by Miriam Bell
“and if the prison is attacked?” he whispers, keeping his eyes on my hand in his.
“Then I take Clover and Tessa to Brian’s and wait for you.”
He nods in acceptance as he tightens his hold.
“You’re a good friend,” he says with a touch of sadness and releases his grasp.
I mourn the loss of his touch but keep my face blank. Friends hold each other’s hand all the time? Right? The term friend bounces around my head while the memory of him kissing me so long ago clouds my judgement. I yearn for the press of his lips upon mine.
“I can keep an eye on Evie too,” I say, the words slipping out on their own.
Connor’s soften face turns into one of amusement. A hint of smugness appears in his gaze.
“Thanks Millie, that means a lot to me.”
Irritation nips at me. Why did I bring her up? I turn to leave.
“Millie,” Connor says, drawing my attention.
The arrogance is gone from his voice.
“Make sure Clover keeps her weapons on her at all times.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, leaving Connor alone in the room.
Tomorrow, he’ll be gone for a week or how ever long it takes to find the items on Mr. Herdon’s list. When I enter the cafeteria, I find Evie sitting beside Lonnie at our regular table. She’s in a deep conversation with Clover. I stare a little too hard at her, trying to decide what it is about her that draws Connor. Jealousy flares brighter. Her skin is a beautiful alabaster. Her hair which is commonly braided behind her back is loose and flowing over her shoulders. The light from the near window gives the strands a silky appearance. I groan and make a beeline to Max. He hands me my remaining portion of food for the day.
“Having a good day so far?” he asks.
I muster a hint of a grin, utter a word of thanks and hastily leave the room.
It isn’t till I’m outside sitting against the cement brick wall of the prison, that I’m able to breath again. Chevy races to greet me- his long hair fluttering away from his face as he runs. Chevy’s inability to keep his tongue in his mouth gives an illusion of a smile. Maybe he is smiling at stumbling across me when everyone else is tucked away inside. A cold breeze sweeps by my cheek and I begin to think sitting outside in the cold was not the best of ideas.
“Well, at least someone is happy to see me,” I say, running my fingers through his white and brown coat. He sniffs at the air violently. “Oh no. You’re not getting my food.”
He sits down beside me, tail flopping. I pull a chunk of bread apart and slip a piece into my mouth. Chevy gives a little whine and peers at me longingly with his mismatched eyes. I sigh.
“I can’t resist your cuteness.”
I loft a small piece of bread into the air. Chevy catches it in his mouth with ease.
“Good boy,” I say, giving him a scratch behind his ear.
He continues to be by my side as we watch the sun set behind the distant trees.
Chapter Twenty
I wake the next morning to find Connor and the other scouts already gone. The idea of not being required to go to the gym for training is an odd sensation. However, I go anyway to distract myself from the ever present hollowness in my stomach. Noticing my leaving, Clover and Tessa quietly appear by my side. Clover’s unease without Connor is apparent in her step and in the way her eyes scan the familiar hallways. He has been with her almost every day of her life, watching over her and protecting her. His absence must be difficult.
We start our training session as we always do, stretching and running. There is no discussion when we get to the point of training drills. We go through the movements with only a few words and finish up with the different katas Connor had been teaching us.
“This sucks,” Clover says bitterly at the end of our training session.
“Yeah, I know,” I reply but she continues unaware of my comment.
“I mean, we have to do our part in the community but I should’ve gone with him,” she rants louder. “He needs me out there. Who is going to look out for him? The other scouts? No, I’m the one he trusts. We’re a team!”
I walk over to Clover as she mumbles to herself and gently put my hand on her shoulder.
“You protecting Connor would’ve involved leaving Tessa behind,” I say in a tender voice.
Clover grimaces at the knowledge. We both turn our heads to watch Tessa, who is punching a small makeshift bag full of packed towels in the corner of the gym. Her small hands create a soft thump sound as they drive into the suspended bag. Tears start to form on the edges of Clover’s eyes.
“Yeah, I couldn’t leave her behind or take her out to the red zone knowing what I do.” She peers at me, her face pure misery. “I can’t stand feeling helpless like this. What if Connor needs me?”
I tighten my grip on her shoulder.
“We’re talking about Connor here. He’ll be fine and you know it,” I say and try to mask my uncertainties the best I can. “You and Tessa have work to do in the garden, so best get to it.”
I smile when Clover makes a face and find myself relating to how she feels. How can any one of us focus on our chores when the thoughts of those we care about in the red zone, haunt us.
“I hate gardening,” she remarks, turning her gaze back to Tessa.
“Don’t give me that. I’m stuck in a dungeon sorting papers,” I say.
“True. I can be grateful I didn’t get that job.”
I scoff at her.
“Why don’t you just play another joke on Jay, that will cheer you up.”
Ever since that day back at Bryan’s where Clover scared Jay with Chevy, she has taken a liking to practical jokes but only on him. Her smile widens as I see an evil twinkle spark in her eyes. I can tell she is visionizing her next attack. With a bounce in her step, she quickly collects Tessa and they together head off to the gardens. If Jay wasn’t such a jerk to me these days I would almost pity him for the scheme those two sisters come up with.
The rest of the week continues in the same fashion. I start the day training, practice hiding in various places and then spend a good portion of my time organizing the prison files. I eat dinner and occupy the remainder of my evenings either with Dad or Clover and Tessa. I go to sleep, wake up and repeat. Each day following without Connor, my mood drifts deeper into depression. I won’t admit I miss him. I can tell Clover is suffering in the same way because she’s beginning to eat less and less.
On one rainy afternoon, I grow tired of the constant trail of prison files and decide it’s time to practice hiding. Since given the strange assignment from Connor, I’ve renamed these training practices fly ops; liking myself to a fly on the wall. After hours upon hours of perfecting my new skills, I’ve learned Mrs. Emerson swears frequently when alone, Mr. Herdon takes extra portions of food each day and Max has a thing for feet. I won’t be getting over that information anytime soon. Though Connor only cleared me to leave my duties twice a week, I instead enjoy mixing my fly ops with my organizing files each day.
I search the area for my next hiding place. As I’m walking down a hall, I realize the ceiling is not a solid structure held together by wood and sheetrock like most of the houses in the abandoned town. It’s a dropped ceiling, a term I only recall because of a “how to fix it” book in the library. The whole metal ventilation system and who knows what else hides behind the ceiling’s many tiles. A grin creeps across my face.
I test each door in the hallway until I come across one that is unlocked. When I enter the room, I realize it’s a simple office, probably one used to record quantities of extra supplies. I lock the door behind me and climb onto the desk, attempting not to disturb the many paper stacks. I shift one of the white ceiling tiles away to allow myself entry into the unexplored. With my extra training, I’m able to lift my body into the dim lighting between the dropped ceiling and the original wood framing above.
The area is dusty and shadowy, with light filtering in from torn and damaged tiles not yet re
paired. Faintly, I perceive a grid pattern with small rods attaching the dropped ceiling to a more sound foundation of wooden beams. I cautiously travel my way across the eerie space, sliding around the supportive metal and through the framework of a wall. After deciding on the best area, I lay myself down on my stomach and hope the intricate structure doesn’t give way beneath me. Small dust motes float stale air. I place my mouth and nose into my shirt sleeve to keep from sneezing. I lift one tile with care and I’m rewarded with a clear view into an empty hall.
I wait and wonder how this skill is going to help improve me and my training, when the sound of doors opening catches my attention. Every few minutes someone or a group walks by. I’m able to identify their faces and tentatively figure out where they might be heading toward but the information doesn’t seem important. Their speech is hard to understand in their passing but I’m still able to catch a few words here and there. I’m about to give up and disappear back to the furnace room when the voices of Mr. Jensen and Mrs. Emerson rise between the tiles. They stop abruptly nearby my perch, their voices clear. Mrs. Emerson is upset.
“Jamal, she should be told!” she says not caring who may overhear.
“Quiet. You need to stay in your own business,” he warns with a sternness that even I wouldn’t challenge. “You lost your best friends; Micah lost his wife. The decision was his to make.” Mr. Jensen pauses. “We all agreed.”
“Things have changed, Millie has the right to know about her family. We can’t keep her in the dark anymore,” Mrs. Emerson retorts.
I’m unable to view their conversation from this angle so I enlarge the opening between tiles.
“Yes, we can. It isn’t our decision,” he says.
“She has changed. The red zone changed her. I can tell that much in her training, alone.”
Mr. Jensen muffles a cough.
“The girl has always trained; she’s like her mother in that way,” he says.
“Yeah, but it’s different now. Millie is going to start asking questions one day and I’m not going to lie to her. She’s going to be one of our best scouts if she continues with Connor. Do you want to mess up her progress by losing her trust?” she replies.
Their voices lower to above a whisper so I can’t make out anything else they say. I try to listen but they soon leave and I’m left confounded. What lies are they talking about? What is everyone hiding from me? Sharp pains stab at my chest as my anxiety raises. All my life, I’ve thought about my mother but I never wanted to upset Dad by asking about her. He talked so little of her on his own that I didn’t want him to become more depressed. During the years I spent growing up within the library, I thought it better not to know so life would be easier and my relationship with him would remain unharmed. The image of the woman in my dreams resurfaces- her hair the deepest color of red. Since the day I returned home, she has starred in so many more of my nightmares. What is she trying to tell me? I can no longer live in this bubble I’ve created where the truth is kept right beyond my touch.
The sound of a door opening down the hall catches my attention. With a purpose, Lonnie hurries in my direction, only to stop short and hide. He would succeed at being concealed by searching eyes if not for my advantage point. I peer at him inquisitively from above.
Each door of the hallway is recessed so that a small nook is made when the entry is closed. Lonnie lets his body slide down the wall of the nook until he’s seated on the concrete floor. I watch him as he nervously chews on his brittle nails. Soon another door opens and Lonnie jumps to his feet, eyes bright with excitement. He stands hugging himself against the wall.
“Lonnie?”
Evie’s voice sounds through the wide hall way. As she walks by, Lonnie reaches out and grabs her around the waist, pulling her into his hiding place. She giggles.
“There you are,” she says in a seductive tone.
I can’t see Lonnie’s smile but I hear the amusement in his reply, “I was worried you weren’t going to come.”
“Of course I would. I couldn’t say no to you.” Evie smiles.
“You can’t say no if Connor isn’t here,” Lonnie says in a sour tone.
She playfully hits his shoulder with a weak fist.
“You know there is nothing going on between me and Connor. He just hugged me that one time and that’s it. I shouldn’t have told you,” Evie replies.
Lonnie tightens his grip around her waist and trails his fingers down the jawline of her face.
“I’m sorry, Evie. I love you so much the thought drives me crazy.”
“Well, you need to get over it. Besides, he’s head over heels for Millie.”
She leans her head into Lonnie’s touch.
“I don’t know if I would call that love,” he says, questioningly.
“It is. The way he looks at her when she isn’t paying attention is like the way I look at you when no one is around.” Evie pauses, her face growing weary. “Lonnie I’m tired of keeping us a secret.”
“Me too,” he sighs. “Please give me some time.”
His hand slowly lowers to the side of her neck.
“My mother will get over her lunatic notion of me being with Millie.”
Evie rolls her eyes at his certainty.
“We’re friends,” he insures her. “I’ll never feel for her like I do for you.”
He leans down taking her lips with his.
The kiss is lingering; packed full of longing and desire. When he breaks away it’s only for a moment and then he’s flushed against her. The wall is the only thing keeping them up right. His hands begin to explore her body and I force my eyes to break away when a moan escapes her mouth.
Thoughts of Connor and the last month rush through my mind. Listening to the heavy breathing from below triggers the memory of our kiss inside Tom’s old home. Suddenly, I’m in the abandoned house reliving each touch again and again. The ache in my heart deepens with the image in my mind of him leaving. Evie was wrong about Connor and I, but I could never tell her so without admitting I’d been spying on them. As I listen to their stolen moments, I wonder if my dad ever laid in wait for my mother. Did they scurry the halls trying to grasp moments with each other. It was a shame how little I knew about them and how much I thought of her. No matter how many days I trained to prepare for the red zone, in the end I’m still a coward for not questioning my father. I gently lay the ceiling tile back into place and remain motionless until the hallway is silent again.
When I’m positive no one is around I leave my hiding spot in confusion. I need to speak with my father. I need to know what he’s hiding from me; what no one will confide in me. With apprehension weighing heavy on me, I set out to find him. When I enter the library, I notice he’s sitting at one of the tables reading. His head is bent down almost touching the aged pages.
My dad is so immersed in the story he doesn’t realize I’m there until I plop down in the chair beside him.
“Dad we need to talk.”
His eyes lift startled from behind the book cover and register my nervousness.
“What about Millie?” he asks, uneasily.
“We need to talk about my mother,” I say, wanting to gather my nerves.
“No.”
His one word reply catches me off guard. I always thought he would talk to me if I only asked.
“What do you mean, No.” My temper flares.
“I mean no, Millie.”
“I don’t understand.”
He places his book down on the table.
“It isn’t difficult,” he says, pushing away from the table.
“I need to know about my mother. People around here talk as if there is some big secret surrounding me and I don’t like being the only one that doesn’t know.”
My father raises from his chair.
“There isn’t a secret surrounding you Millie,” he says as he walks away.
“Where are you going?” I ask baffled at his whole demeanor.
He turns swiftly.
“I’ve got work to do and so do you. Why aren't you sorting those boxes in the furnace room?”
I baulk at his statement.
“You reading doesn’t seem like work to me,” I argue.
“I was on a break.”
“So was I.”
I stand tipping over the wooden chair I was sitting in.
“Calm down,” he says, irritated. I clench my fist.
“I’ll calm down when I get some answers.”
I brush past him attempting to contain my fury.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as I slam the library door.
I scream in frustration when I reach the darkness of the furnace room. I turn on the solar lantern and stare at the completed boxes of papers through a blurred vision. In anger, I grab the remaining files labeled “Psychiatric” and sling the thick folders across the room. I glare at the thin papers as they settle on the floor. My breath rushes in and out of my chest as I stare at the mess. Why wouldn’t my father tell me anything about my mother? Regret fills me as I think of all the times I could’ve spoken with Tom- all the lost opportunities. Maybe he would have answered my questions.
I sit on top of one of my completed boxes and breathe in a calming breath. I was almost finished sorting and organizing the files before I slung them across the room. I shake my head at my temper- disappointed in myself. “You catch more bees with honey.” Connor’s voice scolds me in my mind.
With a heavy heart, I begin to recover the loose pages. As my fingers touch a single sheet my attention is caught by a picture of an older woman. She is partially covered by another inmate’s record. Her hair is an unnatural shade of red. Giving her picture a closer look, I see our facial features are similar. The arrest record states her name as Millie Katlin Croft, age 44 years old. The facts continue to state her date of birth, eye color and social security number. The information starts to click in my head. This woman must be my great grandmother. I continue to read her record. Her crimes include assault, extortion, fraud, theft. The list went on and on. At the bottom, a handwritten sentence stands out. “Prisoner 1829304593 is to be transferred to the Atlanta Psychiatric Institution for observation on September 16th. The only person to be added to the visitor list will be daughter Ana Rebecca Croft.”