Ghost Bird: The Academy Omnibus Part 1: Books One - Four

by C. L. Stone

  I opened the bathroom door and crossed the hallway again to my room and stopped cold. My mother was inside, bent over my bed. She was sweating. Her dark, graying hair was matted against her flushed forehead and cheeks. Was this the same person I’d left this morning?

  Her face lifted and her gaze met mine. I could have died where I stood.

  She crumbled papers in her hands. Blood drained from my face as I recognized the detention slip and the unread notes I’d collected from school.

  “What,” she seethed, “is this?” She held up the detention slip toward me and the opened notes. Had she read them?

  I swallowed, holding my place by the door. “People pass notes to me in class,” I said. “I don’t read them. I just throw them away.”

  She narrowed her eyes and her voice gurgled as she pointed at me. “You wear shorts like that to school?” she demanded. “Do you expect me to believe for one moment...” Her breathing sped up. “And you got detention.”

  She never talked about my clothes before. I was rattled, unsure what to say. “The clothes are within school regulation. And that was an accident--”

  “Inappropriate touching,” she called out to me, her voice grating in a higher pitch. “You’re touching boys in school.”

  “No,” I said. I eased back a step and sighed, not sure if I should fight it. If I started kneeling now or sat on that stool, maybe I could get it over with in a few hours. I swallowed again when I realized my dad wouldn’t be here this time to help if she left me alone for too long. At least I had the phone with me. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about that detention slip. I’d been so busy with the fighting at school and trying to keep up with the boys that I’d neglected a lot of things.

  “You wear those clothes. Boys write nasty things to you. I have the teacher’s note right here telling me what happened to you in school,” she declared. Her fists crumpled the papers in her hands tighter and she let go, letting them fall around her feet. “What else have you been hiding from me?”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but she spun toward the bookshelf, yanking novels off of the shelves. She glared at the covers and pitched them to the ground. “Is it these books? Are they telling you to allow boys to touch you? To touch them back?”

  “No,” I said, trying to look humble, my eyes downcast. My insides quivered. I didn’t understand her questions. Did she think books told me what to do? Like demon possession? I was ashamed of myself already and couldn’t face her. I was fibbing. Some boys did touch me, but not like she was thinking. She would never understand.

  “You’re lying,” she cried out. She pointed a finger at the papers on the floor and glared at me. “I know I didn’t teach you to do these things. Inappropriate touching!”

  I bit my lip, closing my eyes. Please, please just get it over with.

  “Well?”

  What did she want? I didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, unsure what else to say. I trembled. “Mom, you haven’t eaten. You should eat something. You don’t look good.”

  I sensed her crossing the room and out of some deep survival instinct, my arms swung up as I tried to cover my head. She grabbed a handful of my shirt, yanking on it until it twisted around my neck, and dragged me out into the hallway. “Shut up. I will not have a child lie to me and think she can get away with behaving like a tramp.”

  She pushed me through the open bathroom door across the hall. I stumbled onto the tile, standing in front of the tub. She pointed a chubby finger at me. “Stay right here,” she demanded. “When I come back, you better be right here.”

  I shivered, crossing my arms over my chest and nodding. I swallowed back tears, unsure of what she was going to do. Why was I in the bathroom?

  She left and she was gone for so long that I thought maybe she had forgotten about me. Did she mean for me to wait in the bathroom all day? Where was Marie? Was she hiding or did she already leave?

  Clunking sounds erupted from the hallway. I recognized the sound of the stool scraping against the wood floor as she pushed it forward. I sighed, feeling a bit better. If she wanted me to sit in the bathroom on the stool, that would be better for me, too. She usually made me sit in the kitchen. Upstairs I wouldn’t have to be so paranoid looking over my shoulder. I could text with Victor and the others for a while until I was released. I could probably get up and walk around, too. That wouldn’t be so bad.

  She pushed the stool through the doorway. She threw it at me. I ducked, holding up my arms as the wood hit me across my shoulder. “You will not,” she screamed at me, “leave here. I absolutely can’t believe you are making me do this.” Her eyes were wide and wild. She pointed at the bathtub. “Put the chair in there.”

  With shaking hands, I pulled back the curtain of the shower, putting the stool on the floor of the tub. It wobbled a little as the bottom of the tub was uneven.

  “Sit,” she said.

  I carefully climbed in, putting my butt in the seat and placing my feet on the wood supports. I was confused as to why she wanted me in here but wasn’t sure what else to do.

  She held out a couple of thick cords and my eyes bulged out of my head. I remembered them from when we moved. We’d used them to strap a couple of boxes to the top of the car.

  She gripped my arm, twisting it around until I almost toppled from the stool. I corrected myself, and she wrenched my hands around my back. She weaved the cord between one of the spokes of the stool behind me and she twisted the rope around my wrists. She tied off the cord around a slat well outside of my reach. I tested the cord, pulling against it. I was tied to the chair and wouldn’t be able to get up without bringing it with me.

  She used the other cord around my ankles, interweaving the rope on another spoke of the chair. I shivered hard, suppressing tears. Now I wouldn’t be able to get up at all. I was already wobbling to keep balanced. If I tilted too far one way or another, I could easily fall over, hurting myself.

  When she was done, she stood back. I swallowed, uncomfortable and worried the guys wouldn’t hear from me for hours if she left me here as long as she usually did. I wasn’t sure I could reach my phone.

  And no one was around to save me. Marie was gone. My father wouldn’t be home for days. If she forgot about me this time, I had no one to help.

  She stood in silence in front of me, considering, calculating. I pursed my lips, unsure if I should suggest she eat. How would she untie me, anyway? The knots weren’t fashioned with expertise. They were a garbled mess. If I could reach them, I could possibly undo them, but from my position, there was no way.

  She nodded as if replying to a question that wasn’t asked. She bent over and she started the water in the tub, hitting the shower lever.

  The water shot out cold. I gasped, crying out. I focused simply on trying to balance myself on the chair and keep my face away from the spray.

  “You won’t move,” she said. “You should have known better. You’re doing this to yourself. You will never talk to a boy again at school. You’ll never even think about touching one or crossing that line ever again.”

  She twisted the knobs of the shower until they were all the way on hot. She shoved the stool and I almost toppled over on her. For someone who was sick, it surprised me she was able to hold me up.

  When she had positioned me how she wanted, she aimed the shower head. She pushed it until the water was going over my face and shoulders and down my front. No matter how I moved, I couldn’t escape from the water spray. The best I could do was cower my shoulders, putting my face down to get some relief from the constant stream.

  When the water started warming up, at first I was grateful because the cool water left me shivering.

  The water heated quickly.

  I started crying. I bent my head forward, toward my chest and trying my best to get my face out of the flow. My voice filled the bathroom as I knocked my wrists and ankles against the wood.

  “Please,” I cried out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sor
ry. Don’t leave me here.” I sobbed, took in a breath. I couldn’t see her anywhere. I was facing the wrong way.

  No reply.

  Was she already gone? I rattled on the stool. I was drowning in the onslaught of water, nearly scalding. My legs cramped already at being in an awkward position and having to force myself to balance. I was tempted to fall over anyway but worried more about cracking my head open on the bathtub. Would it help? Would she leave me mangled and broken in the tub or put me back into place?

  “I’m sorry!” I shouted. If I could get out of this, I would do whatever it took to never let her catch me again. I promised myself to be more careful, to get rid of those notes and any hint of the boys. I’d been slacking. How could I have ever known she would go this far?

  Panic forced my breath to catch and it was hard enough to breathe under the onslaught of scalding water.

  I twisted my head to the left, waiting there for as long as I could stand it. When the water was too hot, I turned my head again to the right, catching a different angle. The water felt like it was burning the tender bits of skin around my eyes, at my ears, and along my lips.

  I sobbed. I called for Marie. I called for dad. I knew they weren’t there, but I didn’t know what else to do. I called for my mother. “Help me,” I cried out. “Please stop! Please!”

  Motion nearby caused me to pause. She came back! She realized she’d gone too far. I never cried like this for kneeling in rice or for any of her other punishments Please. Just turn the water off. That’s all. I’ll stay here for hours. I’ll do it. Just not with the water.

  A hand gripped my hair, forcing my head back. A glass smacked at my mouth. I breathed in vinegar and lemon.

  I opened my mouth before she had a chance to strike me with the cup again. I swallowed, forcing back my sobs. I was only halfway done when my stomach lurched and I started purging. The cup was pulled back. I tilted my head away, still with the onslaught of hot water against my tender skin. I emptied the contents of my stomach into my lap. Stomach acid mingled with the lemon and vinegar against my raw skin.

  When I was done vomiting, the hand was back and I was forced to drain the cup. When I was finished, the glass was dropped into the tub. It cracked against the basin, shattering. I was puking again on myself, sobbing, feeling my throat scratching. I wanted to take in water but my throat was burning and the water was too hot.

  The shower curtain was pulled over, shadowing me against the light. I heard the inside lock flip and the door closed. I twisted around, peeking through the water.

  If Marie came looking for me, it might look like I was just taking a shower. She might not think to check on me at all. My mother had thought ahead enough that she didn’t want anyone freeing me before she came back.

  I was alone.

  When the hot water died about thirty minutes later, I was still crying. I felt the phone at my back pocket and I couldn’t get myself to even attempt to save it. I was sure it was broken now. What could I do with it anyway? The guys couldn’t come save me because my mother would stop them, perhaps even call the police on them and have them arrested. Would they ever forgive me if one of them ended up in jail?

  If I kept my head tilted forward, it gave me just enough breathing space that I could take in some clean air without breathing in water droplets. It was extremely uncomfortable. I held it for as long as I could to allow myself to catch my breath.

  Soon, my tears died off. My breathing was ragged, my throat stinging. I tried drinking water but I coughed it up quickly and the coughing irritated my throat further.

  At least the water was cool.

  ♥♥♥

  I stared off into space a lot. The feather blue paint along the edge of the shower near the ceiling looked a lot like a shirt I’d seen Luke wear to school. I thought of his blond hair and the contrasting dark brown eyes, when my neck started hurting and my face couldn’t stand another moment of the constant spray.

  The sliver-like gleam of the faucet reminded me of Victor’s medallion. I thought of his finger tracing along my skin as he held my hand between classes. I thought of Silas hugging me, strong enough to pick me up off of the ground. Memories swept through me of North’s intense brown eyes, and the feel of his fingers massaging my scalp, of Gabriel’s curses and stealing my hair clip, of Kota’s smooth fingers tracing my cheek, and of Nathan making faces at me when I peeked back at him during geometry.

  I even thought about Mr. Blackbourne and Dr. Green. I thought about Greg and Mike and Rocky and other people at school that I’d met. I thought about Mr. Hendricks and Mr. McCoy as little as possible, but when I did, I kept thinking how even though they were faulty in many ways, they probably never had to deal with this. Greg was vulgar, Mike was brash, Rocky was arrogant. None would dare tie me to a chair in the shower.

  Most of the time though, I thought of the boys. I wondered if Kota was worried about me. I wondered if they tried to text but I had been shaking and sobbing so badly before that perhaps if they tried, I wouldn’t have felt it. Or the phone really was broken. Victor would be so mad when I showed him the phone later. I wondered if they even noticed I was gone.

  I wondered when my mother would come back for me.

  ♥♥♥

  Hours passed, I didn’t know how many. My back was sore. I was shivering. My skin felt raw and heavy, like clinging plastic wrap covered it. I kept my eyes closed, my head down for as long as possible, and shifted in my chair. I got used to the way it would rock back and forth. At one point, I tried to twist my body so the chair would move. It did, about an inch. The stool tilted so badly I was afraid it would fall over.

  I was tempted to let it. I twisted my body to look behind myself. If I fell in one direction, I would crack my head on the faucet. If I went the other way, I would be on my side, still tied up and helpless. If I tried falling out of the tub, I would probably end up upside down and still unable to move.

  My hands felt numb. My feet did, too. I wasn’t even sure if my feet were still up on the vertical spokes of the stool. I wondered if I was doing more damage to my ankle and the bruised bones. My butt was asleep as well. Every piece of me felt so cold. When the air conditioner kicked on, it got so much worse that I was shivering, rocking precariously on the stool.

  ♥♥♥

  I was slumped over, almost passed out when the chair started to careen forward. With my heart in my throat, I leaned back, trying to balance myself out. I caught it just in time and rattled back into stabilizing. I couldn’t fall asleep. I willed myself to stay awake. I bit my tongue, my cheek, anything to force my eyes open. I stared off at the wall. How long was she going to keep me in here?

  ♥♥♥

  More time passed. I tried counting the minutes. My throat was scratchy, and despite sipping the water falling around my face, I still coughed it up. I tried my voice, but I couldn’t hear myself.

  My skin felt so tight and sore, I wanted to scrape it from my body. Every little drop of water against my face felt like a sting.

  I moved my arms, hitting the edge of the stool and slapping my hands against the wood of the chair. I wasn’t sure if my mother or Marie could hear me if they were nearby, but I was desperate. Would my mom come back and do something else?

  I was desperate enough to take that risk. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but it felt late. I’d do anything to get out of the shower.

  If I passed out, I knew I would die.

  Saturday

  I stretched my arms against the resistance of the cord toward my hip pocket. I didn’t know if I could reach anyone. I didn’t know if the phone still worked. All I knew was that I had been forgotten.

  With what little give the rope allowed, I scrunched my biceps and tugged my shorts down to better access the pocket where the phone was. My fingers clipped the edge of the phone and it started to slide out. I clutched it, gripping at it tightly until I heard a crack. With numb fingers, it was hard to manipulate. I was shaking badly, afraid I would drop it. I had one shot.
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  I bit my lip and held the phone up. I straightened my body against the onslaught of cool water to block the spray the best I could from reaching my back and the phone. It was difficult to not peek over my shoulder to find out if the screen lit up.

  I used my thumb to punch at it, trying to remember exactly what I needed to select to reach the guys.

  Please, please, someone. Anyone. I don’t care who. Please work.

  If it wasn’t broken, I only had seconds before the water spraying around me might break it for good.

  I jabbed the phone with my finger, hitting at random for what I hoped would be the guys’ applications, ones Dr. Green had installed on my phone. I jabbed again; aiming for what I thought would be one of four square buttons of different colors, unsure of which one I was pushing. Black, red... Not that it mattered. I thought this constituted an emergency.

  I kept pushing, just in case my first attempts didn’t work. A ringing buzz sounded, so faint against the fall of water around me. I’d dialed someone.

  Please. Please, anyone. Be there.

  The ringing stopped. A click. “Aggele mou?”

  I swallowed, willing my voice to work. “Silas!” I squeaked out. I grasped the phone, trying to be steady. I wasn’t sure he could hear me at all. The water was spraying louder than I was speaking. “Silas, Silas... help. Please. Silas.”

  Quiet. I twisted and a sudden muscle spasm struck me hard against my legs and back. The phone slipped from my hands. I was too slow to catch it. It fell and skimmed down into the tub. It cracked against the basin, sliding toward the drain.

  I sobbed, calling out to Silas, crying out his name over and over. I could only hope he heard me. I could only hope he understood I needed him.

  I closed my eyes, my heart wild in my chest. I slapped my hands against the chair. I rocked back and forth on the stool until I felt too unstable to do it anymore. If Silas was still on the phone, I wanted him to know I was there. I didn’t want this fragile connection severed.