Out of the Ashes

by Valerie Sherrard

  A note on the kitchen table told me that Mom and Dad had gone to play canasta at the Old Folk’s Hangout. Actually it’s called the Riverbend Social Club, but all the kids at school refer to it by the less flattering name. I got a bottle of applesauce out of the fridge and went to turn on the television, hoping to distract myself from the boredom and general despondency I was feeling. I was just about to pick up the remote control when I heard a knock.

  Thinking that Betts was dropping by, I considered not answering the door. That made me feel guilty right away, and I pushed aside my impatience at the thought of having my quiet time intruded on.

  But it wasn’t Betts. When I swung the door open, Greg stood there, shifting from foot to foot and looking very uncomfortable. I was so surprised that I forgot I was holding the apple sauce, and when I gestured him to come in it sloshed over the side of the jar and all over the floor.

  “Thanks, it looks really good, but I’ve already eaten,” he said deadpan.

  I grabbed a roll of paper towel and sopped up the spreading mess, feeling my face get warm with embarrassment. Greg joined me on the floor and helped with the clean-up.

  “I can’t help noticing that your talents as a hostess are almost as good as your detective skills.”

  “Something like your ability to tell time,” I shot back. “I said seven o’clock. It’s past eight now.”

  “Maybe I had other things to do. Or maybe I wasn’t sure I even wanted to come.”

  “Well, since you did come, you might make some sort of effort to be civil.”

  “Then I’m sure you can give me some lessons in proper social behavior and etiquette.”

  “I’ve already told you I was sorry about that. Why do you have to be so nasty?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t seem all that delighted to be here. I came against my better judgement, and it was probably a mistake.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that he might just as well go home then, if that was how he felt, but something stopped me. Maybe it was remembering how disappointed I’d been when he didn’t show up at The Scream Machine, or the happy flutter I’d gotten when I saw him at the door. Or maybe it was because it felt so good that he was standing there next to me, even if he wasn’t being what you’d call charming at the moment. So instead of snapping back at him in anger, I spoke quietly.

  “In any case, I appreciate your coming over.”

  “So what did you want to talk to me about?” His tone hadn’t softened, but at least he seemed willing to stay for a bit.

  “The fires.” Seeing dismay on his face I hastened to add, “I really think I know who’s doing it this time.”

  “I see. And you want to drag me into it?”

  “I don’t want to drag you into it. I just wanted to run some things by you and get your opinion. You know, see if you think I’m on the right track this time and what you think I should do about it.”

  “I’m sure there are lots of other people who would be glad to give you their opinions. You might have considered asking someone you haven’t insulted in every possible way.”

  “I did consider other people,” I said, doing my best to ignore the cutting remark. “But I don’t want to talk to an adult about it, because they might just want to go right to the police, and I think that would make things worse.”

  “You have other friends. Why not one of them?”

  “There’s no one I’d trust with this. Besides, you’re smarter than anyone else I know.”

  He sighed. “Well, I’m here now, you might as well go ahead and tell me about it.”

  I started by explaining how I’d gone through the book his dad had lent me and how I’d made the various lists.

  “Go get them,” he said.

  “The lists? But they have names on them.” I felt that I should protect the identities of the kids I’d included as possible victims of abuse. After all, I could be wrong about any number of them.

  I hesitated, not sure of what to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “I’m not trying to be nosy, Shelby, if that’s what you think.” Greg seemed to sense my dilemma. “I just want to see if a particular name is on your list.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the day of the fire at my place I passed someone when I was on my way home. There was something a bit odd about her, though I can’t say exactly what it was.”

  Excitement ran through me and without thinking I took hold of his arm.

  “Greg, was it Jane Goodfellow?”

  “Yes, it was Jane.” He glanced at my hand on his sleeve, and I let go quickly. “Is that who you think is guilty?”

  I nodded. “Can you think back, think really hard about what struck you as odd about her that day?”

  “I don’t know. At the time I was just hurrying to get home, and it wasn’t until later that I thought anything about it at all. And then I figured it could have just been my imagination because of everything else that happened.”

  “Think, Greg!” I implored. “It could be really important.”

  “I guess,” he said slowly, “that it was something about the way she was walking. It wasn’t quite natural.”

  “As if she was hiding something?”

  His eyes got wider then and he said, “Yes, that’s it. She was kind of leaning to one side. How did you know that?”

  “Because Jane got a new coat at Christmas, but then the Monday right after the fire at your place she had another new one.” I told him about the conversation I’d had with Betts and how disgusted she’d been by Jane’s snobbish attitude in telling Holly that she no longer liked the coat.

  “So Holly asked her if she could have the one she got at Christmas, but Jane said she’d thrown it out. Except Jane always gives things she doesn’t want any more to Gail. It doesn’t make sense that she’d throw out a jacket that was only a few weeks old, unless there was some reason she had to get rid of it.”

  “Like if it had a burn spot?” Greg caught on immediately.

  “Exactly. But that’s not the only thing. Do you remember the night you saw me talking to Jane at The Scream Machine? The night after the fire at the Lawfords’ garage?”

  He nodded and I continued, “Well, Jane has always worn her hair long and parted in the middle, but that day she’d suddenly changed her style to add bangs. I didn’t think much of it then except that they were way too short, which made them look dumb. Something about it didn’t fit, but I didn’t know what until I asked myself, what if she had to cut them and didn’t have a choice about how long?”

  “And that was the day after the fire at that garage in town?”

  “The very next day.”

  He whistled low. “So you think some of her hair got singed and she had to cut it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I also know for a fact that she was around town the night the Lawfords’ garage burned.” I took a deep breath and then forced myself to tell him about doing Nick’s essay, how he’d been late coming back, and how I’d learned later he’d been talking to Jane.

  Greg was silent for a minute, and it was clear that he was thinking, so I didn’t interrupt. When he spoke again it was to make a comment.

  “I assume you suspect that Jane has been abused and that this is why she’s setting fires.”

  “It certainly seems to be a strong possibility,” I answered. “Of course, it’s just speculation on my part, but I think the evidence points in that direction.”

  “Tell me what makes you think that.” He leaned forward, looking directly at me.

  “For one thing, she hates her stepfather. I mean, she really despises him. And it’s not just a recent teenage rebellion thing either. She’s hated him for as long as I’ve known her. But she never talks about why, like most kids. You know, she doesn’t say he did this or that or anything specific. It’s just there, this silent hatred.

  “And then there’s the fact that she never goes anywhere. That makes it look a
s though someone keeps a really tight rein on her. Like the school formal. She has a dress and she’s all set to go, and then she has this mysterious accident and doesn’t show up. Most girls would cover a bruise with makeup and go anyway. Was she too vain for that, or did someone make her stay home? And did she really fall and hurt herself, or was it more than that?”

  “I don’t know much about the subject, Shelby, but I think it’s common for abusers to keep their female victims from a lot of social activities, especially if there are boys involved. It’s like some kind of twisted jealousy thing.”

  I shuddered at the thought of that. It was gross!

  “And last year’s school picnic - Jane was there for a little while, but then her stepfather came and made her leave. Or the fact that Nick broke up with her because she never wanted to go anywhere. Was that true, or was she just saying it to cover up the fact that she’s not allowed to go places?”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, Jane has no best friends. She hangs out with a group of girls at school to some extent, but she’s not close to anyone. You never hear of her going to someone’s house or inviting anyone to hers.” I explained what I’d learned about secrecy and withdrawing from others being symptoms of victims of sexual abuse.

  “And she doesn’t do as well in school as she could, not by a long shot.” I went on and told him about the academic problems and about her sleeping in class sometimes and the possibility that it pointed to depression.

  “You’ve really done your homework on this,” Greg said when I’d finally finished explaining everything. “With the jacket and haircut, and her having been near my house a short time after the shed was set on fire, I think the evidence is pretty compelling.”

  “But it doesn’t prove anything,” I sighed. “And without proof, what can be done?”

  “First of all, what do you think should be done? You mentioned earlier that you didn’t want to tell an adult because of the possibility that the police would be called. I take it that you don’t want to talk to the police about it.”

  “Oh, I know that if she’s guilty, she’s probably going to end up being charged. I just think that she needs help more than she needs a criminal record. What would being arrested and charged do to her? It would only add to the pain she already has to live with. There must be a better way.”

  “I’m a bit surprised at the way you’re talking, Shelby. To be honest, I didn’t think you particularly liked Jane.”

  “I didn’t,” I admitted. “At least not until I started learning some of this stuff. It gave me a whole new perspective, not just towards her but towards some other girls as well. It must be awful to have to live with that kind of burden, keeping it inside all the time and feeling like you’re so alone.”

  “It takes a lot of intelligence to challenge your own views like that.”

  “I’ve found my views have changed about a few things lately,” I said quietly. “It’s been quite a year so far.”

  “For one thing, the guy you wanted finally asked you out. Why’d you turn him down?”

  “The real question is, what did I ever see in him?” I smiled ruefully. “I honestly can’t figure out why I ever liked Nick. Yes, he’s good looking and all, but he’s so wrapped up in himself. He acts as if other people only exist so they can admire him and do things for him.”

  “Well, good for you. I wouldn’t like to see you dating someone who’s so obviously wrong for you. Maybe the next guy who catches your interest will be an improvement.”

  Before I could find an answer for that, he went on, “Anyway, that’s nothing to do with what we’re supposed to be figuring out, which I guess is basically what to do about this whole Jane situation.”

  “That’s where I get stuck,” I said. “What to do. Any suggestions?”

  “Actually, yes. I think there’s a good chance that this can be handled in a way that will help her.”

  He explained what he thought should be done, and how. His idea was surprisingly simple.

  And yet, I thought, it just might work.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The tricky part of Greg’s plan was going to be to get Jane alone somewhere. I’d never been friends with her, and the time she’d asked me to meet her at The Scream Machine was the only time we’d ever spent any time talking alone.

  Greg and I quickly ruled out any place public. Privacy was essential, since there was no way of knowing how she might react. After talking it over, we came up with the idea that I should call her and ask her to meet with me at the corner of Greg’s street.

  I felt kind of guilty making the phone call, seeing as how I’d never called Jane before. I must have cleared my throat a dozen times before I finally dialed.

  “Yeah?” a gruff male voice answered, nearly sending me into a panic. I clutched the phone tighter and asked to speak to Jane.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Uh, my name is Shelby. I’m a friend of Jane’s from school.” That was a stretch, but I didn’t know what else to say.

  Instead of him telling me to hold on or anything, there was a clatter of the phone being dropped on a hard surface, followed by silence. I waited.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, hi. Jane?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Shelby.”

  “What do you want?” Although her words seemed a bit rude, her tone was only curious.

  “I need to talk to you. Are you busy right now?”

  “Not really, but, uh,” she paused, lowering her voice to a whisper, “is this about Nick?”

  “No. I can’t talk about it on the phone, but it’s important.”

  “Oh, the English project, yeah. Well, I guess I could come over for a little while.” She was speaking loudly now, but what she’d said didn’t make sense.

  “Huh?”

  “What’s your address then, Shelby? I’ll come over and we can get that part of the English project done.”

  “Not at my house,” I protested, trying to follow what she was saying.

  “So, where are you at?” she asked in a bright, false voice.

  “Can you meet me at the corner of Birch and Princess streets in fifteen minutes?”

  “Yes, sure. I know where that is.” Another pause. “Okay, so what color is your house? Great. Just watch out the window for me in case I miss it. I’ll just get my books together and be along in about fifteen minutes then.” She hung up before I could say anything else.

  I shook my head, unsure whether she was actually meeting me where I’d asked or coming to my house. Since she hadn’t waited for an address or anything I guessed she meant to meet me at the corner. I quickly dialed Greg and gave him a rundown of the conversation.

  “Sounds like she had to come up with some bogus story about schoolwork in order to get out of the house,” he commented. “That’s pretty sad. But anyway, she said she’d be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, good luck. I’ll be here.”

  I ran a good deal of the way over to make sure I got there in time. There was no sign of Jane when I arrived, but she came along a few minutes later, carrying her book bag.

  “Sorry about the stuff about school,” she said as she reached me. “My mom wanted me to help clean house this afternoon so I had to come up with a reason to get away.”

  “No big deal,” I said as casually as I could. My heart was pounding hard and I tried not to let her see that I was nervous about anything.

  “So, what’s up? What did you want to talk to me about? You sure it’s not Nick?”

  “Nothing to do with Nick. Actually, Greg and I need to talk to you about something. He’s waiting for us at his place.”

  “Greg Taylor?”

  “Yes. It’s just down the street here a little way.”

  “I’m not going to his place.” She stood looking at me strangely. “You didn’t say anything about that on the phone.”

  “Well, it seemed less complicated just to ask you to
meet me.”

  “What’s this about anyway?”

  “I can’t tell you until we get there.”

  “Well, then I guess you won’t be telling me at all, ‘cause I’m not going.”

  “I think you’d better, Jane. We either talk to you or to someone else.” I was hoping she’d read something ominous in my words, and she must have, because she changed her mind right away. Still, she tossed her head and tried to look unconcerned when she spoke.

  “This seems a bit foolish, but I guess it won’t hurt to go for a few minutes.”

  Greg met us at the door and ushered us into the kitchen. The three of us sat at the table, and the look on Jane’s face made me feel like putting my arm around her. She put me in mind of a frightened, cornered animal.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “We know, Jane,” Greg said gently. “We know that you set the fires.”

  She paled and clutched the table as if to steady herself.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice trembled as she denied his accusation, but there was no shock or outrage in her words.

  “Jane, listen to me, please.” I put my hand on hers. “We have proof. But we don’t want to get you in trouble. We want to help you.”

  “What kind of proof?” Her eyes darted fearfully back and forth between us.

  “We’re not prepared to tell you that just yet,” Greg said softly, “but you must realize that it’s something solid. We wouldn’t be saying these things otherwise.”

  For a moment it looked as if she was going to walk out. She rose unsteadily, forcing a small laugh, commenting that the whole thing was ridiculous and she didn’t have to listen to such nonsense.

  “Jane,” Greg implored, “don’t leave and force us to go to the police.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. She froze for a few seconds and then sank weakly back into her chair.

  “I don’t have any money,” she whispered just before she burst into tears.