Without Mercy

by Lisa Jackson

  “All of the professors are dedicated. Really into helping kids.”

  Shay just stared at her. Was this girl for real?

  Nona walked to her desk chair and offered her sickly smile, then glanced to the top of the door. Shay followed her gaze to what appeared to be a sprinkler set into the ceiling. Or was it? She glanced at Nona, who casually lifted one eyebrow. “I’ve been here since last May, and I can tell you that I was really messed up. Drugs. A boyfriend who, now I see, was abusive. I hated it here for the first few weeks. But after a while …” She shrugged. “I lost my bad attitude and saw this academy for what it really is.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Salvation. I was on the wrong path. I would have been dead before I was twenty-five if I hadn’t come here.”

  Shay wasn’t buying it. She glanced up at the cross.

  “You come here with Christ or is he a new friend?”

  Nona winced. “I took Jesus into my heart once I realized how much I needed him, how he was there for me, how through his love, I was brought here.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I don’t expect you to believe me. Not now.”

  Not ever!

  “But you will. Don’t you believe in God?”

  “Of course I do,” Shay said without a trace of sarcasm. “But in my world, God isn’t judgmental. Isn’t the old fire-and-brimstone, vengeful and wrathful God you know.”

  She expected Nona to shake her head, but it seemed she’d hit a nerve. “I know. Reverend Lynch is …”

  “Old school.”

  “Traditional. But Reverend McAllister, who everybody calls ‘Father Jake,’ he’s a lot more today. More relevant, I think. Spent time working in the inner city. You’ll like him. Everyone does.”

  “Father Jake? Is he a priest?” Shay asked, thinking about the freckled, sandy-haired clergyman with the dimple in his chin and a smile in his eyes.

  “No,” she said, smiling again, “but he did try it for a while, went to seminary school, I think, and discovered that he liked girls, so he switched.”

  “Just like that?” Shay said.

  “Who knows.” Nona shrugged. “Ask him. I’m sure he’d tell you.”

  Shay said, “Anything here you don’t like? Anything not”—she made air quotes with her fingers—“perfect?”

  “Sure. I hate Mrs. Pruitt’s tomato casserole. It’s gross.”

  “Mrs. Pruitt?”

  “She’s the head cook; everyone has to work with her, just like the other jobs around the school. We spend a week in the kitchen, a week in the barn, a week cleaning the dorms, and a week working outside around the grounds every month.”

  “Free labor,” Shay said.

  “It teaches us respect and responsibility and—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard the drill already. The brainwashing starts from day one.”

  Again Nona glanced to the sprinkler head. A warning? Or just a nervous habit? “So everything here is awesome?” Shay asked, and walked over to the desk. “Every little thing? I don’t think so.” She pushed herself onto the desktop and sat, her legs dangling as she looked at Nona. “I mean, other than the cook’s casserole?”

  Nona shook her head, but there was hesitation in her gaze, a tiny bit of fear. As she glanced out the window, she shielded her hand with her body, blocking it from the doorway, then opened her fist where a short message was inked onto her palm: Camera & mic recording.

  “Most of the food is okay,” Nona said, cutting Shay off before she could say a word, “but some of the chores are disgusting, like cleaning out the horse barn.” She exaggerated a shiver, but once more she glanced back to the doorway, then rolled her chair to the closet where she found a jar of hand cream on a shelf. With the aid of a tissue, she quickly erased the warning from her hand. When she glanced at her roommate again, her gaze said it all: Be careful. This place is dangerous. “Even mucking out the stalls is okay once you get used to it.”

  “Don’t think I ever will.”

  “It just takes time.” She tossed the smudged tissue into a trash can tucked under her desk. “Look, I’d better get to my homework. We’ve got a paper due in English tomorrow, and I need to study for a chemistry test.”

  Shay nodded and tried not to stare at the phony sprinkler head. Wasn’t it against the law to have a camera and listening device set up without a resident’s consent?

  She considered the myriad of papers she’d signed in the past few days, some of which she hadn’t bothered, in her agitated state, to read. Then there was everything Edie had put her John Hancock on while being so damned hell-bent on sending Shay down here. Dear old Mom … Edie would have signed anything to get her out of Seattle so she could be with that worm of a fiancé. It was all just sick.

  Suddenly claustrophobic, Shay felt as if the walls were closing in on her. She could barely breathe. When she looked over her shoulder to the sprinkler head, her blood turned to ice. Who was on the other side of the small camera? Who was watching her every move? Listening to anything she had to say? She wasn’t one to scare easily, but there was something off about this place, something evil.

  Stop it! That’s paranoid!

  But as she glanced out the window to the darkening night, the towering hills seemed dark and forbidding, barriers to the rest of the world. She felt small and helpless.

  Don’t go there! That kind of thinking is just what they want to break you down.

  As Nona snapped on her desk lamp and opened a thick chemistry textbook, Shay continued to stare out the window. She saw her own pale image shimmering in the reflection and Nona’s as she looked up and met Shay’s gaze in the glass.

  Her eyes were a warning.

  A warning that underlined Shay’s desperation. She had to find a way out of here and fast.

  CHAPTER 7

  “What do you mean, you haven’t heard from her?” Jules demanded as she sat at her desk, cell phone jammed to her ear.

  “That’s the way it works, Julia. You know that,” Edie explained, her voice tight. “There’s to be no contact for two weeks. Then just a short phone call. If she wants.”

  “But she’s your daughter. Underage. You should get a report.”

  “I can talk to the counselors at any time, just not your sister.”

  “That’s nuts.”

  “It’s their policy.”

  “Well, it’s crap. Shay’s just a kid.” But it was basically the same thing Analise had told her.

  “We’ve been through this. Blue Rock Academy knows what it’s doing. I trust them.”

  “But I want to talk to her.”

  “You can write a letter in care of the school.”

  “A letter? What is this, the Dark Ages?” Jules shoved back her chair and paced from one end of her small office to the other. “What about cell phones or e-mail or Facebook?”

  “Not allowed.”

  “Of course. The place is starting to sound Draconian, Mom.”

  “And you’re starting to sound like a drama queen! The very thing you accuse me of. Just slow down, give the school a chance. And, please, don’t go bothering Analise anymore.”

  “What?”

  “Eli called me, you know,” Edie said.

  Jules’s heart sank.

  “Of course he did.” What a pansy, running to Aunt Edie and tattling. Like a three-year-old.

  “You’re stirring up trouble,” Edie charged.

  “I’m looking for answers.”

  “Maybe you should worry more about your life and where it’s not going rather than obsess about your sister.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You tell me, Julia. You’re the one who’s divorced and not working. Right?”

  “Maybe I learned from the best,” she said quickly, and heard her mother gasp. Edie’s track record in marriage was always a forbidden subject.

  “Look, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, but you’ve got to quit attacking me, Mom. I just care about Shay.”
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  “Well, believe it or not, that makes two of us. Oh … I’ve got another call. It’s Grant. Gotta run. Bye.” She clicked off.

  Jules let out a sound of frustration. Shay had been in southern Oregon for three days, and Jules was even more convinced that Blue Rock Academy wasn’t the right place for her sister. Sure, Shay had a bad attitude and needed something to shock her out of her sullen, rebellious ways. But a boarding school where one girl had gone missing a few months back and a teacher had been let go because of sexual misconduct with a minor or something akin to it?

  Having read every article she could find on the Internet about Blue Rock, Jules had learned that it was founded in 1975 and was not associated with any other school. Blue Rock had been named for the color of some of the rocks in the caves nearby. It was an independent institution, was fully accredited, and—if the quotes from satisfied teens and parents printed all over its Web site were true—was “a godsend.” The testimonials were effusive. If Jules were to believe Blue Rock’s own advertising, then Shaylee had been sent to her utter salvation somewhere deep in the Siskiyou Mountains.

  Jules still wasn’t buying it. Everything seemed too slick, too perfect.

  She read the academy’s mission statement, a letter from Reverend Lynch, and a few glowing testimonials. It seemed so scripted.

  Her eyes glazed over as she clicked on the faculty page. It seemed like a small list, and she didn’t recognize any names. Maris Howell’s name was conspicuously absent. A note at the bottom of the page stated that the Web site was being updated.

  “I’ll bet,” she said aloud. “Have to update the Web site so it doesn’t show one damned flaw.” Everything about the school seemed too good to be true.

  “Just your suspicious nature,” she said, echoing her ex-husband’s accusations when he swore on his mother’s life he wasn’t having an affair. But then Sebastian Farentino was nothing if not a liar who would call up any excuse to save his own pathetic hide. She’d learned that soon enough. And as for the accusation of him having an affair? How long had it taken him to marry wife number two? Five or six weeks from the minute the divorce papers were signed.

  “Fast work, Sebastian,” she said under her breath, though, in truth, most of her anger and hurt had dissipated in the past three years.

  The worst part of the whole betrayal was that his new wife, Peri, had once been Jules’s best friend. The whole scene reeked. “So cliché,” she told herself as she clicked off the school’s homepage and checked the status of her ever-shrinking bank account. From there, she clicked on the Web site she’d been using to find a job. She scoured the listings, read over the few responses she’d received—all negative—and convinced herself that as an out-of-work third-year teacher, she would never find a teaching job. For now she would have to stick with waiting tables.

  Discouraged, she pushed back her chair and headed down to the kitchen, where she placed a pot of tea on one of the two working burners. She had rented this two-story condo near the university after moving back from Portland. She’d envisioned herself going back to school, then maybe someday buying a place of her own. So far it hadn’t happened.

  When she’d taught at Bateman High School, her debilitating headaches had caused her to miss a lot of class time. Those headaches were the direct result of sleepless nights, nights of suffering from recurring nightmares. “Insanity are us,” she said sarcastically as the teakettle shrilled, and she reached for a cup.

  She found a tea bag she’d used that morning, stuck it into a cup, then filled the cup with steaming water. What if her waitressing job dried up? High-end restaurants were closing daily in Seattle and its suburbs.

  Her dwindling bank account was testament to the fact that she needed another source of income. She’d considered taking in a roommate, a situation she’d heretofore avoided. But things had changed. Since there was no chance of Shaylee moving in, Jules could cram her desk into her bed-room and rent out the other two to college students. Yeah, it would cut into her privacy, but at least she’d have help with the rent and utilities. Maybe then she wouldn’t worry about losing her home.

  She thought fleetingly of the house she’d shared with Sebastian, a sleek contemporary set on a wooded hillside with a view of Mount Hood. A lumber broker, Sebastian still lived in that house in the west hills of Portland, now with Peri and their one-year-old daughter.

  Surprisingly, she didn’t miss him. In truth, she probably missed her friendship with Peri more. As for the house, it had always been “his,” all glass and wood and high ceilings and flat-screen TVs. Bought with his money, decorated according to his taste. No, she didn’t miss Sebastian Farentino, nor did her mother’s disappointment that she’d let such a good catch “slip through her fingers” really bother Jules. What really killed her was that Peri, a friend since the sixth grade, had traded their relationship for one with Sebastian.

  That had been the sharpest knife in her back.

  But then, Peri had known about Jules and Cooper Trent.

  And that fateful knowledge had apparently given her carte blanche when it came to flirting with her best friend’s husband.

  Lost in thought, Jules carried the tea back up to her office. If it hadn’t been Peri, some other woman would have convinced Sebastian to stray. He was a player and would be until he was six feet under. Jules was better off without him.

  You never really loved him; come on, Jules, admit it.

  She didn’t want to go there. She’d thought she’d loved him at the time she married him, had intended for the marriage to be her first and last.

  She kicked her chair into position in front of the desk. “What does it matter now?” she asked herself, sipping her tea. It was all water under the bridge.

  Back at her keyboard, she clicked on the Web site for Blue Rock Academy again and looked at the pictures of the campus. Boy, were those “at-risk” kids having fun with their guitars, canoes, horses, hiking boots, and fishing poles. She scrolled through photos of apple-cheeked students, lodgelike buildings, a sparkling mountain lake, and snow-glazed mountains that spired to a clear blue sky.

  What a crock.

  She clicked through the different areas of the Web site and came to a menu with options that included “Employment Opportunities.” With another touch of her finger, she found that the school was looking for a kitchen worker, a maintenance man, and a teacher.

  She was a teacher. An unemployed one, at that. One with a teaching certificate good in Oregon. Not believing for a second that she’d actually try for a job at the school, she printed out the application. Why not?

  The last thing Shay needs is you messing things up. She’s there for a reason, under judge’s orders, and she’s made it crystal clear that she doesn’t want you anywhere near her.

  Jules scanned the questions. Did she still have a résumé? She tapped a finger on her desk. The school wouldn’t hire her if they knew she was related to one of their students.

  So she’d have to lie.

  And not just one lie, but a lot of them.

  She’d have to use her last address in Oregon, which would work out, as she hadn’t yet bothered to change her driver’s license to Washington. That would be good. More distance between herself and Shay, whose place of residence was Seattle.

  She’d also have to lie to Edie, but that wouldn’t be too tough; Jules had lots of practice from her own years as a rebellious teen.

  What would she accomplish if she did get hired? So she would see Shay every day, so what?

  You would be able to see for yourself that the academy is on the up-and-up; that all those testimonials are, in fact, true. If not, you could help get Shay released, right? Find out the dirt—if there is any—and spring your sister. On top of that, be pragmatic: There’s a bona fide teaching job at a private school. Even if you don’t stay for more than a year, it will look good on your résumé that you’re still working in your field as an educator.

  Well, not if it was found out that she’d lied, an
d Shay would make certain of that.

  What the hell had she been thinking?

  That she could kidnap her sister?

  That she could expose the school for being a sham just because it all looked too perfect?

  “Stupid.” She took the pages she’d printed out and, one by one, flipped them into the trash.

  “What did you mean about the microphone and camera?” Shay asked her roommate the next day after class. She’d already suffered through a prayer service, four classes, a pathetic group meeting after lunch, and now was scheduled, with the rest of the losers in her “pod,” to do the assigned chores. Today they were cleaning out the horse stalls. Tomorrow they’d repaint some of the canoes. The next day back to cleaning the stalls and maybe fixing and polishing saddles and bridles and the rest of the tack. The fun just didn’t stop here at Blue Rock.

  “In the sprinkler heads,” Nona whispered as they lagged behind the rest of the group walking briskly toward the barns. No one else could hear, not even smarmy Kaci Donahue, the leggy brunette TA who seemed to be everywhere, or her sometimes friend Drew Prescott, a mean-faced dude who Shay guessed had some kind of inferiority complex from the snide comments he made about nearly everyone.

  “Who’s watching?” Shay asked.

  Nona shrugged. “Who knows? Lynch? Burdette? Some pervert?” She slid Shaylee a knowing look.

  “Someone in particular?” Shay asked.

  Nona hesitated. “More than one.”

  “Who?”

  “I, um, I dunno,” she said quickly, as if wishing she’d held her tongue. Shaylee wasn’t letting her off that easy.

  “You do.”

  She didn’t respond as ten pairs of boots crunched in the snow and a flock of geese flew overhead, a wavering, uneven V heading north through steely clouds.

  Shaylee tried again. “So we’re always being spied on?”

  “Nah. Not always.” Her voice was low, hard to hear over the rush of the wind. “There are some places that aren’t covered.”

  “And you know where they are?” Shay guessed.

  “Oh, yeah!” Nona nodded her head, obviously proud of herself. “But you still have to be careful,” she whispered; then her lips twitched. “It makes it really hard to have a boyfriend.”