Sally Singletary's Curiosity (The Sally Singletary Book 1)

by J. M. Cataffo

  Behind them, billowing clouds of smoke rose from the trees. All those people who lost their homes. She couldn’t imagine how much damage the fire had caused.

  She wondered if Jake could be right about Van der Haak planning the whole thing. She couldn’t see how. Van der Haak would have had to set up everything from the beginning. How would he know what they would’ve found or where they would’ve searched? It seemed a long shot at best for him to have had that much foreknowledge. And if that were the case, Van der Haak would’ve known that they’d survive.

  If his goal was to start the fire, there was no way he could’ve known how Yasif would have reacted. He’d wanted them dead. He’d said as much in the field. It made more sense that his plan fell apart and the fire was just an unfortunate outcome.

  The worst part was, despite everything they’d been through, they’d still accomplished nothing. They’d learned nothing about Van der Haak or the shape-shifters, nothing about the deaths and disappearances, and nothing more on Division 51. In fact, it seemed to Sally they had more questions on their hands than before.

  On top it all, she was still in the dark about where her mother had gone.

  They arrived at the hospital to find a slightly annoyed but welcoming woman with blonde hair that matched her daughter’s. “I’m sorry to call you out here like this, but Stephanie insisted that you know what’s happened.” Stephanie’s mother pulled Sally into a hug, even though they’d never met. “She speaks very highly of you.”

  Sally doubted that, but appreciated the sentiment. “I’m so sorry about your daughter, Mrs. Boucher.”

  “Please, call me Betty,” she said with a forced smile.

  “What was it she wanted to see us about?” Sally asked.

  “I don’t know. She just seemed to think you’d want to know how she was doing.” Mrs. Boucher smoothed out her hair.

  Sally couldn’t imagine why Stephanie would want her there after what had happened. She expected the cheerleader would want nothing to do with her anymore. “What was it they had to do, Mrs. Bouch…Betty?”

  Stephanie’s mother shook her head as tears began trailing her cheeks. It took her a moment to compose herself. “I’m so sorry, it’s just so sudden…”

  “It’s okay,” Sally said. “We can come another time if this is too difficult.”

  “No.” She wiped her eyes with a tissue. “I’m okay. It’s just that my poor baby will never be able to cheer again.”

  Sally shifted uncomfortably as the woman began crying once more. The others stayed a few feet behind, giving the woman some space.

  “Oh dear,” Betty said, sniffling.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Sally urged.

  “There was just too much damage, the doctor said. They couldn’t repair it, and she’d already lost a lot of blood. They said that even if they hadn’t removed it, she’d have very little use for what was left.”

  “Mrs. Boucher,” Sally said. “Please, I don’t understand. What did they remove?”

  Betty started crying again. “Her arm.”

  Sally’s head swam. Suddenly, the hospital lobby seemed dark and small. Had she heard right? They had to remove Stephanie’s arm? That couldn’t be right.

  “They took off just the forearm, just past the elbow. They’ll fit her with a prosthetic in a few days, but it won’t be the same,” Betty said. “She’s been in recovery, but not coherent enough to receive visitors until today.”

  Sally couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why would Stephanie want her there to tell her this? Was she just trying to rub it in? Sally wouldn’t put it past the cheerleader to do a thing like that. It was a horrible thought, but what other explanation was there? Stephanie had never acted like she considered Sally a friend, why would she start now?

  Sally staggered backward, her legs taking on the consistency of undercooked brownies. She stepped back and fell into a chair. Her vision fogged, her thoughts unclear. Stephanie’s mother hovered over her like a dark cloud. She was saying something, but she might as well have been speaking another language. Sally’s mind had lost the ability to decipher her words.

  How could any of this have happened? She was supposed to be going to college in a few months, not sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, finding out that her roommate had just lost her arm fighting a giant fire-breathing creature!

  It was only when Sally smelled Yasif’s cologne that she realized who’d helped her back to her feet. He supported her, much in the same way he’d supported her through the fire. Sally felt numb and only vaguely aware of the others as they moved toward Stephanie’s room. The closer they came, the more unsettled Sally became. By the time they reached the doorway, she was shaking.

  They entered. A simple curtain separated them from the injured blonde. Sally’s heart beat harder as Stephanie’s mother pulled back the tan fabric. As soon as Sally’s gaze fell on her roommate, she nearly collapsed. It was Yasif who steadied her and kept her from losing her footing.

  Sally couldn’t take her gaze off the pale form lying in the bed. Was this really Stephanie? Her skin had gone the color of fresh milk. Without makeup, she looked plain and vulnerable. But it was when Sally caught sight of the girl’s arm that she gasped unintentionally.

  “Do I look that bad?” Stephanie’s voice croaked, her eyes fluttering open.

  “No!” Sally said quickly. “You look…”

  “I look like a train wreck.” Stephanie managed a slight smile.

  Sally ached with empathy. “I’m so sorry, Steph.”

  “You should be,” she croaked. “It’s all your fault, you know.”

  Sally’s stomach felt as though it had fallen to the floor.

  Stephanie did blame her for what had happened. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Sally knew everything that had taken place was her fault. It was her damned curiosity that started all this in the first place. If she’d only not glanced out that window, not seen Billy and the others disappear, maybe things would be back to normal and Stephanie wouldn’t be lying in this bed without an arm.

  Stephanie wasn’t the only one hurt. Look at all those people who lost their homes, all the people who’ve died. And all because they’d gotten wrapped up in the shape-shifter’s plans.

  Sally wanted to apologize—do something to make things better—but there was nothing that could replace the poor girl’s arm.

  “She’s still a bit delirious from the pain medication.” Stephanie’s mother placed a hand on Sally’s arm. “She’s not herself.”

  “No,” Sally interjected. “She’s right. It is my fault.”

  “How could you be to blame for someone else’s dog?” Betty asked.

  What could Sally say? “I’m sorry, Mrs. Boucher, it wasn’t a dog. It was a giant creature that attacked us in my mother’s apartment in downtown Atlanta.” Yeah, that would make things so much better! Sally opted for silence rather than contradict what she’d told them. She’d expected more, for Stephanie to tell her how awful it was to have lost her arm, to rub in the fact it was all Sally’s fault, but Stephanie’s mother was right. Her roommate was too out of it to carry on more of a conversation. Sally watched as she drifted into a soundless sleep.

  Sally said nothing during the trip back to the switching station, her thoughts consumed with grief over what had happened to Stephanie. It hurt to know she’d caused so much pain. Sally tried not to think of all the things Stephanie would have trouble doing, but instead her mind freely offered the most ridiculous ideas—waving, brushing her hair, tennis?

  Stephanie wasn’t the only one affected. Mrs. Padilla was dead. The poor old woman may have been a bit ditzy, but she certainly didn’t deserve to be killed in such a brutal way. What if it was Sally’s fault that Mrs. Padilla was dead? What if her investigation was what sparked the shape-shifters to come to the school? Van der Haak had certainly made it clear they’d interfered with his plans. Everything that happened could have been set in motion by her investigation.

  She r
emembered the look in the creature’s eyes before Idric had blasted it out of the window. What if it had come for just her? What if she had put the others in danger because she brought them there? Even Yasif’s run-in with Division 51 was a result of her investigation.

  What made her think she could be a real reporter? All she’d managed to do was get everybody hurt. Sally had been so sure she could solve this mystery, get to the bottom of the story, but a cold splash of reality now tempered her ambitions.

  Let Division 51 have their investigation. Let the experts take over from here on out. Sally Singletary was done with sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  SALLY SPENT THE NEXT couple weeks mostly to herself, conversing with the others only when necessary. The time had been filled with unanswered questions and dead-end searches—and Sally wanted no part of it. Yasif and Jake continued digging for information despite her protests, without success. TESSA couldn’t seem to find the link between James Van der Haak, The One Faith Movement, and the shape-shifters—and Sally secretly hoped it never would.

  Idric was still at the school, although he checked in every evening on a direct chat with Jake or Yasif. He filled them in on the things happening there, which wasn’t much. Lani stopped by from time to time after work to check in on them. Sally sensed she felt guilty over not having gone with them to Mt. Holly—not that there would have been anything she could have done. It would have just been one more person hurt by Sally’s carelessness.

  Needing something to do to keep her mind off things, Sally had joined Lani on the evenings she was there in the task of making the switching station more habitable. Even though Lani wasn’t staying with them regularly, the reporter helped out quite a bit. Her boyfriend, Donald, had even dropped off a couch for them to use.

  Sally bought some things to put up around the station to make it feel more like home and to distract her from the awful things that had happened.

  “You can’t keep moping around the station, you know,” Lani said one evening.

  “Sure I can,” Sally replied, not looking up from the book she was reading. “I don’t want any part of this anymore.”

  “That’s such a selfish attitude.”

  “Selfish?” Sally glanced up.

  Lani stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.

  “It’s my fault that Yasif and Idric got hurt. It’s my fault Stephanie lost her arm. It’s my fault Yasif was tortured by Division 51. It’s my fault Mrs. Padilla is dead!” She choked up on the last bit.

  Lani shook her head, moving into the room and taking a place next to her on the cot. “None of that is your fault. You’ve held things together beautifully.”

  Sally threw her a look.

  “You’re one of the most gifted reporters I’ve seen, Sally, and I’ve seen a lot of reporters. You have a knack for getting to the bottom of things, a trait good for both a reporter and an investigator. We have learned so much about these invaders, and I fear if we give up now our situation will get a lot worse.”

  “How so?” Sally asked. “We don’t even know what they want.”

  Lani cocked her head. “No, but we know they’re here and there are more than just one of them. Whatever these shape-shifter things are, they aren’t friendly, and we can bet Van der Haak is one of them.”

  “It’s either that or he controls them,” Sally suggested.

  “True.” Lani nodded. “All of these things point to an inevitable truth that whatever the reason they are here, it can’t be good.”

  Sally set her book aside. “So let the professionals handle it then. Division 51 is here. They can take care of things.”

  “Sally, Division 51 only knows what they know because of you. Bureaucracy and red tape blind them to what’s really happening. They have so many rules to follow; they’ll never get to the bottom of this. You, on the other hand, are free to investigate however you see fit—that’s your strength. If young people could only realize how much potential they have locked up inside, they could run the world. Way too often they discover it only after they’ve been tempered by the rest of society.”

  Sally regarded Lani for a moment.

  She continued, “Quit with the self-pity; you’re better than this! Stand up for what you know is right. These creatures are going to do something bad, and right now you’re the only one with the tools to stop them.”

  Lani’s comment sparked the memory of what Daniel had said in her vision. She’d dismissed it as a random hallucination caused by the stress of her mother’s disappearance and the creature’s attack. But what if it really had been a message? Daniel had said that he and Billy were alive, but she still had no clue where they were. The message certainly couldn’t have come from the real Daniel. Could it? In her vision he’d said he was only a fragment. But what did that mean? He had also said she had all the tools she needed for her quest—what tools did she have? Was she really expected to go up against these things? There were too many questions, too many things to consider; she shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “I can’t do this.” She sighed.

  Lani stood, giving her a resolute gaze. “You may be the only one who can.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  LANI SUGGESTED that before they decided to face any of the shape-shifters again, they should have some hand-to-hand combat training.

  At first, Sally refused, seeing no point in preparing for another interaction when she was adamant she was through with investigating. Still, she felt guilty she wasn’t doing something constructive, so she agreed to help clear a space for the others to train in.

  It had taken them nearly three days to dismantle all the old switches and racks, and move them out of the main area, giving them a space the size of a basketball court in which to practice moves and defensive postures.

  Lani enlisted the help of her boyfriend—a broad shouldered ex-military man with as many muscles as experience—to teach them some self-defense and basic hand-to-hand fighting skills. Only after persistent nagging from Lani did Sally finally give in and participate in the training sessions with Donald.

  By the fourth week, all five were beginning to show signs of improvement. Sally—already familiar with kickboxing techniques from her classes at school—was getting rather good at “foot-to-mouth” combat as she called it. She was, however, lacking in a fistfight. Her mood and demeanor had improved, but still she silently rejected any of the others’ plans for continuing the investigation. Any time they mentioned it, Sally would retreat to her room and read a book.

  On top of that, she had yet to confront Yasif about what had happened between them. She’d been avoiding him to the point where he’d been unable to bring it up, and she was still too conflicted to do it herself.

  As the days went on, she knew she had to do something to break herself out of the rut she’d found herself in, but had no idea how to accomplish it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  IDRIC WENT TO CLASSES as normal, forcing himself not to think about all the craziness. He wanted to get back out there, face the shape-shifters, but it seemed Sally had lost her zeal. He was stuck at the school with nothing to do and he hated it every second.

  This was hardest when he had to go to math class and endure Mrs. Conley’s teaching, knowing the truth of what she was—although she gave no indication she knew Idric had knowledge of her true form. It might as well have been the real Mrs. Conley. This woman had the same mannerisms, the same personality, and the same grouchy demeanor.

  It was in her class a few days later that the intercom came to life. “Idric Xanderberghen, please report to the office. Idric Xanderberghen, please report to the office.” He jumped at the sound of his name.

  The entire class turned and stared at him.

  He was frozen with fear. Never before had he heard anyone called to the office over the intercom. Notes were sent to teachers, other students sent to retrieve someone if the headmistress needed them, never was som
eone called in such a public manner. Things had definitely changed.

  “What did you do?” a girl next to him whispered.

  Idric shrugged as he stood.

  As he crossed the commons, he drew stares from the few students milling about. They were just as surprised by the announcement as he was. By the time he’d reached the office, he was shaking with fear.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he asked the secretary.

  “Hello, Idric,” she replied. “Mrs. Padilla wanted to see you, dear.”

  He was too afraid to ask why they’d called him over the intercom. He’d known the risk in coming back to the school, but it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice. If he hadn’t come back, they’d have tried to contact his parents or he’d have been charged with truancy. He’d just have to face whatever was coming.

  Sitting in a chair directly across from the headmistress’ office door, Idric felt as if electricity were moving through his body, his nerves filling him with dread. What would he say to her? She already knew he was involved. Would she try to do something to him? Even with his powers growing, he was no match for something that could change shape at will.

  Why hadn’t his parents told him the truth? Instead, his mother had recited fairy tales. He’d always thought it was because they were incredibly eccentric about their magic. If she’d just told him how important the stories were, he would’ve paid closer attention. One thing was certain, he couldn’t face things alone.

  The door to Mrs. Padilla’s office opened, and he swallowed hard, a lump blocking his attempt. “Mr. Xanderberg? Please come in.” Mrs. Padilla wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t seem angry either.

  He stood, his knees not quite cooperating with the rest of his body. He glanced up a time or two as he walked passed into her office. Everything inside was the same as he remembered when he’d first come to the school a year ago—the only other time he had been there. The headmistress closed the door gently and then walked around her desk. The large leather chair creaked and squeaked as she sat. She rested her elbows on the desk and steepled her fingers. “I’m going to ask you some questions, Mr. Xanderberg, and I expect honest answers. Do I make myself clear?”