by C. L. Stone
Mitch had disappeared, either inside or somewhere in the shadows of the lot where I couldn’t see him anymore.
It was only then that I realized how my heart was racing. As if I’d held my breath the whole time. Suddenly I was breathing heavily, holding to the seat, gripping it, eyes wide. What had I just witnessed?
“He didn’t care about her,” Victor said from the back seat. “He was only interested in me and getting me in trouble.”
“I heard him.” Mr. Buble pulled into a neighboring lot adjacent to a grocery store, not totally out of view of the library but a good distance. “I need you two to go immediately to my home and stay there. I have to go back.”
“Go back?” Victor asked.
Mr. Buble left the keys in the ignition and opened the door. He looked at me. His voice, while stern like he’d been with Mitch, was not to scare but to be precise and definite. “There are currently three wards at my home, all around twelve years old. They get in at eight p.m. on the dot this evening. You should make it there nearly at the same time. You will tell me immediately if they do not show up. You will stay with them. Even if the Academy calls, you will say you are busy and you will stay with them. Is that clear?”
I nodded slowly, the stern and terrified look on his face frightening me much more than Mitch had.
“This may take a while,” he said. “He’s likely to defend himself vehemently. He has escalated.” He took one last look at Victor. “Stay with her.”
And that was it. He got out of the car, straightened his jacket and started a steady jog back toward where the library was.
Victor materialized in the driver’s seat, but my heart was beating too hard, the blood pumping in my ears, for me to hear anything, even when he spoke to me.
He said something again. “I should go with him…”
“Why?”
“Mitch could be saying anything. I’m a witness.”
“Should we both go?”
He seemed to debate this. “He wants us to go meet his wards… the kids…”
“I can’t drive,” I said.
Victor pursed his lips, staring out the windshield. He reached for his pocket, for his phone. He found Mr. Blackbourne’s number, hit the red button on the app indicating an emergency call through and put it on speaker.
Mr. Blackbourne answered immediately. “Where are you?”
“In the parking lot of the grocery store across the street from the Summerville library. Mr. Buble went inside the library after our target. Can’t explain. Sang is with me. I need to go in after him. He needs me as a witness.”
There was only a moment’s pause from Mr. Blackbourne before he answered, as if he’d waited for any more information or was considering what to do. “I am five minutes away. Miss Sorenson?”
“Yes?”
“Take Victor’s phone. Victor, take her phone.”
We traded.
“Miss Sorenson, you’ll stay on the line with me. Watch Mr. Morgan from the vehicle and do not leave line of sight of him until he is inside the library with Mr. Buble. There’s likely binoculars in the car.”
We found them in the glove compartment.
“I’m going,” Victor said, and he jumped out of the car, closing the door behind himself.
I watched, using the binoculars when Victor was getting too far. I could see the library and people inside as well. Mr. Buble wasn’t in sight.
Victor entered through the front doors of the library. “He’s in,” I said to Mr. Blackbourne.
“Take the keys of the car, lock the doors, go into the grocery store where there are other people. Be in view of other people at all times as you do so.”
There was only a short moment of getting out of the car and heading around cars that I wasn’t within view of other people, as most were either in the lot or from the wide front windows of the regional grocery store. I raced in, changing the phone from speaker to normal and keeping Mr. Blackbourne on the line.
I stayed in the bakery, where two women behind the counter were cleaning up after their job for the day was done. I was still well within view of produce and checkout lanes. Plenty of people streamed in, using a basket, picking up things, putting them down, telling children to put things they brought them away.
“We have to go to Mr. Buble’s house,” I said to Mr. Blackbourne. “This was the last task for the day for him and he was supposed to go home to his… wards.” I hesitated, not totally sure what wards might mean. Not his kids?
“If they’re having a confrontation, it might take a while,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “We’ll go together.”
I wanted to go help Mr. Buble, but I was almost grateful for the reprieve. As terrified as I was, I wasn’t totally sure what I could say other than repeating what had happened. I hoped Victor would be enough. I’d go if he called.
I crossed my fingers in hopes that it could be resolved quickly.
Rinforzando
(Reinforcing, sometimes like a sudden crescendo, but often applied to a single note)
Victor
Victor moved quickly, his only concern being not to get run over crossing the parking lot of the grocery store and the road before getting to the smaller lot of the library. From there, he could see inside clearly. No Mr. Buble. No Mitch in sight.
He had to get in, without Mitch cornering him somewhere private, and locate Mr. Buble.
He held on to the phone he had, as if that would help him figure this out. Should he call Mr. Buble?
Inside the doors of the library, Victor gazed down the two hallways on either side just before the main part of the library. These areas were offices and conference rooms.
Likely a head librarian or other workers would be back here somewhere. Is that where Mr. Buble would go?
Victor stood in the entryway, listening for voices.
Left hallway. Two deep voices. One matching Mr. Buble. A third person spoke, a woman… it was faint, likely at the end of the hallway. Tones rising and falling.
Victor jogged as silently as he could toward the door that was open at the end. The closer he got, the more he could hear the conversation. He pressed his back to the wall, listening for now.
“I’ve been with the library for fifteen years,” Mitch was saying. “This man was out there watching that boy, likely doing things to him.”
“Absolutely ridiculous,” Mr. Buble said.
“You need to quiet down, Mitch,” a woman was saying.
“Lady,” Mitch said fiercely, “when a man speaks, you gotta listen to the full story.”
Victor rolled his eyes.
“I’ll tell you who I need to listen to,” the woman barked back. “You come into my office trying to tell me this man, whom I was just having a conversation with, ran outside in enough time to do everything you were saying?”
Things were quiet for a minute and Mitch sputtered. “I was surprised, too. He spends a lot of time here with children…”
“He’s a tutor. Of course he’s with children. And your accusations are more than dangerous.” The more she spoke, the sterner she became. “Where is this boy you’re talking about?”
“He ran off,” Mitch said.
“I can call him,” Mr. Buble said.
“You’ll just tell him to lie,” Mitch spat back.
“I’m right here,” Victor said, unable to take Mitch’s attack on Mr. Buble anymore. He stood in the doorway, peering in.
The woman had gray hair tied in a bun on her head, with curls framing her face, plump and with glasses lowered, attached to a string. She picked up the glasses, putting them to her eyes to look at him. “You’re him?”
“I am. I was here not long ago with Mr. Buble getting assistance with something I was working on.”
“You’re Victor Morgan,” Mitch snarled. “This kid’s a rich brat who got so drunk at his own party the other day.”
“I am Victor Morgan.” He stood taller and stared down Mitch
square in the eye. “That does not discount what I’m saying.” He waved a hand in Mitch’s direction while talking to both the librarian and Mr. Buble. “The first time I was here, he kept walking by and watching what I was doing, leaving me completely uncomfortable.”
“I’m not allowed to walk in the library?” Mitch countered.
“Hush,” the librarian said. “Continue, Victor.”
“And when I was downtown, I talked with a kid there…” Victor described him, told them his name and what he had said. “And then just now I wasn’t parked outside with a friend of mine for two minutes in the lot, having a conversation, when he comes out to us, sticking his fingers in the window and threatening to use his authority to lie and say we were fooling around… when were just talking. I was scared. Mr. Buble made him back off and he weaseled his way back inside to lie about Mr. Buble, probably hoping if he was first to say something, that you’d believe him.”
“You stupid kid,” Mitch said.
Victor picked his head up, blazing with a fury at being called a liar. “You know who I am. My family.”
“You were kicked out.” He pointed a finger at him. “No one should trust you. You’re nothing but a brat kid who thinks he’s better than everyone else because he has money.”
“Enough,” the woman said. “Mitch, you’ve two people here telling me you’re not even where you’re supposed to be, which is in this library doing your job.”
“But…”
“I need you to go home. You’re suspended until we can get to the bottom of this.”
Mitch threw up his hands, ripped off his name tag and threw it against the wall close to where Victor was standing.
Victor dodged but then got out of the way of the door.
Mitch walked past him, a slew of loud curses and hollers echoed through the hallway in his wake. He knocked over a brochure display on the way out.
This hadn’t been what they wanted. However, he was escalating to something dangerous. He definitely shouldn’t be around children. Using his perceived authority as an adult to make kids and teens feel like they’d get into trouble and do whatever he wanted them to do was a bad thing. It infuriated Victor how he treated everyone around him.
The librarian put two fingers at her temples and rubbed in circles. “I knew… I knew letting him transfer here was a mistake.”
“It’s not your fault,” Mr. Buble said. “The other library should have handled this directly.”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to not talk about it for a while. I’ll have to take this to people higher up than me and figure out what to do. I’d like to have him let go, but we’d like to do so without parents being concerned with bringing their children to the library.”
Mr. Buble nodded stiffly. “I can be a witness or help with damage control if parents are wondering about him.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m hoping to find a good solution and he will be let go without any repercussions. I’ll have to do better inquiries in the future when bringing in someone new. Clearly criminal background checks don’t always share the bigger picture.”
There was more to talk about. They spent time writing down everything that happened as a witness statement so the librarian could put together a report. Mr. Buble had to assure the librarian many, many times that it was one person, caught quickly, and hopefully no damage done and children could feel safe coming to the library.
Victor waited for Mr. Buble to suggest the alternative job for Mitch, the one with the psychiatrists’ college, but he never mentioned it.
After some time, the meeting was over and Victor followed Mr. Buble out of the library. The parking lot was dark, and they waited in the doorway, ready to head back in again, just in case Mitch decided to wait and confront them.
“Do you think we should push for him to get that other job now?” Victor asked. “Not that he deserves it…”
When he spoke, Mr. Buble was calm, almost Zen, and with that same teaching voice he’d used before when asking his questions. “What do we do with those who have done wrong? Give them no option but to continue to commit crimes? Or give them space and the keys to take care of themselves and every opportunity to improve?”
There was a clear answer in his tone. They had to continue to push for his removal but to a location where he’d likely get more help. Otherwise, the man was condemned to eventually going overboard and into a jail system.
To help those who would never do the same for you, though sometimes those people become impossible to help. This alternative would likely be his last resort.
Arcato
(Usually used as a direction in music, referring typically to a violin bow movement across the strings)
Sang
It was only just a couple more minutes of standing around when Mr. Blackbourne, wearing his usual gray pants, white shirt and maroon tie, but sans the jacket, came in. The black framed glasses framed his stunning face perfectly.
Somehow, after spending so much time with Mr. Buble lately and feeling the need to sit up straighter and paranoid about my clothing choices and so forth, it was similar to how Mr. Blackbourne had me feeling when I was around him. However, instead of looking to earn his respect, I now realized the complete difference between them.
For Mr. Blackbourne, my heart raced for different reasons near him. It was a feeling I shared with the other guys, but this one was more electrified. It was enough that I wanted to stand straighter so I wouldn’t shake and look so scared around him.
I was also still completely embarrassed by what happened earlier with Kota’s car.
He came up beside me and I hung up. He’d had his phone in his palm. He turned his off, placing it in his pocket. “Miss Sorenson… good to see you this evening.”
“Mr. Blackbourne,” I said quietly, realizing it was probably not good to appear to rendezvous with the current local principal in any personal nature. We had to keep it looking a little professional.
No questions were asked. Nothing about my earlier mess up with the car, or this current situation. It was just us now.
There was a short glance around us, as he surveyed the location and the people nearby. “I’d like to pick up something for the kids while we’re here. Some sort of peace offering. We will be strangers entering their home.”
He made a good point.
“We don’t know what they might like,” I said.
“We also don’t know what they might be allergic to,” he countered.
There were displays near the bakery, along with a fridge section for ice cream cakes and so forth. The grocery had to have something that would be ideal. I looked around, considering our options. “Something fruit, and something sweet but without gluten?” I couldn’t think of other allergies to worry about. Nuts? What would be a safe bet?
He and I parted ways for just a short time, always within eyesight. We scoured for options in the prepared bakery area.
When we found each other again, he was holding a banana crème pie. I was holding a ready-made gelatin with fruit inside.
He nodded approvingly. “We just need some whipped cream to top it and it’ll be enough.”
I almost wished we’d had Luke here. He would have known right away what to get.
Speaking of… “Did you come here alone?” I asked him.
“I was still at the school. Not alone, there was staff around. I was waiting for them to finish before I left.”
“…Alone?”
There was a small lift at the corner of his mouth, the millimeter smile that appeared, just for a second. “I was going to wait for Mr. Lee and Mr. Griffin to arrive when Victor called.”
He broke protocol. Granted, it had been a crazy day.
“You’re working later and later,” I said.
“Four more months,” he said. “It won’t be for forever.” When we reached a display for whipped cream, he picked up a container and motioned toward the cashier line.
<
br /> I went ahead, placing mine on an empty conveyor belt near a cash register with a bored looking woman who smiled pleasantly but with a tiredness behind it.
I shared a similar, even if brief, smile. It felt later in the evening because the sun set so soon in the middle of winter. They’d close in an hour. It was a long day for me, too. It wasn’t even over yet.
Mr. Blackbourne reacted shortly after placing down his items and then answered his phone. I thought I heard Kota’s voice.
I tried not to listen but I wanted to know about his car. Was it fixable? It didn’t sound like they were talking about it.
Was he mad?
It was three quick swipes of the desserts across the scanner, so it didn’t take long for the woman to ring us up. However, Mr. Blackbourne still spoke to Kota on the phone. I wasn’t sure he realized we were ready. I didn’t have cash with me at all. I had a small suspicion talking on the phone in line was more to avoid recognition of any sort, just in case.
Hesitantly, I tugged gently at the sleeve of his shirt.
Without looking at me, likely turned away so the woman wouldn’t overhear too much, he passed me his wallet.
Why my heart raced at him so casually passing this over to me, I wouldn’t know. His trust in me perhaps? Something that felt almost intimate, like a couple would do with each other.
I grimaced, opening it and luckily finding cash inside. I passed a twenty to her, pocketed the change and his wallet and collected the bagged items.
He was still turned away and talking.
I tugged again at his sleeve, indicating we could go.
He immediately turned toward the door, with an apologetic wave to the woman for being on the phone and so rude.
As he turned, his hand caught mine, just the pinkie, as I was letting go of his sleeve.
He held it for one second, and tugged, like he intended to hold my hand leaving the store.
Shortly after, he released it but continued to walk close with me, like we were together, but he knew better than to hang on to my hand in public.
I floated all the way outside, not even paying attention to anyone else around us or the coldness or what I was carrying. All I could do was smell his spring soap scent and follow his movements.
