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

by C. L. Stone

  Escaping.

  A BROKEN SCREAM

  The hallways were jumbled with other students transitioning between third and fourth period classes. Since the guys weren’t next to me, I paid special attention, kept my head down, and took the shortest route to class.

  I was shuffling with others inside a narrow hallway, when a sharp bump of an elbow hit me in my breast. The pain radiated through my shoulder. I clutched at my chest where I’d been hit.

  “Oops,” called a smoky female voice.

  My thoughts still stuck on the encounter with the principal, it took me a moment to recognize her.

  But there was no mistaking those sharp eyes that sliced into me, and that raven dark hair.

  “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you,” Jade said, although her tone made it seem like she wasn’t sorry and she had seen me.

  I removed my hand from my chest. “Pardon me,” I said, willing to take the blame just to escape her. It was how I dealt with anyone at my old school wanting to cause trouble. Excusing myself and bowing my head and running. It was a rare occurrence, but it usually worked.

  Jade stepped into my path. “What’s wrong, sugar? In a hurry?”

  “I have to get to class.”

  She smiled, but it was like looking into the mouth of a cobra, hypnotic and deadly. “Tell North I said hello, won’t you?” She turned away, heading down the hall.

  I pushed her out of my mind, but a second thought had me wondering. She was on the list of names associated with Mr. Hendricks. Was this really a random encounter, or was she tasked with following me? Or North?

  ♥♥♥

  North and Nathan were waiting outside the door to Music Room B.

  “What kept you?” North asked, his voice a little gruffer than normal, like he’d been using it more lately. Or had been yelling a lot more.

  “Jade … uhm,” I said. I stumbled for the rest, but realized it probably wasn’t important right now.

  “Who?” North asked.

  I waved my hand in the air. “Nothing. Crowded hallway. Sorry.”

  He made a face, but opened the door.

  “Should we go in with her?” Nathan asked.

  “I’ll go in,” North said. “You go to class.”

  “Both of you will go to class,” Mr. Blackbourne emerged from the classroom. “Now.”

  North straightened. “We need to--”

  “Appear completely normal. That’s an order.”

  North grunted, glaring, but turned and stalked off. Nathan shifted a short look to me, but retreated to the hallway.

  Mr. Blackbourne focused on me. “Miss Sorenson.”

  “Mr. Blackbourne.”

  He directed me inside. I dropped my bag and violin case into one of the chairs.

  “It was an interesting choice of topic to discuss with Mr. Hendricks,” he started. He clasped his hands behind his back. It was only the slightest lift of one of his eyebrows that told me his mood in an otherwise barren face; a spark of curiosity. “What made you think of it?”

  “I wanted to know,” I said. I plucked my phone out of my bra in full view. If he’d been watching, he knew where it was, anyway. I flipped through the phone, finding the list of people, and showed it to him. “He’s toying with you.”

  Mr. Blackbourne took my phone, studying the image. “Students and teachers.”

  “He knows you know people are following. He’s happy about it. It’s like he …” I paused, knowing the answer, but unsure how to phrase it.

  “Wants to keep us contained,” he said. “If he can’t figure out what we’re up to, he’ll make it impossible for us to work. He does it by not allowing us the privacy needed to do whatever he suspects we’re up to.”

  I tapped my finger against the side of my chin to think. “So he planted people to play babysitter. And if you did happen to do something, at least he’d have a witness. It isn’t Ms. Johnson, but McCoy has participated.”

  “Was it something Mr. Hendricks said?” he asked. “How do you know one is McCoy?”

  “McCoy told me. Well, he didn’t say so, but he … I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he is, though. And there’s someone else, too. At least watching Kota.”

  “Kota did mention you pointed out the differences in the cars. You were correct. They were different; something we didn’t notice. It was a good catch.”

  “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have drawn attention to it. I didn’t have anything to offer.”

  “Which is exactly how it should be,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “Just keep your eyes and ears open.”

  I swiped my fingertips across the material of my skirt, trying to remember what else to tell him. There seemed to be so much. I glanced back at my book bag, retreated to it for the slip of paper. “There was this, too.”

  “Of course,” he said, as if he expected it. He flipped over the paper, examining the indentions. “It appears to be monetary figures.”

  “It was next to a document about insurance on the football team. I took photographs of the page he was looking at.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up a millimeter. “You’re becoming quite the little team member, Miss Sorenson.”

  Was that a compliment? I blushed, unsure how to respond.

  He held up my cell phone. “Do you mind if I transfer these to my phone?”

  I shook my head. Of course I didn’t mind. I expected him to do something with it, even if he just told me they weren’t useful and threw them away.

  He pulled his phone out, a similar iPhone, and started pushing buttons on it and mine.

  I watched as he worked, rubbing the material of my skirt between my fingertips. “Mr. Blackbourne?”

  “Hm?” he said, still concentrating on the phones.

  “Why did Mr. McCoy come back?”

  “He made an excuse to Mr. Hendricks to return to his office. He claimed to have forgotten his cell phone, which clearly wasn’t the case.”

  “Do you think he knows about my parents? Since he’s watching Kota?”

  “He hasn’t mentioned it.”

  I smoothed my skirt again when I realized I was probably wrinkling it. I didn’t know how to say this next part. It felt like something I should have said to Kota or someone else. “What’s to stop him from coming to my house? Or stopping me in the street if I’m walking to Kota’s?

  His eyebrows lifted first, as if he heard the question, but for a split second, was surprised by what it meant. His head lifted from the phones, and he gazed at me. He must have been calculating something entirely different and was suddenly faced with a question he hadn’t been prepared to answer. “When I asked you to keep away from Mr. McCoy, I meant in any capacity, not just in school.”

  “I know,” I said. “I mean…” Except I didn’t know how else to explain it. What happened if there was a night when Kota or anyone else couldn’t spend the night and I got a surprise visit from Mr. McCoy? I knew I was just throwing out guesses. Before it had been a possibility, but he was still a school figurehead and didn’t really know where I lived, or at least I thought I could believe that.

  Now Mr. McCoy wanted something from me, and he’d been on my street. That little bubble of safety had burst.

  Mr. Blackbourne’s eyes darkened slightly. “Miss Sorenson, I’ve told you not to worry about it.”

  “Sorry,” I said softly.

  The corner of his mouth tilted down. He stepped back, planting both phones on top of the piano. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, shedding it, and folded it over the top of the piano bench. He started loosening his red tie.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, stunned to witness him undressing.

  He hooked fingers into the knot of his tie and wedged it open until he could slide it off. “You are going to show me what Kota taught you this weekend.”

  My cheeks heated. “Here?” I bit back the question that tickled my lips: With him?

  Mr. Blackbourne nodded his head sharply. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them up toward h
is elbows. “The way to build confidence in cases like this is knowing how to handle yourself in any situation.” He stepped forward, planting his hands on his hips. “If I were Mr. McCoy, what’s your first action?”

  I touched the base of my throat with my fingertips. “To run.”

  “Correct. Where?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you’re in school, where would you run to?”

  “I … suppose to your office.”

  He nodded again. “If you’re close to it, you’re welcome to use it. If you know where I am or anyone else on my team should be, you need to find them. If neither are convenient, running out into the open within a crowd is your third option. Don’t corner yourself, and don’t run blindly.” He circled me and positioned himself with his hands outstretched. “And if I was Mr. McCoy and was to come after you, what do you do?”

  I wavered, trying to still my shaking. I gingerly lifted my hands. This was completely wrong. I couldn’t swing at Mr. Blackbourne.

  “You’re not going to hurt me,” he said. “If Mr. McCoy won’t let you escape, what’s your first move?”

  I made fists and swung slowly, like I’d done with Kota. I aimed for his stomach though.

  Mr. Blackbourne stood by until my fist made contact with his stomach. Even using my knuckles, I felt a hardened body, much like the others. None of the Academy guys were lazy. “I understand your hesitation,” he said, “but if you think you feel uneasy striking at me, you’ll feel doubly so when it’s the real thing. It’s going to be incredibly uncomfortable. You’re taught to respect superiors, and Mr. McCoy is not only an adult, he’s supposed to be someone in charge of you, your vice principal. He’s violated that trust. We need to break your hesitation.”

  My body rattled through my core. “What if…”

  Mr. Blackbourne’s hand shot out, capturing my chin. The move was so sudden that once he held me between his fingers, I jerked my head back. He held on, his steel eyes bearing down on me. “I’m not a psychic, Miss Sorenson. If there’s one thing the Academy tries to break from students, it’s to not to play ‘what if’ games.”

  I held my breath, wanting to blink and look away but fearing to do so. I wanted to appear brave, even though I felt tiny and wanted to hide. “I’ll try to be better,” I said.

  “You will be better,” he said, exuding the confidence I wish I could have believed was inside of me. His fingers softened against my chin, but didn’t release me. “You’ll get there. I promise, it’ll happen. You’ll feel more secure with time. You don’t have to hide behind us. You’ll stand next to us.”

  The look in his eyes told me this was more than just about Mr. McCoy. This was part of his promise, their promise, to bring me into this group they’d created.

  “Now,” he said. “When you face off with Mr. McCoy, if it ever does come to that, your job is to run, and if you can’t run, you will…” He paused with intention, his eyes telling me to finish.

  “I’ll incapacitate him until I can run.”

  “Which means?” he asked.

  “Hitting him in the stomach or neck, or whatever is needed.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “And?”

  I stopped. I wasn’t sure what he was asking. “And when he’s down, run away?”

  “You’re not wrong,” he said, “but if you need to, you should call for help. Scream if necessary.”

  “Scream?”

  He nodded, releasing my chin to position his hands on his hips. “If you’re in a situation like this, hopefully you aren’t alone, but if you are, you should draw as much attention as possible. More than likely he’ll retreat if someone’s witnessing.” He started pacing around me. I stood still, facing the piano, watching him from my peripheral vision. “So if he’s chasing you or trying to keep you in place, you’ll…”

  “Scream and try to run.”

  “Correct. Go ahead and scream.”

  I swallowed. “Now?”

  “Learn to trust me, Miss Sorenson,” he said.

  Trust. I opened my mouth, feeling ridiculous. “Help,” I said, although weakly. The potential echo in a music room made me nervous.

  “Louder,” Mr. Blackbourne said.

  I repeated myself, although a few notches louder than my normal speaking voice.

  “You can do better than that,” he said. “Pretend you’re trying to get Kota to hear you. He’s on the second floor. Try to call out to him.”

  I sighed, and then took in another deep breath. Maybe if I did it quickly, he’d move on to something else. I didn’t want to draw any more attention today from anyone else. I’d had enough of that already.

  I parted my lips, summoned up the nerve, and did my best to cry out for help.

  My throat seized on the first syllable. I coughed.

  “Keep going,” he said.

  I tried again, but my throat closed in the moment I got louder than a mild shout. I dropped my fingers onto my throat, opened my mouth wide and simply tried to get a vowel out between my lips in a screech.

  But sounds scratched around my throat, and after only a couple of squeaks, my voice box refused to work.

  I blinked in surprise. I tried again, but nothing changed. I looked at Mr. Blackbourne in a panic. I couldn’t shout? Or scream?

  Mr. Blackbourne stepped around, motioning with his fingers. “Open your mouth,” he said.

  I parted my lips, holding my mouth open.

  He gazed into my throat. “Try again,” he said, still staring. “Do a range. Start from your normal speaking voice and go up in volume.

  I did, but with the same result. At a volume just around shouting range, my voice started to crack. By the time I got to screaming, there was no sound at all.

  “Try a higher pitch.”

  I did as he asked. My voice started to crack the moment I got over a loud talking volume. I couldn’t even manage to shout at that pitch.

  “Try lower.”

  I did, a little better, but my shouts and screams were ineffective.

  Mr. Blackbourne frowned, shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he said in a quiet voice.

  My eyes went wide. “Sorry?” I said, in a quieter voice.

  “It must have been the vinegar and lemon,” he said. He nudged his glasses higher with a forefinger. “Your vocal cords are straining, but there might be some longstanding damage."

  “I can’t scream,” I said.

  The corner of his mouth lowered. “Miss Sorenson, I don’t want to make a diagnosis just yet, but it may be that your voice will need more time to heal before it’ll fully recover that ability.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I did shout or scream. I got a little louder at times, but I hadn’t had to scream. And then I remembered the times I yelled with the boys and it came out as a screech. I'd thought at the time it was just my over excitement cutting off my voice. I wasn’t the type to scream much anyway. Now it was supposed to be a way to defend myself, and it was something so simple, and it wasn’t hurting anyone or hitting someone, and I couldn’t do it. “What do I do?”

  Mr. Blackbourne’s eyes started working, darting back and forth as he gazed at my face, as if trying to calculate an answer. “The important thing right now is that we know. If we can, we’ll fix it.” I started to part my lips, but his fingers shot out, shutting down the questions. “And if we can’t, we’ll figure out another solution.”

  But the answer was clear to me. My voice was broken.

  ACCUSATIONS

  By Thursday the following week, the good news was I hadn’t seen or heard from either Mr. Hendricks or Mr. McCoy.

  The bad news was that everyone else seemed to have heard about the incident at the party with North and me in the closet.

  The number of notes dropped on my desk or funneled out by the others increased. It seemed to have turned into a game. North’s pockets were full by lunch.

  I found myself cowering more and more beside the guys in the hallways. I tried to believe what
Victor had told me: not to worry about what others think, and the only opinions I needed to listen to were from those I cared about.

  It seemed almost impossible to ignore the whispers completely. I thought the worst part had to be the horrible looks. Curious, judging, and full of amusement. The girls smirked with suspicion dripping from their eyes. The guys leered with hope that the rumors were true. Get Sang in a closet and she’ll let you have a good time.

  The boys, however, seemed dismissive of the entire thing. North was subdued, seemingly more than usual. The further into the week, the less he talked to me. I didn’t understand what was wrong, but let him have his space. Perhaps this was what he warned me about: staying away from him until he got over the drugs having been in his system. I wondered how long it would take.

  What changed the most was lunch time. Instead of talking and eating like everyone around us, Academy students turned it into trying to get homework and studying finished.

  “Between Academy work, the diner, football and other jobs, we need to get ahead of school work,” Kota told me one afternoon. “Evenings during the week and the weekends will be busier than usual. If we can manage to get homework done at school, we can be ready.”

  On Thursday afternoon, a thunderstorm started up. During gym class, the boys had been playing baseball out on the field all week and the girls had been playing tennis. Since we weren’t able to do it now, we did our usual start up stretches and the coaches allowed everyone to talk or play basketball inside.

  Nathan, Gabriel and I were discussing the upcoming football game and our weekend plans, when the rickety side doors of the gym opened. Mr. Hendricks appeared in the doorway, and strolled forward. He scanned the students, locked eyes with me and headed our way.

  We all stood. I prepped myself, expecting Mr. Hendricks to talk to me. Around all the other students, it felt invasive. Why didn’t he just send a note along? If he came to fetch me himself, what other kind of rumors would start up?

  He diverted when he located the coaches. He approached them, ducking his head close to them to whisper. The coaches nodded in approval. Mr. Hendricks turned back to us.