Locked (The Heaven's Gate Trilogy) (5 page)

I laughed to myself.  If
only he knew. 

“I’ve heard stranger
things,” I said, knowing exactly how it must have felt to have such an odd
upbringing.  I was impressed by what he had shared with me.  I’d had enough
experience in the juvenile legal system to know that to be able to convince a
judge to treat you like an adult was no mean feat.  It seemed to explain how
comfortable he was around everyone, the weird sense of authority that he just
seemed to take for granted and to which everyone else succumbed.  He’d been
through a lot and was on his own.  He
had
to come across as in charge.

Michael suddenly
stiffened.  A group of boys came careening around the corner, crashing into the
lockers next to mine.  Michael deftly maneuvered me out of the way, somehow
managing to get me past the crowd without ever touching me.

“C’mon, let’s get you on
the way home.”

Swinging my backpack, I
looked over my shoulder at the knot of fighting boys.  On the edge of the
crowd, I saw my tormentor from the bus.  He was not paying attention to the
fight.  Instead he was looking straight at me, pointing me out to one of his
friends.  The friend was tall and dark and seemed to be staring after Michael
and me with a smirk.  He didn’t stop looking even when I started to blush. 
Instinctively, my hand flew up to my neck, smoothing my hair.  I checked behind
me, hoping that maybe the smirk was meant for someone else, but nobody else was
there.  Before Michael could usher me out of the school, I looked back over my
shoulder.  Both of them were gone.

We wound through the
hallways, Michael unerringly charting a path through the chaos and crowds until
we emerged into the low light of the afternoon.  I blinked at the light and
breathed in the crisp air, for the first time really cherishing the freedom
that my new school seemed to promise.

I turned to Michael and
drew in my breath.  The sinking winter sun was hanging low on the horizon, its
glow catching Michael’s hair and making it look like it was kissed by flames.

He caught me staring and
grinned.

I flushed, my gaze
dropping to my shoes as I fumbled for something to say.  “Um, I guess I’ll see
you tomorrow.”

“Why, are you staying
after school?”

I looked up, confused by
his question.  He was looking at me with amusement, almost laughing at my
awkwardness.  I flushed more deeply before answering him.

“Uh, no.  But my bus is
over there,” I said, gesturing weakly behind me.

“You prefer spitballs and
vomit in a yellow tube of tin to a ride home with me?” he said, mockingly
stabbing himself through the heart.  “Carmichael, you really know how to hurt a
guy.”

“No!” I said, too
eagerly.  “I mean, I didn’t know…”

“Right this way,” he
said.  Winking, he turned on his heel, tossing his car keys in the air and
catching them deftly with one hand as he strode away, leaving me to scramble
after him.

As we wound our way
through the parking lot, he slowed his stride, allowing me to catch up.

“You’re in the teacher’s
lot,” I commented, surprised.

“If my life of crime is
too much for you, Hope, you can always take the bus,” he said, his voice
dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, no.  No judgment
here,” I said quickly, thanking the heavens for a ride home.

“Here we go,” he said,
pulling up short, then gesturing broadly to the side before making a sweeping
bow.  “Mademoiselle, your chariot awaits.”

He’d stopped in front of
a car so sleek and slung so low to the ground it reminded me of a bullet.  That
is, it would have reminded me of a bullet if it actually looked like it had any
speed.  This thing looked decrepit.  The panels were a dull grey, except for a
few patches where the steel body had been replaced with pieces taken from other
cars.  The driver’s side mirror was held on my duct tape and a pair of fuzzy
dice hung from the rear view mirror.

“Uh, thanks?” I said,
unable to suppress the questioning tone.

He swept his long, lean
body upright, shielding me from the sun as he shrugged and held out his arms in
a gesture of feigned hurt.  “Again, Carmichael, I am not picking up the right
tone of appreciation, here.”

“Oh, I appreciate it. 
I’m just wondering if this death trap has seat belts.”

He ran his hand along the
hood as he walked around to the passenger side.  “Old cars didn’t have
seatbelts.  It’s exempted.”

“Really?” I asked,
raising my eyebrows.

“C’mon, live a little,
Hope.  It’s only a few miles.”

I froze, every muscle in
my shoulders and back tensing.  “How do you know it’s only a few miles? How do
you know where I live?”

He laughed as he swung
the passenger door open for me.  “Everyone who goes here lives within a few
miles.  So what do you say?  Are you coming?”

Slowly, I felt the
tension draining out of my body.  How could I be as paranoid as my dad?  Of
course I lived nearby.  It was obvious.  Everybody did. 

I looked up at Michael,
standing there waiting for me, and felt a pull of longing.  He was the kind of
guy for whom everything was easy, everything was fun.  Hadn’t I always wanted
some of that? 

“Sure, why not?” I said,
giving him what I hoped was my best nonchalant smile as I walked over to his
side.  I ducked under his arm, uncomfortably aware of how close I was to him,
before climbing into the low bucket seat. “But the instant this thing drops a
muffler or anything, I’m out of here.”

“Oh ye of little faith,”
he laughed, closing the door on my protests.

As we pulled out of the
parking lot, I remained hyper aware of how close I was to Michael in the tiny
front seat.  I could even smell him – an earthy smell that reminded me of sweet
hay and leather.  I looked at my hands, which were twitching nervously in my
lap, and willed them to be still.

“Left or right?” he asked
me as we approached an intersection.

“Left,” I said.  Almost
simultaneously he flicked the signal, as if he had anticipated my response.

“So, what’s your story,
Carmichael?”

“Huh?” I darted a glance
at him.  He was looking at me, amusement on his face.

“It’s not a trick
question.  You know how I came to the lovely burg of Dunwoody.  What brings you
here?”

He pulled up to a T stop
and signaled for a right turn, not waiting for my confirmation.

“You need to go left,” I
said, a note of suspicion in my voice.

“Relax, Hope.  It’s a
circle drive.  I can’t make a wrong turn.  And don’t duck the question.  Why’d
you transfer to Dunwoody High?”

I squirmed in my seat. 
“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got some time.  Go
ahead.”

I sighed.  He was
persistent, so I might as well get it over with.

“My parents have been
separated for a long time.  They never really divorced but they might as well
be.  My Dad always had custody of me because my Mom travels a lot for her job. 
But I decided I wanted to move back with her so here I am.”

“Just like that?  Here
you are?  Your Dad didn’t have anything to say about it?”

I looked at Michael.  His
eyes seemed full of genuine interest.  I found myself wanting to trust him.

“He sort of screwed up. 
So no, he couldn’t really do anything about it.  He isn’t even allowed to talk
to me for a while.”

Michael let out a slow
whistle.  “That had to be some sort of screw up.  What did he do, if you don’t
mind me asking?”

I looked at my hands,
twisting in my lap.  How to explain my father, without having to go through my
whole past?

“Ever since I was really
little, he’s been very over-protective of me.  He sort of controlled my every
move.  I guess I managed to deal with it until recently.”  I stopped then,
unsure if I should continue.

“What happened?” Michael
gently prompted me.  His voice was soothing and smooth.

“There was a new kid in
school.  Everyone was fascinated by him – you know, that new kid thing -- and for
some reason he took an interest in me.  I lied to my dad and snuck out of the
house so I could meet him at the movies.”

I closed my eyes,
remembering how excited I’d been.  Danny was the first new kid at Holy
Innocents since I’d arrived; the only one at school who didn’t know my story. 
He was my chance for a real friend, if I didn’t screw it up.  I’d been so
hopeful, thinking my father would believe my story about staying after school
for homework; desperate for him to believe it, even though it was so
transparent.

“I thought I’d tricked
him, but he showed up at the movie theater and made a scene.”

“What kind of scene?”
Michael prompted.

I could still remember
the feeling of Danny’s fingertips bumping into mine as we burrowed into the
bucket of greasy popcorn.  The angry stir of the crowd as the crazy man started
spouting bible verses at the top of his voice from the back of the theater.  My
horror when the crazy man started calling me by name, stalking down the aisle
to claim me from my seat and pull me to his waiting car.

My embarrassment at that
moment had paled in comparison to how I felt when I had to deal with the
ridicule I’d later faced in school.  I’d gone from tolerated misfit to
ridiculed pariah in the time it took Danny to spread the story around.  I
couldn’t blame him.  He recognized the opportunity to shoot to super-popularity
on the back of someone else’s misfortune.  It happened all the time in high
school.  It just had never happened to me.

“It doesn’t matter,” I
said, trying to shrug off the feeling of hopelessness that engulfed me whenever
I thought about that time.  “He’s just super religious and strict and kind of
went too far.  So that’s why I wanted to come back to Atlanta.  I just needed
some space from my dad.”

I blinked my eyes open,
and realized with a start that we were parked in front of my house.  I turned
to Michael, startled.

“How did you…?”

He laughed and flipped up
the name tag on my backpack, which I’d neatly placed on the seat between us. 
“Address on your tag.  Easy as pie.”  He looked down at me, sheepishly.  “I
didn’t want to interrupt you while you were talking.  It seemed like whatever
you were remembering was pretty important.”

I flushed, scolding
myself for how suspicious I’d become.  I vowed not to let my father’s craziness
infect me.

“Thanks for the ride,
Michael,” I said, flashing him a grateful smile.

“My pleasure, Hope,” he
said, his own grin deepening. He reached across my lap and opened the door for
me.  Up close, his eyes seemed to dance, shifting into different shades of blue
as the sun caught them.  I felt my heart give a little
thump
.  “See you
tomorrow.”

*****

When Michael had pulled away
from my driveway, Mrs. Bibeau came scurrying out of her driveway, nearly
bursting with questions and waving at me to slow down.

“Lots of homework!” I
yelled before closing the door on her.  I let my back fall against the door as
I clutched my bag to my chest, a silly smile stealing across my face.

Several times that
afternoon as I worked on my homework I caught myself humming to myself and
smiling. 
So silly,
I thought to myself. 
Are you really so giddy, just
because someone was nice to you?

But all the trauma of my
first day at Dunwoody High seemed far behind me.  As I brushed my hair out
before bed, I had to admit to myself that I was, indeed, giddy with happiness. 
Today had turned out exactly like I’d envisioned it when I’d planned my move to
Atlanta.  No – it was even better.  This was what I had hoped for, but hadn’t dared
to acknowledge, even to myself.  Anonymity was one thing.  But to have a
friend, a real friend – someone who didn’t know my past, someone whose picture
of me wasn’t skewed by looking at me through the prism of my abduction -- that
was another.

And he might even be able
to relate, if I shared more of my past with him.  After all, he’d said he’d
grown up in a cult.  I thought almost guiltily of my computer before giving in
to the temptation and plopping down in front of it.  I launched the search
engine and began hunting for any news coverage of a raided cult in Iowa. 
Nothing.  I changed the search terms and switched engines, but still only
managed to come up with a bunch of raids in Texas and Utah.

How odd.  My curiosity
deepened.  I wondered if he was telling me the whole truth.  Would the fact
that there were children involved mean the media had been blocked from covering
the story?  I frowned, frustrated, as I hammered away at the keys, launching
search after search and coming up with nothing. 

What had really happened
in that raid?  I couldn’t very well come right out and ask him, could I?  Annoyed,
I pushed away from my desk and went back to my bathroom, grudgingly picking up
the brush.  As I ran the brush through my hair, I had to admit the mystery
around Michael’s story only deepened my fascination with him.