by Rob Horner
The Independence at Town Center apartment complex was ahead on the left. A mid-level cluster of apartments offering generous discounts to military members, it fronted both Onondaga and Mandan Road, with a small feeder road called Sac Lane running behind the complex on the oblique. With our back trail still clear and no oncoming traffic, we veered onto Sac Lane then accelerated up to Mandan Road. A left onto Mandan curved us back to Kellam, where we turned right, once again on track for my house, only now without a tail.
Thankfully, the police officer didn't reappear as we followed Kellam Road all the way to Virginia Beach Boulevard. After crossing the major thoroughfare, we made a right onto peaceful Sirine Avenue, entering my neighborhood. My aunt and uncle had done well for themselves, solidly middle-class. He had his dredging business, and she worked as a paralegal for one of the highest-rated divorce attorneys in the city. The houses here grew larger the farther into the neighborhood we went, as if money and influence were only allowed to be openly expressed away from the prying eyes of passersby. The lots went from quarter-acre postage stamps to half- and even three-quarter acre plots, most of them privacy-fenced, and some with covered in-ground swimming pools waiting for summer to return.
We took a left onto Bunker Hill Lane, stopping at the corner lot. My home.
The plans percolating in the back of my mind came forward, finalized, just waiting to be put into action. The fact that my license plates and driver's license were still registered in Norfolk gave Crystal and I a little time to work with, because the police would have to check out the older address before learning we'd moved up in the world during the past year. Even in an age where very few things were digitally connected, it wouldn't take them long to find us, not once they realized the Norfolk house was deserted. A quick check with the school, or with my insurance company, would give them this new address.
We had to move fast.
We had to get out of Virginia Beach.
Chapter 10
Weapons of mass destruction
Quickly unlocking the house, we went in, closing the door behind us. Bidding Crystal to wait in the living room, I hurried upstairs to my bedroom, opened the closet door and retrieved a blue duffel bag most often used to carry sparring equipment back and forth from my Tae Kwon Do studio. Dumping the foam and elastic shin guards, forearm guards, and helmet onto my bed, I went to my dresser and started loading it up: T-shirts, a couple of long-sleeved shirts, jeans, underwear, and socks.
Downstairs the radio came on, cycling through stations until it settled on Linear singing Sending all My Love. Turning to the bathroom, I opened the mirrored panels on the medicine cabinet. Toothbrush, razors, shaving cream, and aftershave, all joined my clothes in the duffel bag.
It had taken less than two or three minutes, and everything I needed was packed. All that was left was to go downstairs, collect Crystal, and find a place to hide out for a while.
It seemed sad that a person's life could be packed in just a few minutes into a single bag. What did that say about how invested I was in this home, this family? Did it speak more to a lack of effort on my part, or to a lack of inclusion into the family by my aunt and uncle?
Back before my life was torn apart by tragedy, I had a bedroom like every other kid. There were posters on the walls, a shelf full of trophies from various martial arts competitions, a collection of knick-knacks on my dresser that would mean nothing to anyone else but were precious to me: a stone arrowhead I found when my parents took me to the Grand Canyon, a rough piece of quartz I spent weeks trying to prove was really a diamond, the leather key-chain fob my dad gave me when he got a new one. I was saving it to use when I got my first car. I'd also had his old Army medals framed and hanging on my wall and used to fall asleep dreaming of following in his footsteps, my hair cut in a buzz, wearing a uniform and carrying a rifle, ready to defend our country the way he did in Vietnam. Yeah, yeah, don't lecture me about how we were just pushing our noses into someone else's business. Remember, these were a young boy's dreams, and that was my dad.
Hero worship doesn't even come close to describing it.
It was all gone though. Oh, I'm sure my aunt had it boxed up somewhere, and maybe a part of me thought to ask about it every so often but another part, a stronger part, didn't want to bring them out here. I didn't want to have to explain my parents to my cousins. They could never understand them, just as I could never really appreciate what their parents meant to them.
The cold truth: this wasn't my home. It was just a place to stay.
All I'd kept of his was the old, leather-banded Timex watch he wore everywhere. It was on his arm the night he and my mother died. The glass face was cracked and the hands frozen on 8:15, the time of the accident. Idly, I picked up the watch from its place on my nightstand, rubbing my hands over the rough, broken surface.
There were a lot of nights when I wondered if anyplace would ever feel like home again, and a lot of times when I calmed myself with the thought that so long as I could remember my parents, I was never truly alone. The watch joined the clothes in the gym bag.
Even though it was just a place, I couldn't leave without taking a moment, just one minute, to really look at what was being left behind, though the nagging clock in the back of my head screamed we didn't have a minute to spare.
No, my bedroom wasn't much, but it was mine. Just your basic bed, dresser, nightstand, and bookshelf. I'd miss those books more than anything else in there. It may sound childish, but I had every book published to date in both the Dragon Lance and Forgotten Realms sagas by T.S.R., as well as a good start on the Ravencroft series. Books by Piers Anthony, including his Xanth series and the Incarnations of Immortality, took up almost an entire shelf. And on top of the bookcase, the novel I'd recently finished, the brand new second book in the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan, sat, a silent accusation that I was abandoning my companions, the only real friends I'd known since coming to live with this family.
Stories like those taught me about bravery as much as my father did, just in a different way. They were analogies, one to another, how you did what you needed to do, even if you were deathly afraid of it, desperate to escape the responsibility.
I said a silent good-bye to my two cousins. Standing in the upstairs hallway, I wished happiness to Danny and Regan, hoping whatever happened they wouldn't have to face the same demons that troubled me.
Finally prepared, I headed back downstairs to find Crystal, standing in the middle of the living room, watching me with those big blue eyes. Somehow, she'd found a moment to brush out her blond hair, maybe borrowing something from the downstairs bathroom. She smiled, but it only lasted for a moment, then her face sagged with grief, as whatever had kept her going since her first encounter with the demons finally deserted her, leaving her hollow and in pain.
Dropping my gym bag on the stairs, I rushed to her, gathered her in my arms. She placed her head against my chest, her body shaking with repressed fear and sorrow, sobs demanding release.
"Shhh," I whispered into her hair. "No matter what happens, we'll be all right. Everything's going to be all right."
Why do we say those things in times like that? We can't possibly know the future, can barely see beyond the next few minutes.
I gently stroked her hair, and finally the dam broke, her grief released in a heart-wrenching wail that seemed to epitomize all the loss and pain in the world. Her cries were wordless expressions of fear and loss. Though it only lasted a minute or two, it stole her energy, leaving her drained, until she finally calmed completely.
She pushed away, using the hem of her t-shirt to wipe her eyes, while on the radio Go West's King of Wishful Thinking came to a wailing close, the D.J. starting to speak even as the last notes faded away.
"Yeah, I'm wishing all right," he began, "wishing it was already Friday so I could go home for the weekend. And speaking of going home early, we just got a reporter on the scene at the site of a student breakout at Bayside High School..."
&nbs
p; Crystal and I were suddenly focused on the radio, everything else forgotten.
"...two students decided that greener pastures were calling, ditching class in the middle of second period. While that's hardly news--I mean, seriously, we've all cut classes before, sorry Mom--what's really amazing is the amount of damage they caused on their way out the door.
"Our Man About Town, Dave Johnson, is at the scene, live, with the principal of Bayside, Dr. Sorgun. Dave?"
"Yeah, Paul, we're here now and you wouldn't believe the damage that's been done today." Dave's voice sounded distant in comparison with Paul's, some sounds washed out by static. There were traffic noises in the background, and closer, what sounded like the murmured voices of a milling crowd, probably other students, all gathering around the Z-104 D.J.
"It's scary to think that two kids could have done all this, Paul. The school looks gutted. From what we can see out here, it's like all the windows along the front of the school have been broken. There's shattered glass everywhere, like a river of sparkles along the sidewalk. Several doors have been torn off their hinges, and I'm told there's a section of wall at the rear of the school that's been almost completely destroyed, but the cops won't let us back there. I swear, it looks like a bomb went off in there.
"The school had to close early, obviously, and with the amount of damage I can see from the street, it doesn't look like it'll be opening again anytime soon. Most of the teachers and students have already gone home, but as you can tell, we've got a good number still here, waiting on rides home. Also here with me is the principal of Bayside High School, Dr. Sorgun.
"Dr. Sorgun, do you have any idea how all of this damage was caused?"
Our principal came on the air then, and his words shocked both of us. He was a good man, both scrupulous and kind. When I came to the school, a new transfer who still felt out of place with his new family, an aunt and uncle previously seen only a few times a year prior to moving in with them, he took a personal interest, drawing me out, working with Mr. Cland to get me involved in the school. His was the guiding hand which finally brought the school out of the decline and bad reputation it had labored under since the early eighties. He'd made ours a school to be proud of.
And now he condemned us.
"Yes, David," Dr. Sorgun's voice came over the radio as a mellow bass, soothing and reasonable. "I've been informed this disaster was caused by two of Bayside's brightest pupils, who apparently went wild early this morning."
"Just two people?" Dave asked, the doubt evident in his voice. "All of this? Two kids can't have done this much."
Slowly, almost dreamily, Crystal and I moved from standing on the floor to sitting on the couch, leaning towards the stereo, waiting for Dr. Sorgun's response. He was an intelligent man. Surely, he didn't believe this.
"I have reports from over two hundred other students, David. That's two hundred eyewitnesses who all say the same thing. John Wilson and Crystal Pierce went wild this morning, rampaging through their classrooms, destroying everything they could. John had a baseball bat and used it to smash the windows in every room he entered."
"And what about the doors, Dr. Sorgun? No baseball bat can explain that. And the hole in the wall?"
In the background, what had been the unintelligible murmur of gathered people suddenly grew ominous. By his questioning, the reporter revealed he was not yet indoctrinated. Likewise, by his belief in our guilt, the principal revealed that he was already in league against us. It made sense, in a sick sort of Communist Takeover manner; he was probably one of the first to have been changed. The crowd would be filled with transformed students, who wouldn't want us to be vindicated, either by logic or improbability, much as the leaders of so many tin-pot dictatorships didn't allow their press to run free. Report our truth or be silenced.
"I would suggest, David, that you leave the manner of how they wreaked such havoc to those qualified to make such determinations, and instead listen to what I have to say."
"Of course, Dr. Sorgun," Dave responded contritely. I doubted he appreciated having his interview taken over.
"Johnny, Crystal, if you're out there hearing this, then listen to me." It was Dr. Sorgun speaking, addressing the two of us personally. His voice had lowered slightly, a subtle change to something deeper, rougher than normal. Crystal looked at me, hearing the change as well. We knew what it meant. "Turn yourselves in, children. You cannot run from the law; they will find you. We know about the people you hurt. The police do too, and your parents have been notified and have been told what to do."
I shivered at the thought of what my parents being notified really meant.
"Turn yourselves in and face what's coming." The threat in his voice was no longer remotely subtle. "I know the two of you and your intelligence. Let that guide you now; you know what will happen if you don't."
There was a moment of dead silence on the air, then Dave cleared his throat and attempted to regain control of the interview. "Dr. Sorgun, don't you think that's a little harsh? I mean..."
"Don't think to instruct me on the mechanism of teaching my students, young man," the principal interrupted him. Then, pointedly, "That is all, Davis."
"It's Dave, Dr. Sorgun," Dave called. Then, "Dr. Sorgun?" again. Finally, "Well, Paul, what'd you make of that? Sounds like he's really gunning for those two kids, huh? Well, I don't think I'm going to get anything else here. This has been Dave Johnson, live at Bayside High School. Back to you, Paul."
For just an instant, I swear the dull roar of the crowd surrounding the D.J. swelled in volume, and my mind conjured an image of them moving in, closing the circle. He wouldn't be allowed to escape.
But then Paul was back on the air, and I wasn't sure any longer that I'd heard anything more than my imagination. "Well, there you have it. Everything is going crazy, friends, so watch out.
"We're going to break now for a couple of commercials. The Zee-One-Oh-Fourcast is coming right up when we get back."
Then came the station jingle, followed by the start of a soft drink commercial, and Crystal jumped up and pushed the button to turn off the radio.
She was angry, that much was obvious; it would have been impossible to mistake her flushed cheeks and clenched fists for anything else. But I was angry, too, and more than a little scared.
"What was that all about?" I asked.
"Revenge," she said. Somehow her voice sounded calm and soothing, though she still wore an expression of barely suppressed fury. She was holding it back, controlling it somehow, much better than I was. "It's got to be revenge for what we know and what we can do," she reasoned.
"Right," I whispered, calming myself. "You're right, and anger won't help us."
"Yes, it will," she argued. "It'll help us remember that we need to fight. We just can't let our anger get out of control. That'll lead to mistakes."
I looked at her, surprised at her discipline. Incredulously, I said, "You'd make a great Tae Kwon Do instructor."
She turned away, hiding a pleased smile. Then she grabbed my arm, and said, "C'mon, let's get out of here before the police show up."
Before she could turn away again, I pulled her in, wanting, needing a little more contact, further reassurance of her presence, her willingness to be with me. She returned the embrace, her arms wrapped around me.
We held on for a moment, then let the embrace lapse. I walked to the staircase to retrieve my duffel bag.
From outside came the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into the driveway, the minute crunch of tires of gravel, the soft squeal of a dirty brake. Crystal and I froze, unable to move. I don't know about her, but my first thoughts were too late, we're too late! We wasted too much time and now they've found us!
Crystal, instead of panicking, ran to the large front window, parted the curtains, and looked outside. "It's not a cop," she said.
Curious, I walked over to her, looking out over the lawn my uncle painstakingly maintained and beautified. He spent a dozen hours every weekend in the spring
and summer, cutting, weeding, edging, and planting. A small, red Nissan Sentra had pulled up behind my blue Colt in the driveway, blocking us in.
"No, it's worse," I said. "It's my aunt."
Chapter 11
Family ties
Letting the curtains drop, I went to grab my bag, wanting only to get the two of us out of the house as fast as possible, hopefully without drawing my aunt into any of my troubles.
"She's glowing red," Crystal solemnly informed me.
My shoulders drooped. After what Dr. Sorgun said, I should have known better than to hope she wouldn't be affected. We couldn't just leave. But what could we do? I didn't want to fight my aunt! No matter what problems really existed, or were just in my jaded imagination, nothing had ever gotten so bad that I considered using physical force against them. Besides, my aunt was the peacemaker, trying to stick up for me. It was my uncle who was the antagonist in most of our arguments.
"Stay here," I whispered to Crystal, even though whispering was silly. She couldn't possibly hear us from outside.
"What're you going to do?"
"I've got an idea," I answered.
Opening the front door, I stepped out into the sunlight to face my aunt.
By anyone's standards, Pamela was a beautiful woman. Though closing in on forty, a clean life and regular exercise kept her skin smooth and her figure trim. A fair amount of salon products kept any gray from showing, not that it really mattered. With two teenagers of her own plus me to care for, a few signs of age would have been perfectly normal. My cousins got their good looks, with their brown eyes and aristocratic features, from her. She carried herself like a noblewoman from a different age, tall and straight-backed. No matter what she felt for you, she always looked you in the eye, never afraid to speak her thoughts.
I was a little in awe of her, always had been. And now, somehow, I had to stop her without hurting her. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if she got hurt because of me. Well, if she was hurt more.
