by A. I. Nasser
“She’s always in,” the secretary replied curtly, waving for her to enter with one hand while the other continued the incessant tapping.
Deborah knocked twice on Rachel Adams’ door before letting herself in to the usual image of her mother sitting behind her large desk with her phone to her ear while going through papers. Rachel looked up at Deborah and waved her to the chair in front of the desk as she ended her call.
“I can’t get a break,” the older woman said, taking off her glasses and massaging her temples softly, a habit Deborah had inherited.
“Council again?”
Rachel clicked her tongue and replaced her glasses, looking over the papers in her hands quickly before piling them up to one side for later review. She looked at Deborah earnestly, a small smile appearing on her face that wasn’t fooling anyone as she crossed her fingers together and leaned forward.
“I see Alan Carter’s first day is today,” the older woman said, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Deborah smiled sheepishly. “He’s got the proper credentials, and the experience,” she said in defense.
“And of course it didn’t hurt that his oldest friend was interviewing him for the job,” Rachel added, tapping a finger lightly on Alan’s file. “Maybe I should have him in here for a second interview, just to make sure?”
“Really?” Deborah mused, raising an eyebrow at her mother and smirking. “You’d undermine a decision made by someone you personally chose to be in charge while you were away. How would that look?”
“For me or you?”
“Both,” Deborah played along, knowing well that her mother was only teasing her. She knew that Rachel had always had a soft spot for Alan Carter, even if she was reluctant to show it. “It was a sound decision.”
Rachel sat back and crossed her hands over her stomach, observing her daughter carefully. “So, how is Alan?”
“Different,” Deborah said. “Obviously.”
“The boy I knew had a way about him that attracted everyone. Including you.”
“He hasn’t lost that,” Deborah said with a smile. “That I can assure you.”
“So I can expect a lot of class visits?”
“It’s part of my job,” Deborah said.
“No, it isn’t,” Rachel smiled back, “but I can make it part of your job, if you’d like.”
Deborah braced herself against what was coming. For the past two years, her mother had been desperately trying to groom her to take over. She had given her countless odd jobs that would have normally been only the principal’s duties, and she had reluctantly agreed to them because the older woman seemed like she had really needed the help. Deborah could see that the years were taking their toll on her mother, but it still felt off.
“I’m fine where I am,” Deborah said, knowing that that was the last thing her mother would want to hear.
Rachel Adams sighed and leaned forward again, opening Alan’s folder and scanning the CV on the top of the rest of his paperwork.
“We’ve declined better teachers, Debbie,” Rachel said. “We both know that. This is an exception I was willing to make just for you. I want you to reconsider what I’m offering here.”
“It’s not right,” Deborah argued for the hundredth time. “No one would respect me the way they do you, and even less so when they get the feeling that I got the job because my mother sits on the Council.”
“They thought the same thing when I hired you,” Rachel returned with frustration, “and you have proven beyond a doubt that you can hold your own. Respect will come.”
“Being a teacher is different than being a principal,” Deborah said. “Mom, there are better people qualified to do the job. Consider their feelings.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about their feelings,” Rachel yelled, slamming her hand against her desk. Her face had suddenly furrowed into a deep scowl that looked nothing like her mother, and Deborah winced as the older woman stared at her. For a split second, she couldn’t recognize the woman behind the desk.
Rachel shook her head quickly, waving her hands in the air as if dispelling the burst of anger that filled the space around her. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
“This is becoming a little too much for you,” Deborah said, still in shock from her mother’s outburst. “You need rest.”
“I’ll get that when I retire,” Rachel said.
“Then why don’t you?” Deborah asked, leaning forward, feeling like she had finally been offered the opportunity to speak some sense into her mother. “You don’t have to put up with the stress of it all. I mean, sitting at home and relaxing, or dealing with Council and school issues day in and day out? It’s not a very hard decision.”
“It would be an easier decision to take if I were sure I was leaving someone capable behind to take my place,” Rachel said.
Deborah sat back, suddenly angry that her mother had found another way to turn the tables on her. “You can’t blame me for this,” she said, the tone of her voice leveled as she tried to control her temper.
Rachel looked at her and sighed as she realized that any more discussions on the matter would lead to nothing. “I don’t blame you,” she assured her daughter. “You’ll be carrying this burden soon enough. You might have a choice when it comes to running the school, but not your seat in the Council. You’ll wish you had taken this job.”
“I don’t want the Council seat, either,” Rachel said.
“There has been an Adams in that Council since Melington came into existence. We’re a founding family, Deborah, and that is something you cannot run away from. It comes with responsibilities you will bear whether you choose to or not.”
Deborah hated discussing the future with her mother, the town and its Council were always top priorities when it came to what was expected of her. Deborah sometimes felt that the only reason her mother had brought her back to Melington was to make sure she continued the family legacy. It annoyed her that Rachel couldn’t see her for who she was, without the last name that hung over her like a bleak shroud.
“Let’s leave the monarchy to the Coles,” Deborah finally said, knowing that there was no love between her mother and the Council Chairman.
Rachel scoffed. “The day the Coles are left to do as they please is the day this town will burn to the ground,” the older woman mused, her voice trailing as if she were talking to herself. “They’ve done enough damage.”
“You seem to be the only one who feels that way,” Deborah countered.
Rachel Adams looked at her daughter, a soft and sorrowful look, almost as if she pitied her. “The sins of the fathers,” she whispered. “Deborah, you might not believe in all this, or in the importance of what the Council stands for, even more than just some legislative body. There’s a lot about Melington you still need to discover for yourself. When that day comes, when you finally see this town for what it really is, I assure you, your world will change forever.”
Deborah leaned forward. “Then why do that to me?” she asked. “If it’s that daunting, that terrible, why do you want me to be a part of it, mother?”
“We don’t choose our places in life, Deborah,” Rachel said. “Free will is a myth.”
Deborah eyed her mother earnestly, unable to believe what she was hearing. This was the first time she had ever seen Rachel this solemn, this negative, as if she had given up on the world and had decided to roll over and die.
“Blake Collins wasn’t in today,” Deborah said, changing subjects. “His father was here yesterday discussing his progress, and he had promised to talk to his son. I’d like to call him at home and make sure everything’s okay.”
“Collins withdrew his son’s file this morning,” Rachel said.
“What?” Deborah was utterly surprised. She had not expected that from Blake’s father after their last meeting. “Why?”
“I was going to ask you,” Rachel said. “You were the one who had talked to him last.”
“That makes no sense,” Deborah said, shaking her head slowly.
“The man seemed rather distraught, said the family wasn’t doing very well in Melington and was going to try his luck elsewhere.” Rachel frowned at Deborah, worried at how much the news disturbed her. “Families come and go, Debbie. It’s part of the job.”
“I know,” Deborah said, her frown deepening as she looked down at her feet. “It’s just, I didn’t expect it.”
Deborah suddenly understood why she had felt that small sense of anxiety when she had seen Blake’s empty desk. She had feared the worst, and although she now knew that nothing serious had happened to the boy, she still felt like she had somehow let him down. If only she had paid better attention, noticed the signs earlier, maybe she could have stopped this.
“You worry too much, sweetheart,” Rachel said, as if reading Deborah’s mind. “Besides, after looking at his file, I assume you’re better off. He seems to have been causing more trouble than was necessary.”
“His mother’s dead,” Deborah whispered, almost in a daze.
“Every child has a story,” Rachel replied, nonchalantly, her blasé tone of voice forcing Deborah to look up in utter confusion. Her mother’s lack of empathy always seemed to surprise her. It was scary how suddenly Rachel Adams could switch between a tired old woman who worried about the future of Melington, to the cold-hearted principal who ran the school with an iron fist. If that’s what it took to be the woman she was, then Deborah didn’t want anything to do with it.
“We’ll talk more about it later,” Rachel said, reaching for the stack of papers she had pushed aside earlier. “Get back to class and think about my offer, seriously this time. I want a definite answer tonight.”
Deborah got up, adjusting her purse on her shoulder and giving her mother one last look of disbelief before she turned and left.
***
Alan Carter sat alone.
He occupied the top bench of a set of bleachers that lined the Melington Middle School’s baseball field, silently eating his sandwich as he watched the school’s baseball team running drills. It was calming, and he found himself instantly drawn back to images of the pictures on his wall. The faces of the missing children mixed with those of the ones now alive and well, laughing as they tossed their baseballs back and forth, and Alan immediately felt his fists clench in anger.
He had come back to Melington for one purpose only, a goal that had kept him driven for the past years when everyone believed he was crazy and had tossed him back and forth as they picked his mind, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. In the end, he had gotten what he wanted; freedom from the endless questions, the disapproving looks of doctors who sat behind large desks and gazed upon him as if he were a specimen in a lab.
In the end, he had found his way back to where it had all started.
Alan crumpled up the small plastic bag he had kept his lunch in and pocketed it, standing up and stretching before looking at his watch. He needed to get back to class. He didn’t want people talking about him on his first day, fully intent on keeping as low a profile as possible until he could figure out what had really happened twenty years ago.
Maybe if he did, the dreams would stop.
Alan made his way down the benches, his eyes downcast as he made sure he didn’t slip into the spaces between the bleachers. He couldn’t understand why these hadn’t been changed for something safer, but decided that it wasn’t the time or place to start a fuss.
Low profile. He would do well to remember that.
“I thought you might be here.”
Alan looked up as Deborah Adams made her way towards him, hands behind her back, returning his smile with one of her own. She looked stunning when she wasn’t sitting behind a massive desk pretending to play boss. She tilted her head a bit to the side, looking past him at the baseball field.
“Still dreaming of a home run, Alan Carter?”
Alan chuckled, remembering the many times he had tried to convince everyone that he would be the next Babe Ruth. He shook his head and looked back over his shoulder.
“Just trying to figure out who would take my dreams and run with them,” he said.
“It’s never too late to try,” Deborah teased, clasping her hands together and swinging them as if she were holding a bat. “And the crowd goes wild!”
“You’re still goofy, you know that?” Alan laughed.
“The only one who ever believed that Babe Ruth nonsense,” she said, laughing along with him. “I can’t believe how gullible I was back then.”
“Well, I can assure, it’s all realism from here on out,” Alan said.
Deborah squinted at him and clicked her tongue. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “Alan Carter is never dull.”
“Just a boring thirty two year-old trying to teach middle school English,” Alan assured her, hoping his smile was genuine enough.
Deborah shrugged, obviously not buying it, and looked back at the school building. “So, how was your first day?” she asked. “Any problems?”
“Who’s asking, you or Principal Adams?” Alan smirked.
“Both,” Deborah said, turning back to him. “Need to make sure I made the right choice.”
Alan laughed at that. “Don’t worry, you’re fine. It went pretty well, actually.”
“That’s good to know.”
“You?”
“Lost a student, actually,” Deborah said, hoping he couldn’t see past her smile at how uncomfortable the notion made her. “Dropped out this morning.”
Alan’s body tensed, but he tried to keep his cool. “Really? What happened?”
“His father pulled his papers,” Deborah said. “Apparently, Melington isn’t cut out for the family.”
“They left?”
Deborah shrugged. “I guess so,” she said. “I didn’t bother to check and see.”
“Why not?”
Deborah thought about the question and realized that she couldn’t come up with a proper answer. Alan could sense her uneasiness, and immediately knew that he had to change the subject. He couldn’t, though. This was important.
“What’s his name?” he asked.
“Blake,” Deborah answered, letting the name roll off her tongue as if the boy had died instead of just moved on. “Blake Collins.”
“Well, then here’s to Blake Collins,” Alan said, raising a hand in the air as if he were holding a glass in his hand. “May the Gods smile down on him wherever he may go.”
Deborah chuckled and playfully punched Alan in the shoulder. “Now who’s goofy?”
Alan laughed along with her, but in the back of his mind, he was already working out what he had to do next.
From the Journal of Jeremiah Carter.
Melington. September 29th, 1826.
It has been a long day, and I regrettably sit at my desk tonight with a sad and heavy heart. I am full of a deep feeling of frustration, one that sickens me and weighs heavy on my soul. I feel incompetent, unable to properly fulfill my task as investigator, my first meeting a complete failure.
The boys have been able to keep up with the work on the farm as best they could in my absence, although it would have been preferable had Abbey been more lucid. I have returned to find most of the work complete, but can foresee trouble ahead if this continues. There is still much to do, and I believe tomorrow I will have to concentrate on my duties at home to make up for today.
I spent a few hours with the first name on my list, a young couple that had only recently moved to Melington. The husband was familiar to me, a face I have often seen around the fields of other farmers. A hand, he claims to be, and from what I could discern, he was a proud man who believed in hard work. It was hard to even consider him one capable of kidnapping and killing two children.
His wife is equally pleasant, and I must say a fine cook. They invited me to dinner, and I write this only here, where I know Abbey will never see it, but I have never tasted food that delicious in my life.<
br />
They shared much of their past with me, how the small home they now inhabit had belonged to an older relative that had recently passed away. I instantly recognized the name, but it took me a few minutes to fully comprehend how the couple was related to him. I would have to bring that up with the Council, especially since it was apparent someone was not doing their job properly. The meeting could have easily been avoided had I been given the proper information.
Needless to say, apart from a lovely dinner, the day had been a waste of time. I still have two more names on my list that I fully intend to visit over the next few days. I do not wish to prolong this investigation more than necessary, especially since my absence from the farm will probably lead to more unfinished chores.
I cannot blame the boys, though. They are doing the best they can.
I have spent very little time with Abbey today, which is quite unlike me, and I pray she does not hold it against me. I have told her all that I had done, omitting only the dinner. I smile thinking that if she had been herself, she would have easily seen through that omission. She has always been able to read right through me, my Abbey.
Although she sits near me and sleeps by my side, I miss her dearly.
Chapter 6
The night came quickly, dark and forlorn, and as Daniel Cole cruised his BMW into his driveway, he could feel the chill that came with the darkness even through the closed windows of his car.
It had been a long day, one meeting after the other, but his mind had been mostly preoccupied by other things. The sheriff had given him a complete report of the Collins situation, ensuring that everything had been taken care of as planned. It had been the best news of the day, one that Daniel had been waiting anxiously to receive.
He looked into the rearview mirror at the tired eyes that stared back at him, and he felt his muscles slightly relax. The tension was overbearing, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he would have to make plans for his replacement. His mind wandered to his son, the youngest of his three children, and he instantly felt himself cringe at the thought of that good-for-nothing taking over.