I hurry from the cave and back to the convent, keeping an eye open for anything out of place. The sun is just below the horizon when I leave the path, which means I’m running late. I push through the heavy oak doors to find the welcome bells ringing; somebody new has arrived.
I join the others on their way to our sleeping quarters. We have a welcoming tradition here, standing next to our beds with our hands behind our backs, facing the new girl and introducing ourselves one by one. I’d hated it when I had first arrived; hated feeling on display when all I wanted to do was hide.
In the doorway, standing beside Sister Lucia, is a small girl with auburn hair, curious brown eyes, and petite features not unlike a mouse. She stares at the stone floor, shifting her weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other. Her fingers fiddle with the waist of her gray wool dress, which is patterned with pink flowers. There’s a small pink clip in her hair, and she wears black shoes with silver buckles. I feel sorry for her. Sister Lucia waits for us all to smile, all thirty-seven of us, and then she speaks.
“This is Ella. She’s seven years old and will be staying with us from here on out. I trust that you will all make her feel welcome.”
A rumor is later whispered that her parents had been killed in an automobile accident and she’s here because she has no other relatives.
Ella flutters her eyes up as each person says their name, but mostly she keeps her gaze on the floor. It’s obvious she’s scared and sad, but I can tell she’s the kind of girl people will fall for. She won’t be here for very long.
We all walk to the nave together so Sister Lucia can explain to Ella its importance to the orphanage. Gabby García stands yawning in the back of the group, and I turn to look at her. Just beyond Gabby, framed in one of the clear panes of the stained glass window at the far wall, a dark figure stands outside looking in. I can just make him out in the oncoming nightfall, his black hair, heavy brows, and thick mustache. His eyes are trained on me; there’s no doubt about it. My heart skips a beat. I gasp and take a step backwards. Everyone’s head snaps around.
“Marina, are you okay?” Sister Lucia asks.
“Nothing,” I say, then shake my head. “I mean, yes, I’m fine. Sorry.”
My heart pounds and my hands shake. I clasp them together so it’s not noticeable. Sister Lucia says something else about welcoming Ella, but I’m too distracted to hear it. I turn back to the window. The figure is gone. The group’s dismissed.
I rush across the nave and look outside. I don’t see anyone, but I do see a single set of boot prints in the snow. I step away from the window. Perhaps it’s a potential foster parent assessing the girls from afar, or perhaps it’s one of the girl’s real parents sneaking a glance at the daughter he can’t provide for. But for some reason I don’t feel safe. I don’t like the way his eyes settled on me.
“Are you okay?” I hear behind me. I jump, then turn around. It’s Adelina, standing with her hands clasped in front of her waist. A rosary dangles from her fingers.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I say.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Worse than a ghost, I think, but I don’t say that. I’m scared after this morning’s slap, and I pocket my hands.
“There was somebody at the window watching me,” I whisper. “Just now.”
Her eyes squint.
“Look. Look at the prints,” I say, turning back and motioning to the ground.
Adelina’s back is straight and rigid, and for a moment I think she’s actually concerned; but then she softens and steps forward. She takes in the prints.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she says.
“What do you mean it’s nothing? How can you say that?”
“I wouldn’t worry. It could have been anyone.”
“He was looking right at me.”
“Marina, wake up. With today’s new arrival there are thirty-eight girls here. We do the best we can keeping you girls safe, but that doesn’t mean the occasional boy from town doesn’t wander up here to sneak a peek. We’ve even caught some of them. And don’t think for a minute we don’t know the way that some of the others dress, changing clothes on the walk to school to look provocative. There are six of you turning eighteen soon, and everyone in town knows it. So, I wouldn’t worry about the man you saw. He was probably nothing more than a boy from school.”
I’m sure this was no boy from school, but I don’t say so.
“Anyway, I wanted to apologize for this morning. It was wrong of me to strike you.”
“It’s okay,” I say, and for a minute I think of bringing John Smith up again, but I decide against it. It would create more friction, which I want to avoid. I miss the way we used to be. And it’s hard enough living here without having Adelina angry at me.
Before she says anything further, Sister Dora hurries over and whispers something into Adelina’s ear. Adelina looks at me and nods and smiles.
“We’ll talk later,” she says.
They walk away, leaving me to myself. I look back down at the boot prints, and a shiver runs up my back.
For the next hour I pace from room to room looking down the hill at the dark town cast in shadow, but I don’t see the looming figure again. Perhaps Adelina is right.
But no matter how hard I try convincing myself, I don’t think she is.
Chapter Seven
SILENCE FALLS IN THE TRUCK. SIX GLANCES IN the rearview mirror. Flashing red and blue plays along her face.
“Not good,” Sam says.
“Shit,” Six says.
The bright lights and screaming siren rouse even Bernie Kosar, who peers out the back window.
“What do we do?” Sam asks, his voice frightened and desperate.
Six takes her foot off the accelerator and steers the truck to the right side of the highway.
“It might mean nothing,” she says.
I shake my head. “Doubtful.”
“Wait. Why are we stopping?” Sam asks. “Don’t stop. Step on it!”
“Let’s see what happens first. We’ll never make it if we lead this cop on a high-speed chase. He’ll call for backup and they’ll get a helicopter. Then we’ll never get away.”
Bernie Kosar begins growling. I tell him to chill out and he stops, but he keeps vigil out the window. Gravel pings against the truck as we slow along the shoulder. Cars speed past in the left lanes. The cop car pulls to within ten feet of our rear bumper, and its headlights fill the truck’s interior. The cop flips them off, then aims a spotlight straight through the rear window. The siren stops wailing but the lights still flash.
“What do you think?” I ask, watching from the side mirror. The spotlight is blinding; but when a car passes, I can see that the officer is holding the radio up in his right hand, probably running our license plate, or calling for backup.
“Our best bet is to flee on foot,” Six says. “If that’s what it comes to.”
“Turn off your vehicle and remove the key from the ignition,” the cop barks through a speaker.
Six turns off the truck. She looks at me and removes the key.
“If he radios us in, you have to assume that they’ll hear it,” I say.
She nods, says nothing. From behind us the officer’s car door creaks. His approaching boots click bleakly on the asphalt.
“Do you think he’ll recognize us?” Sam asks.
“Shhh,” Six says.
When I look in the side mirror again, I realize the officer isn’t walking towards the driver’s side, and has instead veered right and is coming towards me. He taps my window with his chrome flashlight. I hesitate for a moment, then roll it down. He shines the light in my face, causing me to squint. Then he moves the beam to Sam, then Six. He forces his brows together, studying each of us closely while he tries to determine why we look so familiar.
“Is there a problem, officer?” I ask.
“You kids from around here?”
“No, sir.”
“Ya care tellin’ me why y’alls drivin’ through Tennessee in a Chevy S-10 with North Carolina plates belonging to a Ford Ranger?”
He glares at me, waiting for an answer. My face feels warm as I struggle to find one. I have nothing. The officer bends down and again flashes the light on Six. Then at Sam.
“Anyone wanna try me?” he asks.
He’s met with silence, which causes him to chuckle.
“Of course not,” he says. “Three kids from North Carolina driving through Tennessee in a stolen truck on a Saturday night. Ya kids are on a dope run, aren’t ya?”
I turn and stare into his face, which is ruddy and clean shaven.
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
“What do I wanna do? Ha! Ya kids are going to jail!”
I shake my head at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
He leans forward with his elbows on the door.
“So where’s the dope?” he says, and then sweeps the flashlight across the interior of the truck. He stops when the light hits the Chest at my feet, then a smug smile spreads along his lips. “Well, never mind, looks like I found it myself.”
He reaches to open the door. In one lightning-quick motion I shoulder-open the door and knock the officer backwards. He grunts and moves for his gun before he even hits the ground. Using telekinesis, I rip it away, bringing it to me as I step out. I open the chamber and empty the bullets into my hand and snap the gun shut.
“What the . . .” The officer is dumbfounded.
“We’re not dealing dope,” I say.
Sam and Six are out of the truck now and standing beside me.
“Put these in your pocket,” I say to Sam, handing him the bullets. Then I hand him the gun.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Sam asks.
“I don’t know; put it in your bag with your dad’s gun.”
Off in the distance, two miles away, the whine of a second siren reaches me. The officer stares intently at me, his eyes wide in recognition.
“Aw hell, you the boys from the news, aren’t ya? Y’all are those terrorists!” he says, and spits on the ground.
“Shut up,” Sam says. “We’re not terrorists.”
I turn around and grab Bernie Kosar, who’s still in the cab because of his broken leg. As I’m lowering him to the ground, an agonizing scream rips through the night. I jerk around and see Sam convulsing, and it takes a second to realize what’s happened. The officer has Tasered him. I tear the Taser from him while I’m ten feet away. Sam falls to the ground and shakes as though he’s having a seizure.
“What the hell is the matter with you!” I yell at the officer. “We’re trying to save you; don’t you see that!”
Confusion crosses his face. I press the button of the Taser as it hovers in the air. Blue currents snap across the top of it. The cop scrambles away. I use telekinesis to drag him through the pebbles and trash on the side of the road. He kicks and tries in vain to get away.
“Please,” he begs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”