At first his mind rejected what he saw—he was still at the mouth of the bay. He shook his head to clear the illusion, but it was no illusion.
This was the same spot he had been at a thousand strokes earlier. But how could it be? The wind and waves hadn’t been that strong, yet even as he struggled to tread water with his numb limbs, he found himself drifting back toward the shoreline.
In that instant, Cole realized his mistake. His anger had so clouded his thinking, he hadn’t considered the incoming tide. With every stroke forward, a giant invisible hand had pushed him two strokes backward into the bay, returning him toward the shore.
A sharp cramp gripped Cole’s leg, then his other leg started cramping. He gasped for breath and panicked. He had to make it back to land. Any land. Frantically he flailed at the water.
Struggling did little to affect Cole’s movement, but on the incoming tide he steadily drifted closer to shore. He fought only to keep his head above water. When the rocky bottom bumped against his feet, he kept thrashing his lifeless limbs. Again and again his feet struck the rocky bottom, and pain shot up his legs. Finally he quit fighting and let the waves push his body into shallow water.
A wave broke over his head, and he came up gagging and spitting salt water. He tried to lift himself, but his arms collapsed. Finally, using only his elbows, he squirmed and crawled his way over the slippery rocks and up onto the grassy ground above the tide line. There he lay spent and shivering, his body bruised, his cold skull throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Cole had lost all track of time and struggled to think. All he could conjure up were fleeting notions: He couldn’t stand up. He needed warmth. It was almost dark. He felt pain. One thought repeated: He needed warmth. He knew there was no warmth, and yet he remembered flames. Where were the flames? He had to find them.
Cole tried to stand up, but his legs collapsed under him. Imagining a fire, he dragged his way forward again on his belly. His legs pulled behind him like worthless anchors. It was hard in the gathering darkness to make out shapes. The waves, the shoreline, the trees, the bay, all existed like parts of a puzzle.
Cole rested again until the throbbing in his head had disappeared. His head felt hollow, his mind empty. One detached thought kept coming back to him: There had been flames. But where? Night had come quickly, and Cole scanned the dark shadows around him, sensing a vague familiarity. Again he tried to stand but couldn’t. He dragged himself forward one last time, then collapsed.
Slowly the cold disappeared. Lying belly down in the darkness, Cole felt his legs and chest sting as if they were on fire. Then he became aware of another feeling. Stronger than any burning in his arms and belly, more haunting than the darkness that surrounded him, was the realization that he was alone, totally alone with himself. And it scared him.
Sometime during the night, Cole drifted into a fitful sleep. When he awoke, darkness still hid the island. His first conscious sense was pain. His toes, hands, elbows, chest, legs, all ached. What had happened? Vaguely he remembered burning the supplies and the shelter, and then trying to escape by swimming. After that he remembered the tide and crawling up the rocky shore. There had been terrible cold, then more crawling. Then he recalled his skin burning. After that, a damning loneliness.
Cole breathed in the cold, damp night air. Where was he now? The air smelled of salt, seaweed, and something burnt. Then he slept again. When he awoke the next time, dawn had crept into the sky. Lifting one arm, he found it covered with black ash. He was lying nearly naked, squarely in the ashes of the burned shelter.
He gathered his strength and struggled to his feet. The world seemed to tilt and spin. In the dawn light, billowy clouds mounded against the far horizon like a snowdrift. The warm ash stuck to the raw scrapes on Cole’s chest and legs. Blood crusted his elbows and knees, and his dry mouth kept him from swallowing. Every joint in his body ached.
As he wavered on his weakened legs, Cole became aware of a presence. Not movement, only a lurking presence. Grimacing, he searched the trees and shore. At first nothing appeared different or out of place. Then something large and white broke the smooth pattern of the shoreline. He squinted, and the image cleared.
A bear. A white bear.
Out across the water, on the point of shoreline near the opening of the bay, a massive white bear stood as motionless as a statue, facing him. Morning light glinted off its shiny white fur and made it glow. The bear stood patiently, proud, nose forward, ears alert. Cole kept blinking his eyes. Could this possibly be one of the Spirit Bears Edwin had spoken of? He had said they lived hundreds of miles to the south on a different island. And yet what else could it be?
Shivering in only his underwear, Cole crouched and picked up a rock. This Spirit Bear didn’t have any right to stare at him. It didn’t have pride, dignity, and honor like Edwin had said. It was just a mangy animal. Cole flung the rock, even though the bear was nearly a quarter mile away. “Keep staring, I’ll kill you,” he shouted.
What really angered Cole about the bear was that it stood there frozen on the shoreline without any sign of fear. It defied him. He looked around for some kind of weapon. In the ashes he spotted the charred blade of a hunting knife from one of the boxes. He picked it up and turned back toward the Spirit Bear.
It had disappeared.
Cole searched the trees, but the bear was gone. Puzzled, he tossed the knife back on the ground. “I ever see you again, you’re dead,” he vowed. “I’ll teach you to be afraid of me.”
As he turned back toward the ashes, another bright object caught his attention. Not ten feet away lay the colorful red-and-blue blanket Garvey had given him. What had he called it? At.óow? It rested near some tall grass, completely untouched by the flames. Cole picked it up and examined it with his sore fingers. Had he missed when he threw the at.óow into the flames? Shrugging, he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. He hobbled on his bruised feet down to where he had left his shoes and clothes.
Cole felt no regret for having burned the supplies and the shelter. Nor did he regret hurting Peter. This was all somebody else’s fault. If it weren’t for his parents, Peter, and the stupid Healing Circle, he wouldn’t even be here. Somebody would pay for what was happening. He would get revenge, especially against those who had wanted him in jail. People like Peter’s lady lawyer. He hated her.
Cole remembered the first time he had seen her hold the feather in the Circle. She waved it like a wand and pointed it directly at him. “That boy is dangerous,” she said. “Next time he might kill someone. This Circle Justice has its place, but I oppose any plan that does not isolate Cole Matthews.”
Cole didn’t like someone accusing him. He hated sitting in a room across from the slimeball creep he had used as a punching bag. And he hated being around his parents and the high-priced lawyer they had hired for him. The room felt stuffy, and he dug at the woven fabric on his chair with his fingernail. Circle Justice stunk! Each word spoken in the Circle was like kindling added to his smoldering anger.
“Cole must go to jail and get anger counseling,” somebody said. “He’s proved he can’t be trusted.”
“Cole is a risk to our children and to our community,” another person in the Circle said. “We can’t risk his release.”
It was the next voice that made Cole explode. His father held the feather, toying with it in his fingers. “We’ve always wanted the best for Cole,” he said. “His mother and I have devoted our lives to him, but he—”
“That’s bull!” Cole shouted suddenly, although he wasn’t holding the feather. “You drink until you can’t stand up, and you’re gone all the time. A devoted parent doesn’t whip his kid until a shirt can’t hide all the bruises!”
CHAPTER 6
COLE’S CLOTHES FELT damp and stiff when he picked them up from where he’d left them on the shoreline. As he struggled to pull them on, he chuckled. He couldn’t quit thinking about the Circle Justice meetings. He still remembered how surprised the group had be
en when he called his dad a liar. Every eye in the group had focused on his father, who turned red and stammered angrily, “We have devoted our lives to Cole. We—”
“All you care about is you!” Cole interrupted.
“Look how you’re dressed. Nobody else here is—”
“That’s not true,” protested his father. He grabbed Cole’s arm roughly, but then let go. He glared at Cole and pointed the feather in his face.
“You control your mouth, son, or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?” Cole taunted. “Beat me?”
Cole’s father jumped to his feet. “I don’t beat you, and you know that.” His face flushed red. “I’ve given you swats when you’ve deserved them.”
The Keeper stepped forward into the center of the Circle and held up her hand, but Cole ignored her. “You’re still lying!” he shouted. “You’re usually too drunk to know your own name!” Cole knew these words guaranteed him a terrible beating the next time he was alone, but still he taunted his father with a smirk. He didn’t plan on there being any next time. The first chance he had, he would run away.
Again the Keeper held up her hand for order, but Cole’s father raised his voice even louder. “I’ve given you every—”
Nathaniel Blackwood reached up and pulled Cole’s father forcefully back to his seat. The Keeper stepped forward and held her hand out for the feather. “Please,” she said firmly. The gentle calm had left her voice and face. Her chin was rigid.
Embarrassed, Cole’s father surrendered the feather.
The Keeper turned and spoke to the whole Circle. “We must respect the feather. This symbolizes respect for others and respect for ourselves.” As if handling a priceless gem, the Keeper handed the feather carefully to Cole. “Now you may speak.”
Cole tried to be calm, but his voice shook and his face felt hot. “We aren’t supposed to lie when we hold the feather, but my dad just lied. My parents don’t have the time of day for me. I’m just in their way, especially since they split up. I bet my dad can’t even tell you when my birthday is.” Cole grabbed a deep breath to control himself. He turned to his mother and placed the feather in her lap. “Mom, tell them how Dad beats on me when he’s drunk.”
Cole’s mother dusted imaginary specks off her dress, then picked up the feather hesitantly. She opened her mouth to speak, but a quick glance at her husband brought a frightened look to her eyes. She quickly passed the feather on to Garvey without saying anything.
Garvey held the feather and pursed his lips with a troubled stare. “I don’t know how life gets so mixed up,” he began. “Some juvenile delinquents become our most successful citizens, while others crowd our prisons. What’s the difference?” He paused. “Cole has will and courage, but he also has ugly anger. So what do we do with him? Do any of us know what caused that anger? And what if those same events had happened to each of us? How would we have reacted?” He paused for an uncomfortably long moment.
A muted murmur rippled around the Circle.
“Seriously,” Garvey said, turning first to Peter, then to Cole. “I don’t know how to heal emotional and physical damage. Scars run deep.” Garvey stared intently at Cole’s father, who sat unflinching. “I do know this: Cole isn’t the only problem here tonight. He is only a symptom of a family and a community that has somehow broken down. If we can’t find solutions, we all fail, we all share the guilt, and we all pay a terrible price.”
Nobody had anything more to say until the feather reached Peter’s lawyer. The woman faced Cole directly. “We don’t know all the reasons for Cole’s anger, but we do know he’s out of control. Any solution found by this Circle must protect society and make Cole totally responsible for his actions.” She handed the feather to Peter’s mother.
Peter’s mother also turned to look straight at Cole. “Because of you, I have a son now who…” Her voice broke. “I have a son who has speech and coordination problems. He wakes up at night screaming with nightmares. Five years, ten years, even a hundred years of jail can’t change that. But never again should any other parent have to worry about this happening to their child. Not sending you to jail would be a huge mistake.”
Cole sat tight-lipped. The jail talk was getting old. If he was going to end up in jail anyway, he might as well have gone through normal justice and avoided all this Circle baloney. Suddenly he wanted out of this place. If only there weren’t a guard waiting in the hallway.
Cole slouched low in his chair as the feather passed on to Peter. Peter gripped the feather with a tight fist and looked down at his lap. When a full minute had passed, the Keeper walked around and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Peter, would you like to tell us what you think would make things better again?”
Peter bit at his lip before speaking in a struggling, slurred voice. “I think someone should smash Cole’s head against a sidewalk so he knows how it feels.”
Uneasy glances followed Peter’s comment. Even the Keeper’s voice sounded tense as she took the feather gently from Peter’s hand and returned to her place in the Circle. “Tonight, raw feelings have been exposed like plowed-up ground,” she said. “But that’s when you plant seeds. We now understand better the struggle we face, and share the desire to find a solution. Let’s stand and hold hands again.” Three hours after it began, the Keeper closed the Healing Circle with a prayer.
Cole stood but refused to hold his parents’ hands. He folded his arms defiantly across his chest, causing a break in the Circle. On his left stood a liar who had beat him numb, and on his right stood a dressed-up puppet, afraid of her own shadow. Cole would not let them hold his hands and feel how sweaty they were. He would not let them pretend they loved him. Especially his dad.
If the Keeper noticed Cole’s actions, she did not show it. When the prayer was finished, Cole’s parents and their lawyer immediately began putting on their coats to leave. Cole’s guard entered the room and took hold of Cole’s elbow, motioning toward the door.
Cole jerked his arm free. “I can walk by myself.”
With one swift movement, the guard pulled handcuffs from his belt and clipped Cole’s wrists behind his back.
Others from the Circle turned to watch.
“What’s that for?” Cole asked loudly.
“You had your choice,” the guard said.
Before they could leave, Garvey walked up. “You’re not buying into this Circle stuff, are you, Champ?”
Cole sneered at Garvey. “So now you read minds, huh?”
Garvey shook his head. “Actions speak louder than words.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Cole said.
Cole’s father, standing nearby, overheard Cole’s remark. “Son, this isn’t about choosing sides. This is about learning responsibility.”
Before Cole could answer, Garvey said, “Yes, Mr. Matthews, this is about responsibility. By the way, when is your son’s birthday?”
Cole’s father gulped a quick breath, and his face grew flushed. “Uh, well…birthdays have never been a very big thing around our house,” he stammered. “I think it’s the beginning of July sometime.” Quickly he turned and left.
“Did you hear him lie tonight when he was holding the feather?” Cole asked Garvey.
“He wasn’t the only one,” Garvey said, heading for the door.
Thinking about the Circle Justice meetings brought Cole’s anger alive once more. If Garvey or Edwin or anybody else showed their ugly faces on the island now, they better watch out. Cole swatted at the persistent mosquitoes and studied the bay. His only mistake in trying to escape had been forgetting about the incoming tide. Next time, he would wait until the tide flowed outward. He would use the current to help carry him away from this armpit place.
Cole walked over to the small clear stream flowing out from the trees at the head of the bay. The canopy of trees, vines, deadfall, and undergrowth formed a wall of dark green vegetation that would have been hard to crawl through. How did the Spirit Bear move like a ghost thro
ugh such tangled forest?
Cole knelt on the slippery rocks and drank until the chalky dryness left his mouth. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he ignored it. If he had to, he’d eat raw fish or grass. He’d eat anything if it helped get him off this island.
Returning to the ashes, Cole noticed faint smoke curling up from one mound. He dug carefully with a stick until he found hot coals, then scrounged dry twigs from under the tree branches. Steady blowing soon coaxed a weak flame to life. This time he would leave with his body warm and his belly full of food.
Heavy dark clouds crowded the far horizon, but clear sky overhead let the sun bathe the ground with warmth. Cole leaned his head back to soak in the sunshine. Garvey had said this area had tons of rain. What did he know, living in Minnesota? There had been a few light showers yesterday and during the night, but now the weather was great.
For the next few hours, Cole sat on the shore and studied the tide. Once the breeze ruffled the tree branches behind him, and Cole spun around, expecting the Spirit Bear again. He saw only a couple of big gray birds hopping among the branches. He snickered at how jumpy he was. What was he afraid of? The Spirit Bear wouldn’t show itself now that it knew a human was around. It was the one that should be scared.
Cole discovered that high tide occurred midday and began flowing out of the bay within an hour. He knew that tides repeated themselves every twelve hours, which meant the next receding tide would be late tonight, then another this time tomorrow. Reluctantly, Cole admitted it would be best to leave tomorrow. He didn’t want to swim at night.
He almost wished he could be here to see the faces of Garvey and Edwin when they returned and found him gone and everything burned to the ground. His dad’s reaction would be even better. “What are you going to do, Dad?” Cole asked aloud, as if his dad were sitting beside him on the rocks. “Who are you going to sue? Who are you going to hit?”
Cole knew what his dad hated most about this whole situation was that his son wasn’t something that could be fixed with a lawsuit or a stiff drink. The only solution was to hit Cole harder, and that hadn’t helped, either.
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