After regaining my sense of awareness in the schoolyard, I realized that my forward progress hadn’t separated me far enough away from the spectators at large. To further complicate matters, several students and members of the faculty witnessed my previous episode firsthand. I had inadvertently managed to attract a disproportionate share of the mourners’ attention. A handful of them offered me assistance, of course, but I refused their polite gestures. Instead, I remained on the soggy turf, while staring upright into a sky blotted by rain clouds. My dampened clothing hinted that I had spent at least a few unflattering minutes rolling on the ground in a heedless fit.
At least the custodian had wandered off to a portion on the campus where I couldn’t observe him any longer. Yet even in his absence I detected an odor of industrial glue affixing in the air like an unwelcome omen. In more ways than I previously imagined, the custodian seemed to taunt me even when I couldn’t see him. Of course, given the inelegance of my current predicament, I had virtually no hope of escaping the scrutiny of the other onlookers. One man in particular appeared hell-bent on humiliating me in a public forum.
Morgan Lemus jostled through the crowd in pursuit of me as if he hadn’t anything more urgent to consider. This time he had two detectives in tow, both less enthusiastic than him. They must’ve noticed me thrashing about the premises like a flightless bird. Rather than attempt to reclaim my stance, I remained squatted on the grass as if hatching an ostrich’s egg. Judging by the scowl on Lemus’s face, I assumed he wasn’t concerned about my welfare. He didn’t need to pretend to reserve any empathy for me at this point. His pulsating eye zeroed in upon me like a missile bearing down on a defenseless target.
“Look at you,” Lemus said in disgust. “You’re an embarrassment to this profession, Mr. Cobbs. I want you to get off this property immediately.”
Perhaps the principal’s emotions overpowered his wit in this instance. It was never good in public relations for a leader to berate an ailing man. Yet Lemus’s abhorrence toward me overwhelmed his common sense. Other witnesses may have been shocked by his brazen cruelty, especially in the midst of a student’s murder investigation. Of course, I knew that Lemus merely permitted his rank nature to stink up this scene. Ironically, his obsessive quest to destroy my reputation ultimately proved to accelerate his own downfall.
“Mr. Cobbs, I’m holding you partly responsible for what has happened here today,” he bellowed. “If you stayed away from Drew, he wouldn’t have gotten out of my office. I’m going to personally see to it that you never teach in this or any other school again.”
Those within earshot of the principal’s outburst most likely expected me to respond. Their eyes fastened to mine as if magnetized by curiosity. Did they really expect me to defend myself from such a desperate accusation? I expected Lemus to shoot from the hip, but he was firing aimlessly without holsters now. In this case, I spoke infinitely louder than him by saying nothing. Lemus’s feckless rant soon earned him a round of jeers from those encompassing us. Oddly, he seemed content to contribute to his professional demise if it meant even the slightest chance that he’d somehow incriminate me in Drew Mincer’s death. Eventually, the more sensible members of the principal’s entourage attempted to steer his misplaced rage in another direction, but Lemus remained resilient in his bid to play a saboteur.
“That man isn’t what he appears to be,” he fumed to anyone who cared to listen. “He wants you all to think he’s sick, but I believe he’s faking this whole bit.”
The crowd’s eyes swayed toward me again. Of course, I had no cause to heedlessly throw my body onto the muddy ground in order to divert attention from the crime. To explain this absurdity to anyone who cared to believe Lemus seemed as rash and delusional as the man who supposedly helmed this school. I therefore kept my mouth shut, permitting those who wished to speculate controversy to do so. While shifting my gaze among the congregation, I noticed several faculty members and students watching me as if I had an obligation to rationalize my state of awkwardness.
Edna Fassal stood nearby, visibly grief-stricken, while covering her frizzy coif of gray beneath an umbrella. Hannah Dixon still remained in company, too, with dark mascara streaming from her overloaded eyelashes like canals of tar. And it was nearly impossible to miss Chrissie Finnegan’s cucumber-scented presence. I noticed several gawking students as well, including Dale McCoy, who perhaps clutched his copy of Ulysses a bit tighter than before. Mitch Dalton was among them as well, glaring at me as if I had just relinquished the winning touchdown to our school’s rival.
None of these familiar faces compelled me into any action. Honestly, I was prepared to squat on the lawn until they had become utterly bored of watching me. But my hands gripped the blades of grass surrounding my hands after I noticed Shawn Winger angling entirely too close to the student whom I knew he had impregnated. Right now, in the midst of this emotional chaos, his proximity to Desiree Meadows struck me as a decisive act of condescension. To anyone else, the placement of Shawn’s hand on the girl’s shoulder may have seemed like an innocuous gesture to remedy the girl’s anguish. But they weren’t cursed with a confession that I had learned firsthand from this culprit’s mouth.
Even now I wondered why Shawn confided in me without any solicitation. Did he really assume that I’d refrain from casting judgment against him? It was offensive to conclude that he used me as a means to moderate his own guilt. Until this moment I had stupidly pledged to maintain the secrecy of his relationship with Desiree for the remainder of this week. Had I not witnessed Shawn’s flagrant interplay with this student, I might’ve been able to wait that long. But at the same time, I didn’t know if I’d ever get another chance to stop him.
As I searched the huddled masses to find Shawn’s eyes, I no longer felt any empathy for the predicament he created. He mocked me with his cocksure smirk, and I imagined that he laughed at my vulnerability alongside his minor-aged playmate. I couldn’t stay in his presence a moment longer. Even Lemus’s boisterous movements seemed nearly invisible to me. After several seconds, I staggered to my feet in order to make a speedy departure. This task was complicated by Lemus’s misguided pursuit to undermine my reputation. On sturdier legs I might’ve held my position, but I didn’t know how much longer I could’ve sustained my balance.
“Are you planning to take some culpability in what has occurred here, Mr. Cobbs?” Lemus resumed. When I failed to respond, he became increasingly volatile. At one point, he even squared his shoulder into my side, presumably to knock me off my feet. I had no choice but to settle this dispute in a manner he found acceptable.
“Look,” I muttered. “If you think any of this is my fault, then I’ll never muster the energy to convince you otherwise. In truth, I tried my best to prevent any tragedy like this from ever happening.”
“And as we can all now plainly see, your efforts proved worthless,” returned Lemus.
“I don’t think we have anything left to discuss. Let’s face it, Dr. Lemus, you’ve made up your mind about me a long time ago.”
“I don’t want you back at my school tomorrow,” he grimaced. “You are a pestilence who infects those of us still trying to make a difference in public education.” If any of the spectators were appalled by Lemus’s assertion, they kept their comments subdued. I realized that most of them were simply protecting their jobs; even Edna Fassal couldn’t look at me remorsefully without worrying about repercussions from a particularly resentful principal. Rather than burden myself with Lemus’s tirade, I focused on the one man in the pack who’d conveniently escaped scrutiny for his entire tenure at Ravendale High School.
Shawn Winger still managed to display his smugness as if it was up for auction. I stepped within three feet of him before his toothy grin transformed into a straight-lipped stare-down. Lemus still yapped at whatever nonsense popped into his skull, but I now shifted my attention to his prized pedagogue. Despite my vantage point, Shawn continued to latch onto Desiree’s shoulder as if he was immune to criticism. Blood fl
owed into my brain like hot oil, revving me with hostile notions. Whatever the punishment was for betraying the trust of a deviant mind, I was now prepared to accept it. To the astonishment of others, and without issuing a warning, I lunged forward and knocked Shawn’s hand away from the girl’s body as if she was my own daughter.
The stunned tempter loosened his fingers from the teenager’s shirt. Then, in an action of confusion or cowardice, Shawn backed away from her while staring at me in a tentative silence. He, of course, knew exactly why I swatted him, but he also couldn’t let anyone else suspect the reason for my assault.
“What the heck are you doing, Corbin?” Shawn asked, practically gritting his teeth with embarrassment.
“I want you to keep your filthy paws off that girl,” I said, loudly enough to catch the ears of anyone who relished the onset of forthcoming turmoil. Lemus shadowed me closely in these seconds, and he had no intention of letting me attack our community’s most venerated teacher.
“Did everyone just see that?” Lemus squealed at anyone who cared to notice. “He just maliciously hit Mr. Winger for no apparent reason.” Obviously, others in the vicinity were equally perplexed by my knee-jerk reaction, but the man who merited my aggression hardly flinched. Shawn remained with his hands latched on his hips, appearing composed as he tried to quell my temper.
“It’s okay,” Shawn assured Lemus and the flabbergasted audience. He refused to break his gaze from mine as he proceeded. “I think we can all see that Mr. Cobbs isn’t feeling very well at the moment. Under the circumstances, I’d say that’s not so unusual.” Shawn’s explanation may have truncated Lemus’s outrage, but I had no intention of withholding my disgust a moment longer.
“I’m feeling perfectly fine now,” I assured the onlookers. “After all, I’m not the one who is really sick here, isn’t that right, Mr. Winger?”
My backhanded accusation hushed the chattering throng. They remained as clueless to this beloved teacher’s lascivious tendencies as Dr. Lemus. I then briefly looked at Desiree to confirm my suspicion that she felt both frightened and offended by what I sought to disclose. Naturally, Shawn exercised all the suitable suaveness that enabled him to inveigle one of his students in the first place. I watched him loosen his tie in an effort to lessen the tension surging through his neck’s bulging veins.
Shawn’s saucer-like eyes pleaded with me now, but I couldn’t rate such a reaction as a genuine bid for redemption. In my estimation, this man was the worse sort of imposter among us. He was someone who feigned goodness in order to secure favors for his own selfish endeavors. On the other hand, Desiree certainly couldn’t be looked upon as entirely blameless either. In spite of her impressionable age, she was well aware of the ramifications stemming from such a taboo courtship. Until now, it was directly because of her culpability that I almost permitted Shawn to rectify this situation on his own terms. But I had become impatient with his lofty air of entitlement and obvious absence of regret or shame.
“This is coming to an end today,” I told him.
Like a veteran thespian, Shawn acted as cool and collected as everyone other than me would’ve expected. His outward expression offered not even the faintest trace of dishonor. “Corbin,” he remarked, “you’re making a lot of people here uncomfortable right now.” His concentration waned slightly when Desiree suddenly withdrew from his side, leaving him to stand alone to defend my forthcoming allegations.
“The way I see it, Shawn, you’ve become entirely too comfortable,” I countered. As I waited for the normally loquacious man’s retort, Lemus wedged his bulbous torso between us like a referee; for once in his lifetime, his bowtie seemed like an appropriate choice of attire. He first faced me directly, wagging a stubby finger in front of my nose like a wiper’s blade.
“Is this your idea of a joke, Mr. Cobbs?” the principal grunted. “Physically striking another teacher is grounds for immediate dismissal. With Mr. Winger’s written statement, I’ll have your letter of resignation on my desk in the morning.” Lemus looked satisfied with his boast until he pivoted toward Shawn to monitor his receptiveness. “This may be my only chance to get him out of here,” he croaked in a toady voice.
“A lot of bad things have already happened here today, Morgan,” Shawn mentioned sheepishly. “In light of everything, maybe it’s best if we just let it go.”
“You can’t mean that, Shawn,” said Lemus, aghast. “This man is a pariah. He never believed in what I’ve tried to accomplish in this school.”
“I’m sure he’s not so uncooperative,” said Shawn while staring at me as if one favor counterbalanced another. “Besides, I think Corbin will agree with me when I say that no one here really wants to start any more problems. We all just need to go home and clear our heads.”
In Shawn’s mind, he might’ve hoped for such a simplistic solution to his dilemma, but I wasn’t prepared to show lenience for his misconduct any longer. “I’m going to give you a chance to come clean with everything right now,” I told him. “I’d rather you do it than me.”
Shawn’s expression looked partially frozen, devoid of any of the contrived warmth that ushered him to this circumstance. Sheer guilt had melted the feathers that once gave this rudderless spirit flight. He now floundering in the self-induced muck that he created for himself. Of course Lemus served as a poorly timed distraction. The principal bounced into my space in an effort to provoke me.
“What are you babbling about now, Mr. Cobbs?” Lemus shouted.
“Ask your protégé,” I responded to him. “I’m sure Shawn’s eager to shed some light on what I’m alluding to.”
Lemus twisted back toward Shawn again and asked, “Do you have any idea what this fool is talking about?”
“I…I don’t,” Shawn replied, unconvincingly.
“Tell him now,” I interjected, while ignoring Shawn’s toxic stare.
Lemus’s didn’t focus on Shawn for more than another moment. Within seconds he was flapping his lips like a wind sail in my face again. “Mr. Cobbs, I don’t know what you’re trying to prove,” he snarled, “but deflecting blame on Mr. Winger won’t help your situation.”
Before Lemus managed to issue a reminder on how superior Shawn was to me in every aspect of career and character, I decided to deflate the air from his lungs by pinpointing one disreputable fact. “It seems that Mr. Winger has been flying too high for his own good around your school, Dr. Lemus.”
“Don’t do this, Corbin,” Shawn implored me. His eyes jabbed against mine like two poison darts, but I was immune to his noxious reproof by now. Lemus had permitted Shawn’s reputation as a master teacher to override any unfiltered inspection of his integrity for far too long.
“It’s too late,” I returned. “This is your last chance to confess, Shawn.”
“Last chance?” Lemus squawked. “Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?” The principal swung around to view Shawn’s expression. His voice quavered a bit before he blurted out, “Shawn, do you need to tell me something?”
“C’mon, Morgan,” Shawn chuckled like a shamefaced thief. “Corbin must’ve hit his head pretty hard when he fell on the ground. I don’t know what he’s talking about. He’s delusional or something.”
At this stage, I’m sure Shawn wished I were too disorientated to bolster my indictment. “I may be ill,” I proceeded, “but I’d have to be decomposing in my grave in order to leave here knowing that I didn’t try to stop you from pursuing your seduction of Desiree Meadows.”
People within the crowd had assembled into random pockets of alternate conversation, but upon my assertion, the banter ceased as if someone pushed a mute button on the entire scene. Others in company searched in vain for Desiree, but she slipped sneakily between the masses and disappeared into this afternoon’s gray mist. Shawn now stood alone to face me without any of his hubristic cargo in tow. It took Lemus a few seconds to process my statement, and a bit longer for him to extend any credibility to the claim. Shawn’s reaction,
or more specifically, the lack of any projected emotion, displayed a chink in his burnished coat of armor that Lemus routinely polished like an obsequious squire.
Lemus suddenly had no recourse other than to question the esteemed teacher. “Shawn,” he whispered. “Do you deny what Mr. Cobbs has said?” We all waited intolerantly for a response, but it was as if Shawn’s tongue had at last betrayed him. He stumbled over a few garbled words, appearing like a politician without his teleprompter. Then, in a blatantly submissive act, he tilted his chin toward his chest and resumed his silence. A threadwork of crestfallen gasps weaved throughout the campus. Eventually, the multitude of people looked to me for clarification. Lemus came at me again, but this time his tone was decidedly reserved.
“Mr. Cobbs,” he remarked, “if you have any valid evidence to support your statement, it’s your legal obligation to report it formally so that this can be investigated promptly.”
“I’m aware of the regulations,” I answered.
“Then what exactly do you know in regard to Mr. Winger?”
“Things I shouldn’t,” I declared. Shawn raised his chin slightly, perhaps to cast a menacing stare in a final bid to dissuade me from completing this bittersweet task.
“Before you say anything else, Mr. Cobbs,” Lemus admonished, “you better be damn sure that your facts are straight.”
“I didn’t want to be the one to break this news to you, especially under these circumstances. I really thought Shawn would’ve felt remorse for what he’s done,” I said.
Lemus’s inquiry veered into fierceness now. “What exactly are you accusing him of?”
“The fellow you’ve often lauded as the savior of modern education, Dr. Lemus, is a flawed man. While you were preoccupied shining his plaque as Teacher of the Century, Shawn Winger was busy satisfying his libido with a seventeen-year-old student.”
Lemus’s skull appeared engorged with rage. His glass eye nearly spurted from its socket as he leaned in closer to my face. The rest of the spectators stood around like cardboard cutouts, crumbling in the persistent rainfall. As for Shawn, he looked like a speared captive, awaiting a punishment that was long overdue. His detest for me was unmistakable in these moments, but I convinced myself that my objective was for his own benefit. The principal, however, wasn’t too eager to accept my word as gospel.
“I hope that you can prove what you’re saying,” Lemus fumed at me.
I then made an announcement that permanently removed his and the other doubters’ pouts. “If you need proof after talking with Shawn, you shall have it soon enough. The student Mr. Winger is sleeping with is currently pregnant with his baby. I’m sure Desiree Meadows will fill in the rest of the details at the appropriate time.”
A boisterous uproar ignited in the eyes of everyone except for the accused man. Out of obligation, Lemus transferred his indignation from me to him. Shawn Winger had almost sailed into the heavenly clouds, but with his fragile wings now undeniably clipped, he appeared far less angelic in the principal’s estimations. I had nothing else to say on the matter. By the time I stepped away from the immediate area, the detectives had already encircled Shawn like a crew of butchers tenderizing raw meat.
Of course, the mob on hand remained fervent in their efforts to coerce additional details from me, but my business at Ravendale High School was done for this day, and perhaps for all days to come hereafter. Despite several ploys to prevent my brisk departure, more essential matters motivated my footsteps. After all, my duty to rectify what was wrong was not yet finished.
Leon Chase’s premeditated decision to sleep with my wife couldn’t go unpunished. Whether Rachel loved this man for his false affection or not made no difference to me. Perhaps if I was the man I seemed to be even yesterday, I might’ve rolled over like an obedient hound and relinquished my dignity along with my wife to this counterfeit friend. But I already knew that Leon wasn’t the type of man who’d abandon his family to appease the romanticized notions of another man’s wife. He was far too clever and devious for such a shortcoming.
After returning to the sanctuary of my car’s interior, I remained seated behind the steering wheel, futilely attempting to smear the fresh mud from my clothing. The drive to Leon’s suburban mansion in Ravendale Heights was less than fifteen minutes from the school. I assumed I could’ve driven there without incident, but I first needed to let my pulse rate subside. Any amount of tension had the potential to kill me within seconds. I realized that each episode I encountered from this point might’ve been my last. For me, the time to die wasn’t now.
In the midst of my respite, I noticed my cell phone vibrating on the passenger’s seat. I checked the caller’s ID, but neglected to answer it. Surprisingly, Rachel attempted to contact me. I counted at least seven missed calls. The news of Drew Mincer’s murder must’ve circulated all over town by now. Perhaps I should’ve given Rachel a courtesy by answering the phone, but my thoughts of Leon prevented me from treating her concern as anything more than a nuisance. Besides, I had already specified a time for us to talk face-to-face, and I also wished to withhold any comments to her until after I confronted her lover under the identical conditions.
Naturally, I soon found it impossible to remain in the solitude of my vehicle and ignorantly dismiss the contents of my glove compartment. If nothing else, the stowed weapon would’ve served as an equalizer when I approached Leon on his turf. I now held a vengeful craving to put this adulterous man at my mercy. I couldn’t yet determine if I sought to shoot Leon for the disgrace he caused me, but the possibility lingered in my mind like a hibernating scent. Of course, he wasn’t solely to blame. Rachel merited a portion of my angst as well. The furtive manner in which she cajoled her way into Leon’s pants sickened me. If I opted to punish Leon for his indiscretions, then I also had to administer a punitive action against my cheating wife.
While en route to Leon’s house, I tried to soothe my riled mood by reflecting on the many lighthearted memories I spent with Leon. It disheartened me to think that our friendship had eroded because of such a common foe. Over the years, I recalled a few instances where we discussed temptation, but I never imagined that he had designed to infiltrate such avenues so close to his own home. I always suspected his wife was a devoted partner, but I had also erroneously assessed my wife’s level of commitment toward me. There seemed to be no end to my confusion and inability to comprehend the motivations of those closest to me. One thing was irrefutable, however, and that was Leon’s throttlehold over my life. No amount of wealth or prestige could’ve provided insulation from the words I now planned to convey to him.
After turning into the entrance to the neighborhood’s most exclusive properties, I was sorely reminded of my own financial limitations. Every yard on this wooded street looked like parkland paradise, and some of the custom built manors seemed bigger than entire shopping malls. When I was a younger man I believed that the pursuance of a dream was far more gratifying than coveting wealth. Had I never married or adopted predictable habits, my principles might’ve stayed unchanged. But the opinions and lifestyles of people with more money than I earned impacted me negatively over the years; my heart grew smaller as my ears enlarged. I felt inadequate in the company of rich folks, and this may have even been evident to my best friend at times.
Leon warned me about entering the teaching profession at least two years before we graduated college. I eventually convinced myself that I could’ve never been content if my quest for cash overpowered a search for wisdom. In the classroom, I theorized, I would have an opportunity to impact a forthcoming generation in ways that no amount of dollars could’ve supplanted. Of course, it was customary for young teachers to foresee such hyperbolic visions. Later on, Leon had no reservations about debunking my altruistic drivel by citing countless retired teachers who died miserable and broke. Furthermore, the gratitude that they internally sought never materialized. If anything, educators had become the unlikely targets of a gaggle of underachieving ingrates.
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br /> My friend often boasted that older people with resources never resorted to homilies on intangible accomplishments at the closure of their careers. They let their six figure bank accounts displace the mordant sketches of those who labored for peanut shells and a pat on the back. On the other side of things, I wondered what truly pained the minds of those who lived on El Dorado Drive. As I drove past these showy estates, with luxury cars adorning driveways that cost nearly as much as my house, I thought about these barren inhabitants sheathed in a layer of gold dust. How many of them were as selfish and shrewd as Leon Chase? Had their unquenchable lust for power and finance eclipsed the love for their own families and friends?
The tortuous street I navigated eventually unwound into a cul-de-sac. Leon’s white stucco and brick home stood at the bend in this road on the highest portion of land. The only thing missing on the property was mote and drawbridge. It didn’t startle me that Leon had secured the prime lot in this development for himself. This wasn’t my first visit to his home, of course, but the circumstances that brought me here today made it seem like it. Additionally, the shameless opulence of his residence never bothered me before, but I now felt nauseous by what it represented. I envisioned my wife yearning for such a suburban palace, and couldn’t fully detach myself from being tempted by similar grandeur at one time or another. It must’ve delighted Leon beyond comparable glee to know that he had the capability to snatch my wife from my arms at any moment he so desired.
The inborn instinct for retaliation often suffocated good judgment. As I stopped my car curbside opposite Leon’s driveway, I sensed my lungs tightening with anticipation of my next move. A fence of evergreens blocked a portion of the home’s garage, but since the door was open, I noticed that Leon’s Lexus was not parked inside. Naturally, I assumed what any jealous husband might’ve wrestled with when confronted by this scenario. I couldn’t dismiss the likelihood that he was coddling my wife at this very moment, perhaps even preparing himself for this particular eventuality.
I presumed that Leon’s wife was at home, and I still had an option of being the bearer of scandalous news. But I knew that they had a five-year-old son, and it was a bit premature for me to subject Peggy Chase to such humility in front of her child. Besides, it seemed only proper that I dealt with Leon directly before pitching accusations of disloyalty onto his wife’s front porch. Honestly, I still considered her my friend who didn’t deserve a philandering husband anymore than I warranted an unfaithful spouse. Because of this, I elected to wait for Leon’s arrival in order to provide him with a chance to beg me for forgiveness.
But the longer I waited for Leon, the more repugnant his behavior seemed. A thought of him laughing at my gullibility as he seduced my wife in my own bed almost caused me to vomit into my lap. I quivered with diabolical notions, barely trying to suppress the rage roiling within me. Within a few seconds, I found myself reaching for the glove compartment. The gun beckoned for my hand like a famished mouth consuming food. The sustenance that such a weapon filled me with, of course, was a sensation I never relished before this instance.
Prior to this morning, I hadn’t even a touched a gun in my lifetime, and I couldn’t predict that I’d handle it suitably under tense circumstances. Despite my reservations, an influx of searing adrenaline coursed up my forearm as I gripped the gun’s handle. My fingers trembled when embracing its cool metal casing. I gently placed the gun on the passenger seat beside me, pampering it as if it was manufactured from porcelain and rice paper. Then, I simply stared at the piece for a while, envisioning myself brandishing it at a crucial moment.
While entranced in this revitalizing thought, I listened to the rain tapping against my car’s windshield. The clouds had thickened since I arrived here, serving as a gloomy presage. The excess sweat that consumed my brow couldn’t be ignored either. Maybe another visitation would’ve clarified my intentions. While leaning back against my seat, I wanted to believe that the answers to my strife existed somewhere within my peripatetic cycles.
Chapter 62
4:20 P.M.
The Classic Crusade of Corbin Cobbs Page 62