The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller (2 page)

He knelt next to his dead wife, bowed his
face in the messed sheets, and wept. Without looking up, he reached
for Linda’s hand, still warm, and squeezed it in his own. Minutes
later, he heard the droning of police sirens over the thundering
rain. He slowly sat up, released his hand from his dead wife’s, and
whispered, “I’m so sorry, honey.”

He left the bedroom, stepped over the
fractured man lying in a blood puddle in the hall, and hobbled down
the stairs. He thought of going back up and getting his daughter,
who was now fast asleep, but he lacked the strength needed to break
down the locked door. He was closer to death than he realized, yet
not as close as he would have preferred.

He fell to his knees in the middle of the
front yard with his hand still pressed tight against his heart. A
punishing rain drummed down on him, cleansed the blood and tears,
but the pain remained. The bullet buried in his chest—he hardly
felt it. The true source of pain lay far beyond the physical,
eating away at his conscience.

How could I let this happen?
How?

Three police cruisers pulled up at the side
of the house. One officer hurried over to him and asked, “What
happened?”

At first, Isaac couldn’t speak. Then he
began sobbing. “Linda.
Oh God!
Linda.”

Chapter One

1

Lori Ackerman heard her mother calling her
name.

She chose not to answer.

It didn’t make her proud. Disobeying her
mother was not something she wanted to do, but she had no other
choice. She couldn’t take it anymore. The constant teasing and
taunting by her schoolmates became harder by the day, and the ride
on bus number 254 every morning and afternoon was by far the worst.
Sometimes she wished she could just disappear.

While her mother stormed up the stairs angry
as all hell, Lori tried to think of an excuse—one better than all
the others. She could fake a cough, say her tummy hurts, but mom
wouldn’t believe it. She never did.

What else was there? The truth?

Carol entered her daughter’s room with all
the force of a tornado.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Lori stood in the corner of the bedroom
looking out the window, watching bus number 254 slowly accelerate
down Maria Avenue. A thick fog of gray exhaust expired from the
tailpipe as the bus rolled along the street, further away. She
could see faces through the plastic windows. Some were faces she
knew, some were faces she had dealt with, or could deal with, and
some were faces that dealt with her. None of them mattered though,
not anymore. Poof! Just like the wind, gone.

“What’s your problem?” her mother continued.
“I’m really tired of this.”

“I don’t wanna go to school,” Lori said, not
turning from the window. Her eyes were still fixed on the road, the
now empty road, and the last breath of exhaust drifting upward from
where the bus had passed.

Carol stepped further into the room. “I
don’t remember giving you a choice.”

Lori could feel the tears swelling in her
eyes again. “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice cracking,
the words muffled by her sobs.

“There’s nothing to understand, Lori.”

Lori turned from the window. She was
slightly pudgy for an eleven-year-old (an ugly fat ass as the
school kids would say), though she had quite a cute round face and
long blond hair with glowing strands of natural orange.

“You’re not there. I am!” she yelled. “You
don’t go to school. You don’t get told everyday of your life how
stupid you are, or how ugly you are. You have friends.”

“You have friends, too. What happened to
Jennifer Wells?”

“Jennifer doesn’t like me anymore,” Lori
said. “She started hanging out with these other kids and now she
doesn’t have any time for me. Last Wednesday on the bus she said
she couldn’t be my friend anymore.”

“I’ll have a talk with her mother.”

“No!”
Lori screamed. “Don’t embarrass
me, mom. I don’t care. If she doesn’t like me then I don’t like her
either.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to
do.”

Lori dropped to her knees and clasped her
hands together.

“Mom, please! Just this once, I promise.
Please don’t make me go to school.”

She looked up at her mother and waited for a
response. She feared the worst and felt it coming. What else could
she do? She told the truth, wasn’t that enough?

Carol stepped closer and stared down into
her daughter’s eyes. The tears had ceased but the aftermath of the
storm left big red circles around Lori’s eyes and streaks of dried
tears plunging down her chubby cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Lori,” she said. “But you have
to go to school.”

Lori fell to the floor and shielded her face
with her hands.

“Now hurry and grab your book bag and meet
me down at the car.”

2

Lori crept out the front door and walked
down the steps toward the blue Ford Escort with all the energy of a
corpse. Her book bag dragged her down with the weight of a half
dozen textbooks and folders. She glanced up from the cement walkway
and saw her mother sitting in the driver’s seat looking back at
her. When she got into the car, she threw her book bag down on the
floor and slammed the car door shut. It was the first time she had
ever done that; her mother didn’t seem to notice though, or had
pretended to not.

Carol started up the car and backed out of
the driveway on to Maria Avenue.

It took anywhere from five to ten minutes by
car to get to the school, depending on the traffic. The Ackerman’s
lived on the corner of Maria and Mockingbird. If you turned left on
Maria Avenue and followed it down you would shortly run into a
four-way intersection where Maria meets Fairway Blvd. If you
continued down Maria past the light, you would eventually end up in
the boonies, lots and lots of nothing but deserted land—fields and
forests. If you turned right on Fairway, you would pass right
through the center of town. The used car lot where Lori’s father
worked six days a week, Monday thru Saturday, sat right on the edge
of town next to a mechanics shop, and given the record of Frank’s
Economy Cars, the relationship was quite convenient. If some
customer came in bitching about the transmission falling out of the
car you sold them last week, you’d know right where to point
them.

What did you expect for a grand, lady? A
Mercedes? Sorry, but as the old saying goes, you get what you pay
for, and you paid for that piece of shit.

The Escort rolled up to a red light. Lori
looked out the passenger window at a small park on the corner of
Maria Avenue. She enjoyed going there and getting lost in her
dreams, though she didn’t get to go often, her mother was usually
too busy to take her and would never approve of Lori going by
herself, not with the park so close to a major road. Still, seeing
the park always brought a smile to her face.

The public library was four blocks down on
the right. Carol volunteered a few days a week. She sponsored
special events like book readings for children or guest speakers
that kept her busy planning. Last Friday, the Mayor came and talked
to a group of first graders about the importance of reading. They
seemed lost, but at least he read a book to them. Elmwood Middle
School, for grades fifth - eighth, was just a few blocks past the
library. Lori was halfway through the fifth grade.

When they reached the school, Carol drove
around the circled lot in front of the main office and pulled up
behind a row of SUV’s parked at the curb. She put the car in park
and picked up her purse from between the seats.

“What are you doing?”

“You need lunch money, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Carol said, handing her
daughter a couple of balled up dollar bills. “Now you’d better go.
You're already late.”

“Are you gonna pick me up from school?”

Carol sighed. “We’re not going to make a
habit of this, okay? I gave you a ride to school. You can ride the
bus home.”

Lori beat her fists down on her knees in
frustration, bowed her head, and then quickly perked up as an idea
came awake inside her. “Hey, what about Dad?”

“He’ll probably have to work late.”

“Mom,” Lori whined, as the idea went back to
sleep.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take the bus
home. I’ll be at the library for most of the afternoon, so Mrs.
Mills will watch you next door. ”

“Fine,” Lori pouted.

She opened the car door, jumped out, slung
her book bag over her shoulder, and, for the second time, slammed
the door shut.

3

When the final bell rang, it was like music
to her ears.

Three o’clock finally came.

Even though it was a relatively good day in
comparison to recent ones, the hardest part was still to come. She
still had to survive the fifteen-minute bus ride home on number
254, and nasty Tommy Williams.

Lori had managed to stay away from Jennifer
Wells all day in class, and even though Jennifer rode the same bus,
Lori did not expect any trouble from her. Jennifer didn’t hate her
after all; she just didn’t want to be friends anymore. But Tommy
Williams was a different case all together.

Tommy was a typical bully, tall and
overweight for his age with a close set of eyes and tubby cheeks.
He was a walking wall with an obscene mouth; no word or combination
of words was off limits. He would say whatever whenever to
whomever, and while most of the other kids didn’t like Tommy
either, Lori had to hate him the most. Occasionally, he would sneak
up behind her on the bus and plant fresh boogers in her hair. He
was a gardener of the gross. Though, thankfully, this came as a
rare occurrence, as the urge to eat the crusty nose candy was
usually much stronger than the urge to share. Needless to say,
these actions and numerous others didn’t win him many friends, but
Tommy didn’t care what any of the other kids thought of him anyway,
his only goal was to beat up on the smaller kids. He especially
liked to pick on girls, and Lori was probably his favorite.

Lori walked down the hall toward the bus
loop with her books upon her back and a large sheet of tan
construction paper in her hands. Today, Mrs. Lawson (her fifth
grade art teacher) had the class working with acrylic paints. Lori
painted a portrait of her family gathered together at the park with
their arms around each other, smiling. She put a big yellow sun in
the background beyond a few skinny green trees. Her teacher thought
she had done an exceptional job. Lori was proud, too, and couldn’t
wait to show her mom and dad.

When she reached the bus loop, Lori headed
down the sidewalk reading the large white numbers on the side of
each bus looking for number 254. About six buses were lined up in a
row. Number 254 was fourth in line.

Mr. Davis drove number 254. This was his
first year and the kids (all twenty-five of them) made him feel at
home real quick. He was a single man, only twenty-nine years old,
and wasn’t used to being around large numbers of children. He tried
for the most part to ignore the rats and just pay attention to the
road, but that could be difficult sometimes, especially with devils
like Tommy Williams running up and down the aisle cursing and
throwing things at the other kids, at
him.

Lori stepped on to the bus and rounded the
corner. Six kids were already on when she sat down, including
Jennifer Wells, who was talking with the popular kids that in just
days had become Lori’s replacements. It made her sad to think that
their friendship was over. They had been best friends since they
were five. They used to play all the time at the park when her mom
would take them. Never again. Image has a hunger for tearing people
apart, and makes no apologies for its ruthless appetite.

Speaking of appetite, here comes Tommy
Williams.

Lori grasped her portrait tighter and held
it down between her knees. Mr. Davis pulled on the lever and opened
the bus door. Tommy climbed on and ran to the back of the bus,
passing Lori along the way, and sat down next to Peepee.

Peepee was Tommy’s best friend, but everyone
always said that Peepee only hung around Tommy because he was
afraid of being beaten up. Peepee would never admit to this, for
obvious reasons (like not wanting his teeth knocked into the back
of his throat), but it was what everyone thought.

Joseph Milburn was actually his real name, a
fine, respectable name, but Peepee quickly became his nickname
after the first chain of uncontrollable bladder incidents two
Christmas’s past. Jolly with joy, was Jerry, the
seventy-two-year-old school janitor ever busy during that holiday
season.

Peepee was short and skinny, smaller than
the average twelve-year-old. His freckled face and dressy clothes
made him an ideal target, a born nerd. Tommy only took to Peepee
after he realized he could get something out of the relationship.
If Tommy wanted to play a prank on somebody, he would almost always
get Peepee to do the dirty work.

Peepee, I dare ya to lift Molly’s dress. I
dare ya to spit in Davies mashed potatoes. I dare ya to piss under
the table. Come on. What are you afraid of, shithead?

Zip.

Janitor Jerry, bring a mop to the cafeteria,
and no stalling, old man.

Bus number 254 pulled out of the school
parking lot and turned left on Fairway Blvd. Lori had escaped
riding the bus to school, but the ride home was always the worst.
On the ride up only one stop lay between her house and the school,
but on the way home the bus would take the opposite route, leaving
seven stops ahead of hers. Unfortunately, Tommy’s was the
ninth.

The bus approached the first stop. Six kids
got off.

Lori couldn’t help but think that as the bus
slowly cleared of kids, she would be more likely to be noticed by
Tommy.