The Sacrificial Daughter (22 page)

"Hey Mrs. Atkins, it's me Felicity. I'm sorry to call this early, but...yeah...yeah. Good! Whew, she had me going there. Tell her to get better, alright?"

The morning routine wasn't even picked up by Jesse's subconscious. She heard none of the frantic tones and saw none of the nervous eyes searching through the river of faces streaming down the hall. For her the picture was all that mattered...until a boy knocked into her.

Her mind might have been far away, however her body was a coiled spring. When the boy jostled into her, she reacted instinctively: turning with the momentum of the blow, she spun, grabbed him and shoved him hard against a row of lockers. Now she would run or fight, depending.

She did neither. The boy was small and weak, a freshman in all probability, and he was afraid. His eyes were wide and when he spoke, he stammered out a very sincere apology. It had been an accident.

Jesse gave him a piercing look and saw there was truth in his eyes. "It's alright, just try to watch where you're going next time."

"That's her..."

"Did you see what she did to that boy..."

"She should be next..."

Sadly, Jesse was back in the moment and heard the whispering. It would only get worse if she stayed in one place for too long. With a quick move, Jesse snatched the poster from the wall and immediately went to find to the nearest girls bathroom. Shutting herself in a stall she again eyed the picture.

The girl in the white dress was so beautiful that Jesse wished she could be her. And she could be, for just one night... but would that one night be worth it? Was it worth having to hear the other kids call her names and make fun of her with their stupid limericks? Was the ball worth having to put up with the teachers and their snide comments and poorly veiled put-downs?

Yes.

Very much yes. These things would happen anyway, no matter what, even if she didn't go. Jesse might as well have her fun. With that decided Jesse now had to figure out how she was going to get through her day without going mad.

"Adapt and overcome," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Neither seemed possible. She turned again and stared at the picture as if it was going to give her some inspiration. Instead it made her feel a little down. The girl in the picture with her ice-blue eyes and her wonderfully confident smile could do it; she could find a way be good.

Jesse sighed. Promising to be good was one of the easiest things to do; it was backing up that promise that was so difficult. A second later, the bell rang and Jessie sighed again.

She gave herself two minutes before leaving the bathroom in the hopes that the halls would be cleared out some. They were and so it was that Jesse got a full view of Ky Mendel as he strode down the hall with a new attitude.

It was clear to Jesse that this new attitude of Ky's was just for her. For starters, she was sure that no one else even noticed a difference in the boy. They probably didn't see the tightness in his face, the way his neck was held so stiff, and how the muscles of his jaw were clenched.

Before, he had ignored the world as a matter of habit, a practice made easy by the compliance of the student body of Ashton High. However, Jesse had upset that apple cart and now Ky was clearly setting out,
determined
to ignore everyone around him. The way he kept his eyes directly forward reminded her of one those English Royal Guards, who wore the tall bearskin caps. The ones all the tourists tried to make smile.

She smiled herself as she imagined Ky in one of those goofy hats. His serious, grim face didn't help either and she wondered what it would take to set him giggling.

The idea presented so much of a challenge to Jesse that she almost forgot about her promise to be good. The temptation to break him...to make him laugh, or smile, or even just glance her way was huge in her. She didn't want to be mean. There wasn't an ounce of cruelty in her, she just wanted to connect with him, to let him know she was there for him. The desire to do this was so strong that just as he came abreast of her, and the few kids left in the hall turned away to blot him out of their lives, Jesse had the urge to whisper, so that he alone could hear:
I love you, Ky
.

She didn't and he walked by as if Jesse was only a bug not worthy to be acknowledged. She hadn't said anything because as he drew closer, she couldn't help herself and the corners of her mouth had turned up into a mischievous smile that Ky saw from the corner of his eye. His lips had pursed at this. It was the tiniest movement, but sometimes large things could be read from the smallest actions and Jesse saw the extent of the stress that Ky was carrying about with him.

This was something she could relate to and she wasn't going to add to the burden of it. That his life hadn't been easy was clearly an understatement. Living next door to a known killer, especially a monstrous one such as Harold must have been a punishment all to itself. It was driving her crazy and she only just found out. What would it have been like for a seven-year-old kid? What kind of nightmares would have plagued him? How could he even have slept, wondering when the Shadow-man would come for him next?

It had to have been terrible, so instead of whispering some foolishness, she sighed and watched him head into Mrs. Jerryman's classroom. She would have to go in there next, but there was still thirty-eight seconds left until the bell rang and she wasn't going in any earlier than she had to.

Thirty-seven seconds later Jesse strolled in, trying to comport herself just as Ky had. She didn't envy him. The way he was ignored was bizarre and unhealthy, but at that moment, she could have used a little of it. As she entered every eye was upon her and the class began a low tittering. She did her best to ignore them and went to her seat in the back of the room. This she found had been moved. The day before it had been only a foot or so from Ky's desk, now it was a good five feet away.

It looked lonely sitting back there separated from all the rest of the desks and she tried to come up with an excuse to move it back closer to Ky's. The thing was, he was the one who probably moved it in the first place and it would only upset him more if she were to move it back.

"Miss Clarke, please take your seat," Mrs. Jerryman said, and waited with an air of patience as Jesse sat. The teacher then went on to call the roll. There was another desk empty in the classroom. It drew the attention of all the students.

"David Addison?"

"Here."

"Miss Archer...there you are. Good morning." Now there was a pause. It could only be called a pregnant pause…like the pause just before the Oscar for best actor was announced. "Pam Atkins?" Mrs. Jerryman asked with a clear note of tension in her voice. Eyes flicked around the room and a number of the kids looked to be holding their breath. "Anyone know where Pam is today?"

"She's sick. I called her mom," a girl said.

The reaction by the class to this news was extremely odd. Some relaxed visibly, which was understandable, but some seemed disappointed, which was perplexing. Jesse watched, astonished, and repulsed, as shoulders slumped and sighs—which weren't sighs of relief—crept out of people's mouths. Did they want Pam to be this year's victim of the Christmas Killer? Try as she might, Jesse couldn't remember the girl who had sat in the now empty chair. She certainly hadn't stood out as any more mean than the rest. So why the disappointment? Was she such an unlikeable girl that they were ok with her being murdered? The very notion had Jesse looking at the kids around her in disgust.

He's due.
Allison, the sixth-grade girl from the library, had said this the night before with all the solemnity and authority of a high priest. Was this fact? Did Harold Brownly only kill right before the Christmas break? If so, how was this affecting the kids of Ashton? Were they simply desperate for
someone
to be killed so that it could be over for the year?

Jesse didn't know what to think about that and she sat back, not really listening to what Mrs. Jerryman was saying. On the surface the uncaring reaction that a number of kids had displayed was sickening. However, when Jesse thought about her own fear of the killer over the last two days, it made her wonder what kind of stress the kids in the town were under.

All of them, from the dorkiest nerd to the cutest cheerleader, have had to deal with the real possibility of being murdered, on a yearly basis, from a very young age. What did that kind of accumulating fear do to a kid...did it turn them cold inside? Did it eat at their nerves until they were just about ready to throw a party when that year's death finally occurred and they dodged the bullet once again? 

Perhaps Jesse had been too quick to judge. What would her own reaction have been if Pam Atkins had been murdered? Would she have cried over the death of this unknown girl?

You'd be relieved. Don't even try to deny it.

Right again. Sure she'd be sad for Pam and her family, but deep down inside of her there would be pure relief it hadn't been her. She'd be able to relax at least a little about the killer, knowing that when her time in Ashton was over, she'd be in her own personal heaven: the hot beaches of Southern California where she hoped to never see snow again.

No she couldn't judge them on that front at least, but she could judge them on how they treated her. At the moment almost all of them were staring back at her.

"Miss Clarke?" Mrs. Jerryman asked. Jesse blinked up at her, knowing the lady had said something, just not what.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking about...something else," Jesse replied. "What were you asking?"

"I asked, if you had a chance to reconsider helping out the town by joining with our protest?" Mrs. Jerryman's tone was surprisingly even, and her expression neutral.

Reconsider?

Why would she reconsider? Very little had changed in the last day that would act as an incentive for her. Jesse made to answer the teacher with a 'no', but just then she saw why she had been asked this at that particular moment. The other students were
all
staring at Jesse and most wore what seemed to be a hungry look to them.

They were the incentive, or rather, they were the threat. Mrs. Jerryman was giving Jesse one last chance to save herself from public humiliation. It was either join the protest or the teacher would unleash her nasty horde and their stupid, poorly rhymed limericks. This gave Jesse pause as she was again put to the test.

Which way to go? She had been dreading her upcoming English class simply due to the limericks and here she was with a chance to skate away without hearing a single one. That definitely appealed to her, yet did stabbing her father in the back constitute adapting and overcoming? Or did that fall into the category of straight up surrendering?

It felt a lot like surrender to Jesse. But the other side of the coin felt a lot like torture. She would be forced to endure the lash of scorn and ridicule, which to a teenage girl could be worse than the real thing. Her mind was all confusion.

If she gave in she knew she could no longer lay claim to principle. But did she have all that much principle to begin with?

Yes

Again true, but what about the flip side—was it in principle that she was playing the martyr for her father? Or was she subconsciously allowing herself to be attacked just so she could win his approval....his love?

Or is it you like the attention
?

This thought had her stunned.
I am important
, she thought.
I'm the loose thread that unravels the sweater. I'm the finger in the dyke, without which the town is flooded. I'm the keystone in the center of the arch
.

The teachers at the school sure seemed to think that she was mighty important. That she, Jesse Clarke, was the chink in her father's armor, the key to stopping him. In a way this was an ego boost, knowing that the all-powerful James Clarke needed her more than he knew.

Yet discovering this about herself did not help her just at that moment, rather it had her wanting to scream. It was simply another layer of puzzlement. What should she do and why was she doing it?

Was she avoiding pain, or wanting to be loved? Was she crying out for attention or was she principled? Jesse didn't know. She only knew that right at that moment with twenty-three sets of eyes boring into her she felt backed into a corner and she didn't appreciate the feeling. It got her dander up and made her even more contrarian than she naturally was.

"I had a chance to reconsider," she answered the teacher's question without elaborating.

Mrs. Jerryman eyebrows shot up and remained there for two seconds until she realized Jesse wasn't going to add anything more. "Are you going to help the town or not?"

"I'm not going to help
you
," the girl in black replied.

Instead of getting angry at this, the class almost as a whole, seemed to blow out a collective breath and relax. They wanted this to happen. They wanted to dish out pain. None of them, save Mrs. Jerryman, wanted Jesse on their side.

"Limerick! Limerick! Limerick!" a boy began chanting. In seconds, it seemed that the entire class was chanting along. Yet they weren't all chanting. Ky was Ky and was in his own world, but he wasn't the only one not caught up in the spectacle. There were five or six others, including the plump, freckled-faced girl that had tried to warn Jesse against getting to close to Ky. The girl had her head practically inside her book bag and was rooting around in it with slow and exaggerated motions.

Barely turning her freckled-face, the girl gave Jesse a commiserating look.

It was uncharitable, but the first thing that came to Jesse's mind was:
Coward!
The girl knew this was wrong yet she did nothing. And she wasn't going to either. That one look was all the solace Jesse would receive. It angered her just as the chanting did.

The chanting brought out the blood lust in the students and they were eager to start. Never before had Jesse seen kids so quick to head to the front of a classroom to spill out their verses. Normally it was like pulling teeth for students to share a poem.

No tears!
Jesse demanded of herself as the first boy began his limerick. As expected, it was vulgar to the point of an X rating and Jesse was its theme. How could it be otherwise? In this town, where hope was an outdated idea, the students had been raised on resentment and fear. Like their parents, they were angry at how life had treated them, and as much as they would've liked to focus their anger on James Clarke, he was all but untouchable in his high-up office.

They had to settle for Jesse.

She had done nothing wrong to any of the kids around her. Yet she was hated and not just for who her father was. Her clothes were newer and more fashionable. Her look—distinct and rebellious—mocked trendiness, but was in style all the same. Outwardly she appeared fearless, standing up to teachers and students alike. She went about alone, while they huddled together like sheep. She seemed sharp and crisp in their dull world. Yet instead of seeing someone to emulate, they only saw someone to envy and tear down.

They brought out their anger in verse and it was wicked bile in Jesse's heart. The words were designed not just to ridicule but to cause pain. And they were very effective. After the first limerick, Jesse dug out a book from her bag, not seeing or caring what it was.

Calculus! This was her only hope to hold back the tears forming in her eyes. She flipped through the book until she saw a page filled with enough math problems to drown herself in. Or so she thought at first. Only those waters were too shallow and the vile poetry kept slipping in among her equations until at last tears blurred the numbers that she had been trying to hide within.

The rhymes were hurtful, but the over-the-top exaggerated laughter that accompanied each were pure poison in Jesse's soul. She died a little with each outburst, until at last she looked up from her book to beg for them to stop.

The pleading words were on her lips yet they froze there in shock. A girl...Felicity, the one who had called Pam Atkins' mother, had her cell phone out and had it aimed square at Jesse. It took a moment for her to realize what was going on, but then it sank in. She was being recorded. The whole thing was being recorded. Her humiliation...her shame...her pain was being documented.