by Nancy Allan
“Find a way.”
I thought about that. It just wouldn’t happen. Even if they did fully appreciate the danger, they don’t run from things. It wasn’t their way. “What about you, Dell? You can’t go back to Mount Olympic. Want to join me at John Huntley?”
“I need to move on, Ashla.”
I fell back in my chair and stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“The insurance company wrote off our house. I deposited the check into Mom’s savings account a couple of weeks ago. She had it transferred into my education fund. I’m the only heir, so that money will pay for my education like she wanted, and take care of the bills while I go to school.”
I felt the loss of his friendship closing in around me. “Where will you go?”
“San Francisco. I’ll finish high school down there and then go on to the University of California.”
I was at a loss for words. My emotions were flying all over the map and I couldn’t figure out why his moving to California was hitting me so hard. I was happy to hear his plans for university, but I really didn’t want him to go so far away.
“You don’t look thrilled.”
“I suppose you picked UCSF because of their medical school.”
“That and lower fees for California residents.”
Now I understood, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
His expression grew tender. “Ashla, you’re in a bad place here. Come with me. Or at least give it some thought. I know you have a wonderful family that you’re close to, but you need a fresh start, a new look, and a new name.”
My thoughts whirled in my head. He was right, I did need a fresh start. I had a new look to draw on, but I didn’t tell him that. He was right about the name change too. I leaned forward and reached for his fingers. “Dell, I just found out that my dad has cancer. I can’t leave him.”
After a while he said, “I understand.”
Celeste
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Habits . . . schedules . . . who would have thought that those two important components of Ashla’s life, and my own, would facilitate what happened next.
It was a moonless, cool Monday evening. We had spent two strenuous hours at the same pool we’d gone to for years, practicing with a team of girls who continued to act as though Ashla and I were invisible. Afterward, Brenna, Tara, Ashla, and I piled into Kim’s van. As always, Kim pulled along the curb across the street from my house to drop Ashla and me. That side of the street is unlit, undeveloped, and overgrown with scrub, brush, and stunted trees. We said our goodbyes, stepped out of the van, and waited for Kim to pull away. In that split second, I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. That was the only warning I had that something was terribly wrong. There wasn’t even time to scream for help.
A gloved hand slammed over my mouth and I was lifted off the sidewalk, half carried, half dragged backward into the dark, damp overgrowth. I glimpsed another man doing the same thing to Ashla and knew instinctively that we were in serious trouble. I kicked out, twisted, turned, and pulled hard to get away. Pouring every ounce of strength into fighting him, I booted his legs with all my might and screamed at the top of my lungs, but his hand was suffocating. He kneed me in the stomach and I doubled over, my voice and breath gone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other man, dressed in black, and wearing a ski mask, drag Asha toward me. She was kicking and hitting for all she was worth. He slugged her and she went limp.
“Ashla!” I screamed, but a fist came up under my jaw. I fell back, stunned. Blood filled my mouth. We were deep in the brush, obscured by darkness. Our families were only a few hundred feet away, but they may as well have been across town. Somehow, we had to get ourselves out of this before things went too far.
A mask appeared in front of my face and again I smelled tobacco. A husky voice growled, “Where’s your friend, Delta?” The voice sounded familiar.
I tried to sit up. A boot flew out and struck my chest and I bounced off the ground. His next words swirled around my head. “Answer me! I have no patience for games.” It was Mako’s buddy, Crip!
The pain in my chest was excruciating. I couldn’t speak and could barely breathe. I feared for our lives. Somehow, we had to get out of this alive.
The other guy said: “Hey, this one’s coming around. Yo! Wake up. Pay attention. Ya hear? Either you tell us where your friend, Delta is or you’re going to wish you did. So, this is the deal: you and the Goddess want to walk again, start talkin’.” I recognized that voice too. He was a Tatantula…one of the worst of them. They called him Rapter. An apt nickname.
Two powerful hands reached down and grabbed me, throwing me to my feet. He shoved me over toward Ashla. She was on her back on the ground, Raptor’s boot was on her chest, pinning her.
A damp gloved hand wrapped itself around my neck and squeezed. “Take a good look at the Goddess, here,” he ordered Ashla. “You want her to be around tomorrow, you tell us where Delta is before we do something else you’ll be sorry for.” He squeezed hard and I gagged violently.
Fear pumped through my veins like ice water. Would our lives end right here, a few feet from our own homes? Was this it? No way! That was not going to happen! Suddenly, I was angry. We were not going to be taken out by two losers. Not without a fight.
In one quick move, I drove my knee into Crip's crotch. He doubled over with a yell and I sent my fingers up into his eye sockets. I was bumped from behind and whirled around, expecting to see the Raptor coming at me, but instead, I saw that Ashla was standing and he was on the ground.
“Go! Go!” she screamed. We dashed for the road, yelling, “Help! Help!” as loud as possible. Racing through the scrag, scrub, and brush without stopping, we were driven by sheer terror and the fear they were right behind us. We hit the sidewalk still screaming at the top of our lungs. My house was the closest. The front door flew open and my mother appeared. I yelled, “Call the police. Call 911. Hurry!”
It was a long night. Police, hospital, X-rays, questions, and more questions. Ashla and I could barely move by the time we left the hospital. Our bodies were swollen and screamed with pain, but we had no broken bones. We would heal, but that attack would haunt us for a long time. Perhaps forever.
My dad, being the pastor at our church, offered self defense courses a couple of times a year and made sure Ashla and I attended. We were grateful for them now.
We returned to my house. I was sitting on one couch with my parents and across from us, on the other couch, was Ashla and her parents. Deputy Shirley Mason paced menacingly between us. Her questioning was relentless. “So, you didn’t recognize those two men and you have no idea why they would jump you, drag you into the bushes, and beat you? Hmmn. Do you think it was a random attack?” She cast her eyes my way, expecting an answer. Ashla and I were wiped and she knew it. She was trying to wear us down. I looked across at Ashla who was giving me a very pointed look. Unfortunately, the Deputy saw it.
“Ah-h, I get it. There’s some big issue here that neither of you girls want to share.” She turned her back on us and walked out to the hall, her head bent, her index finger touching her upper lip thoughtfully. When she turned around, her eyes were on Ashla. “Just so you know, Miss Cameron, I woke up your principal who gave me your school counselor’s home number. Sue Latimer and I had a nice little midnight chat. So, My Dear, it’s like this. I know what has been going on at your school. I know about your past injuries, hospitalizations, the drug overdose, and the fact that you’ve changed schools.”
I watched Ashla for a reaction. She glanced at me and I saw defeat. She was going to tell whatever was needed to get Deputy Mason off our case. The minutes ticked by. All eyes were on Ashla. We waited.
But I was wrong. She said nothing.
The deputy’s eyes never left her face. “What are you afraid of?” she asked suspiciously. “Or maybe I should ask who you are afraid of?” She turned back to me. “Could it be those troublemakers from your school, by chance?
I believe they call themselves, the Tarantulas.” When I said nothing, she looked back down at Ashla.
“Afraid of retaliation, perhaps? Think they’ll come after you again? Hmmn?” Ashla remained mute. The deputy looked at each one of us. “For crying out loud, somebody say something. You girls could’ve been killed tonight. You know that?” She paced some more before stopping in front of me. “For your information, Miss Celeste, we picked up two teenagers fitting the description you gave. They were hightailing it over toward Bellevue. We found two ski masks and two pair of gloves in the back seat of their car. My guess is, your DNA is on them. Both of these kids have a history of violence and are well known to us. Unfortunately, they are seventeen and therefore juveniles in the eyes of the law.”
“Meaning no charges will be laid,” my dad said pointedly.
“Not unless these girls identify them.”
Ashla finally spoke: “The two guys you picked up…are they Tarantulas?”
“You know it.”
Oh, we knew it all right. I sank back into the couch and closed my eyes.
Justin
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
My small flatscreen TV was on my desk with the volume low so I could concentrate on the last of my homework and finish it before Mole arrived. I was so focused on it, that I would have missed the news reporter saying, “Green Forest Way” had Mole not made a point of telling me where Ashla Cameron lived. My head jerked up and I hit the up volume button on the remote. The reporter was standing in front of a vacant lot.
“…the attack took place here, on this empty lot, on a quiet street not known for crime. But around nine last night, two masked men attacked the two teenage girls and dragged them into this vacant lot behind me. Both girls live directly across the street from where the assault occurred. Fortunately, they managed to fight off their attackers and call out for help. Their injuries are not serious. One of these girls made news last fall following a skiing accident that left our own Justin Ledger…”
“Holy crap!” Mole's voice.
I whipped around to see him standing behind me and then turned back to the TV. The reporter was wrapping up: ". . . a strange correlation to an even stranger situation…”
“I knew it!” Mole shouted. “Figured it was her.”
“Jeez, Man, you could at least make a small amount of noise when you walk in.”
He ignored me. “I’ve been doing a little research. Lots of strange things have been happening in and around Mount Olympic.”
I swung back around to face him. “Yeah? Like what?”
He backed up and sat down on the futon. “You remember hearing about the chick who overdosed a while back?”
I didn’t, and shook my head, studying Mole. He was the nocturnal investigator of all things strange—the guy who loved to connect the dots. I never took his hunches lightly, as they were usually right on target. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he had a police scanner going in his room day and night. Sherlock in the making. “You’re not suggesting it was Ashla Cameron who overdosed?”
“Yup. The very same.”
That was hard to believe. “You’re kidding. Why would she do something like that? It doesn't make sense.” I pictured the physically trim girl who came flying at me. Why would a girl like Ashla Cameron overdose? She had the courage to run the West Face in horrific conditions, the know-how to save my life, the kind heart to stay with me, and enough beauty to stop any guy cold. “Was it an accident, or what?” I asked Mole, knower of all things.
“Who knows? Maybe she can’t take being the dreg of Mount Olympic High.”
I was taken aback. “Explain, Man.”
Mole shrugged. “Basically, she’s hated for what she did to you. And rightly so.”
I shook my head. "Are you saying that most of the school has turned on her because of the ski accident?"
"Right."
"And you think because of that, she OD'd?"
"Yup."
I shook my head. “No way, Man. She wouldn't do that. Not Ashla Cameron. There’s got to be more to it.”
“I didn’t say she tried to “do” herself. There’s no evidence of that. Could have been a fluke, although they were giving it to her pretty bad when it happened.”
“How do you know all this?” Mole now went to a private school, but he still held an interest in his old high school.
“I went over there.”
Mole had made it a point to learn everything he could about Ashla Cameron. He found out early on that she and I both went to Mount Olympic and were on the same school field trip that fateful day. He tracked down her address, learned what her parents did for a living, and their current financials. Knowing Mole, he probably pulled driving records and credit reports, did background checks, and anything else he could think of. He called this his armchair investigation. “No doubt you did your “AI” on them after the accident.”
“Natch. Meanwhile, with all the stuff that was popping up at her high school, I figured it warranted a “DI”. After all, she totaled my closest friend.” A “DI” was Mole’s Direct Investigation on scene.
“You forgot to mention the DI.” No surprise. Mole never gave away his leads, research, or results until he had solved the mystery, or whatever it was he was digging into.
He shrugged. “Long story short, I got an earful while I was at our old school.”
I waited, a weird feeling creeping up my neck.
“Ashla Cameron is persona non grata, big time. Remember Mako? The jerk who put the water bomb in my locker last year?"
"Yeah, a real piece of work."
He nailed her with a rock to the head that put her in the hospital. Concussion. Anyway, this guy is one of many going after her. Things have deteriorated to the point where her parents had to pull her out of there.”
“So where is she now?”
“Home.”
Mole blamed Ashla for the accident and his dislike for her oozed from his voice. This irritated me no end. “Hey, Mole, just remember she saved my life, okay? Don’t forget that, Man.” I reprimanded him.
He pulled an apple out of his pocket and nonchalantly took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then before swallowing, he said: “She also ruined it.” He waved an arm at my legs. “Man, I don’t know how you can’t hate that chick.”
“I don’t. And what you’re telling me is just crazy.” I picked up my cell. “Give me her address.”
Mole gulped down the hunk of apple, pulled out his phone, and brought the address up on the screen. “Here,” he said reluctantly passing it to me.
I went over there the next afternoon. It was a beautiful spring day, mild and warm. A Saturday that hints of summer. Winter had hung around too long. I searched out the address and parked in front of her house. As the news reporter had suggested, it was a quiet community of older, well-kept homes.
Leaving the truck windows down, I stepped out, grabbed my crutches, and headed up the wooden steps of the front porch. Nervous, and more than a little anxious, I rang the doorbell, going over what I had planned to say. No one answered even though I detected movement through the side glass. Disappointed, I returned to the front walk.
Ashla Cameron, with her head of golden red hair and gorgeous green eyes, still came alive now and then, in my dreams. Instead of these vivid dreams waning away over time, they persisted . . . usually in the context of me walking freely by her side. Our hands were always linked. I could actually feel the warmth of her palm, which would make my heart pound and awaken me. When I last dreamed of Ashla, a bizarre thing had happened. I had somehow transposed her with Janine. Instead of Janine working with me in the pool, it had been Ashla. My dreams had been strange all my life, but those with Ashla were so realistic, they were troubling.
Whether it was because of them or not, I had always felt I would see her again one day, but I guess it wasn’t going to be today. I considered the house next door and decided to ask the neighbor if I had the right address. Mole had been known to make a mistake no
w and then, although he never admitted to it.
No doorbell, so I knocked loudly and heard sounds inside the house. Footsteps approached. The door opened and my jaw dropped. So did hers.
“Celeste!” I blurted out.
It took her a full minute to reply. “Justin!”
This made no sense. Celeste living next door to Ashla Cameron? What were the odds? I voiced my thoughts aloud. “You live next door to Ashla Cameron?” That wasn’t exactly what I had intended to ask, but it was out there now. When she didn’t answer, I tried again. “No one seems to be home next door, so I came here to ask if Ashla Cameron actually lives there. I wanted to be sure I had the right house.” I scratched my head in confusion and mumbled, “This is really weird.”
Celeste seemed at a loss for words. Her mouth opened, but she said nothing, so I tried to explain why I was there. “I saw last night’s news and heard what happened to Ashla and another girl . . .” My eyes fixed on a huge bruise along Celeste's jaw. Part of my brain tried to process this while another part concentrated on trying to finish the sentence. “Anyway, as I was saying, a friend of mine brought me up to date on what’s been going on at school since the accident. He said things had gotten so bad that her parents had to pull her out, so I decided to come by and see how she was doing. See what I could do to help.”
Celeste’s large blue eyes were staring at me, but still she said nothing. I blundered on. “Does she actually live next door?” She was gaping at me like I had two heads. Celeste was the strangest girl. Always tongue-tied.
Her head moved slowly up and down, so I figured that was a “yes.” I studied the bruises on her jaw and neck and it hit me. “You are the other girl. The one who was attacked along with Ashla.”
Her hand flew to her neck and she dropped her head, as if embarrassed.
“Jeez!” It looked like they had tried to strangle her.
Finally, Celeste spoke, her voice hoarse, her eyes still fixed on my feet. “I thought they were going to kill us. We were lucky to get away.”
