She stopped chanting and sank down along the wall until she sat on her butt, legs crossed. Ben inched closer and she allowed it. An inner voice told her that she could levitate him, too, if she wanted, but Ben was too docile to be a threat and what if she lost control of the fat man?
She shifted her gaze to Ben as he lowered himself beside her. His voice was steady as he asked her, “What are we gonna do, Cori?”
“We?”
“I’ll tell you the truth. There is no Mrs. Kremer. I’ve hired people to pretend to be her.”
“Mr. All-important-Ben, after all. Why am I not surprised?”
Ben cracked his knuckles, stopped himself when the sound resonated. “If this guy exposes us because that old crone flashed the bunch of twenties I paid her and gave him our address, well . . .”
“I can keep a secret if you can.” Cori whispered, then moved her hands in a way that made the fat man somersault like a football.
Megan appeared at the bottom step. She rushed the last little distance and went down on her knees next to Ben; she faced Cori.
Before she could speak Cori glared at her. “You’re next, new girl.” She wouldn’t succumb to any more gentle entreaties from this little goody-two-shoes.
Megan clenched her fist to quell the urge to slap Cori; the paper crumpled. “This guy is an ex-con on parole for breaking and entering and a list of other stuff. If we can get his parole officer to find him drunk, with a gun, or over the state line, then he’ll go back to jail – out of our hair.” She looked over at the floating object. “Is he asleep, in a coma, or what?”
Cori thought she could control him completely now. She shut her eyes for a moment then opened them. Marty’s eyes opened, too.
Cori looked to Ben and Megan. Their hands were intertwined. Huh, was there a little romance there already? In only two days? She hadn’t realized Ben was such a player. She blinked and turned her attention back to Marty.
“Stand up, fat man,” she said, waving her hands. Like a puppet the body obeyed, but the motion was stiff. His boots barely touched the floor; she made him shuffle to the left and then the right. His eyes stayed open but unfocused.
Megan whispered in Ben’s ear, “She can make him walk out of here then we can drive him to Ohio and call the police anonymously.”
“I can hear you, sweetie,” Cori purred. “I’ve got a better idea. I’ve got some stuff in my coat we can put in his pockets, then we, or rather I, just walk him to the neighbor’s house behind us and make him break in.” She nodded her head as if agreeing with herself. “And when their alarm goes off, the cops come, and voila. No more fat man. Larceny, possession of over the legal amount of a certain controlled substance . . .”
“What if the alarm’s not on?”
“How do you know they have an alarm?”
Both Megan and Ben had practical questions, but Cori acknowledged them with an eye roll. “I just know, okay? What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
“Good, it’s a school night, it’s dark . . . let’s do this.”
All three stood up. “Put his wallet back.” Megan handed it to Ben.
***
Emily moved to the dining room when she heard the group coming up the stairs. There was a strange thumping and she heard a few awkward giggles from Cori. A shadow from the big man’s bulk filled the entryway first and Emily pulled back behind the wall. She heard Cori swear and wish aloud that either Ben or Megan had gone up first.
“Emily!” Cori shouted.
Like a robot she involuntarily moved forward. She stopped herself and shrank back.
“Emily! Come open the door!”
How could she do that without getting close to that man? She fingered the knife blade, poked her thumb, drew blood.
“Do it, Emily! Come on!”
The door flew open, just missing the man’s face. Emily pressed harder with the knife tip. Did Cori make the door open or did she?
***
Adam pulled around the corner and slowed the car. There was a tow truck with flashing lights directly blocking the driveway; a police car was parked in front of it. He continued on cautiously. His heart rate didn’t go up at all; he was proud of his control. He patted the gun on the seat.
He drove around the block then out to the main road and looped around to another street. He came up the street from the other end. The cop was gone and the tow truck was pulling an old vehicle away. The driveway entrance was clear but Ben’s car was there. He parked in the street, arranged his scarf over the gun, locked the doors, and walked to the side door.
Good evening, family, he thought as he entered. He tipped his Fedora at the others. Strange that they were all standing in the kitchen together at this hour. He put the hat on a peg, hung his coat, removed his boots, and took one step down. He paused when he heard a voice, a hoarse voice much like Cori’s, that was telling Adam to wait.
He was Adam.
He turned and stared.
They all started talking at once. A burst of syllables. Nothing that he could understand. Except for the stupid one – she was crying. He understood her emotion. Ah, such relief. He reached his hand up to tilt his hat but it wasn’t there. He touched his forehead instead, felt the wrinkles crunching his eyebrows downward. He kept his hand there, turned it into an awning, and shielded his eyes from the kitchen light.
“Nevermind, I’ll explain it later,” Ben was saying. Ben waved him off like he was dismissing him. Go downstairs, Adam. Or go downstairs, Chuck. Yes, that’s what Ben meant.
He took another step. And another. The girls’ voices were hushed, jumbled. He heard them argue about whether to call him Adam or Chuck.
He reached the bottom.
Safe.
Monday
Chapter 9
Monday morning dawned frigid. The drafts in the old house swirled around the floors and chased after Emily’s toes. She used the first floor bathroom so Megan could get ready upstairs. Emily’s routine involved little more than the basics; even so she needed forty-five minutes, especially since she felt like she was moving at the speed of a sleeping snail.
The last thing she did was to make five peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She wrapped each one in cellophane and then realized she needed one more for Megan.
“Morning, Em,” Ben greeted her as he came in to the kitchen, grabbed a cereal bowl, and opened the fridge.
“Morning.” She felt him watching her as she smeared the jelly on another piece of bread.
“That’s nice, Em . . . that you’re making Meg a sandwich, too.” Ben poured the cereal and milk and took his bowl to the table.
Emily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It felt smooth and silky and not at all like her hair usually felt. She imagined for an instant that she was just as worthy as . . .
No, no she wasn’t. She wrapped the sandwich and set it in line with the others and went back upstairs for her satchel.
“Hi, Emily,” Megan whispered as she came out of the bathroom. “Is it time to leave?”
“Five minutes,” Emily answered. She scooted past Cori’s door as it opened. She heard Megan give Cori the same greeting though in a regular voice, no longer whispering. There was a growled response. Emily was surprised that there was any response at all.
She grabbed her things and hurried back downstairs. Maybe if she got outside first she could snag the front seat.
“Is Meg ready?” Ben asked. He rinsed his bowl, picked up three of the sandwiches, and tossed one to Emily.
She nodded as she put her lunch in her bag.
“Hold on a sec,” Ben said as he slipped past her and ran down the stairs.
Now she was stuck, obligated to wait inside. She moved back into the kitchen so Megan could put on her stuff. Ben came up, threw on his coat, and was the first one out the door, followed by Megan.
Emily pulled the door closed and turned to see Megan scrambling into the back seat. She didn’t want to like her, but she couldn’t help it. She got
in and buckled up.
“Look,” Ben pointed as he started the car. The headlights illuminated the single set of tracks that the fat man’s feet had so delicately made in the snow. They led to the fence and beyond, into the neighbor’s yard. “That’s what the cops saw last night with their flashlights. They’re not deep enough, though.”
Megan leaned forward. “Should we trample them?”
Ben put the car in reverse and said, “Nah, I think we’re good.”
Emily leaned into the door, away from Ben. How could he think they were good?
“What’s the matter, Em?”
She shook her head. “Didn’t sleep,” was all she said.
“Welcome to the club,” Megan said. She leaned back and shivered. “It must be like zero degrees today.”
Ben backed down the driveway and into the street. He changed gears, but didn’t start to drive until he handed Megan a sandwich. “Here’s your lunch. Emily made you a sandwich.”
“Aw, thanks, Emily. You’re so sweet.”
Emily looked back at the house and wondered how everyone could act like nothing amazing happened last night.
***
Only Chuck had slept well. He rose half an hour before he had to leave, right as Ben’s car drove off. He hated everything regarding the alternative school except the late starting time.
He found the last three sandwiches that pathetic little Emily had made and ate one for breakfast before Cori came down. When she grabbed one and headed out the door, jacket unzipped, book bag empty, he raced to follow her, snatched the last sandwich, the one Emily made for Adam, and thrust it into the side pocket of his new, larger pack – the one he’d need to carry all the guns to school.
He lit a cigarette before stepping out into the dark and icy morning. He kept the usual thirty yard space between them, ready to run to the rescue if she needed him. He stopped when she did, watched her zip up her coat, and then resumed his pace when she started walking. He turned his collar up on his neck, wishing he had that cheap wool scarf Emily had given him for Christmas. Where the heck was that thing? He puffed on the cigarette and took longer strides.
***
Cori stopped again at the corner two blocks before the school. She shook a cigarette out of the pack in her pocket and tried to light it with an empty Bick. No luck. She held the cigarette at arm’s length and wondered if her newfound skills included pyrokinesis. She focused her thoughts on the butt end and willed it to light. Nothing. A quick search of her bag revealed no emergency matches.
She looked back down the street. A block away a plume of smoke was circling Chuck’s head. She wouldn’t need magic or special powers to propel Chuck to her side. She raised her hand and waved him over. He covered the distance in five seconds.
“Gimme a light, moron,” she said. He obeyed, handing her his half-smoked Winston.
Rather than return the cigarette, Cori threw the butt into the snow and took a draw on hers. She blew the smoke at Chuck in lieu of thanks, turned, and stepped into the street.
She was jerked back and the cigarette flew from her hand as Chuck grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the way of a nearly silent vehicle that was rounding the corner. The driver gave a quick honk.
“You idiot!” she screamed. “Let me go.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Chuck intoned, he released her arm and tried to add a chivalrous bow to his impulsive response. He bent down to rescue the burning cigarette, but Cori was faster. Her boot snuffed and crushed it.
“Stay away from me,” she snarled. She held out her hands, palms facing him, and tried to levitate him away.
Whatever special power she held over fat Marty wasn’t working this morning on Chuck. But he did take a couple of steps back. That was fine, Cori thought, she didn’t feel like going to school nauseated – boredom was bad enough.
***
That was my move. I’m the one who bows to ladies.
Shut up, Adam. Go away, I can do what I want. Did you see how she looked at me? She waved me to her side. She needed me.
Chuck bent again and retrieved the flattened cigarette. He sniffed the filtered end and ran it around his mouth. A trace of Cori’s dark lipstick transferred to his lower lip.
She wants me.
She hates you. She only pays attention to me. That’s why you tried my moves on her. Why don’t you go away and let me–
Shut up! Shut up!
“Hey, psycho-boy, who ya talkin’ to?” Two fifteen-year-olds, recent transfers to the alternative school, crossed the road and edged up to Chuck.
“Got any stuff on ya?”
“Yeah, what’re ya takin’? Give us some.”
Chuck barely heard them. Processing their sentences interfered too much; he could not keep the conversation going with his brother and communicate with these guys. How was he supposed to respond to these maggots?
Adam, where are you? Tell them to go away.
Oh, so now you want me to stay. How about tomorrow you bring the guns . . . take care of these insects and that history teacher, too.
***
Megan waited until Emily finished thanking Ben for the ride to school before she added her own thanks. “Don’t wait for me after school. I won’t need a ride back this afternoon,” she said.
Ben cocked his head, “You won’t? How come?”
“I, um, I have an appointment to see someone . . . and I’ll get a ride to the house after. Be home around eight.” Megan shifted her bag to her left shoulder.
“You sure?” Ben held the door and let Emily and Megan through first. He walked beside Megan as they passed the chemistry lab and then the math classrooms.
“Yup. Every Monday, actually.”
“What kind of appointment?” Ben asked. “See ya, Em.”
Megan gave a little wave as Emily turned left toward her locker and she and Ben continued to the south wing. “Um,” she looked up at him, “it’s kinda personal. I’ll tell you later.”
Ben released the dimples, smiled broadly and asked, “Where’s your locker?”
“By the Art room.”
“Mine’s up by the language lab.” He kept walking with her. “What do you have first hour?”
“English with Mrs. Linden.”
“Is that room 239?”
“Yeah,” Megan said. She reached her locker and started tumbling the numbers on her lock. “What do you have?” She listened as he ran through his morning schedule; she started figuring out a new route from English to math so she’d see him. A spark of adrenaline shot to every cell as she realized that he was doing the same thing as she listed her classes back to him.
***
Emily stuffed her things in her locker and joined a rush of kids that came in from the bus entrance. She floated along with those who were heading toward the Art room.
There they were. Ben and Megan at Megan’s locker. She passed by unseen. Heard them talking about classes. Going through their schedules.
She reached the end of the hall and turned around. She waited for two loud seniors to walk past. She trailed them and passed by Ben and Megan again. Now they were laughing and smiling. They looked like any of a zillion other couples in this school who were joined at the hip, oblivious to everyone else . . . in love.
Her eyes welled with tears. There’s the girls’ restroom. Duck in. Lock yourself in the stall. Find the razor. Cut.
***
Megan asked her teacher if she could use the restroom five minutes before the end of last period. She took her stuff with her, used the restroom, and then raced to her locker, grabbed her coat, and ran out the front door as the final bell rang.
Mrs. Beridon’s car was parked in the circle waiting. Best social worker ever. Megan knew that this lady was on her side. If anyone could help her get back custody of Simon it was Mrs. Beridon. She always stayed with Megan through the visitations and kept elaborate records. She took photos and logged every giggle and smile that Simon gave his young mother.
The foster care mother
kept vigil, too, but her attitude was negative toward Megan. She didn’t want to like her. She wanted to adopt Simon into her perfect little middle-class family. Of course that wasn’t going to happen. Megan’s ex-boyfriend’s parents wanted custody, too. Any judge was more likely to give Simon to blood relatives first. She simply needed to be first.
Mrs. Beridon smiled at Megan as she buckled up. “My, but you look perky today. What are you so happy about?”
“Um, Simon, of course.”
“Right,” Mrs. Beridon drew out the syllable, put the car in gear, and signaled left.
Megan looked back at the surge of kids she’d beaten out the door. She wondered if Ben was looking around her locker for her now even though she had told him she had an appointment. They had met up between every class today. Too bad they had different lunch periods.
“Good day at school?”
Megan grinned. “Yeah, really good.”
“I’ve been in touch with your parents. They’re willing to come to today’s visitation, too, if you’re okay with that.” Mrs. Beridon kept one eye on the road and the other on Megan’s body language. The ambivalence was palpable. “Or we could put it off till next time. Or schedule them for a different day from you.”
“No, no, I don’t want them to be with Simon unless I’m there, too. All right?”
“Sure, Megan, so . . . can I call them to come today?”
“Can I think about it?”
Mrs. Beridon turned into the new subdivision and answered, “No problem.”
Megan relaxed and then tensed up again as the car pulled into the recently plowed driveway. The elaborate Christmas decorations were finally taken down, but three freshly made snowmen guarded the front lawn. Megan’s heart leaped to her throat when she saw the foster mom standing at the front window. She was holding her son up to the glass, his tiny palms leaving moist prints.
Megan spoke fast, “What about the other grandparents? Brian’s parents?” She hated saying his name. Brian had been the perfect boyfriend for all of two weeks. Now he was off at college, probably spreading his seed as copiously as he had in high school. He had only been unlucky once as far as she knew; Simon was the result of one unfortunate quarter hour of failed resistance. Some might call it rape, but Megan couldn’t remember it that way.
Sheltered Page 8
