"Sadie, I'm proud of you," Lucy stated as she shifted her backpack on her shoulder. "Melinda walks around this school like she owns the place. She thinks she can say whatever she wants to people without consequences. It’s about time someone stood up to her, it’s unfortunate it took seventeen years for someone to finally muster the courage to do so, but I am glad you did. I mean, come on, this isn’t the nineteen sixties and we are not battling the classes as the Socs and the Greasers." She smiled, showing her quirky spark.
"Besides, I just don’t understand why we can’t all get along, like we used to when we were kids. I mean, we were all friends in elementary school. There were no cliques, allies, or enemies. We were all one group, one set of friends. I just don’t understand what happened between nap time and high school, but something came between everyone. Now we're all divided, unfairly placed into categories. You go to the nerds, you go to the jocks, you go to the stoners." She pointed to invisible students as she continued to speak about the unspoken rules in high school.
"When did it become so important that we all had to fit a specific mold to be accepted? Who decides these rules? Who makes up the regulations?" I allowed her observation to sink in. Lucy was much wiser beyond her years, and she understood what takes most people years to comprehend: high school's not an educational experience in the sense it was meant for‒that we are looking to learn so we can achieve when we enter into the real world was not the importance of these four years. No, someone long ago decided to split every individual into specific categories, primarily leaders and followers.
The sad part of Lucy’s insight was that only she truly understood it. It would take years and years from now for everyone to understand how insignificant the "label" given to them in high school actually was.
Once you entered into the "real world," it didn't ask on your job application if you were the prom queen or the nerd who sat alone at lunch. "You have all the qualifications for this job position, but your answer to this last question is contingent upon you receiving employment here: were you popular in high school?" asked no employer ever. Otherwise, the unemployment rates in the country would rise beyond imagination.
When will Melinda and the other brainless souls at this school understand that life goes on after we leave here? Melinda had been the queen of the school ever since kindergarten. She thought she could control everyone, and I just needed to tell her she was wrong. I wished I hadn’t hit her, but I wasn't sorry I had.
"Do you think she'll tell the principal about what I did?" The realization of my actions and the person on whom I'd released my anger suddenly came crashing down. Melinda was a vindictive person; of course, she'd tell the principal what I did. I could just hear her now" "Oh, please help me, Sadie brutally attacked me."
"I don’t know, maybe," Noah stated, making an attempt to control. "Even if she does, don’t worry babe‒I’ve got your back."
I smiled and hugged him as I continued to think about the situation. Noah and Lucy kept talking, but their voices were muffled by what was going on in my head. The dark and heavenly angels feuded in my mind and I was carefully listening to both sides. One screamed for me to march into the principal’s office and tell about the alcohol, drugs, and perverts at Melinda’s party, which she advertised at school. The other one was to find Melinda, apologize and suck up to her, to convince her I was truly sorry for my actions.
Both had a convincing case, but I'd have to deliberate over the closing arguments. Hopefully, Melinda would realize the severity of her own actions and forget about ratting me out. I guess only time would tell.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The following weekend, Noah asked to do something so different from the norm that I was almost knocked from my chair at lunch: he wanted to go see a movie, like the agenda for a normal, teenage date night. With everything that had transpired over the last few weeks, normal was the last thing I'd expected, but it was also the one thing that was more than welcome.
To my astonishment, Melinda had decided to keep our fight a secret. She must have realized what might come out, should she sell me out to the principal, which meant she was much smarter than I'd given her credit for. Noah decided we had a lot to celebrate as I result, and I believed he was right.
Noah came by my house at six-thirty to pick me up, having already purchased tickets for the seven-thirty Johnny Depp flick. We stopped at a quaint drive- through restaurant‒which was the first drive- through of any kind I'd ever been to‒and ordered burgers and chocolate shakes. We laughed and joked about upcoming school events and our favorite movies. The conversation continued on just as I'd hoped, with absolutely no mention of witches, mysterious fires, or journals.
Having lost track of time spent chatting at the restaurant, the movie theater's lot had filled to near capacity, and we had to park in the back.
On our way to the front of the building, we turned the corner, behind Harry’s Hardwood Store, and onto the street leading to the brightly lit theater, and I looked up to see a large man, appearing out of the shadows of Harry’s Hardwood store. A lit cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, seeping wisps of gray smoke into the night air. The smoke curled around his face, and then went up into the atmosphere. He kept his head down and made a beeline straight for us.
I turned my head to look at Noah, wondering if he'd seen the man as well. He had‒his jaws were clenched, and his boyish grin had turned into a terrifying gaze. My heart fluttered, and I found it hard to breathe as panic took hold.
Noah placed his large hand on mine, gripping it tightly, feeling his body tremble through his hold.
I glanced up, afraid to speak. This was the first time I'd ever felt nervous or frightened when I was with Noah.
Noah began to pick up the pace until he was walking faster than my short legs could go. The man's heavy footsteps inched closer behind us, seeming to be gaining with every step we took.
"When I say run, run as fast as you can, and don’t stop." Noah whispered with a nervous tone in contrast to his typically calm and collected one. I nodded, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all the sounds around me: crickets chirped in the background became so intense, it was almost too much for my eardrums to handle.
"Run!" Noah pulled my arm as he began to run. I held onto his hand as we raced down the road.
My heart seemed to have stopped and I was unable to breathe. Only the movement of my legs reminded me I was still alive.
I blinked, and the man was in front of us; in a swift move worthy of an Olympian runner, he'd found his edge and gained on his opponents.
"Hold it right there," he shouted, placing his hands up to brace for contact.
His expression was somber, revealing nothing behind his dead eyes. Noah jerked me back as he came to a sudden halt in front of him. I nearly lost my balance as a result.
"Take my wallet. We don’t have a lot of money; we're only high school kids." Noah offered the man his brown, leather wallet.
"I'm not interested in your money." The man glared at Noah, his voice used a solid, angry rhythm, almost as if he were singing the words.
Noah’s extended his arm in front of me, pushing me behind him. His protective stance took me off guard, but I stepped slowly backward to comply, standing there helpless as I tried to peer over Noah's shoulder at the angry man. He seemed dangerously terrifying, but his face seemed so mesmerizingly familiar, I couldn’t help but watch his expression.
"Look, do whatever you want to me, but let her go," Noah practically screamed the words, his body shaking in terror. I could do nothing but watch in horror as Noah attempted to sacrifice himself for my safety.
"No, Noah," I whispered, clutching onto his shoulder.
"I don’t want the girl, either." The man snapped, by Noah’s protective stance.
"Then what do you want?" Noah asked.
"I want you two to stop messing around with something you don’t know anything about." His words came out like nails on a chalkboard. My body shuddered uncontrollably
when I remembered where I'd heard the rough voice before.
"You attacked me the other night in the woods," I shouted pointing my finger at him.
He stepped into the light of the street lamp above, revealing a large lump and bruise on the side of his face where Noah had punched him.
"I don’t understand," Noah said. "What, exactly, is none of our business?"
"My family's spent too many years protecting our heritage for you to go and mess it all up. Just leave the past alone. It'll be better for you in the end." He took another step forward, and I could see his eyes were yellow, his gray hair was thinning to the point of virtual nonexistence, and his brown teeth were chipped and crooked.
"What family heritage?" Suddenly I understood. I waited for Noah to come to the same revelation, but the light bulb never even flickered.
"Wait…how do you know…?"
Before I could finish my thought, the man spoke again. "My name's Walker Bufford. My family's owned parts of this town going on five generations. The house your rich little parents purchased belongs to me‒at least, it did before I lost it in bad investments.
"You're wading into some very murky waters, dear. I suggest you forget all about that journal you found."
The surprise lit up my face. This was the relative Noah's dad told us about. And he knew about the journal!
The man continued: "You didn’t know I was aware of the journal. My family's been trying to bury knowledge of that journal for years. Elizabeth ran around town talking about it to any who'd listen, thinking it would clear her name and expose what my family had done. Everyone back then thought she was crazy. If anyone were to find out it was real, I'd lose everything I've built back up for myself, and my family name to boot.
"I'm only just now able to buy back some of the property that was lost when the witch trials ended. People began to question my family and their role in the deaths of the persecuted witches. Although we were able to maintain our stories, the truth has never gotten out that John lied when he accused Elizabeth and her family of witchcraft. If word of that ever got out, my family name would be forever soiled.
"I'm sure we can arrive at some sort of agreement…"
Anger rose like bile at the back of my throat, and my blood boiled. "How dare you? You…. you started the fire, didn't you?"
"Someone had to stop your little quest," he hissed.
"And in the woods…you followed us?" I shot him a dirty look.
The man seemed to smirk as he thought back to that night. "Yes, I thought maybe you'd hidden the journal somewhere in the woods. I followed you, hoping to find out where you'd put it. I had no intention of hurting you, I just wanted to find the journal."
"Why? What good could possibly come of getting rid of an old journal? Especially when Elizabeth’s story is one that has to be told." I wanted to make him understand, to persuade him to think differently.
"That woman refused John’s hand in marriage. Do you understand what an insult that was to him? Our family held high prestige in this community, and when she refused him, it disgraced our family name. If the Buffords were not good enough for the likes of her, it made a strong statement in the eyes of the town."
He spoke with such dignity and refinement it was hard to believe words so sentimental could be coming from such a rough exterior.
I looked up at Noah, whose was face clearly showed his anger in the deep ridges that had formed around his mouth as he clenched his teeth, and his eyes, which showed a livid burning at their core.
"We’re related!" Noah blurted, throwing a raw punch into thin air.
The man smiled a villainous grin only pure evil could muster. He placed his hands together, as if he were in church, praying for his salvation.
"Your family disowned me years ago," he said, practically mocking. "I don’t think your parents would even recognize me if they saw me now. That's why I didn’t come to you two earlier and decided to remain hidden. I've made a life here, invisible to the crowds, and I take great pride in my accomplishments. But now, your little friend here's trying to ruin my family’s hard work.
He pointed a pale, wrinkly finger at me as he spoke, staring at me, taking in my every hate-filled expression with his piercing eyes. "I need that journal. You have no idea the storm you will unleash if you don't hand it over."
His face glared at me through the yellow light. The nerve of him! "Are you seriously threatening me?" My voice exuded confidence, and I straightened my posture, refusing to back down. I stepped closer to the man and into the golden light from the iron streetlamp, showing my new-found self-esteem.
Noah reached out to provide a barricade between me and the man, but I pushed his arm away and took another step forward.
Mr. Bufford cleared his throat and crossed his arms, but his intimidating stature didn’t work on me. This man, who wanted nothing more than to ruin my hard work for his selfishness didn’t scare me. I'd overcome haunted cottages, ghosts in my dreams, delusional high school girls, and most, finding a boyfriend.
I was prepared for battle.
The man seemed unamused by the situation. "Just tell me where you hid the journal and I'll leave you alone." His tone was much calmer and relaxed now. He spoke as if we were friends, and I wanted nothing more than to disprove that assumption.
"Why is this journal so important to you? So, what if the town finds out Elizabeth was falsely accused? Your ancestors are the ones who created this mess, and they're long gone. You even said yourself that you're almost invisible in this town. No one will even care."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. To you, this is just a game, a silly quest to prove something to yourself. For me, it's my family name. I have nothing left in this world except the pride of knowing that I'm a Bufford. There are streets named after my great-great-grandfathers for their achievements and contributions to society. We've been a part of Salem since the sixteen-hundreds, and it's my job to continue the family name, even if I've failed miserably."
He hesitated before speaking again, rolling his thumbs together in his hands as if working off nervous energy. "If you expose my family’s secrets, the name of Bufford will be disgraced, humiliated. This boy’s parents may have forgotten what the name means, which means they're a bigger disgrace than I ever could be. Maybe what my family did was wrong, but Elizabeth brought this upon herself when she refused to marry John."
I was taken aback by what he'd said, in spite of the honesty and remorse he seemed to portray. This time, when I looked at him I saw how aged and tired his body seemed. He was really nothing more than a confused and lonely old man, living in a world of facts that didn't agree with his sensibilities.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the increasingly cold air. My lungs threatened to close down, to shut off the stream of air threatening to freeze me from the inside out. "I understand this is difficult for you, but her story has to be told. What your family did was wrong, even if you can’t understand that. A woman died, lost her good name and future because your ancestors didn’t want to be humiliated. A life was lost, and now I'm giving it back. I've tried to be reasonable, but you've left me no other options. If you don’t leave and promise to never bother us again, I'll call the police and inform them of your whereabouts and the schemes you've been up to myself."
I folded my arms tightly across my chest and smiled, refusing to betray even the slightest fear I might have felt.
Mr. Bufford shook his head and backed down. "This isn't over, you can be sure of that. If you go through with this, I'll do everything in my power to disprove that journal. I'll not allow my family name to be disgraced."
The wind howled as it picked up, and a familiar presence manifested that I sensed, even before she appeared in front of us. Glowing with beauty, Elizabeth stood directly in front of Mr. Bufford, pointing her index finger in his face. Terror overcame him as surely as shock almost struck me down.
He was able to see her, too!
"No, no," he screamed, backing away like a coward. "N
ot you again!"
Elizabeth grinned, as she continued to stare him down. "You will leave this girl alone," she shouted through clenched teeth. "My family has been tortured enough. Allow this girl to clear my name, to fix the wrongs you have made."
Mr. Bufford fell to the ground, though whether it was due to Elizabeth pushing him or his tripping over his own feet, I couldn't say.
Elizabeth turned to smile at me before disappearing, but I knew I'd not seen the last of her yet.
Suddenly everything became clear: my purpose wasn't to understand what happened to Elizabeth, but to change the way the world understood it. It was my job‒my mission‒to resolve the lies that had been haunting her family. Once that conflict had ended, Elizabeth could finally find the peace she deserved. She'd be able to cross over and find the eternal grace she desired. I'd find solace in this, too‒with Elizabeth’s name cleared, my job would be over, and I'd start carving out my new life in Salem, with my boyfriend and friend.
"I look forward to your rebuttal, Mr. Bufford." I waved at his back after he'd picked himself off the ground and slithered back into the dark shadows he'd come from. Elizabeth had scared him into submission, but was it really the end?
Noah kissed my forehead, wrapped me tightly in his arms, and congratulated me on my victory. "I don’t know what just happened, but I think you won. "That was amazing! You were so confident and strong." He bowed with a flourish, like a court jester upon greeting the queen. "I bow down to your greatness."
I giggled nervously. "Thanks, but I couldn’t have stood up to him if you weren't here. Just knowing you were standing next to me, to back me up gave, me all the confidence I needed." I didn’t dare tell him Elizabeth had been there too‒he needed the confidence.
He took my hand in his. I was still overwhelmed at how small my hand actually seemed when placed against his large ones. It always made me feel so small and protected in Noah’s presence.
Noah glanced down at his watch and sighed. "We missed the first thirty minutes of the movie."
Wicked Cries (The Wicked Cries Series Book 1) Page 22
