by Sharon Sala
“I’m still the adult. And you’re vulnerable in ways you don’t even understand. Mrs. Taylor, your school counselor, has volunteered to give you a ride home for a while. I accepted, and that’s going to happen. You will go straight to her office after school and she’ll bring you home. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jordan said.
“And like always, you’ll let me know you’re here and safe, and I’ll be home within the hour. Can we agree to do this together?”
Jordan threw her arms around her mother’s neck and hugged her.
“Yes, Mama. We can agree.”
“Okay then. So let’s go pick out an outfit for you to wear for your first day back,” Tara said.
They went upstairs together, hand in hand.
* * *
Monday arrived hot and muggy, with thunderheads building in the south. It would rain before the day was over.
Having already chosen what she was going to wear, Jordan kept glancing up at the spear hanging over her bed as she dressed, and then remembered Wyrick’s warning. It didn’t need to become her emotional crutch, and they wouldn’t let her carry a weapon into school, no matter what it was made of, so she was going to have to rely on looking good—and guts.
She’d opted for her favorite pair of faded denim skinny jeans with the perfect amount of rips in the knees, and a pale yellow top in T-shirt knit, with cap sleeves and a flounce of ruffle along the loose, flowing hem.
She’d painted her toenails last night in a shade of neon yellow, and this morning they were peeping out from the open toes of her favorite sandals, and she’d washed her hair this morning. After blow-drying, it hung around her shoulders like a dark, silky veil.
A little bit of makeup was covering the last bits of faded bruises, and she had a swipe of pink gloss on her lips. A first since she’d been beaten.
She didn’t know how this day would go, but she felt good about herself, and that was half the battle, so she grabbed her purse and her book bag, and headed downstairs for breakfast.
Tara looked up just as Jordan entered the kitchen.
“Morning, baby! You look gorgeous! Waffles are ready.”
Jordan smiled, setting her things aside. “Thank you, Mama. I’m starving.”
She slid onto a barstool, then began fixing her waffle.
“Umm, yummy,” she said as she took her first bite.
Tara poured syrup on hers and glanced up at the clock. Every morning, it was always about timing.
“We need to leave in about fifteen minutes,” she said.
Jordan nodded and kept eating.
A short while later, they were driving away from the house, and Jordan was beginning to wonder if eating two waffles had been a good idea. Her stomach was beginning to knot.
God, please let this day be okay.
Tara saw the tension coming back onto Jordan’s face, but she stayed quiet. Talking about what may or may not happen wouldn’t make anything better.
“I have a really light day, today. So if you need me, don’t hesitate to call. It won’t be a problem if I need to cut the day short.”
Jordan nodded. She was counting off the blocks left until they reached Bronte Middle School.
“Oh, look, there’s your friend Mindy,” Tara said.
Jordan had already seen her walking to school with her two brothers, but when they passed her, Jordan kept looking forward.
And then, all of a sudden, Mama was pulling to a stop by the bronze statue of a crouching lion, their school mascot.
“I’ll go in with you, if you want. Just to the office to get you checked in.”
“No, Mama. You called them. They know I’m coming. I’ll check myself in.”
Tara smiled, then leaned over and kissed her.
“Bye, sugar. I love you, and have a good day.”
Jordan touched the spot on her cheek where her mother’s lips had been, and then opened the door.
“I love you more,” she said. She shut the door and headed up the long walk to the front door.
It took everything Tara had to drive away, but this much, she could do for her girl.
At first no one noticed Jordan. She was just one more kid trying to get inside. But then, one by one, they began to slow down and step aside, and all of a sudden she was walking into the building all alone.
Oh my God. Is this how it’s going to be?
She lifted her chin and walked into the office.
The secretary looked up, and then a huge smile spread across her face. She came out from behind her desk and gave Jordan a quick hug.
“Oh, honey! We are so glad to have you back.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s good to be back,” Jordan said. “Do I need to sign in somewhere?”
“Yes, yes, right here,” the secretary said and pointed to the sign-in sheet at the front of her desk.
Jordan was signing her name when the principal came out of his office, and then the counselor, Mrs. Taylor, appeared. One by one, they began welcoming her back, without mentioning a word of what had happened, or where she’d been.
“I’ll see you after school,” Mrs. Taylor said. “Just come in my office, and we’ll leave from there.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” Jordan said, then took a deep breath and walked out into the hall.
She had already gotten a dose of the silent treatment outside, so she braced herself as she started walking down the long hallway to her first class. As always, it was packed with kids, but today they were lined up against the walls and no one was moving. The urge to duck her head and run was there, but she kept thinking... I faced monsters and lived. These are my friends, and maybe they’re just afraid of me.
And then, all of a sudden, the principal’s voice came booming over the intercom.
“Good morning, students. It appears as if we have a bit of rain on the horizon today, but we also have something wonderful to celebrate. Our very own Jordan Bien is back. We’ve all been praying for her safe return, and our prayers, and hers, have obviously been answered. Let’s give her a great big Bronte Lion welcome.”
And just like that, the silence ended. Someone began to clap, and it spread like wildfire, with others adding cheers and shouts of “welcome back” and “we love you, Jordan.” She kept walking, but this time there was a smile on her face and she was blinking back tears.
In her mind, she imagined the Sprites standing at the end of the hall, as if they were waiting for her to join them. She could see them waving and laughing, and she kept thinking, It worked, y’all. It worked. The truth did set us free.
Epilogue
Charlie was getting ready for an early lunch meeting with a prospective client when Wyrick walked into his office, gave him the once-over and frowned.
“Okay. What did I do wrong, here?” he said, holding out his arms to give her a better look at what he was wearing.
“Plaid.”
He frowned. “Yes, it has a faint plaid pattern,” he said, looking down at the sports jacket he was wearing.
“It’s brown.”
He rolled his eyes. “Crap on a stick, woman. Then go find me something better in that closet, and stop looking at me like I committed some kind of crime.”
Wyrick bolted for the adjoining bedroom in his office before he changed his mind.
Charlie laid the brown sports coat across the wet bar and glanced at his watch. If she didn’t hurry the hell up, she was going to make him late, and to add a little tension to the moment, his phone rang, assuring that still might be the case, anyway.
“This is Charlie.”
“Charlie, Hank Raines here. One last update. Jud Bien killed himself and the info from Wyrick’s flash drive no longer exists anywhere on the web.”
“You’re not serious,” Charlie said.
“Unfortunately, I am,” Hank
said. “With Bien’s death, and Walters dead, too, there’s not going to be a trial. The men we arrested are pleading guilty and negotiating for lighter sentences. Right now there’s no way to trace any further connections to the cult, and the only two people who could testify to that are dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “I know what it feels like to have everything fall to shit around you.”
“It’s part of the job,” Hank said. “The upside is that we got a lot of lost kids back home. Someone notified Tara Bien about Jud’s death yesterday.”
“I hope they don’t expect her to bury him,” Charlie said. “She’d set him on fire, but she’s damn sure not going to take on the cost of his funeral. You guys need to look deeper than an ex-wife for relatives.”
“Got it,” Hank said. “It’s been good working with you. Have a nice life.”
Charlie thought of Annie and sighed. “Thanks. You, too.”
And then Wyrick came back into the room carrying the blue denim sports coat.
“Denim? Really?” he said.
“It’s tailored. Your pants are black. Your boots are black. Your shirt is white. Wear this, and wear your black Stetson, not the white one,” she said.
He frowned. “I thought heroes were supposed to wear white hats,” he muttered as he traded brown plaid for denim.
“Heroes wear whatever the hell they please.”
“No. They wear whatever the hell pleases you,” he said, but he took the black Stetson with him. “Oh, that was Hank Raines who called. Bien hanged himself. All the info you gave the Feds on the flash drive has been scrubbed. And with Walters’s death and the discovery of the bodies outside the compound, the men are all pleading guilty and trying to negotiate for lighter sentences.”
She blinked. “What a mess. Glad that’s not our problem.” Then, just as he was going out the door, she called out. “When are you coming back?”
“Since I’m the hero, whenever it pleases me,” he said and let the door slam shut behind him.
* * *
ISBN: 9781488055379
Second Sight
Copyright © 2020 by Sharon Sala
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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