an ashtray when I get there. He finally grabbed the Marlboros and flung them in the back seat, out of sight, out of mind.
The bus station parking lot in Haynesville was only half-full when he got there, and he pulled into a space near the chain-link fence, turned off the car, and took a deep breath. Okay, Duane, act professional. Don’t talk like a hillbilly, and show them who’s boss. He tightened his tie, slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses, and inspected himself in the rearview mirror.Yeah. I look like I mean business.
He opened his briefcase from the seat beside him and found another accessory, a fake ID badge. He clipped it to his coat pocket, left the car, and went inside with his sunglasses still on and his briefcase in hand. At the information counter, he asked for the bus station manager, and was answered with a surly, half-lidded look. “He’s busy,” the heavy-set woman said.
Gundy tapped his badge and raised his chin. “I’m here from Homeland Security. You need to get him for me.”
She grumbled and roused herself from her perch, and then waddled to a door on the wall behind her; a small plastic sign on it read Authorized Personnel Only. She rapped a couple of times and opened it, had a short conversation with someone inside, and returned to her station. “He’ll be with you momentarily,” she said with a surly frown and reclaimed her throne, ignoring him as she picked up a well-worn issue of People Magazine.
A tall, hefty man shuffled out of the office door, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and a cheap blue tie that matched his uniform pants. He came around the counter and scrutinized Gundy’s laminated ID badge. “AAA Security Services? That ain’t Homeland Security.”
“We’re contractors.” Gundy nodded once. “We analyze security systems. There’s been a lot of chatter by terrorists groups about attacking America’s transportation networks, so Homeland Security has to examine all of them and make sure they’re safe. My company got the contract for the bus system, so that’s why I’m here.”
“Oh.” The manager pursed his lips as he processed what he’d just heard. “Well, uh, what do you have to do?”
“I need to see your security system. You do have surveillance cameras, don’t you?”
“Of course. Everybody does, after 9/11. Let me show you what we got, Mr. Baxter.” He led Gundy outside and showed him their cameras.
“Where’s the monitor and recorders for the system?” Gundy asked as they walked back inside.
“In this little room over here.” Gundy followed the big man through the office door to another in the back hall. The manager opened it and said, “Gets kinda hot in here in the summer.”
Inside the dark, stuffy room was a desk with a large computer monitor on it, and against the wall was a tall metal shelf full of equipment and books that appeared to be manuals. The manager put his hand on top of the monitor and said, “All the feeds from the cameras come right here. You can see all the different views displayed in separate little sections.” He leaned over and grabbed the computer mouse. “You can zero in on one camera with just a click.”
Gundy took off his sunglasses and scanned the wall behind them. “How about the recorders? Are they VHS or what?”
“Nah. They’re all digital now. We’re first class.” He pointed at a black metal box on the shelf. “Everything gets recorded on that thing. We save thirty days of footage, and then that gets archived by a tech guy that comes by on the first of the month.”
“I need to see some of the recordings, just to see how good a job it’s doing.”
“Okay. Uh....” The manager leaned over again and examined the display for a moment, his brow wrinkled and one side of his mouth twisted up. “All the commands for stuff like that are here.” He pointed to a spot on the screen. “You c
an select a date and time and which camera and all.” Then he shrugged. “I’ve never messed with it. I suppose you can handle that, bein’ a pro and everything.”
“Sure.” Gundy patted him on the back. “But I need some privacy to work. It’s federal law, you understand.”
“Oh.” He laughed nervously. “Right. Don’t want to mess with the Feds, huh?” He put his hand on the doorknob and opened the door partway. “Well, you just help yourself. I’ll, uh...you’ll give me a report or something?”
“You’ll get a complete one in the mail. About two weeks or so.”
The manager nodded and left.
When the door closed, Gundy slid into the chair at the desk and looked closely at the screen. It took him a few minutes of searching and clicking to find the recording of the night Sammi left, and then he settled back to watch.
An hour later he found the footage he wanted — Sammi, walking across the parking lot in the middle of the night with her two friends, Luke and Libby. I knew they helped Sammi. Their parents are lyin’ to me.
He watched them enter the lobby and buy a ticket, and shortly after, Sammi said goodbye to her friends and went with the other passengers to board a bus.
But which one? In the view from the loading area, Sammi was lost in the crowd because she was so small. Could’ve been any of them buses. No matter how carefully he scanned the video, he couldn’t pick her out.
Damn! He smashed the bottom of his fist against the desk. How am I supposed to figure out where she went if I can’t tell which bus she got on? Maybe the manager knows. He chewed a fingernail and stared blankly at the screen, trying to think of a believable reason for asking, but after several futile minutes, he shook his head and sighed.
He probably doesn’t know anyway, and I don’t want to make him suspicious. I’ve already pushed my look as far as I can with this scam. He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the arm rest of the chair while he scrolled the video back and forth, trying to pick up some clue as to what the bus’s destination might’ve been.
Those buses probably stop atlots of little towns, anyway. She could’ve gone anywhere. But at least I know she left. Her friends know where she went.
* * *
Sammi sat at a small desk across from Leora and held up another flash card. Sammi felt like she’d been doing it for hours, even though it was still morning.
“Uh...L?” Leora said.
“No, it’s T,” Sammi said impatiently.
“Don’t get mad at me. I’ve never done this before.” The other seven children who’d come to the new school in Rivershire that day hadn’t either, for the most part, except for Aiven. Sammi had already worked with the flash cards with two others, both slightly older girls, and they weren’t faring any better than Leora at naming the letters of the alphabet.
Mrs. Wallace and her twin sister, Mrs. Moore (Mrs. Wallace called her Connie), were with the other kids in one of the smaller rooms, helping them learn to write, painstakingly drawing the shapes of the letters on lined paper. Sammi remembered doing that, two years earlier in kindergarten, repeating the same awkward B or C or X across the page, lower case and upper case, until her hand cramped. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Now she was able to read chapter books, simple ones, but still a major step ahead of the kids who were there that day.
The local children had arrived at different times, usually on a farmer’s wagon with one of their parents, who were on their way to the market with produce to sell, like Leora’s mother the day before. The girls wore long, old-fashioned dresses and the boys wore woolen pants with suspenders over simple home-sewn shirts.
Most of the children were younger than eight years old, except for Aiven. Older siblings, if they lived on a farm, had to work, boys helping out with the livestock and in the fields, and girls cleaning and cooking and sewing with their mothers. One boy, Blane, was a merchant’s son. His father owned a shop in the market, and his family lived upstairs from it, so it was a short walk to the school for him.
Aiven was reading by himself in the far corner, the area partitioned off by low shelves. Sammi longed to join him. The flash cards were getting tedious.
Mrs. Wallace came out of the smaller classroom with another girl, Sarah, and said, “Sammi, are you ready to switch? I think Sarah needs some time with the flash cards now.”
“Do we have to?” Sammi sighed and frowned. “When’s recess? I’m tired.”
Mrs. Wallace glanced at her watch and nodded. “Um...you can go now, if you want.”
A few minutes later, all the kids were outside in the big field next to the school, while Mrs. Wallace and Mrs. Moore sat at the picnic table.
The kids stood around in a circle, eyeing at each other awkwardly, until Sammi said, “What do you want to play? Can we play dodge ball? Or Duck Duck Goose? Or maybe Red Rover.” The kids stared at her blankly and Sammi wrinkled her brow. “Don’t you play those games on this world?”
The other kids seemed to grow more uncomfortable, and Blane shifted his weight from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Tell me, Sammi, uh...is it true? What Aiven says...about another Earth?”
“What do you mean, another Earth?”
“That there is another Earth, just like this one? And that’s where Jamie the Sorcerer is from?”
“Yeah, sure, there’s another Earth. I live there and so do Fred and Rollie and everybody. Mrs. Wallace and her sister, too.”
Another girl, Milly, frowned and said, “Why should we believe that?”
Aiven stepped forward and thrust out his chin. “Because it is true! I have been there many times, and I have seen the cars and airplanes, and the moon at night. It is different.” He nodded firmly. “The moon is small and white, not big and colorful like ours.” He pointed at Sammi’s shoes. “Stomp your feet, Sammi. Then they will see.”
Sammi did, to the gasps of all those around her, except for Aiven and Leora, who’d already witnessed the wonder of the lighted footwear.
“And it is not magic, either,” Aiven said. “I would know, because I am a wizard.”
“No you are not,” Milly said, wrinkling her nose. “You are too young.”
“Well, I will be. Jamie said so. I shall be a powerful one, like him.” He paused and bit his lip. “But I have to go to school first.”
“Everybody goes to school where I’m from,” Sammi said. “On the real Earth.”
Milly stamped her foot. “Thisis the real Earth!”
“It is not!” Sammi turned to the two women chatting at the picnic table. “Mrs. Wallace, Mrs. Moore? Tell them. Tell them this is not the real Earth.”
Mrs. Wallace shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Does it matter?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“This is just another Earth, that’s all. Don’t worry about it.” Then she frowned. “And I thought you kids wanted to play. It looks to me like you’re just standing around.”
“Why don’t you play a game?” Mrs. Moore said.
“Let’s play dodge ball,” Sammi said.
“We don’t know how,” a girl named Roni said.
“It’s easy.” Sammi looked back at the two women at the table. “Do we have any balls here?”
“There are a couple in the office,” Mrs. Moore said.
Aiven ran toward the front door and said, “I’ll get them.”
“Good.” Sammi nodded with authority. “Then I can show you how we play on the real Earth.”
* * *
Rachel sat with Lisa on Lisa’s couch while Sammi took a bath. Rachel said, “I think we need to come up with some cover story for Sammi. Sooner or later our neighbors are going to find out she’s here, and they’re going to want to know what the deal is.”
“Especially Mrs. Wysoki. That old biddy probably spends half her time looking out of her front window, snooping.”
“So we need to get our story straight before anything happens.” Rachel took a deep breath and said, “But maybe it won’t matter. Carl and I have been talking, and I
think we might do the foster parenting course so we can officially keep Sammi.”
“Um....” Lisa shook her head slowly, eyes locked with Rachel’s. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Why? Then we won’t have to send her away.”
“Because —” Lisa held her mouth open wordlessly for a moment. “Because we want to keep her.”
“I thought Larry wasn’t too keen on the idea.”
“He’s changed his mind, sort of. He’s agreed to at least go with me this Friday to talk to the people at the social services place. It can’t be that hard, can it, to be a foster parent? I mean, how long can it take? Two weeks, maybe? Besides, it’s not like we’re adopting her or anything.”
“So I guess he’s warming up to her.”
“Sammi kinda grows on you, you know? She’s so sweet and adorable and everything.”
“She’s as cuddly as a kitten, isn’t she?”
“Good thing she’s not a cat, because Larry’s allergic to them. She sits with him when he does his genealogy stuff on the computer.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I took a picture of them last night. Too cute.”
Rachel turned her head when she heard Sammi call from the top of the stairs, “Mrs. Sikes?” and then came the rapid patter of small feet on the steps. Rachel saw a dark-haired blur, wearing only a blue towel, streak across the room and jump into her lap, throwing her arms around Rachel and giving her a big hug.
“Well, hello, wet-head.” Rachel patted Sammi’s dripping hair. “Did you forget what the towel is for?”
“Sammi!” Fred called from upstairs. “Get back up here and get some clothes on!”
“’Kay!” Sammi yelled back, then she squeezed Rachel again. “Gotta go. Bye!” Rachel and Lisa watched Sammi fly away, the ends of her towel flapping behind her.
“There goes my wet kitten.” Lisa smiled whimsically, still staring at the stairs where Sammi had disappeared.
Rachel nodded. “Carl did some checking today, and so far, nobody has reported Sammi as being missing.”
“Sammi told me that the Gundys won’t do that, because they’re afraid of losing custody of her. Sammi got a new case worker in Bicksby, and Sammi thinks that lady doesn’t like Mr. Gundy. Sammi has overheard them talking.”