by Alice Bell
“I have some bad news,” Inka said, after a moment.
Zadie’s stomach churned.
No, not Devon. Please… in the name of Yshtan.
“Babylon is gone. Along with the other connections up the Gulf coast. Vampires are going dark. Did you know? Is that why you’re hiding out in this shithole?”
Zadie went to put a wooden chair under the handle of the door.
Inka watched her. “What’s with the locks?”
“I don’t want the nurses coming in when I’m sleeping.”
Inka snorted. “You need to practice your mind compulsion, like I taught you.”
Anger coursed through Zadie’s veins. I’ve had to manage on my own, she thought. But to Inka she said, “I missed you.”
I needed you.
“Move the chair, Zadie. Put it back where it belongs.”
Zadie did as she was told.
“Come here, Little One,” Inka patted the bed next to her. “Everything will be alright now. I’m here.”
Zadie liked it when Inka called her Little One. She eagerly crawled into bed next to her sire, where she felt safe.
“Rest your head in my lap,” Inka said. “I have good news too. Do you want to hear?”
Inka stroked Zadie’s hair. “Promise not to get too excited. When I tell you.” She smoothed Zadie’s fine blonde eyebrows. Her touch was hypnotic but Zadie couldn’t relax. She was taut with anticipation. Surely the good news had to do with Devon.
She closed her eyes and willed her body to loosen, knowing it was what Inka wanted.
Inka sighed, as she massaged Zadie’s temples. “It’s no use. You’re as tense as a vampire in Rome,” she giggled, girlishly. She had a personality for every mood. Zadie didn’t know which of Inka’s personalities she liked best. Each one was laced with danger.
“Devon has been here,” Inka said, at last.
Scarlett
Alone in my classroom, during lunch, I kept reliving Devon’s touch.
I felt fluttery and excited and tormented all at once. I felt sure he was toying with me, just like Henry. Did all men behave this way? Or was there something about me that attracted the wrong type?
I wondered if Devon knew I was a virgin. It embarrassed me to be so inexperienced. I had no excuse, such as saving myself for marriage. I wanted to have sex in the worst way. Wanting it and not knowing how to get it made me feel like there was one more thing inherently wrong with me. I should see Dr. Ess, I thought. I’d rescheduled my regular appointment with him so many times, I’d managed to avoid him for almost five months.
The day seemed grueling. Outside, the sky was gray. At last, the final bell rang, though I still had the workshop girls and my last Adult Literacy class before Georgie took over. I had to pull myself together.
“Miss Rain!” Chastity said. “Your eyes are all red!”
“Your face too!” Charity said.
They had arranged their desks in a circle. The other girls contemplated me suspiciously, especially Autumn Jones.
I changed the subject. “I’ve decided it’s time to start our diaries.” I went to my desk and took nine black booklets from my suitcase.
I gave one to each girl. “Write whatever comes into your head. Whatever you dream about, whatever scares you or makes you want to laugh or cry or scream. If your own life doesn’t inspire you, write a story, the story you would love to read but no one ever wrote before.”
“So what we write in our diaries doesn’t have to be true?” Autumn said.
“Absolutely not. No rules. Did you hear me? break every single rule you ever learned about writing.”
A few of the girls giggled. “Even what we learn in Miss Hartly’s class?”
“Especially what you learn there,” I said.
“Are you going to keep a diary too?”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it. At the end of the week, we’ll trade diaries with someone else.”
The room grew quiet.
“Why?” Autumn said, finally. Her eyes were accusing.
“We are entering into a sacred covenant with each other,” I said.
“Why do we have to let other people read our diaries?” she insisted.
“Because that’s the point,” I said.
“To have someone read our most private inner thoughts?” she was full of scorn.
“To have someone read what you write,” I told her.
I dismissed the workshop early. The girls were eager to start their diaries. I went to the window and scanned the parking lot for Georgie’s car. Not seeing it, I decided to brave the teacher’s lounge and found it empty. I brewed coffee and was just washing a mug, when the door opened and loud voices broke the quiet. There were three of them. Georgie’s friends.
They all seemed to crowd the lounge. It didn’t matter who you were, if you weren’t them, you were nobody. It was just like high school. It was high school. But I was a teacher now. It was supposed to be different. We were all grown-ups, weren't we?
A horrifying thought occurred to me. Was life high school? No matter how old you got, wherever you went, you could never leave? Like the Hotel California?
As I dried my mug, I realized I was no longer in the mood for coffee. My stomach churned.
“Hi, Scarlett,” said Ms. Wong, the librarian. She was very perky for a librarian, and beautiful, with silky black hair that she wore in a ponytail. “We were talking about tonight. We’re having a girl’s night out. You should come.”
The other teachers, getting settled at the table—pulling out phones and snacks from their bags—grew quiet. Sensing them looking at me, I froze.
“It’s Georgie’s birthday,” Wong went on. “Actually, her birthday was yesterday but we wanted to wait for the weekend.”
I’d vandalized Georgie’s car on her birthday? What a present. Exactly what she deserves.
“We’re going to meet at the pub and go bar hopping,” Wong went on as if she had no clue Georgie hated me. “Know of any cool bars?”
There was a long pause, until finally I realized Wong, and her friends, were actually waiting for me to answer. “Well, if you like alternative rock,” I said. “There’s a bar down on the boardwalk. Live music every night.”
Now why did I do that? Invite Georgie’s friends to my favorite bar? I would never be able to go there again. Feeling heat on my face, I put away the mug I wasn’t going to use, and pulled my suitcase to the door.
“Wait,” Wong cried. “What’s the name of the bar?”
“Embers,” I said. “It’s kind of a dive.” Hopefully they would hate it.
But out in the hallway, I had a strange feeling of missing out. Why was it so hard for me to be friendly? I didn’t like being alone. I just didn’t know how to be any other way.
When I checked my watch, I saw I’d somehow lost track of time and was a minute off. Picking up my pace, I hurried around the corner and stopped short. Georgie stood outside my classroom door. She had on a red polka dot dress and a binder tucked under her arm.
Rushing towards her, the wheels of my suitcase whirred. “Can I help you?” I said. “Is there some reason you’re here?”
She acted startled, clutching her binder to her chest. “Stroop wants me to sit in tonight. Didn’t you get my email? What is wrong with you?” she managed to sound insulted. “I’m just doing my job.”
Something inside me gathered force. “Your job? You’re taking over my job. And my parking space. You’re a terrible person and I bet you’re a terrible teacher too,” I bit off each word. “You should…” I thought of her giggling behind the partition with Henry and calling me unstable. Before I knew it, I was jabbing her in the chest with my finger. “Go fuck yourself.”
There was a gasp. Then a terrible silence.
In slow motion, like a horror movie, Georgie’s binder fell to the floor. Papers scattered. She snatched a handful of my hair and yanked. Pain seared my scalp but I wrenched free. I rose up on tip-toe to gouge at her eyes. She ducked
. I grabbed her ear and twisted.
“Aaaaahhhh…” she screamed and then she pushed me. Hard.
I slipped on papers, scrambling to catch my balance. I landed on my butt.
Georgie’s red face bobbed above me. She bent down and got so close, a spray of saliva misted my cheek. “I’m going into that classroom. And I’m watching every move you make, Miss Rain.”
* * *
My limbs were jelly.
I straightened my skirt. Georgie gathered papers, bending over. I checked my watch. Seven minutes. I tried to breathe slowly. I grasped my suitcase and headed for my classroom, while her back was turned.
“Hey,” she said sharply, but she was too late.
I slammed the door and locked it.
“Scarlett?” she knocked and jiggled the handle.
I slid down the wall. Black spots swam in my vision. I hugged my knees. My whole body was going numb.
“I’ll be back,” Georgie said. “And this door better be open.”
I waited. After I thought she was gone, I stood up.
Taking quick ragged breaths, I opened drawers I never used. I found leaky pens, ink cartridges, a peppermint candy without a wrapper, crumbs. The bottom drawer contained computer paper. I tore open a package and folded a piece of paper to breathe into, like a paper bag.
I thought of my mother’s Valium, how she’d break a pill and give me half and how great I felt afterwards, like nothing bad could ever happen. Why didn’t my shrink give me Valium?
I concentrated on breathing. In. Out.
Someone knocked. I froze.
The knock came again, harder. Georgie? Or a student? I checked my watch. Not even a whole minute had passed.
I opened my compact and fixed my make-up, wiping away the smudges under my eyes. After putting on fresh lipstick, a strange calm came over me. When I opened the door, I found three of my students waiting outside.
I looked up and down the hall and didn’t see Georgie.
I waited by the door as students straggled in. There were five so far. “Sit at a desk that has a book on it,” I told them.
When I got to seven students and still no Georgie, my pulse soared. Just two more students to go. But I rarely had perfect attendance. If they weren’t all safely accounted for inside, I couldn’t lock the door, in case someone came late.
I checked my watch. One and half minutes past the hour.
I knew I was asking for trouble but I closed my eyes and gave a silent prayer. Please God, let me give my last class in peace. Without Georgie. I hate her. No, scratch that. Sorry, I don’t hate anyone. A lump formed in my throat. I heard Dr. Ess in my head, “You are not a victim.”
I took a deep breath and opened the door wider.
“I was hoping to see everyone tonight,” I said, glancing at the two empty desks. Looking for Alaska, by John Green and Stephen King’s Joyland hadn’t been taken. I cleared my throat. There was a sound behind me. I turned to see the last two students coming through the door.
I ushered them inside, as if into a bomb shelter, with the sky already exploding. I turned the lock.
“Does everyone like their books?” I said. “Each of you has a copy of one of my favorite books. Which brings me to tonight’s topic.” I went to my suitcase and took out my battered copy of Wuthering Heights. I showed it to them. I asked a woman in front to read the title.
She started to sound it out. Recognition lit her face.
“You’re familiar with the story?” I said.
She nodded.
When I asked who else had heard of Wuthering Heights, only one other woman raised her hand. “I saw it on TV,” she said.
I set the book on my desk. “Everyone argues over what the story is really about,” I stood in front of them. “The thing to remember is… it’s about whatever you think it’s about.”
They laughed.
“I want to tell you what happened to me when I was twelve, which is the first time I read Wuthering Heights. My mother was taken away. I lived for the day I would see her again. But she got sick. No one told me. And then she died. I didn’t get to say good-bye.”
I saw empathy in their upturned faces.
“I know it sounds unreal,” I said. “But it gets worse. I got sick too and I had to be in the hospital for a long time. The story of Catherine and Heathcliff and their star-crossed love saved me. I was transported to their world, away from the misery of my own. And the characters in the book felt what I felt. It didn’t matter that they lived over a hundred years ago, in northern England, or that they loved with passion while I had never even been kissed. Their pain was so raw and—”
There was a loud knock on the door.
“Do you have to get that?” one of my students said.
“We want to hear the rest of your story,” another said.
“Maybe they’ll go away,” the biker with a braided beard said.
But I heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock. “I just wanted you to know,” I said, in a rush. “Books can save your life.”
The door burst open and Georgie was there, standing in the doorway with one of the janitors. “Everything okay in here?” he scanned the room suspiciously.
I feigned surprise. “Did the door get stuck again?”
Georgie glared. Her perfect hair was slightly mussed. Her lipstick had worn off. I imagined her traipsing up and down the halls trying to figure out how to get inside my locked classroom. I smiled at her. “You can leave the door open,” I said to the janitor. “Where would you like to sit?” I asked Georgie. Before she could answer, I said, “In the back would be best.”
She started to take a seat in the row behind the students.
“No, the very back,” I said. “That’s it. Keep going. All the way.”
She arranged herself at a desk against the wall. A few of the students turned around to look at her.
“There’s a better view from back there,” I said in a loud voice. “So you can watch every move I make.”
An awkward silence fell.
“Class,” I said. “I’d like you to meet Miss Hartly. She’s going to take over after today.”
“What?”
“Why?”
“Evidently there was a Board approved curriculum I was supposed to use and someone—” I cast my gaze at Georgie—“reported me for not using it.”
“You were fired?”
“Something like that.”
“No!” The students twisted in their seats to peer at Georgie.
She shifted uncomfortably in the cramped desk and I went around the room and had each student take turns reading from their books.
For some reason Georgie took a bunch of notes, scribbling furiously. I never took notes. Not only did I find it distracting, I didn’t have to take notes. I was probably smarter than Georgie. Guilt burrowed in the back of my mind. Pride goeth before a fall.
Outside the sky had gone black. I thought I could fall into it and disappear. I had to sit down to feel the hard chair beneath me. I counted. Eleven unoccupied desks. Three pairs of glasses. One pen. Twenty eyeballs.
When the class was over, each student came up to say goodbye. They brought me back to earth.
Georgie tried to ignore me, pretending to be busy with her folder as she made her way to the door.
When we were alone, I said, “Well, did you get what you came for?”
She stopped and turned around. We locked eyes. “I guess so,” her tone was petulant.
“For your information, I’m a good teacher,” I said.
She said nothing, so I went on. “As you can see, these students are reading. Did you hear me? Reading, despite my not using the Board-approved curriculum.”
She put up a hand. “Okay, Scarlett. Whatever. That doesn’t make you above the rules. You didn’t have to tell my new class I got you fired. You did that yourself.” And she made the grand exit I’d intended to make, brushing past me and swishing away, her head high.
Devon
> On the outskirts of town, where the streetlights flickered and the desert stretched as far as the mortal eye could see, something white flitted across my path. The creature stopped to peer at me. Scarlett’s cat, Alceste. His mangy tail twitched before he darted back into the sagebrush.
“Alceste, here kitty kitty.”
I followed his scent through the brush, where a cluster of trailer houses sat at the end of a gravel road. Five trailers perched on the scabby ground at odd angles to each other. A clothes line had been strung between them and a pair of faded jeans dangled. Beer cans lay scattered around a couple of choppers. The last trailer had a stoop.
“I see you, Alceste. You little asshole.”
He sat on the stoop, viewing me with a hostile stare. I closed the gap between us, reaching for him and inciting a growl.
“Come on. Don’t be like that,” I offered my hand for him to sniff but he wasn’t friendly. He glared with his disparate eyes and emitted another deeper growl, like a warning. Which I didn’t heed. I caught him by the scruff of his neck, much to his surprise and chagrin.
He yowled, loud enough to wake the dead, but I held on. The next wail was full of anguish, ear piercing and pitiful. “Stop it. I’m not hurting you.” He aimed both feet at me in a frenzied rabbit kick. I tightened my hold.
The door of the trailer banged open.
A girl gaped. “What are you doing?” her voice was sharp with alarm.
“Hi,” I said, without loosening my grip. I’d come this far, I wasn’t about to give up now.
“What the—that's my cat.”
I lifted him to study his face closer. He was the spitting image of the photo on Scarlett’s piano. “Um, I don’t think so. He ran away from home and I’m going to return him.”
Growling, Alceste tried kicking again. His tail was fat with rage.
“This is his home,” the girl stamped her foot. “Let him go!”
Thinking of the choppers, I reluctantly dropped Alceste. He turned, arched his back and hissed, before streaking into the trailer.
