by J. J. Bonds
“Come on,” she says brightly, tugging me toward the entrance. “Better get it before someone else comes along and snatches it up.”
This is what I love about Shaye. Nothing keeps her down. She may envy my taste in gifts, but I envy her character.
“Welcome! What can I do for you little ladies today?” asks the salesman as we enter the store. I dislike him immediately. He has a patronizing air about him and is wearing an ugly brown suit the color of mud. It matches his personality perfectly.
I’ve always hated places like this where the salespeople judge you immediately based on appearance. I contemplate leaving, but know I can’t go without the frame. I have to have it no matter what the cost.
“We’d like to see the frame in the window,” I tell him boldly. “The silver one.”
“Well, that’s a pretty expensive item,” he says condescendingly. “We have some smaller frames on the wall over there that might be more to your liking.” He doesn’t want to waste his time showing me things I can’t afford to buy. I get that, but I’m not here to waste my time either.
“I’m sure those are nice too, but I want the one in the window.” I’m firm, but polite. Shaye rolls her eyes, as the salesman turns to fetch the object of my desire. I mouth the word asshole and she giggles.
“Here you are then,” he says in a bored voice as he hands me the frame.
It’s heavier than I’d imagined, but I’m pleased by this discovery. I run my fingers over the frame tracing the ornate pattern etched on its face. I try to visualize what picture I’ll put in it; definitely one from my digital photo album. My old life. I was so much happier then, more fulfilled. I know that Aldo went to great personal risk to save the images and that he will be pleased to have one for himself.
“I’ll take it.”
“That will be two hundred and ninety seven dollars plus tax,” he tells me snidely. He still thinks I can’t afford the purchase. “How will you be paying today?”
“Cash,” I tell him sweetly, laying it on thick. “Oh, and can you be a doll and wrap it up for me too?”
Chapter Thirteen
The smoke curls all around me wrapping my body tightly in its grip. The smell permeates my clothes, my hair, my skin. It invades my nostrils and constricts my lungs. I know it can’t hurt me, but I find my body convulsing anyway. I’m unable to control my reaction to the suffocating substance.
Oh, God. I have to get out of here. I can’t take the smell of burning flesh today. I know there’s nothing I can do to save them. There never is. Why would this time be different?
I stumble backward retreating from the building. “It’s just a dream,” I pant, bending over and pressing the palms of my hands to my thighs. “Just wake up!” I command myself desperately.
I jerk awake with a splash. The sudden movement sends soapy water sloshing over the side of the tub and onto the tiled floor below. I’m greeted by the sweet scent of cherry blossom bubble bath. The calming aroma is a welcome change from the assault of ash and soot in my dreams.
I must’ve fallen asleep in the bath. I vaguely remember running the hot water and slipping into the tub to wash away the events of the day. I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was. “Good thing vampires can’t drown,” I remind myself sarcastically.
I lean forward and reach for the faucet intending to add a burst of hot water to refresh the lukewarm bath. As I turn the knob, blood shoots from the faucet pouring into the tub and tainting the water. I stare at it perplexed, my brain trying to comprehend the impossible.
Before I can shut it off, I’m swimming in a sea of red. The water is churning around me, tossing my body back and forth with the tide of blood. The coppery smell is overpowering. I reach desperately for the side of the tub hoping to pull myself to safety, but it’s too slippery, and I can’t hold on. I’m jerked back into the angry bath which is growing impossibly deep.
This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. It has to be another dream; a trick of the mind. I slip below the surface and kick hard, willing my head to stay above the water line. The bottom of the tub is gone. I’m being swallowed up by a sea of blood.
I refuse to accept defeat. I kick harder, reaching again for the side of the tub, for a second chance, for redemption. But all I see is Damian, the boy from town. His cherub-like face smiles down at me from above. He can’t help me. No one can.
I wake up screaming. In Sociology. Professor Lynch and my classmates are staring at me. Their faces show a range of emotions from surprise to amusement. A few of them are actually snickering. I don’t have to look to know that Jade, Lexie, and Blaine are among the entertained. Why did it have to be this class of all places?
“Sorry,” I say trying to act as though this behavior is perfectly normal.
“Are you alright, Miss Lescinka?” Lynch asks looking disturbed. I suspect that, in all his years of teaching, this is a first.
“Ever get the feeling that you’ll just scream if you have to sit here and listen to this dribble for another minute?” I ask seriously. I know I’m going to be punished, but I’d rather have my classmates gossiping about my flippant attitude and humiliation of Lynch than wondering what caused the bloodcurdling scream in the first place.
Lynch crosses the room in a heartbeat and stops inches from my desk. He stares at me coldly, hands clenched at his sides. “Well then, don’t let us keep you another minute,” he returns rigidly, his words reverberating with anger. I’ve probably hurt his feelings. For this I’m sorry. I actually like Professor Lynch. He’s a good teacher. “Perhaps you should go see Headmaster Pratt? Now.”
I accept my punishment without protest and gather my books. As I pass by his desk, Nik whispers words of encouragement. “Good luck.”
I’ll need it, I think. I’ve never spoken to Headmaster Pratt personally, but I’ve seen him around campus and at assemblies where he’s addressed the student body. He’s a severe looking man with slick black hair and a bony face. I’ve never seen him smile. What made him choose education as his profession, I’ll never know. I suspect it has something to do with his enjoyment of power. He runs the school like a tyrant.
When I arrive at the office, they’re expecting me. Lynch must’ve sent them a message electronically. “You can go right in,” Pratt’s secretary tells me indifferently, sneaking a cautious glace at the closed office door behind her.
I knock to announce my arrival and enter. The office is nothing like Anya’s. It’s much colder and darker. There’s nothing in this pretentious workplace to suggest Pratt wants his visitors to feel warm or welcome in his presence. There are no signs of personalization to hint at Pratt’s interests outside of Crossroads nor are there any photos of family or friends. Assuming he has any.
“Come in, Katia. Sit.” He doesn’t mince words. “Frankly, I’m surprised we haven’t met sooner.”
I say nothing. He doesn’t expect me to. It seems he’s been preparing for this meeting since the day I arrived at Crossroads. He has his speech all worked out.
“I’ve seen your type before.” He doesn’t even look at me as he speaks. He’s too busy studying his perfectly manicured hands. “You think that just because your Uncle resides on the Consiliul de Batrani that you can behave in whatever manner suits you? I won’t tolerate it. Not in my school. As long as you’re here, you will follow my rules and show me respect.”
Respect him? What planet is he on? The incident in Lynch’s classroom had nothing to do with disrespecting him. What a delusional narcissist!
“I’ve been running this school for a long time,” he continues. “Crossroads Academy has a reputation for being elite, for being polished. We produce the best and the brightest students. Ours is a reputation that is based on years of discipline. I will not abide anyone or anything which stands to tarnish what I’ve worked so hard to build. Disrespect will not be tolerated. In fact, it will be punished swiftly.”
“I’ll apologize to Professor Lynch immediately and will not give him any further tr
ouble.” That much is true. I am sorry for disrupting Lynch’s class, and I will do my best to earn back his respect. I will not, however, apologize to Pratt for his perceived disrespect. Eff that!
“You will also pick up a work detail,” Pratt says smiling calculatingly. “See my assistant on your way out, and she will give you the details.”
I’m dismissed with a wave of the hand. I stop at the secretary’s desk to receive my work detail.
“You’ll be working in the stables every weekend for the next month.” She looks sympathetic. She probably thinks this is the worst assignment Pratt can think up. “The stable hand, Keegan O’Malley, will expect you from seven to noon on both Saturday and Sunday,” she says handing me a slip of paper with the details of my punishment. “Your off campus privileges will also be revoked while you are on work detail and you won’t be able to go on the ski trip to Killington.”
I’m not particularly thrilled by this last bit of information. Being limited to the campus for a month sucks, but working with Keegan should be a breeze. I’m not afraid of hard work, and I know he’ll be fair.
**********
“I heard you got into trouble with Professor Lynch.”
“Good news travels fast,” I quip. Anya doesn’t look angry at least. That’s a plus.
“This isn’t funny Katia. Disrespecting your Professor in front of the entire class? You could’ve gotten in a lot of trouble. What were you thinking?” she asks, leaning back in her chair and sighing loudly. It’s a very un-Anya like gesture.
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” I tell her, idly rubbing a smudge off the cuff on my right wrist. “I was dreaming. I fell asleep in class.”
“What did Headmaster Pratt say? What’s your punishment?” she asks resignedly. Apparently Anya is well aware of his dislike for affluent students, although they are the bread and butter of the institution he so loves.
“It’s not that bad,” I tell her, surprised that she hasn’t asked about the dreams. “He gave me work detail for a month and revoked my off campus privileges.”
“Could’ve been worse, I guess.” She seems a little surprised that my punishment wasn’t more severe. “What’s the work detail?”
“Helping out in the stables two days a week.” I neglect to mention that he couldn’t have given me a better punishment. Anya doesn’t need to know of my developing friendship with Keegan. That’s Shaye’s secret to keep.
“Figures. He probably loves the idea of Aldo’s niece shoveling manure,” she says in exasperation. Our eyes meet, and we both burst into laughter. I’m surprised at Anya’s candor. Then I remember that she was like this before. It’s me who’s put up the walls and created the tension that usually disrupts our sessions. If only we could stay on lighter topics like Pratt’s punishment.
“I won’t keep you long tonight,” she says. “But I do have a surprise for you.”
“Oh?” I ask, wondering what it could possibly be. I watch curiously as Anya opens the coat closet and pulls out a nondescript dress bag.
“Lissette wanted to make sure you had something appropriate to wear for the New Year’s Eve ball.” Anya gives the bag a little whirl for show and gracefully lowers the zipper.
“Appropriate? That dress is amazing.” I’m stunned. It’s a deep shade of emerald green that I know Anya picked to compliment my eyes. The dress is a fitted one-shoulder style that flares at the bottom. It will show off my figure nicely. I’m glad to see that, although the back is cut low, the front is a bit more modest. The dress is simple and yet sophisticated. There are no sequins or rhinestones. I admire the understated style and the way the fabric falls from the hanger. I just hope I can pull off a dress like this. Anya may have me way out of my league.
“I don’t know what to say, Anya. Thank you.”
“I had hoped you would like it. I know that these events aren’t exactly your thing,” she begins. Talk about the understatement of the century. “But they are important, and, with Aldo attending the ball, it’s essential that you are seen as well.”
“I know,” I sigh, reaching for the dress. I offer her the one assurance I know she’s expecting. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“One last thing before you go, Katia.” She pulls the dress bag back from my grasp, refusing to turn it over to me until she’s said her piece. “You look tired. I’m worried about you. Are you sure you can handle everything?” She pauses. “Let me help you. I can get you waivers for your midterms.”
“Yeah. That will go over real well with Pratt,” I return, brushing off her suggestion and unsuccessfully reaching for the dress again.
“He doesn’t know half of what goes on at this school,” Anya tells me fiercely. “Say the word and I’ll make it happen.”
“I appreciate the offer Anya. I do. But I can handle it. I don’t want any special favors, and I don’t need any help. Thank you again for the dress. I really do love it.” I grab the bag from her hands and head for the door.
“Katia, I’m not the only one who will be able to see it,” she calls to my back. “Aldo will see it too.”
**********
I feed in my room Saturday morning finishing off two pouches of blood before I head out to the stables to fulfill my work detail. I’ve scoured my closet and am dressed in the most appropriate clothes I could find: jeans, a sweater and a pair of sneakers. There wasn’t much to choose from. Apparently Lissette and her personal shopper hadn’t foreseen my need to do manual labor.
The morning air is cold and crisp, as I exit the warmth of the dormitory. I trudge through the snow to the stables not bothering to follow the path. No one is going to see me. The morning sun hasn’t risen yet and the rest of the students and faculty are probably still asleep. No one in their right mind would be up this early on a Saturday if it wasn’t required.
I ignore the snow that soaks through the thick fabric of my sneakers and remind myself that, although this is supposed to be a punishment, it’s also an opportunity to get to know Keegan better. I’m not bothered by the thought of the work. Pratt may think it’s demeaning, but I don’t care. It won’t be the first time I’ve gotten my hands dirty.
“Hello? Keegan?” I call as I enter the stables. Not much has changed since the last time I was down here. Same horses, same smells, same everything. I kick thoughtlessly at a pile of hay sending a few pieces floating into the air.
“Katia?” Keegan rounds the corner looking confused. His confusion quickly turns to worry. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Is Shaye okay?”
“Shaye’s fine,” I assure him. “I’m here for work detail. Didn’t they tell you?”
“Aye, they told me. But they didn’t say who it was. Pratt doesn’t see fit to bother with details like that,” he says bitterly. “I’m just supposed to be thankful for the help. Most of the eejits they send down are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Well, I promise not to be a pain in the ass,” I tell him, tucking my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. “Just put me to work. I’m up for anything.”
Keegan takes off his work gloves and wipes his hands on the front of his flannel shirt. “Never in a million years would I have guessed it was you,” he laughs. “A full month of work detail is a pretty hefty punishment. What did you do anyway?”
“Fell asleep in class. Mouthed off to Professor Lynch. And worst of all, had the audacity to disrespect Pratt.”
“Aye? Wish I could’ve been there to see it myself.”
“Hey, it could happen again,” I say. “Keep the faith. You might get your wish.”
He laughs again, harder this time, and hands me his gloves. “You’ll need these.” I suspect the gloves are more for cleanliness than comfort. Keegan shows me how to clean out the stalls and handle a pitchfork. The work is easy enough once you get past the fact that it’s dirty and smells rank.
We work silently for the first few hours, but I grow bored. The stables are quiet and provide the ideal setting for personal reflection. Howe
ver, I’m not interested in thinking about my own problems today.
“So, how did you end up at Crossroads?” I’m not sure he’ll tell me or if I have any right to ask, but I figure it’s worth a shot.
“Why do you ask?” His face is blank. It gives nothing away, and I have no idea what he’s thinking right now.
“No reason really. You’re close to Shaye, so I’m naturally curious about you. I can see that you love these animals, but it’s obvious the politics of this place rub you the wrong way. I know why you stay, so I guess I just wondered what brought you here in the first place.”
“Aye,” he replies evasively. Keegan returns to his work without another word. Discouraged I return to my own stall. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I can’t make him. Nor would I try to. Of all people I can respect the desire for privacy.
“I was born in a small village in Ireland,” he says breaking the silence. “Grew up there. Lived all my human days there. As a man I wasn’t the best or the worst, but I was definitely misguided in my youth. I moved around a lot. Took odd jobs where I could. Stole and hustled when I couldn’t find work. I spent a lot of time in the boozer getting drunk, fighting, and arguing politics. I had an opinion on just about everything back then. I was a real arse,” he says smiling. “One night I got into a fight with a bloke who was bigger, stronger, and faster. He made a bloody mess of me. Literally. Belted me good, he did. The barkeep dragged me out back and left me in the alley for dead.”
I’m fascinated by his story, and the way he slips back into his native diction. Keegan seems so quiet and mild mannered. It’s difficult to picture him raising hell in the streets of Ireland.
“I was easy prey,” he says simply. “There I was lying in a dark alley with my blood pouring out into the streets when Gabriel found me. I thought he was going to rob me at first, maybe kill me after. But I was wrong. He drank my blood right there in the alley, lapping it up with a sick smile on his face. I was out of my mind crazy. I didn’t know what was happening.”