This Little Light

by Lori Lansens

  “Hey Chase Mason.” Paula’s eyes lit up. “Chase Mason.”

  I told Paula to run up and tell Fee.

  Once we were alone, I opened my mouth and said, “Chase, I—” But I couldn’t finish, because I started crying.

  And that’s when he kissed me. Chase Mason kissed me. Maybe it was just to stop me from crying, I don’t know, but I was so sorry when he pulled away, and so glad I’d showered.

  He goes, “Was that okay?”

  “Um. Yes.”

  “You’ve been wading through some shit, huh, Rory Miller?”

  “Knee-deep, Chase Mason.”

  I noticed the raccoon outside—same raccoon or a friend—scaling the trunk of the grapefruit tree, and thought about the alarm.

  Before I could ask, Chase said, “I disabled it. Sorry it went off before. Must have been scary as shit.”

  “You know about that?”

  “My uncle routed the security response to my phone, so as soon as I got the alert, I let them know it was a false alarm.”

  We moved into the great room, where we could see each other in the moonlight. I told him about Paula and how she’d been abused and that she was illegal, and orphaned, and that I wasn’t going anywhere without her. I told him about Javier, and the hot, stinky shed, and about the copter crash, and tumbling down the crevasse, and Monty with the broom. I also told him I’d written down pretty much everything that has happened in my whole life on this pink laptop. And especially I told him about Jagger Jonze and the whole stupid fucking AVB. I couldn’t stop talking. So he kissed me again.

  He goes, “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

  Even with Chase in front of me, it was hard to let go of the feeling it wasn’t. “Okay.”

  Then I kissed him. And the word swoon came to my mind, and when we finally parted, I needed to sit down on the sectional.

  He joined me. “I’ve wanted to do that…”

  “I’ve wanted you to wanna do that,” I said, or something equally stupid.

  “But you vibe with the Christians. And I just didn’t know…”

  “Yeah.”

  “So after this is over?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You and me? We’ll, like, read some books together and see where it goes?”

  I laughed. For real laughed. “Sure.” Then I asked, because I knew he’d know, “My mother?”

  “She’s coming. She’s on her way.”

  I saw my mother’s face in the moonlight. Her eyes. Her smile. Of course Shelley was coming for us. But hearing it from Chase? Oh my God. My chin started to quiver.

  Maybe Chase was worried I’d start bawling again, because he kissed me once more and said, “Stay strong. There’s more to come.”

  “More?”

  “It’s gonna be meta, Rory.”

  “Oh.”

  “People are gonna wanna talk to you.”

  “The authorities, you mean?”

  “The press. Everybody will want to hear your story.”

  “It’s all in my blog. Everything. It’s all in there.”

  He glanced up at the clock on the wall and turned back to me, serious. “Your mother’s in a coast guard boat headed this way right now. It’ll take about an hour for them to get here. There’ll be a guy with her, driving the boat—a friend.”

  “Okay.”

  “They’ll take you up the coast. Not sure where. Your aunt Lilly will be there, waiting in a van.”

  I was so relieved at the thought that I’d be seeing my aunt Lilly. “Where will they take us?”

  “They talked about getting you to Vancouver. That’s all I know right now.”

  “Fee and Paula too, right?”

  “Fee and Paula too.”

  I had to know. “How are you…like, why are you…?”

  He paused. “My sister.”

  “The one who died in the car crash?”

  “It wasn’t a car crash.”

  “Oh.”

  “They’d just passed the six-week fetal heartbeat restriction in Iowa. She was eight weeks. I found her bleeding in the garage.”

  I had no words.

  “When we moved here, I just wanted to forget it happened. But I’d hear things at school. Like, these girls who were, you know, in trouble, and they needed help, and a safe place to go. And it’s just so stupid, because it’s so hard to get birth control, and anyway, I listened and I got connected and I got involved and…”

  “You’ve been involved in this…since you were fourteen?”

  He nodded. “Your friend? Feliza? Is it true? She’s really pregnant?”

  “It’s true.”

  “The father?”

  “I can’t…just not right now. The fucker isn’t gonna get away with it, though.”

  “The fucker know she’s pregnant?”

  I nodded.

  “I can help her find a way to do what she needs to do if she makes that choice.”

  We heard the blades of a copter overhead and watched as it banked out over the ocean on its way toward the Santa Monica Pier.

  “The bounty hunters are still out there,” I said. “Even though Jagger and Jinny and her dad have all disappeared.”

  “After the Feds and media sort this shit out, even the Crusaders’ll have to change their hymn. Don’t worry about the bounty hunters. We got you.”

  “Okay.”

  Chase got a buzz and checked his cell phone. “I gotta go,” he said.

  “Really?”

  He took my face in his hands. “Rory, it’s okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll see you in a few days. Or maybe a few weeks. Trust me.”

  “I do.” I actually do.

  He looked at the clock on the wall before sending a text back. Then he said, “In one hour. Stroke of midnight. You take Fee and the kid, and you go out to the beach. Don’t stop. Walk straight out to the ocean.”

  “Stroke of midnight.”

  “They’re lighting off fireworks at the pier. There’ll be thousands of people and crowd control issues. Everyone’ll be distracted.”

  “I wonder if Paula’s seen fireworks.”

  “She’ll see them tonight. From the boat. Just get to the boat.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ll have to wade out into the surf a bit.”

  “It’ll be cold.”

  “It’ll be cold, but when you get to the boat, they’ll have blankets and boots and all.”

  “For Paula too?”

  “For Paula too.”

  “What about my laptop?”

  “Take it. You won’t have to swim, but put it in a ziplock or something. My uncle must have one in the kitchen. When you get where you’re going, keep writing. Your story isn’t over. Right?”

  “Right. I need to write the prologue.”

  He started to leave, then he came back and we held each other like lovers at the airport, and he whispered into my hair, “This is gonna sound lame.”

  “What?”

  He put his lips to my ear. “I fucking love you, Rory Miller.”

  I looked into his eyes. “I fucking love you too, Chase Mason.”

  He stepped back and brushed the hair out of his big brown eyes. “See you on the other side.”

  And he left.

  I can’t wait to see my mother, and Aunt Lill, and Chase again, and to feel safe, and right, and, well, not normal, but not this.

  After Chase left, Paula appeared at the stairs. By the way she was grinning, I figured she’d heard a fair bit of our conversation.

  “We are going to be safe?” Paula asked.

  Safe. Yes, safe. That’s what people need. Safe. Fuck the notion of happy. People need to be with people they can trust. Families they can rely on. Have husbands who don’t cheat. Father figures who don’t abuse. People need to live in countries with leaders who are honest. With roofs over their heads and clean water to drink. Safe.

  “Yeah, Paula. We’re gonna be safe.”

  * * *
>
  —

  Paula and I went up the stairs to tell Fee about my mother being on her way in the coast guard boat.

  She was curled up near the top of the bed, and hardly reacted when I told her that we have to leave in less than an hour. That we gotta head out to the beach at the stroke of midnight.

  “Shelley’s coming.”

  She just nodded and looked out the bedroom window at the ocean.

  “Fee. What’s going on, Fee?”

  “I just need a minute.”

  “You have time for a quick shower.”

  “Stop telling me to shower.”

  “My mother’s on her way. We’re saved, Fee. You’re hearing this, right?”

  “I am. And it’s good. I’m really happy about it, Rory. I’m super-relieved. I’m just so tired.”

  “Me too, but Fee, Chase Mason?”

  “I know.”

  “You know he kissed me?”

  She grinned, and there for a sec was my bestie. “Wha…?”

  “Many times,” Paula blurted, then put her hand over her mouth.

  Fee teased. “Thought he was a joystick?”

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking that’s a sexist, shaming word, and really, if we don’t want guys to call us hos and sluts, we shouldn’t call them joysticks.”

  Fee rolled her eyes. “Not now, Ror.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Save it for your blog.”

  Paula nodded. “Write it in the blog.”

  Fee goes, “So, we’ve got an hour?”

  “Less,” I said.

  “And we get in a boat.”

  “Yes.”

  “And go where?”

  “Vancouver? Not sure yet.”

  “Until when?”

  “Until whenever.”

  “Okay.”

  “Come back downstairs, Fee.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t give up. We’re almost there.”

  “Okay. Just gimme a minute.”

  I wanna give her space and time, but we don’t have time and I’m kinda scared of the vacant look in her eyes.

  OMG—I heard voices outside. Gotta check.

  * * *

  —

  My heart leapt for a sec because I thought maybe Chase had come back. I definitely thought I heard voices at the side of the house, but when I looked out, there was no one. No hissing raccoon. No old couple with a broom. Must’ve been my fingers on the keys. I’ve done that before—thought I heard footsteps and realized it was my own typing, or my heartbeat.

  What Chase said is true, I know. It’s not over yet. Still, I’m feeling surprisingly positive. Because I know that one day soon it will be over, and we’ll be safe. In a new life. A real life. One that’s not a lie.

  Paula and I went back up to the bedroom to check on Fee. She was sitting up. She looked different. Determined, and ready to go. Thank freaking God.

  “Rory,” she said. “Please don’t write anything about Mr. Tom.”

  “Forget about all that right now, okay? You gotta come downstairs and we gotta get into our blocks—you know—like Brook at a race. We gotta be ready.”

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Okay. Just…please tell me you didn’t say anything in your blog about Mr. Tom?”

  Fee needs to be deprogrammed. How do you have sex with, and get freaking pregnant by, a man who is kinda like your father and still call him Mr. Tom? Did he get off on that? Pig.

  “I did write about him,” I said. “But I’ll edit it out later. Okay?”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” I am lying. I am sorry.

  Paula noticed that the old-school phone on the bedside table was crooked on the hook. She tipped it back into the cradle and showed Fee how the dial works, putting her little finger in the hole and letting it spin back. Fee didn’t even smile. Anyway, we don’t have time for this.

  * * *

  —

  Fee and Paula are standing at the windows in the great room now, looking out at the ocean for the lights from the boat.

  “You think people will ever forget?” Fee asked.

  “About us? Of course.”

  “By senior year?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but eventually.”

  “Eventually,” she repeated.

  Paula has packed up her Patriot Girl doll in the backpack. She’s standing at the window shifting from one foot to the other, anxious to go. Me too. I told Paula she could go out on the sand in her bare feet, since we’d tossed her shoes out with the rest of our dirty clothes, and Chase said they’d have boots and blankets for us in the boat. So Paula’s dream will come true. She’ll put her feet in the sand. And taste the salty ocean. And she doesn’t even know it yet, but she’s going to have the most amazing life. Fee too. We’re gonna get through this. That’s a vow I mean to keep.

  They just started the fireworks, which sounded like an explosion, and we all went a little PTSD until we saw the spray of red, white and blue lights bursting out over the pier. Paula is loving the fireworks.

  I know we’ll have to talk about the AVB and our escape with the police or whatever, but here’s another vow: I’m not talking to the press. I’m not gonna tweet about it. I’m not gonna post pics. I’m not going on news shows. No comments for TMZ. I’m gonna let my blog speak for itself. I know it’s TMI in places.

  I wrote the truth. It’s all I have.

  Will people forget about us? Yes. We won’t trend forever. Thank God. Because fame sucks.

  So weird to be wrapping this up, getting ready to put my laptop away in a ziplock. This thing has become like a vital organ. Like I should be transporting it in a cooler. I don’t wanna stop writing. So much more to say.

  Thanks again, Nina. And Mr. Javier. I hope God heard Paula’s prayers and that you are okay, even if you did bring the police, which I don’t think you did. And thanks to all the people who believed in us all along. Thanks to Kim and the rest for talking about truth. And thanks to all you women who put on wedding dresses and took pics running away in smoke. I would follow you all on social, but I’m shutting down for a while.

  Delaney? Brook? Zara? When Jinny’s spell is broken, and maybe it already has, you are going to feel like a bag of dicks. But I forgive you. For you kneweth not what you sayeth. The Hive. Forever. I love you guys. Because that is human. And I’m still that.

  Sherman. It occurs to me that my father might have had something to do with my mother’s escape. He’s a lawyer. He knows people at the courthouse. Maybe he saw to it that she got keys to her cuffs, or arranged for the car that took her away from the police van. I don’t care if that’s magical thinking. I’m gonna hold on to that little nugget until I hear different. And if you didn’t help, Sherman? I’m gonna choose to believe that you thought about helping, and that you tried to help, and that I haven’t left your thoughts since the whole thing happened. I’m gonna believe that you’ve been aching with fear and worry for me, and for Shelley. I hate you, Sherman, but I love you too.

  Hurry up, Mommy.

  Paula just said she can see the lights from the boat in the distance. Prayers do get answered.

  It’s almost time.

  Fee just said, “God be with us.”

  Paula said, “Amen.”

  God? Um.

  I will write a long-ass update when we get to Vancouver, or wherever they take us, and hope this next part of our journey is not eventful.

  I am filled with hope and faith and optimism. In this moment, on this night, I feel joy.

  THIS LITTLE LIGHT

  BLOGLOG: Shelley Miller

  11/29/2024—3:08 PM

  My beautiful daughter, Rory Anne Miller, aged 16, was shot to death in the early hours of this morning. Also dead are Paula Hernandez, 10 years old, Feliza Lopez, 16, and her unborn child, gunned down on the beach near Paradise Cove, California.

  Rory and her friends were making their way through the sand to the coast guard boat where I
waited, when they were struck by multiple gunshots fired at close range. I was a witness to their execution. A supporter who was driving our rescue boat captured the shooter.

  According to the news, cell phone records indicate that the man who shot these innocent children was contacted by Tom Sharpe, of Calabasas, California, three times in the hour before we arrived. Phone records also show that a call was made from the Malibu beach house where the girls sought refuge to Tom Sharpe’s cell phone, approximately fifty minutes before they were killed.

  I’ve read the contents of Rory’s blog, twice, and I’m posting this uncensored version in its entirety. I think that is what my daughter would want.

  Rory Miller didn’t believe in God, but she believed in truth, and honesty, humility and humanity. She was relentless in her questioning of herself, and of our world. She had so much to live for, and so much to give, and will be sorely missed by me, by her father, Sherman Miller, and by all who knew her and loved her.

  Rory died in my arms, with the moonlight reflected in her eyes. Her last words were, “Mommy. I. Love.”

  The Crusaders continue to flood the Santa Monica Pier in celebration of what they call justice. I hope that when the truth is revealed, their calls for God’s will to be done will become cries for mercy on us all.

  Please share Rory’s story.

  For Feliza. And Paula. And Rory. And all of the other girls.

  Lest we forget.