by Adalynn Rafe
Cecily’s eyes opened wide, filled with panic. Not again, she surely thought.
“I heard the psychologist say that you were going through minor psychosis, the nightmares gave it away.” His body pressed tightly against the length of her back, his arms wrapping tightly around her middle.
Her eyes squeezed shut, her face tensed in dreadful anticipation.
“Do you dream of dying? Even Iles has seen a painting suggesting you are suicidal.” He moved away from her, suddenly leaving her alone.
Breathing became a chore for her. She wondered where he went . . . where he perched.
“I’m afraid to say that no one will believe a brat who just wants attention.” Cold hands returned to her shoulders and he breathed on her neck, the warm exhale traveling down her exposed cleavage. “Not when they have me, the advocate for truth.”
Leison’s feet were planted firmly in the community, so firmly that he seemed like an ally to all. They’d never think him a rapist. He was right, just as he wanted to be. She truly was alone in this––all alone.
She knew she could go to no one. The last thing she wanted was to be mocked and laughed at because no one believed her over getting molested by the sick man. She was alone. We were alone.
“I hate you,” she whispered, her jaw tensed.
“Hatred is just a warped form of love.” Leison swept the hair behind her back to expose her neck. “And you love feeling victimized.”
“Why didn’t you just rape me when you had the chance!? Get it over with!” A whine escaped her and she cried, showing her fragility. “And let me be––”
Leison leaned closer—the musky smell of him making her even sicker, his breath hot on her clammy skin. “Only the virgin can be used in initiation.” He nuzzled into her neck and took a long breath, savoring the fear that tainted her sweat. A satisfied smile crossed his dark face.
“Cecily!” I screamed. “Just fight him!” I couldn’t stand it! “Fight him!”
“Your time is far from over, Cecily,” he whispered in her ear. Her eyes filled with horror as his mouth met her skin. After one small kiss, he reeled back before sinking his teeth in, puncturing the flesh. “Shh,” he motioned, covering her mouth to stifle her screams.
I smacked my neck, feeling the burning of the bite on my own skin. Cecily crumbled down, screaming and sobbing as he held her up. My blood boiled. How dare he do that to me!
I charged for the sick freak, but fell straight through him, leaving me defeated and letdown. This wasn’t fair.
Once she went from screaming to whimpering, he set her on the floor. Leison knelt down and met his dark, glowering eyes to hers. Her blood barely spotted his lips. “Bad things will happen if you tell, far worse than initiation.” He stood up and turned his back to her—her cue to leave.
The bell rang. Time for school to end. Time for her to run.
Cecily stumbled toward the door in such a pathetic manner that my heart ached.
Upon releasing the metal handle, the door opened and she fell into the hallway onto the linoleum floor. Everyone stared at her and started laughing. Her hair was a mess with her makeup smeared everywhere. Ew, this looked bad––really bad! She looked slutty, more so than even Sabrina. Mr. Leison stood in the doorway, watching her with an amused smile. The top two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up, as if he’d been doing some manual labor. This was most certainly bad.
That’s when the rumors began. “Cecily Wolf seduced a teacher, what a skank.”
What I hadn’t noticed before was Stacy crouched on the floor, trying to help me up. Sympathy spread across her face, not pity, but sympathy. Hazel was heading downstairs from English class with no idea of what had happened, nor would she.
Darien glared at Mr. Leison, a look of hatred filling his face. Darien knew what truly happened that day, and that it wasn’t Cecily seducing Leison. Though Darien was rather weird, he really did have a good heart. He silently stood up for me as he stared the teacher down.
Cecily regained her feet, took her things from Stacy, and ran away down the hall as tears streamed down her paled face. As she ran, I disappeared from the scene and ended up standing next to the turquoise pond once more, now still and serene. Kelly sat on the ground next to Bandit. They stared at the water; Bandit panted and Kelly analyzed what he had seen so far in my life.
“Mr. Leison really did assault me. Violated me.” Shock still filled me. “Threatened me. He made feel so infantile, like I had no one who’d help me. Even went so far as mentioning my sister . . .”
Kelly stood quickly to his feet.
I clenched my jaw. “He knew that I was suicidal; he played that card to his advantage. Leison put that thought in my mind!” Tears started forming in my eyes. “Why did this happen? Of course I went to drugs and alcohol as a last resort . . .”
“Cecily, I’m so sorry,” Kelly said, rubbing my shoulders.
I cried loudly, burying my face in my hands. “I hate him!”
Kelly held me in his arms and I sobbed into his shoulder. My heart was crumbling all over again and my entire body felt broken. It wasn’t fair!
Bandit scratched at my leg before sitting near my feet—his way of showing compassion. My world on Earth fell apart, ripping the fabric that connected my loved ones to their semi-sane lives. But at least Bandit and Kelly were beside me helping me find a way back home—wherever that could be.
* * *
Things went dark once again, but this time I had Kelly’s arms wrapped around me.
Across the lot sat the precinct. Street lights sent an orange glow onto the dark asphalt. It was a small building, with a few windows, glass doors, and a wooden shingled roof. Two or three police cars, Ford sedans from the early two thousands, were parked in front of the building. The autumn night was young, yet filled with darkness.
Cecily—wearing a black tracksuit and ball cap now—paced along the hidden sidewalk lined with large bushes holding changing leaves on one side and tall trees on the other, planted in a strip of yellowing grass. There didn’t seem to be much traffic on the street beside her.
“Sheriff Copper,” she practiced, quietly to herself. “Alan.” She stopped and shook her head. “Sheriff, something’s wrong—” Anger contorted across her face and she let out a small scream as she kicked the bushes. That anger quickly turned into a sob. She was terrified.
“Hunting season is always the most exciting time of the year.” A chuckle released from Sheriff Copper. “Have you ever been hunting?”
I looked at the precinct again and saw that Sheriff Copper, back to us, stood outside the station besides a stranger with dark hair. Copper blocked most of the view of the man, except for his face.
I moved closer to see the other man’s face more clearly. “Not exactly,” he answered.
Kelly grabbed my arm and pointed to Cecily. “She knows who he is.”
Looking from the terror-filled face of Cecily and back to the man, I realized who he was, too. It was Leison, sinking his teeth into Copper. She really was alone in this!
Cecily covered her mouth. She ran for her life as if a demon chased her with a cattle prod. My heart hurt for her, I was terrified for her, for me! It wasn’t right!
The men laughed and I moved closer. Was this a nightmare or was Leison really talking to Sheriff Copper?
Kelly touched my arm softly. “I think this is worse than we thought.”
“Good chat, my boy,” Sheriff Copper said, before brushing an orange leaf out of his white hair. “Oh, and let me know any more about the three girls who’ve been kidnapped. The force has scouted the mountains and mines . . . not a trace of remains. Something’s not right here, Deputy. “
Leison nodded slowly, methodically. His dark eyes glanced at the dark range of mountains and back to Sherriff. “I will look into it.” Head tilted just barely, a dark gleam filled his eyes. “If there are any remains, I assure you they’ll be taken care of properly.”
My stomach felt si
ck and I covered it with a hand. “Kelly, he’s a bad man, worse than I thought! Look at the evil in his eyes! How’s he fooling anyone if he’s supposed to be a teacher . . . and a cop?”
“He’s a man of many faces, Cecily,” he replied warily.
Copper’s shoulders slumped a little. “I think that this case is more in depth than it appears. I think we need to call the FBI.” Leison’s eyes narrowed. “Trust me, Deputy. I would never call the bureau without valid reasoning.”
“What is the valid reasoning then?” Leison’s eyebrow cocked and he waited.
Sighing loudly, Copper pointed a demanding finger at Leison. “Just for once, do as I say. I really think we need to involve them––”
“Look, Sherriff.” With hands above his belt, Leison became the alpha suddenly. “I’ve talked to an Agent already. They are far too busy to care about our little drama. They said it’s not a big deal.”
Copper seemed confused and almost annoyed that he’d go behind his back and talk to the FBI without his knowledge. “Which agent? And when exactly did you do this?”
“Special Agent Reinhardt. She specializes in these cases.” He looked toward the mountains in the west once more. He hid his expression well, appearing stone-faced. “I’d say it was only a few hours ago that I contacted her.”
Sheriff Copper didn’t like this. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I meant to tell you, really. I was just too busy, Alan. You know how it gets sometimes,” Leison replied, staring into his aged face again. “Agent Reinhardt and I have crossed paths once before, long ago.”
“Well, we’ll just keep ourselves open to any help we can get. It would be horrible if those girls are starving to death––or something worse,” Copper mentioned, a bite in his words––a warning, more so.
Maybe Alan wasn’t as stupid as I thought. His keen intuition had made him Sheriff, along with his charisma and desire to do good things. Copper’s sixth-sense worked on most people—except for Leison. Copper was blind to Leison and his demonic charm.
“What are you referring to, Sheriff?” Leison asked, giving him a cold stare.
Sheriff Copper turned his head and I could see half his face, filled with lines of age and exhaustion. “I was thinking that this sounds oddly similar to the case from Oregon. The one with the serial killer who kidnaps the girls in high school. He hides them in caves to starve to death.”
“Do you really think there is a similarity?”
“If we are dealing with that man, then the FBI needs to know. Especially if he has crossed the state line. It’s their jurisdiction now.”
Leison sighed. “Sheriff, I’ve taken care of the FBI. They assured me there is nothing to worry about.”
Sheriff Copper looked sick over it. “I will worry.”
Leison’s eyes narrowed. “Sheriff, nothing of that sort will go on in this town. The killer gathers his victims far before he hides them. Have you heard any upsetting news from young women, anything to suggest foul play in our small town?”
“No, I haven’t. If anything were happening, I’d be the first to know. This community is like a family—” he looked down for a second. “With our force, we’ll stop anything.” Copper gave him a genuine smile
Leison’s eyes went dark, but he smiled. “I’m sure you are right.”
I couldn’t believe it. Copper, you big oaf! Could he not see that Leison was the bad guy? I had left my town in worse shape than I could ever imagine.
What if Leison wasn’t just a rapist? What if he was the serial killer?
And . . . who was next?
Chapter 13
An Uncle Sam poster hung on the wall. You know . . . the guy that wore the blue ribbon with white stars on a white top hat. He’s always pointing a finger in your face and had a white beard. He also sported a blue jacket, white shirt, and red bow tie. Yeah, you know Uncle Sam. Every great American would.
I WANT YOU FOR THE U.S. ARMY, ENLIST NOW; It read below the Uncle Sam drawing.
Those posters were epic. Starting with World War I, they became a hit and had carried on ever since. Nowadays, though, it seemed that the words were replaced with things like I WANT YOU TO TURN OFF TALK RADIO, I WANT YOU TO FIRE CONGRESS and my favorite, I WANT YOU FOR THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE.
Honestly though, which teenager in the modern days and age cared about talk radio or congress? Those are old people topics. Unless you were a debate student, of course. My mother always said, “Teenagers need to understand what is going on in the world of politics today because they will be in charge of the world of tomorrow.”
Regardless, politics made me gag. There were too many angry people who yelled and screamed and manipulated each other in politics, and maybe that was why teenagers didn’t care. We got yelled at enough by society. So, we, the teenage population of America, treated dating books and risqué magazines as bibles, and reality TV shows as political influence. Meaning, the world of tomorrow is royally screwed. We are all going to hell.
Kelly found the place painstakingly familiar; I watched as it shot across his eyes. And I felt pretty positive that I no longer stood in the twenty-first century anymore. No one in my day and age would have left this poster alone; they would have to mock and put graffiti all over it. But where we were, in its age of time, the poster was left alone to resemble a beacon of patriotism and hope for a better world: all through the efforts of war.
Glancing around me, I found that we had landed ourselves in a school building. Young men were dressed in slacks and suspenders, some nice, some not. Their hair was combed back with what looked like grease. Young ladies wore skirts and semi-nice blouses and sweaters. Their hair was either up in honeycombed-shaped buns or collarbone length and curled under. Of course, lipstick appeared graciously applied.
One girl about my age, or so I assumed, passed us. On her calves, directly down the middle, a line had been drawn with either eyeliner or an eyebrow pencil. It resembled nylon stockings. I learned about it in history once. Then I realized what time period this was––the nineteen-forties during World War II.
Kelly stood frozen in shock.
Three men opened their lockers, each with a helmet and a pinup girl attached . . . plus something about Kilroy. I guess you had to be there, right? I assumed that most of these boys had dads or brothers or cousins in the Army or Armed Forces.
Kelly stepped into a common room. In the corner sat a recruitment table. On the other side of the room was a bunch of tables filled with 1940’s high school students. Tall hair cemented in place, plastered faces and fake smiles, high-waist trousers and ugly suspenders––what a different world I grew up in.
Kelly clearly saw him before I did. The old Kelly was arguing at the recruitment table with a man in a green Army uniform. My Kelly moved closer to the scene and I followed him. A sign hanging on the booth read “Community Recruitment Booth.” It was open to the public.
“Fine,” Kelly muttered, ending whatever discussion he had with the recruitment officer. He mumbled something under his breath that I assumed was not meant to be good.
The officer showed just a flash of sympathy before turning professional. “Sorry, son.”
Kelly puffed his chest and held his head high as he left the booth for the commons. “I will just join the Navy. I always did preferred ships over land,” he said to himself.
My eyes widened as I stared at my Kelly. He died in the water . . .
His lips were pursed into a thin white line. I almost didn’t exist to him, or so it felt. One thing was on his mind, and that was his death. I understood how he felt, how he’d do anything to change the past so that the present could be rewritten. The truth of it was that . . . it was done. We couldn’t take back the decisions that put us in our graves. Like one time when one of Adie’s earrings magically flew off the counter and into the toilet and I didn’t realize it until I flushed . . . I couldn’t take it back, ever.
Sitting at a table by himself, Kelly lowered his head into his hands and closed h
is eyes. I could clearly see that his heart was broken by the recruitment thing. There was so much pressure for men to go overseas back then. But it wasn’t just about pressure; it seemed a desire. A noble, worthy, honorable desire that those men had to fight for our country and her freedoms, to show the world what patriotism truly meant.
“Kelly, how’d it go?” Definitely suave, a man with black hair leaned on the table. He seemed well dressed for his country being in the middle of a war, with shiny black shoes and a white suit.
Kelly grumbled. “Go away, Johnny.”
“Come on! Tell me something.”
After looking at Johnny, Kelly budged. “They won’t draft me right now.”
Johnny gave him a look of so-what. “Did you at least get a place saver?”
“No. I don’t want to work with the Army anymore. I’m thinking Navy.”
Rolling his brown eyes, Johnny released a loud sigh. “Kelly, you hate boats.”
“I do not!” Kelly got defensive, his blue eyes filling with anger.
“Okay, okay. Calm down, big fella. You’ll get what you want.” Johnny’s eyes looked away as a smile appeared on his attractive face.
Kelly glanced over his shoulder to see Rosie and Anna sending flirtatious glances to Johnny. “See you tomorrow, Johnny.” Kelly sounded depressed, something I never ever saw in my Kelly.
Johnny clapped Kelly on the back. “You want to join us? At least come to the party tonight.”
Kelly shook his head. “No. I promised––”
“Yeah, yeah. You promised Mrs. Sorensen down the street that you’d help her with her farm. I know it, Kelly.” Johnny raised his dark eyebrow and flashed him a proud smile.
“Maybe when I’m done, I can swing by?” Kelly offered.
Johnny nodded his head. “You’re a good man, Kelly. And you’ll make a fantastic soldier.”
“And you?”
He flashed a cocky smile. “Someone has to invent the world of tomorrow.”
