by KD Knight
Mark had returned to the table carrying a plate piled with food. It was the morning special—liver with onions, green banana, Irish potato, with a side of buttered bread. Jane looked disgusted.
"So when do we go to Port Royal?" Lisa asked.
"Today." Jane looked at each face, but lowered her eyes when she reached mine.
~Jane~
Chapter Fifteen: Losing Control
I felt a pair of eyes penetrating me as I poked at my chicken lunch.
"What?" I said, looking up at Boothe. He sat back tapping his index finger on the table.
"I know it looks decorative but it's really only rice and chicken." Boothe whispered as he leaned forward.
It was lunchtime at Kingston Academy. The cafeteria was packed with students, all Normals, all ignorant of the real danger they were in.
"I don't have much of an appetite." I slid the tray away from me.
"Nervous about Port Royal?" He didn’t sound interested in the answer.
I'm nervous about a number of things: Port Royal, Nephilim, Ancients, and now Boothe.
"Maybe I'm rushing things. Maybe it's too soon to be taking on the Council."
"Rushing?" Boothe raised one brow.
"You are acting like a spoiled brat." I retorted in a low voice. "I have more important things to worry about than puppy dog feelings."
He curled his bottom lip in contempt then pushed his chair away from the table, rose and walked away.
"Boothe, wait. I didn't mean…" He disappeared into the crowd.
I should run after him, tell him that I didn't mean for my words to come out that way. I should tell him that I've seen another side of him over the last few weeks that I genuinely like. He's kind, thoughtful and annoyingly protective. I should go after him and tell him that it's me, not him. I'm not ready to explore this feeling. I'm definitely not ready for the inevitable heartbreak.
"Hey guys," I exhaled as Lisa and Mark approached.
"Where's Boothe?" Lisa asked as she took a seat beside me.
Keeping my head low, I shrugged my shoulders. Lisa peered at me. She knew I was lying.
"He left." I sighed deeply. "Maybe for good."
I tried to force myself to eat but I couldn't, my stomach was in knots. I managed to get down two forks of rice before handing my plate over to Mark who happily downed the rest. I opened the dessert, an island favourite, Gizada. It's a small pie made with flakes of coconut and brown sugar. I nibbled at the crust and began to pick off some coconut flakes when Mark snatched the treat from my hands.
"No!" he said passionately. "This Gizada deserves better than this." He pointed to the coconut flakes all over the table.
I looked down at the table and realized that more of the coconut flakes got onto the table than in my mouth.
"You can have it." I resigned.
Just then, I spotted Dr. Coy as he entered the cafeteria. The last time I saw him was at Lisa's house two days ago. It's shocking how his appearance has deteriorated so quickly. Today he looked like he got dressed in the dark, with no regard for the uniform regulations of Kingston Academy. His bright yellow t-shirt with Fort-Lauderdale Beaches embroidered across the top was out of place in the sea of blue and white worn by the other students and staff.
There was no denying that something was wrong with Dr. Coy. The evidence extended far beyond his tattered clothing. You could see his turmoil in the way he hunched forward when he walked and in the new lines that had developed along his forehead.
I watched Dr. Coy's laboured walk as he collected his lunch and retreated to a table in the corner. Before I realized what I was doing, I was already halfway to his table. He acknowledged my presence with a slight nod. I watched as his shriveled fingers wrapped themselves around his fork. With great effort, he brought the fork to his lips.
"I hope you don't mind me sitting with you," I said.
"Not at all, Jane. Not too many people sit with me these days." He looked up at me with hollow, dark eyes.
I leaned across the table. "Are you okay? And don't tell me everything is fine, because I can see that it’s not." I said in a hushed voice.
"Everything is fine." He returned his focus to his food.
I picked up a napkin and twirled it between my fingers. "I've acted like everything was fine for most of my life. I wasn't okay. Aunt Dar says that the more we try to cover things up is the more our souls want to scream the truth. I think that's why although we say that we're okay those that care about us can always see the pain in our eyes."
He continued to shove heaps of food into his mouth as if nothing I said related to him. But when our eyes made contact, I saw the mist of tears he was fighting back.
"You can tell me," I said softly.
He put the fork down beside his empty plate.
"Please tell me what's wrong. I'll do whatever I can to help you. We all will." I touched his feeble fingers reassuringly.
"Did Lisa tell you about my daughter Tanya?" He asked without looking up.
I shook my head.
"She's a few years older than you. She lives in Florida with her mother…"Coy began to sob. "You can't help me." He pulled his lips into a thin line. "I am in too deep. There is no way out for me. I have to follow this path to the end. I have no choice."
"I don't understand."
"One person's life is just as important as the next." He looked at me painfully. "Except when the next life belongs to your daughter."
"Are you saying Tanya's life is in danger?"
He sat silently for what felt like an eternity. In the end, Dr. Coy rose to his feet with his tray in his hands. Our eyes did not meet again. When Dr. Coy left the cafeteria, Lisa and Mark quickly joined me.
"What did he say?" Mark asked.
"He said something about his daughter being in some sort of danger. He was vague. I told him we could help him, but he turned it down." Looking down, I realized that I had torn my napkin into shreds, so I gathered all the pieces together and balled them in my palm.
The day started to look up when my third period math teacher was inexplicably absent. With no substitute teacher provided, we were given a free period. Lisa had given me a few books from the Caribbean History course she took last year, so I sat on the steps by the school entrance and opened the first book to the table of contents. My finger stopped on chapter thirteen, simply entitled Port Royal, The Earthquake.
It was a compilation of first hand testimonies from the survivors of the June 7, 1692 earthquake that destroyed most of Port Royal. Entry after entry detailed the same turn of events. Unexpectedly, at approximately quarter to twelve on June 7th, while the kids were at school and the men crowded the local rum bars and brothels, the ground began to tremble. The earth shook violently, then opened up and swallowed half the city.
One witness stated that, "The sand in the street rose like the waves of the sea, lifting up all persons that stood upon it. The earth swallowed some. Others were swept away by the flood water that rushed in, swallowing all who were in its way."
June 7th. The anniversary of the flood was less than a week away.
I closed my eyes. The imagery played like a movie in my mind, the ground in uproar and rows of homes swallowed whole in the earth and the raging sea.
The sound of someone clearing their throat broke through my daydream.
I opened my eyes to see Nadya flanked by her two dedicated stooges. She grabbed the book from my lap and dropped it at my feet.
A flash of heat travelled through my body. I took a few deep breaths as I unclenched my tightened fists. "What do you want?"
"I have something else for you to read." She said, handing me a small piece of paper.
I thought of Aunt Dar’s words, 'You catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar.' I took the paper reluctantly and unfolded it. My pulse began to race immediately.
"This is a bill."
"My dry-cleaning bill to be exact. It's for the clothes you damaged at the market."
"It's in
U.S. dollars?" I was in shock.
"Yes, and I expect full payment."
"You have lost what little mind I gave you credit for having. I am not paying you for this. It was an accident." I shouted. "The bill is in U.S. dollars! You live in Jamaica!"
I handed her back the bill, but she refused to accept it, so I crumpled the paper and threw it at her feet. I didn't bother to look up at her. I picked up the second book and began skimming through the pages as if she wasn't standing there.
"'You're ungrateful. You should be kissing my feet! All I have to do is snap my fingers and I'll have someone here in thirty seconds to deal with you. Instead, I’m being the bigger person."
"In what universe does a dry-cleaning bill qualify as a peace offering?" I took a deep breath and allowed my pulse to slow down. Nadya's a Normal. I would like to use her face as a broom, but I'd regret it later.
"I apologize," I said, struggling to stay calm. "I am apologizing now, again. Nadya, I am sorry for running into you and I am sorry for splashing water on you. But saying sorry doesn't change anything, does it?" I stood to my feet and quickly gathered my belongings. "You're not going to let any of this go." I realized my voice was loud when two boys from the nearby football field stopped their game to focus on us.
"You know what really bothers me, foreigna? You've got a lot of people fooled." She stepped close. "Putting on this goody-goody attitude and walking around like you’re something special."
"I'm not trying to be something special. I am trying to be normal."
"I know who you really are." She started wagging her finger in my face. "I’m going to make sure everyone knows, too. When I'm done with you, you'll be nothing."
I hate bullies. "Get your finger out of my face," I demanded.
"Or else?" She stepped closer.
"Don't patronize me." I stepped forward, closing the gap between us.
"Don't patronize me," she mocked. She and her friends laughed heartily. The more they laughed, the thicker and hotter the blood felt as it coursed through my veins.
"I've moved around my whole life, so I have met a lot of people. But I have never met anyone who infuriates me the way you do. You're a bully. And I hate bullies."
"I hate bullies," Nadya mocked me once again.
As she laughed, my hands pulsed. The concrete beneath her mimicked my blood’s rhythm.
Her friends noticed first. They stumbled back and screamed. That's when Nadya's eyes widened in fear. The pulsing became stronger until the concrete began to splinter and crack.
"Jane!" A pair of strong, warm arms wrapped themselves around my waist. It was Boothe. "Lisa said you'd be out here," he said, gripping me tighter. "What are you doing?" He whispered in my ear.
I didn't have an answer. I wasn't trying to hurt her. That I knew for sure. I just wanted to scare her a bit. Maybe next time she'll think twice before pushing people around.
"Boothe, there is something seriously wrong with your new girlfriend." Nayda’s voice shook when she spoke.
Looking at her lips as they quivered made me feel terrible. Suddenly, I felt like the bully. I relaxed my hands, and the ground, following my lead, fell flat.
"Jane, we have somewhere to go, remember?" Boothe whispered as he gestured for Nadya to run. Without hesitation, Nadya gripped her purse and quickly scampered away.
My heart fell as I watched her run. "What did I just do?" I turned to face him.
"We all lose our temper; some more than others." He dropped his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"This isn't me. Did you see the look on her face? She was terrified." I hung my head. "I've turned into the very thing I hate."
"Don't beat yourself up. You are nothing like her. You're smart, beautiful, and have the biggest heart I’ve seen since my adopted mother."
I looked up at him and instantly my heart fell. "Boothe, I'm so…"
"You've got more important things to worry about." He said curtly.
"Port Royal." My voice was barely louder than a whisper.
"The car's waiting."
"Thank you for saving me."
He kept his head straight and his steps quick. "I gave my word to Coy that I would protect you."
"Earlier in the cafeteria, I didn't mean…"
He hushed me with a wave of his hand. "Forget about it. We've got more important things to deal with."
I glanced over my shoulder. There was Nadya, in the middle of the football field, yelling to whomever would listen.
~Jane~
Chapter Sixteen: Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
"Fort Charles," Lisa whispered with excitement. "This Fort was built in the 1650s. Can you imagine what these walls have seen—soldiers, pirates, hangings, slaves, floods, fires?"
The Fort reminded me of the walls built around old castles. There were holes in the fort walls where rusted cannons pointed out to sea, forever ready to take on the approaching enemy. In the middle of the grounds sat a small brick building tilted forty-five degrees on its side. The sign in front read Giddy House. Lisa explained that it was an old artillery house for the British army. It survived the quake of 1692, but sank into the ground during the quake of 1907.
"I see a lot of military history." I said to Lisa. "I don't see anything about Pirates or Nephilim."
"That history is in the underwater city," she explained. "There it is." She pointed to a small white square building that stood at the far end of the Fort. "That's Eshkar Council Headquarters."
If my mother saw me about to walk into Eshkar Council property with a handful of teenage friends and a fake ID pass she would have my head. On second thought, she would take one look at the cannons facing us and war guns that dotted the Port Royal landscape and faint. This is kind of what I felt like doing.
I looked at Boothe, Lisa, and Mark by my side. Sixteen years I went without a real friend. Now I have three. Well, one for sure. Mark's a little iffy. And Boothe, well, he said everything was fine between us, but he hasn't said more than two words to me during our ride out to Port Royal.
I have to focus. We're here for information. If we pull this off I'll have the answers to everything. I'll find out why Aramos is after me. I'll know who owned the Ancient that attacked me in the market. Maybe I'll even find out something about my family history.
If all goes wrong and we're caught and charged with breaking a Council code, we'll be locked up with convicted Neph offenders where we'll waste away in a four-by-five cell.
Is it too late to turn back?
"This is such a bad idea," Mark said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wrapped parcel. It was a piece of chicken he had saved from lunch.
Boothe let out a deep sigh. "We're not turning back."
At the end of the long gravel strip was the main office. The main office was a white square-shaped building with two square windows and a dark, heavy wooden door. The dim overhead lighting gave the place a grim, sinister look. Dotting the room were artifacts neatly mounted on wooden platforms with small cards describing the object and its place in history. There was only one modern element in the room—a glass top desk in the rear of the room where a stone-faced man sat speaking quickly into a telephone headset.
"Mark, you're up." Boothe whispered as he eyed the strange man behind the desk.
Mark shook his head. "This is not going to work." He shoved a piece of chicken in his mouth and chewed quickly.
"That's it," Lisa grabbed Mark by the arm. "I have had it with your pessimistic attitude. You are going to walk up to that counter, give the man that pass, and recite what we rehearsed. We're pre-med students working with Dr. Chung. We're here to gather data on Neph offenders for a research paper. Got it?"
Mark's legs began to fidget as he blew several heavy breaths.
"Mark," Lisa growled, "grow some chest hair and get your butt over there."
Mark pulled the forged second-level clearance pass.
"And don't look so nervous." Lisa cautioned as he began to walk. He nodde
d as he stuck his hands in his narrow pockets. The man behind the desk moved only his eyes to greet Mark as he approached.
Mark's hand shook as he handed the pass to the man behind the desk. The man, again moving only his eyes, roved over the pass before accepting it from Mark's grasp. So far it seemed like Mark was playing his role well.
"That man," Boothe said, looking at the man behind the desk. "There's something wrong about him."
I looked closely at the man behind the desk. The way he sat upright in the chair reminded me of Millicent and Glenroy. Just like them, his back was elongated as if he were tied to a pole. Boothe was right there was something more about him, something that was almost creepy. It was his face. He was expressionless. When Mark spoke to him, only his eyes moved, slowly blinking as if each movement was deliberate.
Suddenly, he turned to face me. A feverish chill ran through my body. As I quickly turned away, my eyes met Boothe's stare. His eyes had turned grey. His biceps had swollen to fit the width of his shirt sleeves. Something was setting him off.
"Mark is starting to break," Lisa said in a panic. "He's got all the textbook signs of a liar. He's fidgeting, blinking wildly, and stumbling over his words."
"We should look around," Boothe said, exchanging a hard glance with the man behind the desk. "If we want him to believe that we're pre-med students working for Dr. Chung, we should try to look like it."
We each went off in our own directions. Lisa went to the right where they had a display about the pirates that took residency at Port Royal. Boothe, not taking his own advice, had taken a seat near the entrance where he sat meticulously observing the room. I walked along the display cases and stopped by a section devoted to the earthquake of 1692. I can't explain the growing interest I had developed for this single event, but I found myself wanting to know more about what happened and how it happened.
On the wall were pictures of the ongoing underwater excavations of the portion of Lime Street that sunk. Underwater the street still looked intact. There were skeletons frozen in the same position they were in when the earthquake struck. One picture stood out above the rest, it was of a couple forever frozen in each other's arms.