by Tanith Morse
Perhaps this was how he got his kicks. Perhaps he enjoyed flirting, playing hard to get, and pitting one girl against another. Whatever his game was, I decided I wasn’t going to play it anymore.
At that moment, Mr. Maine hurried into the classroom carrying a bunch of folders under his arm. His hair was windswept and his clothes disheveled.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I had to do some photocopying, but I have some good news—at least for some of you. Your grades are back for the Tennessee Williams project.”
Groans reverberated around the room.
“I thought you’d be happy,” he clucked. “Don’t worry. Most of you did fine.”
Frasier darted through the door and collapsed at his desk. “Sorry I’m late, sir,” he panted. He was drenched in sweat and looked like he’d run the whole way.
“Are you all right?” I mouthed.
He nodded stiffly. For a second, his eyes fell on Becky, but then he quickly turned away. I figured he must have felt awkward because of the confession he’d made to me at the party.
“Right, time to put you all out of your misery.” Mr. Maine stalked around the room handing back everyone’s assessment papers. Luckily, I wasn’t in suspense for long. I got a B+, which was better than I’d expected, considering I hadn’t really put that much effort in. Frasier had virtually carried us through the whole presentation, so we had him to thank for that.
Mr. Maine turned to the whiteboard and wrote the words SCARLETT O’HARA in big, bold letters. “Today, we’re going to compare Blanche Du Bois with Scarlett O’Hara from Gone with the Wind. It could be argued that Tennessee Williams picks up where Margaret Mitchell left off. Both Blanche and Scarlett are headstrong Southern belles fighting for survival in treacherous new landscapes …”
As he continued to ramble, my eyes kept flickering back to Frasier, who was sitting two rows ahead. He definitely wasn’t his usual self. He seemed so subdued, almost vacant. I wondered if something was wrong.
“What are you doing after school?” Becky whispered, forming her words around a wad of gum.
“I’m not sure,” I replied, trying to conjure up an excuse for what was coming.
“A few of us are going to the All-Star. Wanna come?”
“I’d love to, but I’m kind of broke at the moment.”
“Don’t worry, I can lend you a tenner,” she said with a smile. I opened my mouth to protest but she silenced me. “I won’t take no for an answer. It’ll be fun. I love hanging out with you.”
“A little less talking girls!” Mr. Maine snapped.
Reluctantly, I admitted defeat and agreed to go to the All-Star for an hour. After my clandestine “date” with Lee, part of me felt guilty, and Becky was holding out an olive branch. I would have been a fool not to take it. When the bell finally sounded, the class dispersed quickly, but I lingered to speak to Frasier.
“You seem a bit distant today,” I said.
He looked at me funny. “Meet me behind the science department at lunch,” he said softly. “I need to talk to you.”
“What about?” I asked.
“Later,” he said simply. “We’ll need some privacy.”
Without another word, he gathered up his books and rushed out the room.
Thoughtfully, I ambled down the shadowy corridor toward my next class, a knot of anticipation twisting in my belly. What could Frasier have to tell me that was so mysterious?
The rest of the morning seemed to drag. My mind was buzzing and I could hardly think straight. All I could see was the expression on Frasier’s face.
At one o’ clock, I found him waiting for me at the designated spot, sitting on a bench and eating a rye bread sandwich. I sat beside him and he offered me a bite, but I declined, although it did look tasty.
“So what’s this all about?” I asked eagerly. “What did you want to tell me?”
Frasier chewed methodically for a few agonizing moments, then turned, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “It’s about Lee.”
“What about Lee?”
“That night at the party, something weird happened,” he said, swallowing the last bite, “and I haven’t slept for days trying to figure it out.”
“Can you please stop being so cryptic and just tell me what’s going on?” I demanded.
He sighed. “Okay, it’s like this. Remember when I fell down the stairs?” As I nodded, he continued, “Well, I hurt myself pretty bad. I’m talking a broken bone. When I tried to get up, I could actually feel the fracture. I think it must have been broken in two places.”
I winced. “Go on.”
“But when Lee touched me, I felt a spark of energy, sort of like electricity, and though I know you won’t believe this, but when I stood up, I was completely healed. No pain, no nothing. I felt like I was on morphine or something.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Somehow, Lee healed me with his hands.”
I sighed deeply, trying to think of the right words. Finally, I said, “Look, you were pretty tipsy that night, so you weren’t thinking clearly. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that Lee could heal a broken leg with just a touch.”
“Why is it so ridiculous?” Frasier said indignantly. “I ran a search on faith healers online this weekend and there are people in China and India who can cure sickness using nothing but the power of their minds.” As I rolled my eyes, he added, “This isn’t some hocus-pocus, Sam. In China, they call it the Healing Tao.”
In spite of myself, I burst out laughing. “Oh, please, Frasier. There’s no such thing as faith healing.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do, okay? You can’t heal someone with just your mind. That’s the craziest thing I ever heard.”
“But it makes perfect sense,” Frasier protested. “Lee told us his family spent time in China and India. Maybe that’s where he learned how to do it.”
“I think I’ve got a better explanation,” I said, shaking my head. “You had too much to drink, you hit your head harder than you thought, and you imagined the whole thing.” I put my hand on his arm gently, as if I was talking to a child. “Listen to me. Lee may be a lot of things, but a faith healer he isn’t. Stuff like that only happens in fairy tales.”
Frasier raised a bottle of water to his lips, took a long gulp, then huffed, “I thought you’d at least listen to what I had to say. I guess I was wrong.”
My voice softened a little. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to. On a different note, could you please can you come to All-Star tonight? Becky invited me and I don’t want to go alone.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said dismissively.
We sat for a long moment in silence, and despite my repeated assertions to the contrary, I wasn’t wholly convinced there might not be some truth to what Frasier had said. The idea of Lee—or anyone else—being a faith healer was preposterous, yet there was something that didn’t sit right with me.
I thought back to the incident and played the image in my mind like a slow-motion movie clip. The fluidity of Lee’s movements and the ease with which he’d lifted Frasier up had seemed uncanny—and there was something else, too. As he was lifting Frasier, his movements had suddenly slackened, almost like he was deliberately toning down the level of his strength.
I told myself I was being silly. Lee was young and fit and clearly thought of weight lifting as more than just a hobby. Surely that alone could explain his remarkable strength. Then again, I was tipsy that night, too, so my memory couldn’t totally be trusted, either.
When my thoughts returned to the present, I said, “Well, should we go back inside? I think it might rain.”
***
We got to the All-Star around five. There were six of us: me, Frasier, Becky, Jermaine, Marie, and William (thankfully Hannah hadn’t been able to make it because of choir practice). We found a table in the back and Becky ordered a strawberry milkshake, pancakes, and barbequed ribs
for me. I briefly wondered whether her secret plan was to get me fat. Still, it was nice of her to treat me to a huge meal, so I rolled with it.
Jermaine, Marie, and William ordered the All Star Special: a double cheeseburger with pancakes and chips. Frasier had a glass of water and an anaemic-looking veggie burger. I wondered briefly if it was fun to be a vegan. I had a pretty good relationship with most types of cuisine—except seafood, which I was violently allergic to. Once at primary school, I’d nibbled a piece of Elliot’s prawn sandwich and had ended up in hospital—not an experience I planned to repeat again.
A couple of times I caught Frasier glancing at Becky wistfully, then quickly looking away. I wondered if he would ever muster the courage to tell her.
“How are you liking St. Mary’s so far?” William asked me.
“It’s all right,” I said, licking barbeque sauce from my fingers. “Pretty much the same as every other school I’ve been to.”
“Oh? Have you been through a lot of schools?”
“A few,” I replied.
“Why do you change so often? Were you a problem child or something?”
“Jermaine, can you pass the ketchup?” Becky cut in, leaning across the table.
Frasier shot me a look and quickly changed the subject to football. Then, as the boys nattered away, I turned to Marie, who was sitting to my right, and tried to make conversation. She seemed sweet enough, but didn’t have much to say beyond what she’d watched on TV the night before.
Every now and then, I noticed Becky glancing toward the automatic doors, as if she was waiting for someone. Then it hit me. I knew exactly what she was thinking—the same thing I was thinking. We were both hoping that Lee would walk through those doors, just as he had two Fridays earlier—but he didn’t.
After a while, Becky grew restless. “I’m bored. Who wants to play a game?” she said, pointing toward the bowling alley.
William said, “You’re on!”
She turned and asked, “Sam, Marie, Jermaine, Frasier, how about you?”
“Sure,” Marie said, and Jermaine agreed.
“Let me finish my shake first,” I said. “You go ahead. We’ll join you in a bit.”
“Don’t be too long,” Becky said, smiling broadly.
At that moment, I decided that Becky was far more attractive than I’d given her credit for earlier. Her quirks and imperfections only added to her uniqueness, and I’d always liked interesting faces.
As they walked away, I reminisced about the last time I’d seen Lee. The sound of the rain on the windshield, the wipers casting exotic shadows across his face. It had been just the two of us—all alone. I thought about how delectable his lips looked and how much I’d wanted to kiss them .
“Hello? Earth to Sam,” I heard Frasier say, snapping his fingers in my face. “What is it with you girls? You’re always daydreaming.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry. I did space out there for a second.” Then I looked at him and said conspiratorially, “Anything new with Becky? Are you going to ask her out?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, taking a drink of water. “I might have to put that on hold for a while. I’ve got other things to think about.”
“Such as?”
“Such as that science exam on Wednesday. Girls are too much of a distraction. I need to focus.”
“Hey, you guys!’ shouted a voice from behind us.
I turned and saw Taffin Carter approaching the table, dressed in a white bomber jacket with drainpipe jeans and a pair of gray Nikes. His Mohawk was dyed a bombastic shade of green.
“Oh, no,” I groaned silently. “Someone save me.”
“Maybe if we pretend he’s not here, he’ll go away,” Frasier whispered, but it was too late.
“Fancy seeing you two here!” Taffin said enthusiastically. “What you up to?”
“What does it look like?” Frasier deadpanned. “We’re eating.”
Taffin laughed and pulled up a chair. “How’s your pretty friend?” he said, turning to me. “What’s your name again? Sarah, right?”
“Sam,” I replied glumly.
Taffin snickered and pushed his chair close enough for our elbows to touch. “So what are you doing after you’re done eating?” he asked. “Want to go back to my place?”
“No, thanks, maybe some other time,” I said, shaking my head.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he smirked. “I’ve got something to show you.”
I made a disappointed face. “Sorry, but I didn’t bring my magnifying glass.”
Frasier laughed so hard that he choked briefly on his drink. Blushing crimson, Taffin stood and made a hasty retreat.
“And on that note,” I said, smiling victoriously at Frasier, “I think I’ll call it a day.”
“But we just got here,” Frasier protested. “You begged me to come, and now you’re just going to leave?”
“Oh, I’m sure you can find plenty to do,” I said, glancing in the direction of the others. “Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I quickly made my way toward the exit, taking care Becky didn’t see me. I knew she’d try to convince me to stay, and I wasn’t in the mood to make excuses.
When I got outside, the sky was as gray as cast iron and there was a sinister chill in the air. I hugged my jacket tightly at the neck as I stomped along the litter-strewn sidewalk toward the bus stop. Then something stopped me in my tracks.
As I approached the crosswalk, I saw the same black Ford parked across the street, its windows as dark and impenetrable as ever. An icy terror gripped my chest. It had to be more than just a coincidence.
For what seemed like an eternity, I stood waiting for the light to change, trying to decide what to do next. Then suddenly, my fear turned to anger and I decided to face the situation head-on. I decided to confront the driver and find out what the hell was going on.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I crossed the road and strode toward the vehicle. My heart was racing and my brain was screaming, “Do you really want to do this?”
A few moments later, I was standing on the passenger side of the Ford. Drawing a deep breath, I lightly tapped on the heavily-tinted glass. The instant my knuckles touched the car, an ear-splitting alarm went off. I sprang back, my eyes darting around self-consciously. Across the street, several people outside the grocery store gave me a curious look.
As I stepped away from the car, the engine started and the Ford began to move. Picking up speed, it was soon gone, leaving me alone and frustrated. I hadn’t even managed to get the license plate number. Cursing under my breath, I turned and started toward the bus stop.
When I got home, I found Mum on the sofa in the living room watching an old movie on TV. As soon as she saw me, she knew something was wrong.
“Darling, what is it? Did you have a bad day?”
“You could say that,” I sighed, collapsing on the sofa. “I think someone’s stalking me.”
She picked up the remote and switched off the TV. “What?” she asked, her voice filled with concern. “Start from the beginning. I want to know everything.”
I took a deep breath, then plunged into my story. “I’ve seen the same car twice now—a black Ford. The first time I didn’t think much of it, but today I saw it again outside the All-Star, so I’m sure someone is following me.”
“Whoa, sweetheart, slow down,” Mum said. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Okay, Mum,” I said. “On Sunday, I went out with this guy. We went to the Saatchi Gallery and then had lunch at the Winchester.”
“You had lunch at the Winchester?” Mum said, her eyes wide with surprise. “You never told me about that! With who?”
“Just some guy.”
“Frasier?”
“No, Mum, it was just some guy I know. His name is Lee. He’s not exactly a friend. He’s more of an acquaintance—but that’s not the point. The point is that when he was driving me home, we noticed a car following us. Lee pulled over and tried to
speak to the driver but the car sped before we get to see who it was. It had very darkly-tinted windows.”
I took another breath, then added, “I saw that same car today as I was walking to the bus stop, and this time I went over to see who it was, but the car just drove away again.”
“Do you think it’s someone from the press?” Mum asked. “You know, someone from the tabloids, looking for a story?”
I chided myself silently. Why hadn’t I considered that possibility? My mind wandered back ten years to when Elliot disappeared. Reporters had descended on our house like vultures and camped outside, making us prisoners in our own home. After a couple weeks, the buzz died down and the mob finally dispersed. Was it possible that after all these years somebody had decided to seek me out for a story?
“Why would a journalist want to talk me after all this time?” I said thoughtfully. “I’m not newsworthy anymore. All I do is go to school and come home, and there’s been no breakthrough with Elliot, so what would be the point of following me?”
“No breakthrough we know of, darling, but do we know for sure?” Mum asked. “I think we should give Cliff a call and find out the latest. If one of the newspapers has decided to reopen the case, Cliff would be the first to know about it.”
I nodded approvingly. Clifford Maxwell had been our publicist throughout the media frenzy. He was also Britain’s best-known PR man and had given us endless support over the years. Dad and Neil had first recruited him to help with their fundraising activities, then later, when the police suspended their investigation, Cliff had worked tirelessly to keep the story in the media. This was important because Anne and Neil relied on public donations to continue funding the search for Elliot.
Mum went to her bedroom and came back with an address book, then sat on the sofa and flicked through the well-thumbed pages till she found what she was looking for.
As she dialed, she muttered, “I hope he hasn’t changed his number.” There was an agonizing pause, then her face lit up. “Cliff? Hi, it’s Lisa Harper, Sam’s mother. I’m great, thanks. I know it’s been a long time. What have you been up to? Monaco, huh? Wow! That sounds lovely.”
