TIME PASSED IN a blur, and before I knew it, September was past. Nathanial got a different partner in gym and refused to talk to me, so I blew it off. I had told myself enough times that I just fainted that first day of school I was kind of starting to believe it. All in all, life was returning to normal. The month barely mussed my hair in its passing. My fifteenth birthday came with a small barbeque attended by my family and a few friends. Sariah went through about eight boyfriends—a slow month for her. Xander dated and dumped a couple of girls, but that was hardly noteworthy. Evelyn dropped soccer and talked me into trying out for cheerleading. She made the team but I did not, which I didn’t have the heart to tell her was a good thing in my opinion. I swore to her I didn’t mind, but she still considered quitting. I kept telling her to stick it out because she was just the cheering type, so she did.
I spent a lot of time by myself, but I’d always been a solitary person. I loved to sit in the low branches of the cherry tree in our side yard with a good book in my hands. I didn’t hear anything more from my parents about adoption or changing schools, and I decided I misunderstood what they’d been talking about. All in all the month passed without any significant place markers other than my own denial.
Before I knew it, Homecoming was upon us. After much nagging by Evelyn, I gave in to an entire weekend spent tracking down all the perfect elements. That was how I found myself in a white, Gunne Sax peasant dress with a blue quilted front panel, a wide embroidered belt, and the sleeves trimmed with matching edging. My hair was loose except for three braids—one on either side of my face and one pulled back in the middle. I sat impatiently in Algebra with my chin in my hand as Mr. Orson blathered on about quadratic equations. I listlessly kicked one fringed ankle boot and gazed dreamily out the window at the rain drenched baseball diamond.
I noticed Sariah running across the field in tight, white bell bottoms with pink embroidered flowers, and a matching pink fringed crochet halter top that didn’t really meet the school dress code. Her artfully mussed curls beneath her braided headband didn’t seem to flatten even in the persistent drizzle. Behind her ran Scott Ferguson in a tie-dyed t-shirt. I saw my sister turn to him with a smile, then jump and wrap her legs around his waist as he shoved his tongue down her throat. His hand fumbled between them at their waists and I colored realizing what they were doing. I must have made some sort of noise, because all of a sudden I was the center of attention in a very unpleasant way.
“I’m sorry, Miss Hoffman. Am I disturbing you with my silly class? Why don’t you go tell the principal all about it?”
I scoffed. I didn’t understand how one simple outburst warranted such a harsh banishment. I never caused any sort of disturbance in any class, let alone this one. Blinking tears from my eyes, I meekly gathered my things. With slumped shoulders I slowly walked to grab the discipline slip Mr. Orson was holding out with a huffy impatience. Taking my pass, I walked as slowly as possible to the principal’s office. Mrs. Soberlo had a reputation as being very strict and impatient; she was one of those former teachers who rose through the ranks and wanted revenge for all the punks who had made her life miserable over the years. Handing my slip to the secretary, I sat glumly by the door waiting for my suspension—or worse expulsion. I was lost in thought when the young police officer entered and began to speak in hushed tones. The office was fairly small, and she had a loud voice. I couldn’t help but overhear what they were saying.
“Did the station call to report the death of Mariah Carter? I believe she was a freshman from Mt. Pulaski?”
The secretary nodded her head sadly and handed a manila folder to the officer. I struggled to contain my shock. I’d known Mariah since junior high when we’d been in the same Constitution class. Something about her appealed to me, and we clicked like I’d found a kindred spirit. She was one of the few junior high friends I still spoke with. I noticed her sudden absence, but it had only been a two days—not unusual for a high school student. I couldn’t stop the soft gasp from coming out, or the tears that stung my eyes. I knew if a cop was asking questions, it was bad. I wondered if she was in some sort of horrible accident. Cops don’t investigate simple things.
The officer turned to me and smiled. She was a pretty black woman that reminded me of Regina King, with short purposely messy hair and a metallic pink-gold eye shadow that made her eyes stand out. “Did you know the victim?” she asked in that cold off-hand way you only hear in cop shows.
My sluggish brain couldn’t make it past that one word. My thoughts came to a screeching halt. “Victim?” I couldn’t speak more than that single word. A thick feeling appeared in the back of my throat, and my stomach knotted as tears threatened to spill over my eyelids.
“Mariah Carter. Did you know her?” the officer said, glancing at the secretary as if expecting the indifferent woman to jump in and help. “What’s your name, miss?”
“Amelia.” I could barely whisper. “Hoffman. Mariah has been my friend for a few years. We’re lab partners in Biology,” I added weakly. I was having trouble breathing, and the room seemed to be spinning. I glanced at the secretary, hoping for some sort of rescue, but she just watched me impassively.
The female officer knelt in front of me placing her hand over mine. Her eyes widened a little and I knew it had to be cold to the touch. All my extremities felt chilled. She gave me an apologetic smile and stood, pulling me to my feet. She turned to the secretary. “Do you have a quiet room where I can speak with Miss Hoffman in privacy?”
The secretary shook her head and put on her best superior face. “I’m sorry, officer, but we don’t allow the police to question students without a parent present.” Her grin was rather sickening. The policewoman let out an exasperated sigh and stepped out of the office to make a call. The secretary picked up her handset and waited a moment before speaking in clipped phrases I didn’t bother to try to understand.
It wasn’t long before Mrs. Soberlo came out of her office. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I looked up, feeling like I was moving through molasses. “We can discuss what brought you here another time, Miss Hoffman. I’ve spoken to your mother, and she says if you are willing to talk the police, you can. I can call her to come in if you’d rather wait for her, but I will sit with you to make sure someone is looking after your rights.” I nodded numbly, and she stepped out into the hall, returning a moment later with the policewoman in tow.
“Come along, Miss Hoffman,” the principal barked. I hopped to my feet and obeyed. That wasn’t a tone to be argued with.
Mrs. Soberlo led us down a carpeted hall in the office to a small room where staff meetings were held. As I numbly followed, I heard the cop behind me still talking on her cell phone. From the little I could overhear mixed with what I knew from every cop show I’d ever seen, I figured she was calling in her partner. I knew he had to be some old guy who would be able to retire if he could just solve this one last case. Inside, Mrs. Soberlo sat in one of the fabric covered office chairs and had me sit next to her. The policewoman introduced herself as Regina Simms. I swallowed nervously, and it went down wrong making me cough. Officer Simms went to fetch me a glass of water. She returned with a Dixie cup and a young man in a dark suit. I could tell by the badge clipped to his belt he was probably a detective. So TV let me down again.
“I’m Detective Laurent,” he said, setting a manila folder on the table opposite me. His immaculately groomed dark hair and youthful face seemed at odds. He was rather bulbous with a large nose and a fleshy face. He shook hands with the principal, then me. His palm was hot and damp, and his grip was loose and timid. “I understand you knew Mariah Carter?”
I numbly nodded, unable to speak through the shock. The whole situation seemed unreal like it had been staged by some poor author trying to hurry a plot along. I took the water and attempted to swallow a sip, but my throat felt swollen.
“Were you close?”
“Kind of. Things have been different since we got to high school, but we used to be
really close.”
“How would you describe her?”
“She was just kind of average, like me.” I watched him eye me up and down, and I remembered my Goodwill finds. I flushed, my lips compressing as I looked away.
“Average? This is average? Isn’t this more what the kids are calling New Age?” I let my eyes flick to his face briefly, but the look on his face reminded me of a predator stalking prey. I swallowed, my gaze darting away again.
Mrs. Soberlo came to my rescue. “It’s Spirit Week, detective. Most of the student body is dressed similarly to Miss Hoffman. Don’t they train you to do this kind of stuff? What does Miss Hoffman’s appearance have to do with anything? Her friend died, and I would appreciate a little decorum. She doesn’t need a cocky detective getting snarky with her!”
Go Mrs. Soberlo! I eyed the distinguished woman, clearly having underestimated her. She was tall with short, grey hair heavily peppered with white. She wore a nice suit, rather harsh in its cut, but it worked on her tall thin frame—I bet Jamie Lee Curtis would play her if they ever made a movie of her life. The detective noticeably cringed, and Officer Simms hid a grin behind her hand. I looked between him and my principal, squirming uncomfortably. Mrs. Soberlo sat with her arms crossed and a stern look on her face saying he had better keep in line. I understood how she had gotten her reputation with the students, but I was grateful for it right now.
“Very well, Miss Hoffman. I apologize.” He didn’t really sound like he meant it, but I shrugged and looked at my hands fidgeting in my lap. My principal merely arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes, mm,” he said, clearing his throat and tugging on his tie. “Was Miss Carter into anything—unconventional?”
“Like drugs? I don’t think so—”
“Not drugs, Miss Hoffman, more like… what are the kids calling it these days? Goth, maybe?”
“Like funky hair colors, tons of eyeliner, and black lipstick?” I scoffed, imagining Mariah's oxford shirt and khaki pencil skirt she’d been wearing the last time I saw her. “Um, no. Far from it.”
“No fascination with the occult?”
My eyes widened in alarm. What in the hell was going on here? “No! I think she was in the choir at the Methodist church.”
The detective’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at the female officer. She shrugged picked up the folder in front of him, walking around the table towards me. “I want to show you a photo taken of the victim’s room. The image is graphic and might be alarming. If you don’t think you can handle it, we’ll understand. I know Garret can be kind of awkward, but I assure you he’s a good detective. He just wants to figure out what happened to your friend.” She gave the detective a hard glance, and he grimaced and looked away. “Once you see the pictures you’ll understand...” She paused, shooting a disapproving frown at the detective. “…unorthodox behavior.” She glanced at Mrs. Soberlo and waited for nod, then turned back to me.
After that build up there was no way I could say no. I owed it to Mariah to give whatever help I could. I nodded, and she set a black and white 8x10 in front of me. A lump filled my throat, and I tried not to see the blood. The body wasn’t in the photo, but I could tell something horribly violent had been done to my friend. It could have been a still from a horror movie. At first wasn’t able to see past the blood, but eventually the rest of the picture registered. Lead settled in my stomach as I realized why they’d been asking about the occult. A strange symbol had been painted on the floor.
I recognized the ankh at the top, but the other symbols I didn’t know. There were remnants of a black candle in each point. I felt sick to my stomach and light headed. My hand shook as I shoved my hair out of my face. Officer Simms gripped my shoulder trying to comfort me, but I had to get out of that room. Iciness pulsed through me, and I tried to push the horrible picture away. When my hand got near it, it felt as if I was attempting to reach into a fire. I had no idea how a simple photograph was making me ill and weak, but it was. I looked away, however my eyes kept skittering back. I couldn’t understand what I was sensing. I tried to glance at other things in the picture, but my eyes were repeatedly drawn to the black lines. No matter how much I wanted to look away, that symbol was all I could focus on. Whatever it was had power. I wondered if someone was harnessing that power for their own sick purposes.
I licked my lips nervously, unable to meet the detective eyes. A thick, waxy feeling settled into my belly, and I struggled not to retch. I placed my hand over my mouth and tried to breathe deeply. “That’s not the Mariah I knew.” Mrs. Soberlo placed her hand over mine, and I tried to smile. I wanted out of that tiny room and away from the terrible picture. Instead, I fidgeted and pressed my lips tight, fighting the oily surge in my stomach.
“I don’t think Miss Hoffman has any information for you, do you Amelia?” Mrs. Soberlo met my eyes, her brown ones soft and kind, giving me a little strength.
“We were kind of friends, but we rarely hung out except at school. I wish I could help you, but I really don’t know anything about this.”
“Thank you, Miss Hoffman,” the detective said, eyeing me oddly. I wasn’t certain he entirely believed me, but I think he was afraid to push me with Mrs. Soberlo there—which probably made him a smart man.
As I opened the door I turned back to him. “Should I be worried, Detective? Is there a psychopath out there stalking teenage girls or did Mariah get caught up in something awful?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Miss Hoffman.”
I made myself walk out of the room and the office beyond. As soon as I was in the hallway I started running and didn’t stop until I was outside in the rain, breathing deeply with my hands on my knees. Mariah’s death was upsetting, but I didn’t understand this reaction. I’ve never been prone to overreaction, but something about that symbol made my insides turn to mush. It scared me more than the idea of somebody killing teenage girls. And that made things even worse.
I was saved from dwelling on it too long by hands grabbing my shoulders. My face was pressed into a muscular chest and the tears finally spilled—so hot I thought they would burn me. We stood a long time with the rain slowly soaking us as strength flowed into me from hands gently rubbing my back. I knew it was Nathanial. I recognized that mysterious connection I felt at his touch. Suddenly, the soggy Dashiki shirt he wore was too much, and I needed his flesh against mine. I reached under the thin fabric and placed my hands on his bare back, but it wasn’t enough. I pulled away, fighting the need to tear his clothes off—not in a sexual but just to feel his skin. I met his eyes and saw a peculiar expression I couldn’t begin to decipher, something deep and powerful lingering there. His expression turned grim, and he reached out toward me, but I backed away, shaking my head. I didn’t understand what was happening between us, and I was still a little afraid of him. But more than that I was terrified how far things could go while I was so emotionally raw. Turning around, I ran down the street heedless of the rain or the puddles slowly soaking my skirt.
Natural Selection Page 4