by A. I. Nasser
My Allison.
The Council will be meeting again tomorrow, and I anticipate hours of useless conversation and debate. I do not look forward to the members’ looks of pity and sorrow that I am sure will accompany my presence between them. I do not want comforting hands on my shoulders or motivations to persevere against the tragedy that has befallen my family.
I want my Allison. That is all I ask.
I do not believe I ask for much.
Chapter 2
“I don’t quite understand what the problem is.”
Deborah Adams sat patiently behind her mother’s desk. Her chestnut hair was tied back in a tight ponytail that was giving her a headache, and her hands were folded in front of her as she tried her best to look professional. She had spent a good hour trying to explain to the parent sitting opposite why his son was not advancing in middle school English.
She had started working at Melington Middle School straight out of college, her position almost a certainty, especially since the principal was her mother. However, she had never relied on that, working harder than most, attempting to preemptively disperse any rumors about why she deserved to be here. She had made friends quickly, had done her best to remain amiable to those who had doubted her and always made sure she was constantly on top of her game.
However, on the rare occasion she would have to call in a parent while her mother was unavailable, holding said meetings in the principal’s office didn’t help much with that.
“Is it a learning disorder?” the man in front of her asked, his face mellow and his eyes searching hers nervously.
She could see he was upset, confused and out of place. The shabby T-shirt and over-faded jeans were a clear indication that life hadn’t been treating him well. Despite Melington’s growth, it was clear that not everyone was benefiting.
“Blake doesn’t have a learning disorder, Mr. Collins,” she said, her voice level and soft, hoping not to spook the man any more than he already was. “His homework was handed in late, he doesn’t participate in class, and when he does hand in work, it’s half-baked.”
The man cast his eyes downwards and sighed heavily. “I know. It hasn’t been easy on him,” he said. “Ever since his mother’s death, we’ve been barely keeping it together.”
Deborah frowned. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” she said, making a mental note to ask why that piece of information hadn’t been in the child’s file. Suddenly, little Blake Collins’ dismissal was much more understandable.
“Cancer,” Collins explained, smiling weakly. “It was a long and painful journey for all of us.”
“Have you talked to him about it?” Deborah asked. “I’m sure he’s wrestling with some serious emotions. Maybe he just needs someone to listen.”
“I tried, but he rarely opens up,” came the reply. “He gets that from me, I guess. I just thought that if I gave him enough time and space, he’d come through.”
“I think you should talk to him,” Deborah said, her voice mirroring her empathy. “He’s a smart boy. He just needs to know he isn’t alone.”
Collins nodded and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, scratching the back of his head as he considered Deborah’s words. “I’ll talk to him,” he said. “I just hope it helps.”
Deborah nodded in approval. “I think it will.”
Collins stood up and folded his cap in his hands, smiling nervously as he reached a hand out to Deborah. She took it, shook it firmly and smiled at the man reassuringly. Throughout her career, she had always put her students first, and she quickly made a mental note to keep her eye on Blake and maybe even talk to him herself.
“I appreciate everything you’re doing for him, Miss Adams,” Collins said. “I really do.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to make sure he stays on track.”
Collins nodded, pulled the cap on his head and walked out of the office, softly closing the door behind him as he left.
Deborah slumped back into the chair, quickly loosening the ponytail and running her fingers through her hair, feeling an instant relief race through her. She tossed her glasses onto the desk and gently rubbed her temples, hoping to stop her headache before it turned into an immense throbbing she wouldn’t be able to handle for the rest of the day.
She looked at her watch and noted that her mother wouldn’t be back for at least another hour from the Council meeting. Sighing, she began to rummage through the remaining tasks that had been left for her to deal with.
The intercom on the desk buzzed, and Deborah winced at the static voice of her mother’s secretary. She hated the damn contraption, feeling very nineteen ninety with it sitting there, lights blinking on and off. Her mother might be known for being old school, but this was ridiculous.
“Should I send in the new teacher?” the secretary’s voice sounded annoyed. Deborah grimaced. The elderly woman was one of the few people in Melington Middle School who did not approve of her being there. The fact that Deborah was filling in for her mother was definitely adding to that distaste.
“Give me a minute,” Deborah replied, quickly searching through the files on her desk for the one with the new teacher’s CV.
The school had been short staffed for a while now, and Deborah had seen several men and women come and go as Principal Adams interviewed them, mostly unsatisfied with the applicants. At one point, Deborah had been forced to remind her mother that this wasn’t an Ivy League, and the longer it took for them to hire someone, the more restless the rest of the staff would become.
“There’s still a lot left on the agenda, and Principal Adams left strict instructions that everything was to be done before she returned.”
Deborah wanted to go out there and slap the woman.
“Fine, send him in,” she said, quickly tying her hair back to the screaming dissatisfaction of her scalp. She scanned the files again, replaced her glasses, and almost immediately found the application file in the midst of the others.
There was a light rap on the door. Deborah barely had enough time to rearrange the desk before the new applicant stepped in. She tried to catch his name, but when she looked up, she quickly realized that she didn’t need to.
The man in front of her looked like he had just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot. He was dressed smartly in a blazer and dark jeans, his white shirt buttoned to the top where a navy tie that matched his blazer hung loosely around his neck. It was apparent that he had no idea how to tie it, and it gave him a charming, boy-next-door look that would have made him stand out in any crowd. His hair was jet-black, but Deborah knew it was dyed.
It was the scar directly below his jaw that gave him away.
Deborah smiled widely, moving around the desk as her childhood friend walked up to her and hugged her. A small laugh escaped her, and she did her best to hold back her tears.
“Hi, Debbie,” the man whispered, and Deborah pressed him closer to her.
She had never thought she would see Alan Carter again.
***
Alan couldn’t stop smiling.
He had been anxious walking into the school. He had hardly recognized the place. The walls were lined with the faces of alumni and founding family members he barely recognized, an extra couple of wings had been added to the already immense maze of corridors, and classes that he had once been able to find with his eyes closed had been shifted and changed. It had been like stepping into a completely different school.
Alan had hoped to bump into the least number of people he knew as possible during the first couple of days, making sure that he took his return to Melington slow. But, the way the town had grown, he had quickly found that that wouldn’t be a problem. After having finished a few quick errands before his interview without any incidence, he had begun to long for a familiar face.
“Twenty years on the dot,” Deborah Adams smiled, the girl from his childhood hardly recognizable.
She was a strict reminder of how much the people he had once known must have changed. If he had ever
come across Deborah anywhere else, he might have dismissed the woman for a stranger. Looking at her now, the blues of her eyes as piercing as he remembered, he couldn’t help but feel nostalgic.
“A long time,” Alan replied.
“That’s an understatement, Carter,” Deborah chuckled. “Where the hell have you been? No letters, no calls. It’s the twenty first century. Don’t you have Facebook?”
Alan laughed, instantly feeling at home as Deborah’s friendly reprimand a reminded him of their innocent childhood squabbles. Growing up right next door, he couldn’t remember anyone he had spent more time with. Besides his sister, of course.
But no one wanted to remember his sister.
“I’ve been a little off the grid, I admit,” Alan apologized. “I did try to reach out a couple of years back, but that lead to nothing.”
“Are you back in the old place?” Deborah asked.
Alan nodded. “So much has changed, though. I hardly recognize the neighborhood.”
“You’re living in one the more down-trodden parts of town now,” Deborah smiled. “Everyone we know has either moved away or found a house in one of those new compounds.”
“I noticed,” Alan said with a smirk. Deborah’s old house was now occupied by a burly man in the habit of throwing beer cans into his front yard and staring out at everyone, daring them to protest. Alan had avoided him like the plague ever since he had returned.
“If you ever think of selling, let me know,” Deborah offered. “I know a great real estate agent.”
Alan shook his head. “I think I’ll pass,” he smiled. “Too many memories. Don’t want to give that up just yet.”
“Are you sure?” Deborah asked, a hint of concern creeping into her voice.
Alan immediately knew what she meant. She had been the one person closest to him after what had happened twenty years ago, his only true support when his mother had been unavailable and his father had been busy raising hell. She had been by his side until the very end, during the interrogations and the searches, the media frenzy and relentless reporters. She had stood quietly by his side, holding his hand as they had watched the movers empty the house. He remembered how she had shuddered when his father had called for him, how her hand had gripped his tighter as if she could stop him from leaving.
It had been a bitter escape from Melington.
“That was twenty years ago,” Alan assured her. “I’m over that now.”
Deborah eyed him before smiling and nodding. Still, she didn’t look too convinced.
“So, you’re principal?” Alan asked, quickly changing subjects.
Deborah laughed and shook her head. “Mom still runs the place,” she said. “I’m just filling in today.”
Alan raised an eyebrow and smirked. “So, my interview is with you?” he asked.
Deborah gave him a wicked smile. “You got that right, Carter,” she said, “and I can assure you, I’m not easily impressed.”
From the Journal of Jeremiah Carter.
Melington. September 20th, 1826.
The nights are becoming much colder. This winter will be harsh. I have taken it upon myself to see to the regular tasks Abbey has usually been responsible for. The boys are still young, their bodies have not yet become accustomed to the cold.
Abbey has still not said a word. She sits quietly in her chair, and I worry for her health. I met with the doctor and asked him about this, but have returned with the same level of understanding of her condition as when I had left. No one can satisfyingly explain to me what my wife is going through, other than the obvious heart break she must be enduring.
I have been spending more time by her side, coaxing the boys to play in front of the house where she can see them. I hope that she might soon realize that, despite the loss of our dear daughter, she still has two wonderful sons who need their mother. She still has a husband who needs his wife.
I find myself crying sometimes. It is hard dealing with loss in the midst of my wife’s distance. I have a new-found respect for her and the burden she has had to bear all these years without complaints.
I have tried to persuade her into retiring early just after dusk, to save her from the agony of the cold and the wind. She will not move.
I have resorted to covering her with a blanket as soon as the temperatures drop, so she is at least, warm... I fear that I have not only lost my daughter, but my wife as well.
The Council seeks to meet again within the next few days. Our last meeting was fruitless, and my fear that everyone would focus on me and my loss had come to be. I cannot go through another hour of the same.
I still look out window every night. I wish for the small figure of my dear Allison to materialize through the trees and come running home, as if she had only been lost and had finally found her way back.
I pray.
Chapter 3
Principal Rachel Adams sat quietly in the small study, a room that had been reserved for private meetings with the Chairman. She shifted in her seat, constantly looking at the time and cursing the fact that she had been waiting for almost half an hour. She was accustomed to a certain level of respect, and was always annoyed when she was treated with any less. She was not a woman who liked to be kept waiting.
The door to the study opened and Chairman Daniel Cole stepped in, flashing Rachel his best political smile. He opened his arms wide in anticipation as he confidently made his way to her. Rachel stood up quickly, scowling at the man and raising a hand to stop his advance.
“This is ridiculous, Daniel,” she spat. “I have obligations, you know. I can’t waste time playing games with you.”
Daniel’s smile didn’t falter. “Rachel, I assure you, if I could have been here sooner, I would have.”
Rachel scoffed and sat back down. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Do you have somewhere to be?” Daniel asked, walking to a small mini-bar and setting two cups out. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured a shot into each, taking one back to Rachel.
“Unless you’ve forgotten, I have a school to run,” Rachel replied, taking the drink and putting it on the small table beside her without even looking at it.
Daniel smiled, raising his glass in a mock toast before downing his own drink and replacing his cup at the bar.
“What do you have for me?” he asked, immediately taking on a more serious tone as he sat in the chair behind his desk.
Rachel opened her bag, pulling a file out and tossing it in front of the Chairman. Daniel raised his eyebrows and tapped the file with a long finger.
“Does anyone know about this yet?” he asked.
“Do I look like I’m an idiot?” Rachel asked, infuriated that he would even ask. “We all know the rules.”
“You haven’t even talked to the Sheriff?” Daniel asked. “I know the two of you are close.”
Rachel eyed Daniel Cole, imagining her hand around his tie and suffocating him in his seat. She hated the way he talked down to her, as if she were his subordinate. She wanted to remind him who had put him in his chair, but decided against it.
“It isn’t my place to tell the Sheriff,” Rachel said, reluctantly accepting the hit to her ego. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”
Daniel smiled. “I just wanted to make sure we all remembered our places in this matter.” He slid the file closer to him and opened it, looking at the sheets of paper within that Rachel had spent the last few weeks compiling.
“The boy’s name is Blake Collins,” Rachel said. “They’re new to Melington. Mother’s dead, father’s as useless as they come. I had my secretary call the garage he works at. Apparently he’s one mistake away from being fired.”
Daniel nodded. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?” his voice was low, menacing, enough to make even Rachel shudder. “We should make sure Mr. Collins hands in his resignation with dignity and finds his fortune somewhere else, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think about these things,” Rachel said. �
��You know my conditions. I don’t want to know anything more than what I have to.”
Daniel nodded quickly and gave her an annoyed wave. “Relatives?” he asked, sifting through the papers.
“Don’t worry,” Rachel said, standing up. “He won’t be missed.”
Daniel Cole watched her adjust the purse on her shoulder, her tall frame and curves accentuated by the two-piece suit she was wearing. Rachel could see his eyes undressing her, and immediately felt her stomach turn. She couldn’t understand how his wife tolerated him.
“If that’s all, I have more important matters to attend to,” Rachel said.
Daniel’s eyes found hers and held them. “Nothing is more important than this,” he said. “That is, as long as you hope to have grandchildren, Rachel.”
Rachel smirked. “I think you’re more worried about your own than any of our children, Daniel.” She turned and walked to the door, opening it slightly before stopping and turning to look at the man behind the desk.
“Alan Carter is back,” she said.
Daniel’s head snapped up from the file. “What?”
Rachel nodded with a smile, amused at how worried Daniel Cole suddenly looked. “He’s applied as an English teacher at the school.”
Daniel sat back and looked at the woman, frowning in confusion. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
Rachel shrugged. “That’s Deborah’s decision,” she said, knowing well what the outcome of the interview would be. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted to be involved with Alan Carter’s application. She didn’t want the Council members blaming her for the man’s return to Melington.
“That was not a very wise decision.”
“I can’t imagine why?” Rachel asked, playing the fool and adding to Daniel’s discomfort. “I wonder if he’s anything like his father. What do you think Alan would do if he figured out the truth?”
“What happened was necessary,” Daniel said, his voice firm, as if trying to convince himself rather than her.
