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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Novels
- Published: 06/21/2024
ROBERTA’S RAGE
CHAPTER 1
An icy morning downpour was a welcome surprise on a dreary summer’s day in Northwest Florida. Although Panhandle residents looked forward to the chill of an early fall each year, milder temperatures seldom arrived before the middle of October. For those who had to scratch out a living beneath the merciless rays of a July sun, the change was well overdue.
The bedazzled students of Gideon Baylor High School were especially pleased to witness a phenomenon that had never occurred in their lifetime. An overcast sky and biting winds made it easier for them to concentrate on their studies. With two weeks left in the season, clear and sunny days would only remind them of the fun they were missing. So, for the next eight months, it was back to business.
Despite the hunger for knowledge some students seemed to lack, Gideon Baylor was the learning institution most parents in Chamberlain County wanted their teenagers to attend. Colleges throughout the state took serious note of applicants who were willing to utilize the advantages their parents’ money had bought them.
Along with its record of academic excellence, the celebrated benchmark also enjoyed a reputation for maintaining law and order. Adhering to a policy of zero tolerance was essential. Reports of drugs, vandalism and violence were rare. For the most part, the youngsters made genuine efforts to settle their differences and work together.
Established in 1947, this revered monument to intellectual achievement was believed to be the beacon that would guide the district toward a rich and joyous future. Unfortunately, there was a stumbling block that threatened to darken the path of every burgeoning genius who embarked upon the quest for pedantic enrichment at Gideon Baylor High.
In many circles, the wealthy reap the first fruits of a prosperous society. The Chamberlain County School System was no different. A substantial percentage of the student body didn’t fall asleep wondering whether or not they’d have a roof over their heads the next morning. Three meals a day were part of an unquestionable routine. Expensive sneakers, designer clothes and a brand-new car imposed no hardships on the residential expenditures. The privileges afforded to kids who come from that kind of money frequently plant seeds that make them forget everyone deserves to be respected.
Yet, despite the misguided laws of a conceited adolescent hierarchy, every special child wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his or her mouth. Hoping to defeat the negative concepts that can cripple the human spirit, some have had to battle the foes of common decency to procure the basic elements of a satisfying life. Struggling to avoid the temptations that afflict an impoverished upbringing and focus on something better, they endeavor to overcome a world that believes they were born to lose. Roberta Parson had to confront that twaddle on a daily basis.
Roberta’s life began in a tranquil neighborhood on the outskirts of Graceville, Florida. Her mother, Nora, was a dentist and her father, Gerald, ran his own construction company. The Parson Family personified the quintessential suburban household. No one could have predicted the tragic turn their lives would take before Roberta reached the age of ten.
One rainy spring night near the county line, a drunk driver plowed head-on into Nora’s car, rendering her comatose for six months. Two weeks before her seventeenth wedding anniversary, the thirty-three year-old wife and mother passed away.
Devastated by the loss, Gerald found himself struggling to keep his head above water in a raging river of medical bills and credit card debt. Three years later, the grieving widower lost his business and sold the family home. Unable to maintain the only lifestyle Roberta had ever known, he was compelled to make a fresh start in a poor neighborhood and accept any job that came his way. Keeping his daughter safe while striving to help her make sense of the unforeseen occurrences that plague the human race was a monumental task, but the surviving parent didn’t have the luxury of begging off. He knew she would need his love and guidance to sustain her through the darkness of a brutalizing world.
By the time the motherless girl reached her teens, it became evident that her father’s perseverance had made a difference. Although it was no easy undertaking, Roberta eventually learned to reject the malicious influences of the streets and commit herself to becoming a success. Scholastic improvement facilitated the opportunity to excel in sports. It didn’t take long for the unlimited potential of this extraordinary young woman to catch the eye of Gideon Baylor’s athletic director. By the middle of her junior year, Roberta was making a name for herself at one of the most honored academies in Northwest Florida.
Though the remarkable enclosure was frequently acclaimed for the gifted young people who’d traversed its grounds, Gideon Baylor High School employed a faculty of accomplished educators with impeccable credentials. One of them had filmed documentaries on four continents.
After twenty years of exploring indigenous cultures and chronicling the darkest aspects of human nature, Cynthia Melton returned home to share what she’d learned with the students of her alma mater. From the jungles of Africa to the most distant regions of Siberia, this intrepid adventurer had risked life and limb to enlighten her viewers. She’d exposed genocide, corruption and human trafficking. Journalistic assignments had obliged her to record the plight of starving children in third world countries. Some of her most recent productions portrayed the desperate conditions that occur in the wake of natural disasters. Her work garnered the respect of executives in the motion picture and television industries. She’d received numerous awards. Yet, the stalwart producer and director refused to let success go to her head.
Although she possessed the quirks and idiosyncrasies attributed to most artistic people, Cynthia was an unassuming humanitarian with a genuine desire to improve the lives of kids around the globe. Her charitable convictions gave meaning to every facet of this edified altruist’s life. Those same values were handed down to her son, Baxter. Ironically, it was his present set of circumstances that set fire to the community’s renewed interest in the woman who raised him.
Five years earlier, Baxter joined an outreach group that sent him to the Philippines. Seven months into the mission, he and four of his colleagues were taken hostage by a clandestine band of radicals opposed to the presence of anything American in their country.
Over the Labor Day weekend, Cynthia received word her son had escaped his captors and made it to a military base in Manila.
Practically every news outlet on the Gulf Coast wanted a personal interview with the mother of Baxter Melton. However, she preferred to express her elation through a journalist she met in South Florida several years ago. At the time, her husband, Roger, had been accused of a crime he didn’t commit. Through the tireless efforts of that tenacious newshound, the public learned the truth and Roger was exonerated. Cynthia yearned for the day when she could return the favor. Giving her hero a shot at one of the biggest scoops to come along in years settled the debt with interest. There couldn’t have been a more appropriate time to extend the gesture. I know because I was that reporter.
CHAPTER 2
My name is Spider Petrie. It had been more than a decade since I broke the story that cleared Roger Melton’s name. Back then, I was a driven young dynamo who thought my prose could change the world. I had money, prestige and influence. Even crooked politicians and unscrupulous business tycoons who feared I’d reveal the skeletons in their closets made every effort to stroke my bloated ego. In time, I began to feel invincible. It felt like I was on a fast track to the top of the world. Unfortunately, I was looking in the wrong direction when the ride came to a screeching halt.
An expensive nightlife and fair-weather friends had taken their toll. I’m often reminded of that dreary February morning when the authorities found me wandering the streets and nursing an agonizing hangover. A frantic call from my accountant confirmed another reality I’d been trying to ignore. Within a few years, I’d squandered my savings on treacherous women and kinetically challenged greyhounds. When my deplorable situation became the subject of barber shop gossip, advertisers and editors of the newspaper I worked for decided their ace reporter had become a liability. After three unsuccessful years of trying to refurbish my tarnished reputation, I gave up and headed for the Panhandle.
Though I was aware that Cynthia had made a new life several miles west of the Capital, I was afraid the news of my foolish escapades may have stifled her appreciation for the friendship we shared in the past. That’s why I was so surprised when the managing editor of Panhandle Personalities Magazine informed me that I was the journalist this remarkable woman had chosen to write her story. For a diminutive idler with a sullied image, this would be the ultimate comeback. I couldn’t have been more delighted.
I’d heard a lot about the Gideon Baylor High School campus, but as a cynical stringer I didn’t expect the esteemed piece of real estate to live up to the hype. I soon came to realize just how much I had to learn.
A five-story vermilion building with a cupola on its roof housed the majority of the institution’s academic endeavors, but it wasn’t the only astounding feature on this seventy-acre manicured lot.
Beds of blooming vegetation adorned the lush Bermuda grass like a work of art. Scaevola, Verbena, Plumbago and Golden Dewdrop portrayed the vibrant colors that made summertime in Northwest Florida special.
Beyond a patch of Dotted Horsemint, a towering fence secured the fields where the Gideon Baylor Pronghorns frequently dominated their opponents in baseball and football. A section of metal picnic tables beneath a wooden shelter with a ceramic roof could make a boring half-hour lunch an affair to remember.
I was particularly impressed with that replica of a nineteenth century manse. Though it wasn’t the actual size of the period mansions found in more populated New England cities, this classic representation was the hub of the county’s most lauded theatrical performances. In years past, the rich and famous had posed for pictures near the gingerbread railing of that rustic clapboard porch. Indubitably, this cinder block tribute to a simpler generation symbolized more than the hopes and dreams of promising young thespians. It was a gateway to a better tomorrow.
After twenty years, I couldn’t remember all of Cynthia’s habits. However, there was one ritual I hadn’t forgotten. This phenomenal educator liked to find a quiet place and contemplate the day’s activities. So, when I pulled into the parking lot, I stepped out of my car and proceeded down a covered walkway until I reached the school cafeteria. That’s where I found my old friend sitting alone at a corner table with a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper.
Considering the changes the optimistic idealist had undergone, I was pleased she was the one who arranged our reunion. I wouldn’t have recognized her. She’d gained a few pounds since the last time we were together. Yet, her curvaceous middle-aged frame was still turning heads. That shoulder-length mane of loose highlighted waves with messy finish bore little resemblance to the long black tresses she sported in the nineties. She was quite fetching in that lime-green jumpsuit. Time had been good to this incomparable preceptor. She hadn’t lost a step.
As I approached Cynthia’s table, it occurred to me that I was no longer the tenacious young loudmouth she knew in Miami. The curly head of hair she used joke about was turning grey and receding. My three-piece brown suit and matching fedora was one of the few outfits I wasn’t ashamed to wear in public. Arrogance and self- indulgence had done a real number on me. Who could predict what she’d think of the lines beneath my tired and yearning eyes? I considered bailing out before she realized I was there, but when she looked up and flashed that alluring smile, there was no turning back.
“Spider!” Cynthia exclaimed, rising from her seat to greet me.
“Hello, Cynthia,” I said, embracing my old friend. “It’s been a long time.”
“Please sit down.”
“Just smell that bacon and hash browns,” I said, removing my hat and overcoat, as I joined her.“The kitchen staff is making a real ruckus in there.”
“Oh yes,” she concurred. “They’re usually here before daybreak. Even I can’t beat them to work.”
“I’m surprised to see the cafeteria so empty before the first bell.”
“In about twenty minutes or so the students should be rolling in.”
“Aren’t you cutting it kind of close?”
“I don’t have a homeroom class. So, for the next hour and a half, my time is your time.”
“You’ve got a real nice gig here, Cynthia,” I told her.
She took a sip of coffee and smiled. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve walked over to the coffee maker and poured you a cup.”
“It’s alright. I’ve already had breakfast.”
“Well, if you insist. And you’re right, Spider. I do have a great job. There’s nothing quite like playing a part in shaping the minds of kids who’ve grown up to benefit society.”
“I used to benefit society.”
She reached over and touched my hand. “I heard about the troubles you’ve had,” she said. “I also know how hard you’ve worked to make up for your mistakes. That’s the true measure of your character. I believe in you, Spider.”
“Thanks.” I said. “I gather you’ve been climbing the walls.”
“That I have. I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve spent looking out the window, wondering where Baxter could be. Now, my baby’s finally coming home.”
“When do you expect to hear from the government?”
“In a week or two. The Air Force colonel I spoke to on the phone said my son will board a plane in Germany and land at the naval base in Heritage County before the end of the month.”
I was about to request a little background on Baxter’s childhood when Cynthia was distracted by the arrival of a student. Though we’d never been formally introduced, I immediately recognized the heavy-set teenager. Her name was Roberta Parson.
Images of this seventeen-year-old athletic sensation had graced the covers of magazines all over the state. Her achievements in wrestling and weightlifting had made her a local celebrity. She had to be at least six foot tall. Her biceps were huge.
If my recollection of high school was correct, the attributes that made Roberta special may have been mentioned, but seldom in a good way. It was more gratifying to crush her spirit with degrading barbs and unrelenting scorn. As usual, there were several students who could have reached out to her, but they feared the disapproval of ignorant contemporaries who had no concept of what was truly important.
“So, there she is,” I commented. “I’m finally going to meet Roberta Parson. She really is bigger than life.”
“Don’t let that brawny build fool you,” Cynthia said. “That kid’s in great shape. If she wasn’t wearing that letterman jacket, you’d see that her core is toned and flat. In fact, she can outrun several players on the men’s football team.”
“She seems to be setting a fashion trend.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was referring to the faded blue-jeans.”
The compassionate teacher leaned forward and looked at me. “It has nothing to do with fashion,” she told me. “Roberta can’t afford the expensive labels her classmates wear. Her father works three jobs to make ends meet.”
“I spoke out of turn,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s so easy to draw the wrong conclusion.”
“That’s the trouble. Too many people who don’t really know her assume they understand what her life is like. Regrettably, mean girls and pompous jerks exist in all tax brackets. Every day, she endures snide remarks and contemptuous stares. Those are the enemies she can see.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I suspect a few of the more popular girls are planning something horrible for Roberta. Some people can’t feel good about themselves unless they’re putting someone else down.”
“Have you talked to the kid?”
“I’ve tried, but when you’ve been treated like dirt all your life, it’s easy to fall for the first friendly face that comes along.”
“You’re really worried about her.”
“Yes I am. Before coming to Gideon Baylor, Roberta attended one of the toughest high schools in the county. I can’t begin to imagine what she must have endured. And I don’t have to tell you how differences got settled there. If she’s pushed too far, someone might get hurt.”
Roberta was beautiful. She wore the burgundy and blue school colors with pride. Her silky shaggy bob bounced off her shoulders with mesmerizing grace. I didn’t have the full story concerning her past, but when I looked into those tormented dark eyes, I began to understand Cynthia’s concerns.
“Hi, Ms. Melton,” Roberta said.
“Good morning, Roberta,” Cynthia replied. “This is Mr. Petrie. He’s writing an article about my son.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Petrie,” the deferential student addressed me.
“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Roberta,” I said, rising to shake her hand. “You’re the pride of Chamberlain County.”
“Did you have an early morning practice?” Cynthia asked her.
“No, I just dropped in to get a breakfast bar before homeroom,” the girl explained.
“Then you’d better get it before the troops come storming in,” her teacher admonished.
Before Roberta could respond, a hoard of hungry students flooded the cafeteria in a matter of seconds!
“Looks like you’re right,” Ms. Melton,” Roberta said, on her way to the kitchen. “I’ll see you in class.”
“She’s quite a young woman,” I said to Cynthia.
“She certainly is,” the distracted educator responded with her gaze fixed on the shapely young blond in the Holly Ribbed Lace-up sweater.
“Who’s she?”
“One of the chicks I’m worried about. Her name is Miranda Sipe. She’s a poor little rich girl who thinks her daddy’s money can get her out of anything.”
“She sure has expensive taste in clothes. Those high-waist jeans and solar boost running sneakers must’ve cost a fortune.”
“When did you become an authority in the world of teenage fashion?”
“I investigated a rash of burglaries in Pensacola last year. I had to learn fast. So, what has Miranda done to warrant your suspicion?”
“Three months ago, she wouldn’t have given Roberta the time of day. Now suddenly, she’s the girl’s best buddy. Something ugly is about to happen, Spider. I just hope the fallout isn’t too horrible for us to handle.”
“Although I’m not proud of it, I have to admit I’m a victim of the generation I grew up in. When I look at that endearing pug nose and sweet hazel eyes, it’s hard to imagine her doing anything vindictive.”
Cynthia shook her head and rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly the way she wants you to think,” she said. “I don’t have anything against the child, but she has a dark side. Her loyal stable of mares follow her around and obey every whim that pops into her head. They are usually the targets of Miranda’s merciless tirades. She rants, raves and calls them the most deplorable names.”
“Why do they put up with it?”
“Because even in this blackboard paradise, few things are more terrifying than being ostracized by the coolest girl in school. They’d do anything to evade the cruelty and humiliation they’ve helped their fearless leader inflict upon others.”
“Just when I was beginning to believe high school was becoming a civilized environment. I wouldn’t have guessed a girl with so many advantages would need to command a private army of emotional terrorists.”
“Fear and insecurities have nothing to do with the size of a person’s bank account, Spider. It all boils down to a distorted point of view. Miranda believes money and social status give her the right to treat people any way she wants. Her posse is convinced that life in school would be a nightmare without her approval. Now wrap your mind around that for a minute or two.”
“Have you spoken to Miranda’s parents?” I asked.
“Her father has a lot of clout in this part of the state,” Cynthia explained. “Moreover, he believes his daughter. The man made it clear that he would not tolerate vindictive teachers who harass her. As far as he’s concerned, the girl can do no wrong.”
“He sounds delusional.”
“That’s obvious. Regrettably, a rude awakening is somewhere in his immediate future. We live in volatile times, newshound. Something’s coming. And it’s not going to be pretty when it arrives.”
Fifteen years ago, I might have dismissed my old friend’s concerns and encouraged her to take a vacation. Yet, at a time when cyber bullying, mass shootings and domestic violence dominated the evening news, I couldn’t expect an educator with Cynthia’s instincts to bury her head in the sand. Anyone observing this precarious modern age had to realize indifference was a luxury our society could no longer afford.
CHAPTER 3
After composing an itinerary for the next few days, I accompanied Cynthia to her classroom where she prepared to greet her first-period arrivals.
Although it had been more than three decades since I took my place among twenty-five potential graduates with a world of possibilities at their feet, I hadn’t forgotten the stifling insults and blatant backstabbing that made me leery of everyone’s motives. Even an assembly of brainiacs with access to so much knowledge couldn’t resist the human tendency to form clicks. Every faction I remembered could be found on the Gideon Baylor campus. Within the confines of Cynthia’s classroom, I detected the foibles and peculiarities of awkward teenagers endeavoring to be seen as players. However, there were two young men present who didn’t have to put on airs.
Lloyd and Lawrence Chapman were identical twins with an indomitable determination to attain their goals. As captain of the basketball team, Lloyd had recently led the Pronghorns to the state championship and Lawrence was poised to set a record for the most interceptions in Florida high school football.
The Chapmans were handsome gentlemen with silky dark hair and captivating brown eyes. Though I didn’t know them personally, I had viewed several local television segments that discussed their tireless work ethic and the loving relationship they shared with their parents. These personable jocks were focused and honorable. They weren’t ashamed to express their fondness for Roberta. I’d heard through the grapevine that they’d frequently gone out of their way to help the headstrong brawler resist the impulse to retaliate against her enemies. Considering the devious facial expressions of the students around them, I had a feeling these conscientious paladins would be called upon to save their fellow athlete from herself again before the end of the day.
Roberta walked in and gave the twins a high-five. Like her, the Chapmans wore the (GB) insignia on the front of their letterman jackets with pride.
After taking her seat near the back of the room, the current weightlifting champion looked up and caught sight of Miranda Sipe sauntering in with three of her devoted cronies behind her. The adulation of a schoolmate so many kids wanted to emulate gave the dejected outcast a sense of belonging. I wanted to be happy for Roberta, but after listening to what Cynthia had to say about this unsettling alliance, I wasn’t inclined to take anything for granted.
It was the first time I’d ever been in a documentary filmmaking class. Unlike the typical schoolroom décor I spent my youth abhorring, the posters on the walls weren’t limited to a specific area of study. I was well acquainted with the images of historical icons such as Albert Einstein, Frederick Douglass, Dorothy Dix and George Washington. On the other hand, there were representations of celebrated figures that weren’t as common to this generation. For instance, the grainy photos of Rube Foster, Satchel Paige, Larry Doby and Buck Leonard served as constant reminders of a time when some people had to fight harder to realize their dreams. Those pioneering sluggers played baseball with the Negro Leagues during the days of segregation. I was sure the youngsters were more familiar with the salute to the 1969 Apollo moon landing and Woodstock. Of course, no tribute to cinematic excellence would be complete without noting the technological achievements of exemplars like Thomas Edison, Oscar Micheaux, Gordon Parks and Alice Guy-Blaché.
The television set mounted on the wall was beyond the reach of the tallest student. I was particularly impressed with the dry-erase board. When I was in school, teachers wrote on chalkboards and allowed some eager kid to clean the erasers. Ah well, at least the black markers they use now won’t make anyone sneeze.
I sat down beside Cynthia’s desk as she addressed her pupils. “Good morning,” she said. “I hope you all enjoyed your three-day weekend.” She pointed to me. “This is Mr. Petrie. He’s writing an article about the return of my son. He’ll be following me around for the next few days. I hope you’ll show him the kindness and courtesy a guest of this school deserves.”
I stood up. “Thank you, Ms. Melton,” I said. “Now I don’t want anyone to get nervous because I’m here. You won’t find me peeking into windows or trying to learn the combinations to your lockers. I have no interest in digging up any skeletons. I just want to write an article that will make the public love your teacher as much as you do.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Petrie,” Cynthia said. “I’m sure all of you found time to complete your assignments. If you’ll recall, I asked you to compose a fifteen-minute recording of a subject that piqued your interest. Who would like to be first?” Five students raised their hands. “Let’s have Miranda come up and play her DVD.”
The expressions on half the faces in the room became more intense with every step Miranda took. If the disaster Cynthia dreaded was imminent, I had a feeling it was about to happen.
Miranda put her disc into the machine and pressed the play button. Although she had her suspicions concerning the spoiled rich girl, the unwary teacher had no idea what was about to appear on that screen. It was Roberta swimming laps in a backyard pool!
“I call this The Plight of The Bloated Manatee,” Miranda declared with a beaming grin. “As you can see, this extraordinary water mammal is capable of amazing feats. She can swim on her back with minimal effort. Experts believe she can hold her breath for more than an hour. She’s a real phenomenon.”
The room erupted with laughter, but Roberta wasn’t amused. She clutched the edges of her desk as tears rolled down her cheeks. I could almost hear the pounding of her heart.
Without warning, the disconcerted patsy stood up and charged her malevolent adversary like an angry Rottweiler! Roberta tackled Miranda to the floor and wrapped her huge hands around the mean girl’s throat.
“Roberta!” Cynthia shouted. “Let her go.”
Recognizing the ferocious scowl on Roberta’s face, the Chapman brothers darted across the room and endeavored to contain their impetuous companion before she went too far! Though it seemed to take every ounce of strength they possessed, the twins managed to pry the fomented power lifter’s hands from the victim’s neck.
“Let me go!” Roberta demanded, as the boys restrained her arms and dragged her toward the door. “I’m going to slap the smirk off that little tramp’s face.”
“Take her outside and wait for me in the corridor,” Cynthia instructed, reaching down to help Miranda. “I’ll call the school nurse on my cell phone and join you in a minute.”
I opened the door so the Chapman’s could hustle their irate fellow jock out of the classroom. Even for two of the strongest athletes in school, she was a terror. Roberta struggled frantically to break free.
On the way out, I caught a glimpse of Miranda. She was clutching her throat and coughing. It was hard to believe so much damage could have been inflicted in such a limited amount of time, but that was the kind of pandemonium the vindictive prankster’s antics had set in motion.
I’d read about a few scrapes Roberta had gotten into before coming to Gideon Baylor. They were serious infractions, but in most cases, a sympathetic stranger who saw her potential or a friend in a position of authority came to the rescue. Although I was hoping for the best, after witnessing what she’d done to that rich man’s daughter, I couldn’t think of anyone with enough juice to get her out of this one.
There was a bench near the window overlooking the rose garden. Taking methodical care to maintain control of their powerful detainee, Lloyd and Lawrence sat her down.
Roberta had stopped resisting and her outrage seemed to be tapering off. “I’m alright,” she said. “You don’t have to get a cattle prod.”
The twins relinquished their grips and stood up. They couldn’t hide the disappointment they felt.
“What is your problem?” Lawrence asked. “Do you want to go to jail?”
“She had no right,” Roberta muttered. “Miranda’s nothing but a slime-sucking maggot. The little witch kept hanging around, trying to talk me into going for a ride in that fancy car of hers. She invited me to eat with her arrogant friends. All along, she and her stagy divas were plotting and scheming. I thought I had a loyal friend with real class. She was no better than the rest. What kind of person does that? What made her think she could do something like this and get away with it?”
“I wish I knew, Champ,” Lloyd said. “Miranda’s not the only one. There are a lot of kids who think they have to step on someone else to feel superior. Somehow, they convince themselves that money and prestige give them the right to treat others like dirt. I know it’s pathetic, but it happens.”
“Yeah, well people like that deserve what they get,” Roberta said. “If I’d had two more minutes, it would’ve taken years of plastic surgery to fix that pretty face.”
“That’s the problem,” Lawrence told her. “You let Miranda’s twisted games make you crazy. What she did was vile and insulting, but you’re the one who’s going to suffer. The only thing you’ve managed to accomplish is an assault charge.”
Roberta lowered her head and sighed. I could see reality was beginning to set in. “Well, I really blew it,” she said. “They’re going to bust me this time.” She looked at me. “I just don’t understand it, Mr. Petrie.”
Before I could respond the school nurse and the resource officer from the County Sheriff’s Department came rushing past us. Though it wasn’t appropriate to engage him at that moment, I recognized the cop as he entered the classroom.
His name was Coy Gleason. The two of us attended the same high school. While I was used to seeing the burly former halfback in uniform, I never suspected he’d don the black shirt and charcoal gray trousers of a Chamberlain County law enforcement official. As teenagers, we were a most unlikely pair. I was a minuscule bookworm with a desire to understand everything around me. I spent a lot of my free time at the public library. Coy, on the other hand, was the shameless embodiment of a tall dark stranger. His curly black hair and beguiling brown eyes made him one of the most popular boys on campus.
Unlike many of his handsome counterparts, the principled gentleman didn’t depend on his looks to make life easier. He despised the thought of toying with the affections of vulnerable young girls and he couldn’t stand a bully. Even as a youth, Coy seemed to possess a sense of honor and justice that compelled him to stand up for those who couldn’t protect themselves. I was certainly glad to have a friend like him in my corner. If there was anything that could be done for Roberta, I had every confidence this uncompromising officer of the law would give it all he had.
When Cynthia joined me and the kids in the corridor, the dejected expression on her face spoke volumes. It didn’t take a psychiatrist to understand how much she cared for Roberta. This wasn’t the first time she’d gone to bat for the wayward girl. Regrettably, unless something miraculous took place, I feared it would be the last.
“Stand up, Roberta,” Cynthia said.
The student rose to her feet and looked into her teacher’s eyes. “I know it doesn’t mean much now, Ms. Melton,” she said. “But I am sorry.”
“Roberta, I’ve warned you about that temper time and time again,” the teacher told her. “I tried to get you to see what Miranda was about, but you just ignored me.”
“I know how much you tried to help me,” the child said. “Now that I think about it, the real Miranda showed herself more than once. I should’ve seen what she was up to, but I wanted to believe I really meant something to her. You just don’t know what it’s like, Ms. Melton. The girls who don’t act like they’re afraid of me, talk behind my back because they can’t stand the thought of someone like me being close to Lloyd and Lawrence. It’s crazy.”
Cynthia put her hand on Roberta’s shoulder. “You’re right, honey,” she said. “I haven’t walked in your shoes. But I do know you can’t defeat ignorance with your fists.”
“What’s going to happen to me now?” the bemused outcast asked.
“I don’t know,” Cynthia told her. “Right now we’ve got to get down to the principal’s office.” She took my arm. “I’m sorry, Spider. If you can hang around, we’ll get together for lunch.”
“Sure thing, Cynthia,” I said.
She turned to the twins. “Lloyd, I want you and Lawrence to go back inside. Everyone is reading Chapter 18 of your text books until the end of the period. The guidance counselor will be down to take over the class in five minutes. Let’s go, Roberta.”
As I watched Cynthia escort her tormented pupil down the hall, I wondered what awaited Roberta on the other side of the principal’s door. Hopefully, the people responsible for shaping the future of that ostracized loose cannon would take everything she’d been through under consideration.
CHAPTER 4
By lunch time, I was waiting in the teachers’ lounge struggling to devour the last chilidog I found in the vending machine. I probably should have thrown it away, but after infiltrating two of the most dangerous criminal organizations in Central Florida, I was convinced a piece of meat on a bun wasn’t capable of doing me in. Needless to say, I had a long night ahead of me.
I was contemplating whether or not to set out for the nearest hospital and have my stomach pumped when Corporal Coy Gleason entered the room.
“Coy!” I exclaimed standing up and walking toward him.
“Spider Petrie,” he said, shaking my hand and embracing me. “I haven’t seen you in twenty-five years. Where have you been, man?”
“At the heart of one catastrophe or another.”
Coy retrieved a Coke from the machine and joined me at my table. He noticed the chilidog. “Do you plan to finish that?” he asked with a grimace.
“I intend to try,” I replied.
“So how have you been, Spider?”
It was highly unlikely that Coy hadn’t heard about the missteps I’d made down south. I realized I couldn’t go through life worrying about the negative opinions of haters who didn’t have all the facts. However, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing the respect of my oldest and dearest friend. Even in his teens, the Corporal was someone who looked for the best in everyone. I’d always expected compassion from my benevolent pal and as usual, he didn’t disappoint me.
“I’ve had my share of ups and downs.”
“I know. We all make mistakes, buddy. People who really care about you, don’t judge.”
“Thanks Coy. I needed to hear that…So what possessed you to become a cop?”
“I presume you’ve heard about Claude Blakeman.”
“Sure. He was arrested the year I graduated from college. I believe he was sentenced to twenty years in prison for assaulting a young girl.”
“That’s right. Her name was Leslie Kemper. She spent four years in a coma. When she regained consciousness and told her story, Claude should have been released.”
“Why wasn’t he?”
Coy took a deep breath and looked at me. “Leslie was Clyde Croxton’s little sister,” he said.
“Isn’t he a hit man out of Atlanta?” I asked.
“One and the same. While the girl was still in the hospital, Claude was shot by some wacko who confronted him on the courthouse steps. The shooter claimed to be in love with Leslie. I later learned there was an inoperable brain tumor. He had three months to live. And even though he had a modest life insurance policy, his wife was able to bury him and move out of the poorest neighborhood in Albany Georgia. She purchased a three-story home and sent both her children to the University of Florida. Would you care to guess where that money came from?”
“Croxton.”
“Exactly. If Croxton had let the law handle things, Claude would be alive today.”
From the expression on his face, I gathered Coy’s interest was more than professional. “Coy, what was Claude to you?” I asked.
“You’re still the perceptive bloodhound you were in school,” he said. “Claude was my brother-in-law. He was married to my sister, Bethany. A few weeks after his death, she took her own life.”
“Oh, Coy, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you let me know what you and your family were going through?”
“I know I should have, Spider. But for a long time I just felt numb. I should’ve reached out to friends like you. It’s hard to explain.”
“You don’t have to explain, old friend.”
“Thanks man. But you deserve an answer to your question. I became a cop because too many criminals were running the show. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not delusional. I’m perfectly aware that I can’t win the battle by myself. I just want to make a difference.”
“Times have changed since you and I were in school. A verbal altercation can get out of hand before you know it. Kids are killing each other with no fear of the consequences. One wrong move at the wrong time can cost you everything.”
“That’s why I wanted to be assigned to a high school. Anything I can say or do that keeps a kid on the straight and narrow is worth the effort.”
I stood up and walked over to the window. “I can understand that,” I said, looking down at the parking lot.
Coy could see I was distracted by something outside. “What’s up, Spider?” he asked, as he stepped over and stood beside me.
“It looks like Roberta.”
“Roberta? Is that a crowbar in her hand?”
Coy and I watched as the angry teenager approached her nemesis’ car.
“This isn’t going to end well,” the Corporal said, heading out the door. “You stay here. Maybe I can stop her before she does something stupid.”
My old friend had always been a fast runner, but we were on the third floor and Roberta had already made it to Miranda’s Corvette.
Giving no thought to the inevitable consequences of her actions, the implacable weightlifter smashed the vehicle’s windshield and dented the fender!
From my position at the window, I watched Coy exit the building and attempt to quell Roberta’s assault on her betrayer’s property.
“Roberta!” the Deputy cried.
When Coy was about thirty yards away, Roberta produced a .38 caliber revolver and opened fire! The Corporalrolled over the hood of the nearest parked car and landed on the asphalt.
Realizing she was no match for the trained marksman, the desperate vandal retreated to her pickup truck and started the engine. By the time Coy regained his footing and took aim, Roberta crashed through the gate and sped away!
Coy holstered his weapon and radioed for backup. He didn’t appear to be wounded, but when he staggered forward and fell to his knees, I raced out of the lounge and scurried the stairs!
“Coy!” I exclaimed, as I darted across the pavement and knelt beside him. “What is it, man?”
“I think I cracked a rib,” he told me.
“What could’ve come over that girl?”
“I don’t know. But she’s in a world of trouble now.”
As a crowd of spectators gathered around us, I looked toward the window of the teachers’ lounge where Cynthia was now standing. I didn’t have to wonder what she was thinking. The trepidation on her face said it all. The young woman she’d worked so hard to protect was on a collision course with tragedy and until the indignant street fighter learned to accept responsibility for her own actions, it would take more than the commiseration of a compassionate mentor to keep her out of jail.
CHAPTER 5
Fire/Rescue personnel descended upon the scene and prepared Corporal Gleason for transport. Once the paramedics evaluated his condition, the patient was taken to Kendrick Bedford Medical Center on Highland Street.
Although there didn’t appear to be any permanent damage, I felt obligated to spend the night at the hospital with Coy. Unfortunately, the vending machine chilidog I’d eaten earlier had other plans. My dreaded night of horrors began about two hours before midnight and didn’t let up until daybreak.
After getting dressed and dragging myself to the hospital, I was pleased to learn Coy had been moved from the ER to a private room on the second-floor. Despite every effort to look somewhat alive, I couldn’t conceal my resemblance to the proverbial forty-miles of bad road. I hoped my old friend wouldn’t mistake my appearance for a hangover.
I wasn’t the first visitor to check on the Corporal. Cynthia was sitting in a chair beside his bed when I entered the room.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Spider,” Cynthia whispered, rising from her seat to embrace me. “Coy dozed off about twenty minutes ago. He was about to tell me what his superiors intend to do about Roberta.” She took a closer look at me. “You don’t look so good.”
“I know. I had a chilidog out of the vending machine in the teachers’ lounge.”
“I wish you’d said something before putting your vital organs in danger.”
“How does Roberta’s situation look on your end?”
“Miranda’s parents are pressing charges. And she is now expelled from Gideon Baylor.”
“That’s a shame. What made the kid snap?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out. Everything was cool in the principal’s office. She expressed regret and didn’t make a fuss about being suspended for three weeks. I just didn’t see this coming.”
We could hear Coy moan as he awakened from his slumber. “Spider,” he muttered, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “When did you get here?”
“I just arrived,” I said.
He peered at me for a moment. “It looks like someone had a long night with a chilidog,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” I replied.
“Coy, before you fell asleep, you were about to tell me something about Roberta,” Cynthia reminded him.
“That’s right,” he said. “One of the nurses gave me a shot earlier. I’m still a little groggy. Anyway, there’s an APB out on Roberta. A talented defense attorney might be able to soften the blow when it comes to the assault on Miranda, but taking that shot at me is going to cost her.”
“Does anyone in your department have any idea where she might have gone, or where she could’ve gotten her hands on a gun?” Cynthia asked.
“Every patrol unit in the county is on alert,” the Corporal assured her. “We’re not talking about a kid who has a lot of friends here. But she grew up on the streets and she knows where to hide. Locating a piece is merely an afterthought for young people today.”
“I’m worried about that gun,” I said. “Cynthia, you know the girl better than we do. Is she capable of trying to shoot it out with the cops?”
“If you’d asked me that yesterday, I would’ve told you no,” she said. “But there’s a side of Roberta I’m just beginning to see. She has a hole in her heart that trophies and academic accolades can’t fill. I called her father. Maybe we can put our heads together and come up with some kind of solution.”
“That’s a good idea,” I concluded.
Before Cynthia and I left, Coy’s physician dropped in to discuss his condition. The Corporal was going to be released the next day, provided he spent the week resting at home. I wanted my stubborn buddy to make a full recovery. So I was prepared to keep an eye on him for as long as it took to be certain he was complying with the doctor’s instructions. In the meantime, something had to be done to give Roberta a fighting chance. That quest could best be accomplished by reaching out to the man who knew her better than anyone.
CHAPTER 6
I’d always known Cynthia to be a woman of her word. When she set out to have a conversation with Roberta’s father, I had no doubt she’d pitch a tent on the man’s front lawn if necessary. However, neither of us had anticipated how difficult it would be to touch base with him.
The Parsons lived in a one-bedroom lintel block house with an asphalt tile roof and teal trim. It was a long way from the suburban paradise the family once shared. Comprehending the trials and tribulations that plagued her father’s existence couldn’t have been easy for a girl Roberta’s age. Still, I was confident that with time and maturity she’d come to realize how much the old man wanted her to have the best. I just prayed she’d live long enough to benefit from his benevolence.
While I didn’t want to waste valuable time that should’ve been spent looking for Roberta, I knew I couldn’t get a decent grasp of the situation without asking her father some uncomfortable questions. Yet, if my approach was too direct, I might have come off sounding judgmental. So I resolved to take a step back and follow Cynthia’s lead. She gave me the rundown on the way to Mr. Parson’s home.
“Gerald is a devoted father,” the empathetic educator told me. “He has three jobs. That’s why we’re meeting him at 3:30 in the morning.”
“You seem to think a lot of him,” I observed.
“Well I don’t get to speak to him as much as I’d like, but from my conversations with Roberta I believe I have an adequate portrait of the man’s world. For more than a decade, he has sacrificed and toiled to make a secure life for his child. The poor widower has seen so many dreams crumble beneath his feet. If Roberta gets herself killed, I don’t know what will happen to him. This is a very delicate matter.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Cynthia,” I said. “I just want to help.”
When we pulled into the driveway, the light over the front door was on and a silver-haired man in a janitor’s uniform was standing in the doorway. As we stepped out of the car and approached the house, I began to see the toll Roberta’s situation had taken on her father. He had a watery gaze and there were circles around his eyes. I suspected he hadn’t eaten in a day or two.
“Come in,” Gerald said. “I’m sorry for making you get up so early.”
“It’s quite alright,” Cynthia said. “This is Spider Petrie. He’s writing an article about my son’s homecoming.”
“That’s right,” Gerald recalled, shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Petrie.”
“Mr. Parson,” I said.
The Parsons’ tiny home was immaculate. Their tan sofa bed appeared to be new, but I was sure that secondhand recliner was on its last leg. Although the nineteen inch digital television set wasn’t a flat screen, it was likely purchased around 2009 during the transition from analogue broadcasting. The shelves were adorned with family portraits and athletic awards Roberta had achieved over the years. I could almost feel the love this ardent father carried in his heart, as I was enticed by the aroma of fresh brewed coffee.
Our gracious host invited us to sit down at the breakfast table where he’d placed three mugs along with everything else an avid coffee-drinker needed to battle the elements that awaited us outside. Cynthia took cream. I liked sugar.
“I was so happy to hear your son is coming home,” Gerald said, sitting across from me. “Even after all you’ve been through, you’re still here at this abominable hour doing what you can to help me find my daughter. No wonder Roberta thinks so much of you.”
“She’s very special, too,” Cynthia replied. “I just wish I could’ve seen the land mine before she stepped on it.”
“Did Roberta always have such an explosive temper?” I asked.
“Not before Nora died,” he explained. “She felt so cheated without her mother. The financial troubles I experienced later on didn’t make the child’s life any easier. She’s a good girl, Mr. Petrie.”
“I believe you, sir,” I said. “Do you know where she could have obtained a gun?”
“Are you kidding?” the disillusioned father shrugged. “Around here, you’d have more trouble finding a candy bar.”
“From some of the talks we’ve had, I gathered Roberta’s size has been a point of contention for quite some time,” Cynthia said.
“You’re right, Cynthia,” Gerald confirmed, taking a sip of coffee. “Her mother didn’t live long enough to help her deal with the cruelty teenagers are capable of unleashing. I did my best to reassure her, but at that age, we tend to believe our peers more than our parents. That’s why I was so grateful for the interest you took in her. She couldn’t stop talking about Ms. Melton. It was wonderful to know she was in the presence of a successful woman who’d stood up to the forces of negativity and survived.”
“Did you know Roberta was spending time with Miranda and her friends?” I asked.
“Not at first,” he said, clearing his throat and yawning. “You’ll have to excuse me. I toss and turn most nights and when I’m up, I pace the floor. I was a little put off when my daughter began hanging out with her rich friends. I just couldn’t see what she had in common with girls who lived such privileged lives. But like all parents, I wanted Roberta to have people in her life who appreciated her for who she is inside. I allowed myself to believe the media attention made her special in the eyes of other students. I never expected anything like this.”
“All of this has really been hard on you; hasn’t it Gerald?” Cynthia observed.
“You better believe it,” he responded. “I just don’t understand how a person’s size can negate all the good qualities he or she possesses. If you were in a restaurant telling vile racial jokes, people would get up and walk out on you. But very few people even flinch when they hear a fat joke. It’s the only form of prejudice that’s perfectly acceptable. Who gave Miranda and her friends the right to condemn Roberta? Does her height and weight disqualify her from being treated like someone with feelings? What law says a big girl doesn’t deserve compassion? Roberta is a remarkable young woman who cares about others. She looks after the elderly and volunteers at the hospice. Now don’t misunderstand me. I don’t condone what she did. Violence isn’t the answer. But I know what my child is worth. I just wish I knew where to find her.”
“Is there some place she might consider to be a refuge?” I asked.
“Not that I can recall right now,” Gerald said. “The Highway Patrol found my pickup truck near the Alabama line. They told me I can get it back tomorrow. It’ll make getting to work a lot easier. This is crazy. By now, she could be anywhere.”
“It’s hard to say,” Cynthia admitted, as the three of us stood up. “I’m not going to lie to you, Gerald. If Roberta is tried as an adult, she could be looking at some serious time. Taking a shot at a sheriff’s deputy was a bad move. I can understand the anger she felt toward Miranda, but the way she reacted was overkill. Regardless of how this disaster plays out, your daughter is going to need counseling. But don’t lose hope. Spider and I are going to do everything we can to get her back safely.”
Well I guess I’d better get ready to head out,” the encouraged father said, checking his watch. “My ride should be here in about ten minutes.” He walked around the table and embraced Cynthia. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything you need,” I said, handing him my business card.
“You’ll never know how much I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Petrie,” he told me.
“We’ll keep in touch,” I promised with a hand shake.
When Cynthia and I left the Parson home, I was struck by a bolt of undeniable reality. Good intentions and wishful thinking weren’t going to lead us to Roberta. I had to tap into every resource at my disposal. That would involve a considerable amount of pavement pounding. So the next morning, I awoke before sunrise and hit the streets.
CHAPTER 7
Though I was fairly new to Chamberlain County, years of observing people and digging for the truth had conditioned me to look for hidden patterns that sculpted the personalities of the man or woman I sought to find. For example, developing a physique like Roberta’s required a relentless routine of healthy eating and weight training. While she was obviously able to maintain her brawny prowess by pumping iron at school, I suspected she needed to spend time with professionals who understood the significance of a targeted workout regimen. That task could best be accomplished by visiting every health club in the area. I spoke to college athletes, Olympic hopefuls and amateur boxers who believed they were going to be champions someday. While many of them had heard of Roberta, none seemed to be acquainted with her. After a week of probing and prodding, I managed to work the nerves of every bodybuilder within a ten-mile radius. That was a status most guys my size tried to avoid. Roberta’s predicament made the dreary skies of autumn even drearier. Everyone involved struggled to keep their spirits up. The situation looked hopeless until that rainy morning when Cynthia received a long awaited call from Washington D.C.
The anticipating mother was informed that her son’s plane was scheduled to arrive at the naval base in Heritage County. Considering everything she had on her mind, I deemed it wise to make the fifty-mile drive south in my car. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing my old friend in a tragic accident on the happiest day of her life.
I didn’t think anything could stifle Cynthia’s enthusiasm. She was giddier than a cheerleader. For her sake, I tried to contain my disappointment and steer clear of the subject that weighed heavily upon both our hearts. I thought I was quite skilled at sustaining a poker face, but when it came to eluding the perception of a conciliator who’d negotiated reprieves for seven condemned women in a Serbian prison, I didn’t have a chance.
Cynthia sighed and leaned toward me. “It’s alright, Spider,” she said.
“What’s alright?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road as I clutched the wheel.
“I’m worried about her, too.”
“It’s been a week and a half, Cynthia. Where could the kid be?”
“I don’t know, man. The authorities are still looking for her. By the way, how is Coy getting along?”
“I talked to him last night. The doctors cleared him for duty. He promised to call when they located Roberta.”
“Your concern for Roberta doesn’t diminish the joy of my son coming home. You’re a compassionate man and you feel for the girl’s father. But I sense something else is going on.”
The rhythm of the windshield wipers was beginning to sound like a dirge. The pounding rain called to mind the darkest moments of a dismal past I thought I’d left behind. It wasn’t easy to admit why I’d invested so much time and emotion into the problems of a young woman I’d only known a few weeks, but I couldn’t hide anything from Cynthia. “You’re right,” I said. “This can of worms hits close to home. I wasn’t very popular in high school. My small stature gave ignorant jerks a license to push me around. I don’t want to imagine what they would have done if Coy hadn’t been my friend. Now, forty years later, I meet a girl like Roberta. She can obviously take care of herself. Yet, her considerably smaller nemesis concocted a scheme that’ll alter the course of her life for years to come. When will young people learn, Cynthia? These stupid pranks have consequences. You don’t have the right to hurt someone just because you don’t like the way they look.”
“Sounds like the river runs deeper than I thought,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump my garbage at your doorstep.”
“You don’t have to bury your feelings around me, Spider. I raised a child who had to deal with bullies.”
“Baxter was bullied?”
“Oh yes. That seems to be the plight of a kid who dares to be different. I can’t say the pain goes away. But like you, my son became a man with a big heart. He could’ve chosen to walk around with a chip on his shoulder and blame the world for his problems. Instead, he looked for ways to serve his fellowman and bring comfort to the downtrodden. And for that, I’m so proud of him.”
“As well you should be,” I said. “Don’t pay any attention to me, Cynthia. I’m just miserable because I can’t think of a way to help the Parsons.”
“You’re doing all you can,” Cynthia said. “The rest is up to Roberta.”
By the time we entered Heritage County, the rain had subsided and the sun was shining. Baxter’s plane had landed a half-hour before we arrived at the naval base. Cynthia was elated. In a perfect world, we would’ve greeted her son and driven him home before lunch. To our regret, it soon became apparent that the plans and schemes of mortal men become sorely distorted amid the blinding fog of governmental red tape.
Homeland Security and State Department agents spent most of the day debriefing the young man. I sat with Cynthia in a chilly waiting area reading old magazines and choking down coffee that should’ve been used as paint thinner. Cynthia understood the Government’s interest in a recently liberated American hostage, but she’d prepared a celebratory dinner for Baxter and it didn’t look like we’d be leaving in time to watch him enjoy the feast. Even though the food would still be delectable the next day, as far as the long-suffering mother was concerned, the party wouldn’t be the same. Finally, around 6:30pm, my friend was allowed to embrace the child she feared was lost forever. The drive back to Chamberlain County took about an hour and a half. The three of us decided it would be more convenient to postpone Cynthia’s dinner and grab a bite to eat at a roadside diner. Bernie’s Burger Bin was open all night.
Bernie’s was one of the last eateries a southbound driver passed on the way to Interstate 10. It wasn’t fancy and no one was required to wear a tie, but as far as I knew, the place had never been reported to the Health Department. While I had to admit it was difficult to determine the quality of the restaurant at such a late hour, the aroma of scrumptious country cooking emanating from the kitchen was very inviting. I didn’t know what to make of the lethargic young waitress who was practically out on her feet.
Every table was unoccupied when the Meltons and I entered this outlandish greasy spoon. That haunting saxophone solo on the juke box made me feel like I’d stepped back in time. From a corner booth I observed the passing cars on the highway and wondered where all those people were headed on that breezy moonlit night. I suppose my journalistic instincts should’ve made me suspicious of my inexplicable surroundings, but my mind was on Baxter.
After five years of captivity, the solicitous young man scarcely resembled the photographs his mother had shown me. The gangling humanitarian looked pale and undernourished. The traumatized brown eyes behind those wire-rimmed glasses revealed the heart of someone who’d witnessed more atrocities than I could imagine. The possibility of lice infestation compelled military medical personnel to trim a considerable portion of his curly dark locks. I didn’t expect him to open up to me, but I’d been acquainted with enough victims of physical torture to recognize the agonizing trail of tears and turmoil ahead of him.
Baxter hadn’t spoken a word to me since we left the naval base, so when the waitress took our orders and left, I was surprised by the expression of gratitude on his face. “I want to thank you for driving Mother down to pick me up, Spider,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” I replied.
“I’ll never forget it,” the liberated activist insisted. “After all, it’s not the first time you’ve come to my family’s rescue.”
“I told Baxter what you did for his father years ago,” Cynthia said.
“A true friend is a treasure to be cherished,” Baxter said. “Trust me; I know.”
“You’ve had to overcome a few mountains in your life; haven’t you?” I asked.
He lowered his head. “I guess Mother told you about my childhood,” he deduced. “Everyone doesn’t understand. They wonder how something that happened when you were so young can still have you by the throat. But the pain never leaves you. Unlike so many kids, I had the love and understanding of unselfish parents who helped me find the good in myself. If you’re not careful, you’ll begin to believe what ignorant fools say about you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Cynthia commented.
“You’re thinking about Roberta,” I said.
“Who’s Roberta?” Baxter asked.
“She’s one of my students,” his mother explained. “The girl is a walking mass of contradictions. She’s one of the strongest athletes in the state, but her feelings are as fragile as dried leaves. The public adores her. Yet, she craves the friendship of shallow peers who wouldn’t know a genuine emotion if it kicked them in the head.”
“What about her parents?” the insightful young man inquired.
“I believe her father truly loves her,” I said. “But he’s carrying the load by himself. Roberta’s mother died when she was little and a girl her age really needs her mother.”
“That’s true,” Baxter agreed, taking his mother’s hand. “But I can tell you from experience that a loving and selfless single father or mother can be the deciding factor in a troubled youngster’s life.”
Cynthia kissed her son’s cheek. “I love you, baby,” she told him. “And I want you to have a joyous and satisfying life. But we’ve got to be realistic. It’s going to take a lot of effort to overcome what you’ve been through.”
“I understand that, Mother,” he responded. “That’s why I’ll be heading back to the naval base twice a month for counseling with Commander Moreland. He’s a psychiatrist who has treated former prisoners of war and patients with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but I’m willing to do what’s necessary to have a normal life again.”
I could see why Cynthia was so proud of her son. Despite all he’d suffered, his concern for the plight of others was refreshing. The compassionate philanthropist spent the rest of the evening expressing unfeigned empathy for Roberta and her father. From the point of view of someone who refused to let the darkness in men’s hearts obscure his path, I gained the forbearance and discernment needed to show a girl of Roberta’s temperament a milder way of coping with the storms of life.
After driving Baxter and Cynthia home, I realized they would need a day or two to get reacquainted. So I went back to my place and spent the next week preparing the questions I wanted to ask them.
CHAPTER 8
The biggest scoop of my career was a phone call away. I could hardly wait to break the chains of my wretched past and regain the prominence that once made me the most respected journalist in South Florida. I couldn’t believe the turn my life had taken. I hadn’t felt so exuberant in years. I’d even renewed my commitment to improving my health. Early morning bicycle rides through the park made me feel like a new man. So I was more than a little ebullient when I discovered a message from Baxter on my voicemail. He wanted me to meet him in a vacant lot across the street from Audra’s Coffee Shop at the corner of Wingate and Paxton. I should’ve noticed the apprehension in his voice, but I was too excited to pay attention. Blissfully unaware that more was at stake than the vanity of a self-serving reporter, I got dressed and headed out.
Although I was walking on a cloud, the six-mile drive to Audra’s Coffee Shop provided a moment of introspection that brought me back to earth. I’d been looking forward to interviewing Baxter and his mother, but arranging to meet in a vacant lot on a windy overcast morning sounded a little suspect. I didn’t know my old friend’s son very well, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d done that would make him want to set me up. Years of lurking in the shadows had made me pessimistic. I hated questioning the motives of such a fine young man. On other hand, if Baxter did have a secret beef with me, I could have been cruising into a trap. I needed some insurance. So I placed a call to Coy Gleason.
After making a full recovery from the injury sustained in the altercation with Roberta Parson, the Corporal had returned to duty with a renewed determination to find the elusive teen. If something fishy was going on, I knew he’d have my back.
I was pleased to see Corporal Gleason sitting on the hood of his black and gray patrol unit, hanging on every word Baxter had to say. With an armed law enforcement officer present, I was able to abandon my misgivings about approaching the person who’d left such a disturbing message on my voicemail. However, the man I shared a meal with more than a week earlier was quite different from the attester I saw flailing his arms and spouting consternation.
I pulled up beside the unit and stepped out of my car.
“Spider,” Coy said. “I appreciate the call.”
“It’s good to see you back on your feet, Coy,” I said. “What’s this all about, gentlemen?”
Cynthia’s son was sweating and trembling. He’d obviously had a restless night and his clothes were a mess. “Mother received a call about two hours before daybreak,” he said. “It was Mr. Parson. She asked him where Roberta was. I heard her repeat this address as she wrote it down. I think she and Roberta’s father are in the coffee shop.”
“Has anyone tried to call Cynthia?” I asked.
“I’ve made several calls,” Coy told me. “But her phone goes straight to voicemail.”
“Are you going to call for backup, Coy?” I asked the Deputy.
“I don’t want to create that kind of commotion until I know what we’re dealing with,” the Corporal explained. “You’ve already seen what Roberta’s capable of when she feels cornered. Setting her off with unarmed civilians in the line of fire could spark a bloodbath.”
“With those blinds down, we can’t even get a clear look through the storefront window,” Baxter pointed out. “We’ve got to get my mother out of there.”
After withstanding the most blatant indignities his enemies could inflict upon him, Baxter Melton had returned home with a positive outlook and a forgiving heart. Yet, when it came to the welfare of his mother, the magnanimous optimist could barely contain his delirium. I couldn’t blame him. Cynthia was a special lady who’d devoted her life to the edification of young people. The world wasn’t ready to lose her and neither was I.
In spite of the danger we were facing, I was convinced my old buddy was capable of bringing the potential stalemate to a peaceful conclusion. At that point, I didn’t think Roberta was aware we were across the street. If we maintained our position for the next few minutes, there was no reason to doubt the dexterous officer would soon have an effective solution in motion.
In the quiescent hours of a dreary autumn dawn, success appeared to be within our grasp, but as I’d experienced so many times in the past, the unexpected intrusion of an egotistical opportunist can change the course of history. The human disaster that threatened to turn a run-of-the-mill standoff into the massacre of the decade was the Sheriff Department’s Tactical Response Team (TRT) Coordinator, Major Russ Malone.
The appearance of the towering sniper with the salt-and-pepper mustache wasn’t a complete surprise. His high-handed antics were legendary. Various sources within the department had given me eyewitness accounts of the abuses he’d inflicted upon uncooperative suspects who dared to challenge his authority. He was conceited and ambitious. No one wanted to see him take charge of a delicate situation with the lives of innocent people hanging in the balance. Nevertheless, the balding tyrant was here to stay.
Within a matter of seconds, an INKAS Sentry APC vehicle accompanied by two patrol units and an unmarked SUV descended upon the scene! Twelve sharpshooters dressed in military green jump suits emerged from the Sentry and scampered across the pavement! Armed with AR-15 assault rifles, the resolute invaders vanished into the surrounding cityscape.
Baxter was stunned. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“It’s the Tactical Response Team,” Coy told him.
“I thought you didn’t want to call in the cavalry,” I said.
“I didn’t,” the Corporal replied. “But those are Malone’s troops. They don’t usually wait for an invitation.”
“Who’s Malone?” Baxter asked.
“He’s an honest cop’s nightmare,” the Deputy said. “The Major is a man on a mission. Ten years ago, he was wounded in Afghanistan. Most men would have been grateful to be alive, but a purple heart wasn’t enough for a bloodthirsty soldier who wanted to be a hero. That’s the root of his vindictive personality.”
“Didn’t I hear something about him running for office?” I asked.
“He’s mentioned it,” Coy responded. “That’s what makes this situation so volatile. Malone wants to be Florida’s next Attorney General. Convincing the voters he’s the candidate who can bring an end to the hate crimes and mass shootings that plague our society will make him very attractive. An ambitious politician with a chip on his shoulder is the last thing we need.”
Malone stepped out of the unmarked SUV and approached us. The permanent scowl that mangled his countenance was a festering reminder of the glory he felt he’d been denied. I couldn’t believe a man who’d experienced so much could be stranded in a mire of egotism and bitterness.
“Just who do you think you are, Gleason?” the Major demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Major Malone,” Coy responded.
“You’re supposed to be at the school,” Malone told him.
“Deputy Houston has been assigned to assist me this week,” the Corporal explained. “She’s perfectly capable of handling any problem that occurs. By the way, how did you know I was here?”
“I keep an eye on everything that goes on, Corporal,” the veteran sniper declared. “Ever since the Parson girl took a shot at you, you’ve been on a one-man crusade to bring her in.”
“But we’re not sure she’s in there,” I said.
“And just who might you be?” the Major asked.
“This is Spider Petrie,” Coy said. “He’s writing an article on Baxter Melton’s homecoming.”
“Of course,” Malone recalled, turning his attention toward Cynthia’s son. “I heard about it on the radio.”
“My mother’s in there, Major,” Baxter said. “I have no way of knowing what’s going on.”
A deputy approached us and handed Malone a laptop. “I do,” the Major replied, placing the computer on the hood of Baxter’s car. “One of my men made it around to a side window. He took this pic of Roberta. As you can see, she’s loading her revolver.”
“So she is in there,” Baxter said. “And she has a gun. If someone makes her nervous, she could kill my mother.”
“She won’t get the chance,” the Major asserted.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Once my man is inside, he has orders to take the girl down if she shows the first sign of opening fire.”
“She’s seventeen, Major,” Coy told him.
“The most recent school shootings were perpetrated by teenagers,” the opinionated bounder reminded him. “These mass attacks are a scourge on our society. It’s time to send a message.”
Coy was outraged by Malone’s obvious attempt to promote his own agenda. “I can’t believe you’d have a young woman shot to advance your political goals,” he said. “This is a gifted kid who needs our help. You can’t just throw her away!”
“Watch yourself, Corporal,” the Major admonished. “We are officers of the law and it is our duty to protect the public. If you have a problem with that, you’re free to return to Gideon Baylor. Now I’m in charge here and I’m going to do everything possible to protect the people in that coffee shop.”
Coy walked over to his unit and popped the trunk. I knew he had something in mind, so I stayed close to him.
“What’s going on, Coy?” I asked.
“Can you believe that bozo?” the agitated Deputy snapped, removing his jacket and gun belt. “He’s going to use this human tragedy to get his picture on the front page.”
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“Well I’m not going to wait around here for the media circus to begin. If we end up on the morning news, there’s no telling what Malone might do. I’m going in.”
“What?”
“I’ve got to talk Roberta into giving up without a fight, Spider.”
“But she shot at you the first time. Seeing you walk in there could really set her off.”
“That’s why I’m going in unarmed,” Coy said, securing his sidearm in the trunk. “Cynthia is her favorite teacher. And I’m sure she won’t harm her own father. Now I’m on my way.”
“Not without me,” I declared, as the two of us headed across the street at full gallop.
Unaware of the Corporal’s intentions, Major Malone was taken aback by the sight of us advancing toward the coffee shop. “Gleason!” he shouted. “You and Petrie get back here. I’ll have you up on charges for this. Gleason!”
I realized Baxter was terrified, but there was no time to reassure him. I cared about his mother and I didn’t want anything to happen to her. In the past, I’d risked my life to get a story. I had a reputation for being fearless, but this was the first time I had so much at stake. I couldn’t afford to fail.
When the Corporal and I reached the front entrance, I took a moment to catch my breath. My panting was a reminder of old times. In high school, Coy was in tiptop condition and I was a human donut disposal.
I’d almost regained my composure when I noticed something had caught my old friend’s attention. “What is it, Coy?” I asked.
“The catastrophe I’ve been dreading,” he said, pointing to the news vans and reporters that were invading the TRT command position across the street. “If we don’t get in there and convince Roberta to surrender peaceably, Malone is going to show the media how he deals with trigger-happy teenagers.”
“I’m ready.”
CHAPTER 9
From the outside, Audra’s Coffee Shop was as common as a five-dollar bill. The stucco shrine to the best in all of us had endured the most violent natural disasters that plagued the local community. For the past three decades, citizens from various walks of life had enhanced the character of this quaint little establishment. Judging from the venerable eatery’s mundane appearance, I didn’t expect it to make a lasting impression. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Although Coy and I had never taken the time to study the history of Audra’s place, our life-altering education began the moment our feet struck the vinyl tile floor. I couldn’t imagine how many civic-minded patrons had occupied those three-quarter circle booths and expressed their opinions on a variety of subjects. I didn’t dare to presume the number of fearless hams who’d made use of that Ion Audio Block Rocker and let their hair down on Karaoke night. The brown Hadrian wallpaper behind the stage was adorned with photographs of politicians, entertainers, athletes and dignitaries who’d dropped in over the years. I couldn’t deny the breathtaking spectacle of this legendary piece of Americana, but my mind was on more pressing matters. Two of the finest people I’d ever known were oblivious to the intentions of a frightened girl who was about to make the gravest mistake of her life.
Cynthia was sitting across the table from Gerald Parson when she looked up and caught sight of us. “Spider!” she exclaimed springing to her feet. “What are you and Coy doing here?”
“Your son heard you repeat this address over the phone before you left home,” I told her. “He followed you here.”
“Where is Baxter?” she asked.
“He's safe and sound across the street,” I said. “But why are the two of you here so early in the morning?”
“This place is owned by Terah Clifford's aunt,” Cynthia said.
“Who's Terah Clifford?” Coy asked.
“When Roberta was in junior high, Terah helped her with her schoolwork,” Gerald explained. “She also looked after her when I had to work late. The two of them were very close. I finally remembered my daughter would come to her when she needed help.”
“Is Terah here now?” I asked.
“No,” Cynthia replied. “Terah gave Roberta a key to the place and let her stay here while her aunt was out of town. What's going on, Spider?”
“There’s an army across the street,” I told her. “And they’re about a heartbeat away from shooting their way in here.”
“But there’s no need for that,” Gerald said. “As soon as Roberta gets her coat, we’re all going to walk out of here together.”
“I doubt that,” Coy said.
“What are you saying?” Cynthia inquired.
“Roberta is preparing for a fight,” I told them.
“How do you know?” the worried father asked.
“The buffoon in charge of that band of storm troopers out there showed us an image of your daughter somewhere in this building with a pistol,” I explained. “It was taken by a sniper who’s looking for a way to break in. He has orders to take the kid out.”
An expression of sheer terror swept over Gerald’s face. “They’re going to kill my little girl,” he lamented.
“I don’t intend to let that happen,” Coy assured him. “All we have to do is persuade Roberta to walk outside with me and this nightmare will be over. Now, where is she?”
“I’m right here,” the juvenile declared, as she emerged from the kitchen with a .38 caliber revolver in her hand and a .380 semiautomatic strapped to her waist.
“Roberta!” Gerald chided. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” the girl said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
“It’s too late, kid,” Coy told her. “Those guns are only going to get you killed.”
“Maybe that would be the best outcome,” Roberta concluded.
“How can you say something like that?” Cynthia asked. “Can’t you see you’re breaking your father’s heart?”
“I know it’s been hard on you, Dad,” the girl conceded. “You worked so hard to raise me right. I’m so sorry I couldn’t make you proud.”
“What are you talking about, child?” Gerald asked. “You’re my pride and joy. Just look at all you’ve accomplished. You are respected in every corner of this state. You should feel good about what you’ve done.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“My mother was gorgeous, Mr. Petrie,” she told me. “I used to watch men’s faces when they looked at her. Some would even lose their train of thought when she spoke to them. No matter how hard she tried to teach me that beauty’s only skin-deep, I could see the advantages of looking like her. Women like her and Ms. Melton just can’t understand.”
“We’ve already established that, Roberta,” the insightful educator reminded her. “Our battles in this world are different. No one can deny the long and winding road you’ve had to traverse. But you’ll never find anyone who doesn’t have a treacherous mountain to climb sometimes in this life. There are people out there who have all kinds of limitations, but they refuse to allow the negative opinions of an ignorant minority to control their lives. Being thankful for what they have is what keeps them moving forward. You are a celebrated athlete. Contrary to what you believe, you are beautiful and intelligent. Most importantly, you have a father who loves you. He didn’t abandon you when you lost your mother. You have more now than a lot of people receive in a lifetime. Why do you want to throw it all away?”
“Haven’t you heard?” the teenager asked. “I’m a freak. No one’s ever going to be safe around me unless I’m in a cage.”
“That’s not true, Roberta,” her father said with tears rolling down his cheeks. “You’re a lovely young woman with so much to offer. Your mother knew it. And so do the people who are trying to keep you down. You are so special. That’s why they’ve worked so hard to smear your reputation.”
“He’s right, kid,” I said. “People like that keep a foot on your throat so no one will take a second look at their flaws. You’re too smart to give in to that kind of deception.”
“If nothing anyone has said means anything to you, I want you to consider this,” Coy said. “There’s a sadist with a badge across the street that won’t shed a tear if you’re driven away from here in a Coroner’s Wagon. Now there are issues that need to be addressed, but we can’t deal with them today. So let’s put an end to this absurdity while we still can.”
Coy had a talent for getting to the heart of a matter. There was a strange expression on the girl’s face. She appeared to be taking the Corporal’s admonition to heart. Unfortunately, Major Malone had moved his people into position and given the order to take the juvenile suspect down.
When Gerald heard the snipers shatter the glass door, the frantic father dashed across the room and attempted to shield his daughter from the onslaught of automatic gunfire! Everyone hit the deck, as Roberta returned fire, wounding one of the tactical officers.
She was about to retreat through the kitchen when she realized her dad had been hit. “Dad!” the teenager exclaimed, embracing her wounded father and lowering him to the floor. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt. I was only thinking about my own pain when I should’ve been appreciating all you’ve gone through to keep me safe.”
Gerald was barely conscious when he reached up and touched her cheek. He’d sustained two slugs in his back and a single round was lodged in his thigh. “It’s alright, baby,” he said. “I love you.”
Roberta stood up with the revolver in her hand. “Ms. Melton,” she said.
“What is it, honey?” Cynthia responded, as Coy and I helped her to her feet.
“Make sure my father gets the help he needs,” she pleaded, trudging toward the front exit. “You’ve been good to me, Ms. Melton. I couldn’t have asked for a better teacher or friend. Thank you for everything.”
“Where are you going, Roberta?” Coy asked, moving closer.
“That’s far enough, Corporal,” she said, pointing the gun at him. “This is the only way.”
Cynthia suspected what the self-destructive pariah had in mind. “Don’t do it, Roberta!” she cried. “Come back!”
I couldn’t explain the haze of apprehension that overtook me. It felt like everything was in slow motion. I realized how much Cynthia loved Roberta. She wasn’t going to stand still and watch that precious young woman give up. Anticipating the compassionate teacher’s next move, I wrapped my arms around her waist and battled to keep her from approaching her wayward student.
Coy made a last-ditch attempt to restrain Roberta, but the effort was in vain. When she stood in the doorway brandishing the revolver, the cops opened fire!
“No!” Cynthia lamented, breaking away from me. Oblivious to the puddle of blood that saturated the leg of her blue-jeans, the grieving teacher knelt beside the bullet-riddled corpse of a girl who had so much promise, and touched her face. “How did it happen? Where did I go wrong? This beautiful child had the world at her feet. Why couldn’t I do something to save her?”
I’d known the magnanimous adventurer for close to thirty years. During all that time, she’d never shed a tear in my presence. Even when her husband’s life was in jeopardy, the staunch survivor’s armor remained impenetrable. However, this tragedy was different. The life of a teenager she loved like a daughter had come to an end. Watching my old friend sob like a baby was heart-wrenching. There was nothing I could do to ease her pain.
Coy reached down to check Gerald’s pulse. “He’s still alive,” the dejected Deputy said. “I’ll radio Fire/Rescue.”
Standing in the middle of that disaster area, I wondered who would tell Roberta’s father what had happened. The mildest man I’d ever known had risked everything to save his child’s life. Now, she was gone. Just when I was convinced the situation couldn’t get worse, Major Malone came strutting in.
“What a mess,” the self-serving Tactical Commander commented. “This generation really has its problems. Ah well… I guess it’s all in the way she was raised.”
The way Coy looked at Malone sent a chill up my spine. The amiable peace officer didn’t lose his temper very often, but I’d never forgotten the first time I saw that truculent glower. My buddy’s fuse was lit and he was ready to explode.
“What did you say; you contemptible piece of garbage?” Coy snapped.
For the second time, I stood between a cherished friend and ineluctable catastrophe. “Coy!” I exclaimed, clutching my pal’s arm and holding on for dear life. “He’s not worth it, man. Don’t throw away everything you’ve worked for.”
The Corporal’s willingness to stand-down didn’t alter Malone’s mood. He was furious. “Don’t think for a minute that you’re going to get away with that kind of insubordination, Gleason!” he admonished. “You and I are going to have a meeting with the Sheriff later today. Then you’ll see just how contemptible I can be.”
I marveled at Malone’s ability to conceal his indignation when the press and medical personnel appeared. While the cunning phony addressed reporters, Coy and I escorted Cynthia out. Fortunately, the newshounds hadn’t thought to stakeout the rear exit. I was sure the benevolent teacher didn’t want to leave Gerald’s side, but by that time, there was nothing she could do for him.
I didn’t know what compelled Baxter to drive his car around to meet us, but the inclination couldn’t have struck him at a better time.
The terrified son leaped out of the vehicle and ran toward us. The sight of blood on his mother’s clothes nearly brought him to his knees. “Mother!” he exclaimed. “You’ve been shot.”
“It’s not her blood, Baxter,” I told him.
Looking into her teary red eyes, the young man approached Cynthia and embraced her. “What happened in there, Mother?” He asked.
“They killed Roberta, Baxter,” she muttered. “The police just gunned her down.”
“You’d better get her out of here,” Coy advised.
After helping the anxious former hostage get Cynthia in the car, Coy and I watched him drive away.
“She’s going to need more help than her son can give her,” the Corporal said.
“More than likely,” I replied. “But I know Cynthia. She’s strong enough to overcome any ordeal life throws at her. My money is on her.”
“I pray you’re right.”
CHAPTER 10
Coy wasn’t the only one praying for Cynthia. Over the next few weeks, students and teachers from Gideon Baylor made inquiries concerning the welfare of the beneficent pedagogue. They were willing to do everything possible to restore the mental, physical and emotional health of a woman who’d worked so hard to empower the community’s young people. No sacrifice was too great.
Despite all she’d suffered, Cynthia insisted upon attending Roberta’s funeral. The doctors weren’t sure how the ceremony would affect her, but no one wanted to imagine what might happen if she missed this opportunity to say goodbye. I’ll never forget the look on Gerald Parson’s face when he looked down and laid a rose on his teenage daughter’s coffin. The grieving father was inconsolable.
As was the case after so many tragedies, the sun came up the next morning and everyone had to get on with the business of living. When he wasn’t with his therapist at the naval base, Baxter Melton made certain his mother received the care and comfort she needed to cope with the trauma of Roberta’s death.
It took about a week and a half, but I finally completed the article on Baxter’s homecoming. Though I’d worked hard to produce a quality piece of journalism, the managing editor of Panhandle Personalities Magazine wasn’t satisfied. He wanted a story detailing the incident at Audra’s Coffee Shop and the circumstances that compelled an up and coming athlete to sink so low. I agreed Roberta’s story needed to be told, but I refused to write anything that would besmirch her memory. So when that part of the article was completed, I sent a copy to her father. Considering all he’d been through, it was the least I could do.
A month had passed since Gerald buried his child. I dropped by one afternoon to see how he felt about the feature. He seemed to have aged in the last few weeks. I wanted to do something to make him feel better, but the wound in his heart couldn’t be healed with well wishes and platitudes.
We sat down at the breakfast table where he served Cynthia and me coffee the first time I was there.
“I’ve already had lunch, but I’d like to offer you something,” my gracious host said, placing the article on the table in front of me.
“It’s quite alright,” I responded. “I can’t stay long.”
“A parent couldn’t be prouder of the job you did on this piece. You’ve really captured the essence of the problem. You truly understand. In fact, I got the impression you were speaking from experience.”
“You’re right. As a youngster, I was also the victim of vindictive teenagers who weren’t capable of realizing that putting someone else down to elevate themselves was merely a pathetic expression of their own insecurities. I didn’t have the privilege of knowing a teacher like Cynthia.”
“If more teachers were like Cynthia, a far greater number of children would stand a better chance of making it out of high school with a more positive outlook. When I was coming up, a lot of adults thought the best way to deal with a kid’s bad behavior was to beat it out of him. With all the technical advances we’ve made over the years, you’d expect bullying to be a distant memory. Instead, it’s become a bigger problem than ever. Today, the anonymity of the internet provides the perfect platform for deluded individuals to express all the hate, rage and vulgarity they can come up with. When will this foolishness end?”
“I don’t know, Gerald.”
“What’s this I hear about Major Malone? Has he really been assigned to the Liaison Division?”
“That’s right. He’s now the officer who coordinates joint investigations with federal authorities and the Department of Law Enforcement.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to handle being chained to a desk?”
“He will if he wants to collect his pension. At least the citizens of Chamberlain County will be a lot safer.”
“I can’t argue with that. What about the cop Roberta shot at?”
“Oh, Coy is doing fine. In fact, he was promoted to sergeant.”
“That’s great. He really deserves to wear that badge. He seemed to genuinely care about Roberta.”
There was another subject I needed to address. Although I didn’t know how Gerald would react, I felt it was something I couldn’t overlook.“Since you haven’t mentioned it, I thought it would be prudent to ask you about Miranda Sipe,” I said. “I’m sure you noticed I didn’t spend a lot of time talking about her. Too much emphasis on her role in all of this would make the story sound angry and vengeful. I don’t think Roberta would’ve wanted that.”
“You’re right,” he said. “My daughter had a temper, but she wasn’t a monster. She regretted the way everything got out of hand. I truly believe she would have forgiven Miranda. It’s the only way we can rise above the pain and get on with our lives. I’ve forgiven Miranda, Spider. And someday, when the time is right, I’m going to let her know.”
I could hear a vehicle pull into the driveway outside. “It sounds like you have another visitor,” I said.
“No, that’s my ride to physical therapy,” he told me.
I stood up and shook his hand. “I’m grateful to you for granting me the privilege of letting people know the real Roberta,” I said.
“Thanks, Spider,” he replied. “The article was a wonderful tribute to my daughter.”
When I walked outside and headed for my car, the foreboding autumn sky reminded me of the day Roberta died. I couldn’t explain the overbearing feeling that impelled me to take a ride to her grave site. I remembered Cynthia mentioning that her late prodigy liked chrysanthemums. So I found a local flower shop and bought a bouquet on my way to the cemetery.
I parked beside a navy blue station wagon at the edge of the graveyard. By this time, the harmless drizzle that began about a half-mile back showed signs of becoming a full-fledged rainstorm. Since the site where Roberta had been laid to rest was several yards from the nearest structure, I retrieved my umbrella from the trunk. I trekked across the manicured grass that adorned the memorial tombs of people who died centuries ago. Glancing at headstones of fallen soldiers, accident victims and precious infants who didn’t reach the age of one was a sobering experience. A busy life seldom renders sufficient occasion to reflect on one’s mortality, but it’s something most of us tend to contemplate at one time or another.
From a distance, I could see someone standing near Roberta’s grave. Though she wasn’t facing me, I was sure the shapely figure was a woman. Clad in faded blue-jeans and a hooded sweater, the disconsolate seeker fell to her knees. I didn’t want to intrude, but I had to learn the identity of this young lady.
The vast array of flowers, balloons and sympathy cards that well-wishers had placed on the vault since the day of Roberta’s funeral swayed in the wind as evening showers grew more intense. So many fans and fellow athletes wanted to express their heartfelt adoration for the redoubtable trailblazer. I wondered what course the girl’s life would’ve taken if she’d been aware of their affections when she was still with us. Nevertheless, there was nothing to be gained by living in the past.
As I drew closer, I realized it wasn’t the first time she and I had met. The last time I saw her she was wearing designer clothes and sporting an ego that almost landed her in the Emergency Room. Yes, this contrite mean girl had undergone an astounding transformation. I couldn’t begin to imagine what could’ve made such a deliberate change in the life of Miranda Sipe.
“Miranda,” I said.
She wiped her eyes and stood up. “Mr. Petrie,” she responded. “I didn’t know anyone else was here. I guess you’re surprised to see me.”
“Well you didn’t attend the funeral,” I told her, placing the chrysanthemums on Roberta’s grave.
“I didn’t dare. Everyone knows what went down between Roberta and me. Those star struck junior high school fans of hers would’ve lynched me. At the very least, I would’ve been the target of her father’s rage. I’ll bet he cringes at the sound of my name.”
“I spoke to him earlier today.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he forgives you.”
“After everything that’s happened?”
“After everything that’s happened.”
Miranda closed her eyes and shook her head. I couldn’t distinguish her tears from the drops of rain rolling down her cheeks.
“It makes sense you know,” she said.
“What does?” I asked.
“Mr. Parson’s reaction. The man is a real class act. So was Roberta. I knew it the first time I saw her, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to cut her down to size. Now I realize I was driven by spite and jealousy.”
“Why would a girl with all you have be jealous of anyone?”
“That’s just the kind of incredulous thinking I’ve always counted on. Those self-conscious chicks that followed me around like sheep let me convince them that I ostracized girls like Roberta because they didn’t measure up to some impossible standard of beauty and social status. It’s hard to believe I could be so cruel. I didn’t give a second thought to the way I made people feel. All I cared about was feeling superior.”
“How do you feel now?”
“I wish the ground would open up and swallow me. How will I ever look Ms. Melton in the eye again? Mr. Parson will never see his daughter graduate or get married. Facing the fact that two good people are suffering because I wanted to elevate myself makes me sick.”
“You’ve done a lot of soul-searching, Miranda. Understanding the reasons for your actions is an ability many people much older than you would love to possess.”
“But how many of them have the blood of the state’s most celebrated athlete on their hands?”
I rubbed the back of my neck and endeavored to choose my words carefully. “Roberta had problems before she met you, Miranda,” I said. “Life isn’t always easy. Taking responsibility for your actions is commendable, but we can’t change what has happened. And there’s nothing to be gained by torturing yourself. I can see you’re not the same person I met three months ago. The best any of us can do now is to learn from our mistakes.”
She reached out and embraced me. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” she said, as we heard the rumbling of distant thunder. “I’m going to do everything I can to dispel those old attitudes. No one has a right to abuse another person just because they look different.”
“I have a feeling you’re going to accomplish great things, kid. But we’re not going to help anyone if we’re in the hospital with pneumonia. We’d better get out of here.”
Miranda and I left Roberta’s graveside with a more optimistic lease on life and a renewed determination to treat others the way we wanted them to treat us. I certainly learned a lesson about judging a book by its cover. Ominous clouds and freezing rain couldn’t diminish the warmth in my heart. If the girl’s commitment to a better tomorrow was genuine, I couldn’t calculate the number of men and women whose lives would be touched by the sheer benevolence of her very presence. Teenage bullying had been infecting communities long before I came along. Perhaps with everything Miranda had learned hers would be the generation that finally turns the tide.
ROBERTA'S RAGE(MC BECHUM)
ROBERTA’S RAGE
CHAPTER 1
An icy morning downpour was a welcome surprise on a dreary summer’s day in Northwest Florida. Although Panhandle residents looked forward to the chill of an early fall each year, milder temperatures seldom arrived before the middle of October. For those who had to scratch out a living beneath the merciless rays of a July sun, the change was well overdue.
The bedazzled students of Gideon Baylor High School were especially pleased to witness a phenomenon that had never occurred in their lifetime. An overcast sky and biting winds made it easier for them to concentrate on their studies. With two weeks left in the season, clear and sunny days would only remind them of the fun they were missing. So, for the next eight months, it was back to business.
Despite the hunger for knowledge some students seemed to lack, Gideon Baylor was the learning institution most parents in Chamberlain County wanted their teenagers to attend. Colleges throughout the state took serious note of applicants who were willing to utilize the advantages their parents’ money had bought them.
Along with its record of academic excellence, the celebrated benchmark also enjoyed a reputation for maintaining law and order. Adhering to a policy of zero tolerance was essential. Reports of drugs, vandalism and violence were rare. For the most part, the youngsters made genuine efforts to settle their differences and work together.
Established in 1947, this revered monument to intellectual achievement was believed to be the beacon that would guide the district toward a rich and joyous future. Unfortunately, there was a stumbling block that threatened to darken the path of every burgeoning genius who embarked upon the quest for pedantic enrichment at Gideon Baylor High.
In many circles, the wealthy reap the first fruits of a prosperous society. The Chamberlain County School System was no different. A substantial percentage of the student body didn’t fall asleep wondering whether or not they’d have a roof over their heads the next morning. Three meals a day were part of an unquestionable routine. Expensive sneakers, designer clothes and a brand-new car imposed no hardships on the residential expenditures. The privileges afforded to kids who come from that kind of money frequently plant seeds that make them forget everyone deserves to be respected.
Yet, despite the misguided laws of a conceited adolescent hierarchy, every special child wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his or her mouth. Hoping to defeat the negative concepts that can cripple the human spirit, some have had to battle the foes of common decency to procure the basic elements of a satisfying life. Struggling to avoid the temptations that afflict an impoverished upbringing and focus on something better, they endeavor to overcome a world that believes they were born to lose. Roberta Parson had to confront that twaddle on a daily basis.
Roberta’s life began in a tranquil neighborhood on the outskirts of Graceville, Florida. Her mother, Nora, was a dentist and her father, Gerald, ran his own construction company. The Parson Family personified the quintessential suburban household. No one could have predicted the tragic turn their lives would take before Roberta reached the age of ten.
One rainy spring night near the county line, a drunk driver plowed head-on into Nora’s car, rendering her comatose for six months. Two weeks before her seventeenth wedding anniversary, the thirty-three year-old wife and mother passed away.
Devastated by the loss, Gerald found himself struggling to keep his head above water in a raging river of medical bills and credit card debt. Three years later, the grieving widower lost his business and sold the family home. Unable to maintain the only lifestyle Roberta had ever known, he was compelled to make a fresh start in a poor neighborhood and accept any job that came his way. Keeping his daughter safe while striving to help her make sense of the unforeseen occurrences that plague the human race was a monumental task, but the surviving parent didn’t have the luxury of begging off. He knew she would need his love and guidance to sustain her through the darkness of a brutalizing world.
By the time the motherless girl reached her teens, it became evident that her father’s perseverance had made a difference. Although it was no easy undertaking, Roberta eventually learned to reject the malicious influences of the streets and commit herself to becoming a success. Scholastic improvement facilitated the opportunity to excel in sports. It didn’t take long for the unlimited potential of this extraordinary young woman to catch the eye of Gideon Baylor’s athletic director. By the middle of her junior year, Roberta was making a name for herself at one of the most honored academies in Northwest Florida.
Though the remarkable enclosure was frequently acclaimed for the gifted young people who’d traversed its grounds, Gideon Baylor High School employed a faculty of accomplished educators with impeccable credentials. One of them had filmed documentaries on four continents.
After twenty years of exploring indigenous cultures and chronicling the darkest aspects of human nature, Cynthia Melton returned home to share what she’d learned with the students of her alma mater. From the jungles of Africa to the most distant regions of Siberia, this intrepid adventurer had risked life and limb to enlighten her viewers. She’d exposed genocide, corruption and human trafficking. Journalistic assignments had obliged her to record the plight of starving children in third world countries. Some of her most recent productions portrayed the desperate conditions that occur in the wake of natural disasters. Her work garnered the respect of executives in the motion picture and television industries. She’d received numerous awards. Yet, the stalwart producer and director refused to let success go to her head.
Although she possessed the quirks and idiosyncrasies attributed to most artistic people, Cynthia was an unassuming humanitarian with a genuine desire to improve the lives of kids around the globe. Her charitable convictions gave meaning to every facet of this edified altruist’s life. Those same values were handed down to her son, Baxter. Ironically, it was his present set of circumstances that set fire to the community’s renewed interest in the woman who raised him.
Five years earlier, Baxter joined an outreach group that sent him to the Philippines. Seven months into the mission, he and four of his colleagues were taken hostage by a clandestine band of radicals opposed to the presence of anything American in their country.
Over the Labor Day weekend, Cynthia received word her son had escaped his captors and made it to a military base in Manila.
Practically every news outlet on the Gulf Coast wanted a personal interview with the mother of Baxter Melton. However, she preferred to express her elation through a journalist she met in South Florida several years ago. At the time, her husband, Roger, had been accused of a crime he didn’t commit. Through the tireless efforts of that tenacious newshound, the public learned the truth and Roger was exonerated. Cynthia yearned for the day when she could return the favor. Giving her hero a shot at one of the biggest scoops to come along in years settled the debt with interest. There couldn’t have been a more appropriate time to extend the gesture. I know because I was that reporter.
CHAPTER 2
My name is Spider Petrie. It had been more than a decade since I broke the story that cleared Roger Melton’s name. Back then, I was a driven young dynamo who thought my prose could change the world. I had money, prestige and influence. Even crooked politicians and unscrupulous business tycoons who feared I’d reveal the skeletons in their closets made every effort to stroke my bloated ego. In time, I began to feel invincible. It felt like I was on a fast track to the top of the world. Unfortunately, I was looking in the wrong direction when the ride came to a screeching halt.
An expensive nightlife and fair-weather friends had taken their toll. I’m often reminded of that dreary February morning when the authorities found me wandering the streets and nursing an agonizing hangover. A frantic call from my accountant confirmed another reality I’d been trying to ignore. Within a few years, I’d squandered my savings on treacherous women and kinetically challenged greyhounds. When my deplorable situation became the subject of barber shop gossip, advertisers and editors of the newspaper I worked for decided their ace reporter had become a liability. After three unsuccessful years of trying to refurbish my tarnished reputation, I gave up and headed for the Panhandle.
Though I was aware that Cynthia had made a new life several miles west of the Capital, I was afraid the news of my foolish escapades may have stifled her appreciation for the friendship we shared in the past. That’s why I was so surprised when the managing editor of Panhandle Personalities Magazine informed me that I was the journalist this remarkable woman had chosen to write her story. For a diminutive idler with a sullied image, this would be the ultimate comeback. I couldn’t have been more delighted.
I’d heard a lot about the Gideon Baylor High School campus, but as a cynical stringer I didn’t expect the esteemed piece of real estate to live up to the hype. I soon came to realize just how much I had to learn.
A five-story vermilion building with a cupola on its roof housed the majority of the institution’s academic endeavors, but it wasn’t the only astounding feature on this seventy-acre manicured lot.
Beds of blooming vegetation adorned the lush Bermuda grass like a work of art. Scaevola, Verbena, Plumbago and Golden Dewdrop portrayed the vibrant colors that made summertime in Northwest Florida special.
Beyond a patch of Dotted Horsemint, a towering fence secured the fields where the Gideon Baylor Pronghorns frequently dominated their opponents in baseball and football. A section of metal picnic tables beneath a wooden shelter with a ceramic roof could make a boring half-hour lunch an affair to remember.
I was particularly impressed with that replica of a nineteenth century manse. Though it wasn’t the actual size of the period mansions found in more populated New England cities, this classic representation was the hub of the county’s most lauded theatrical performances. In years past, the rich and famous had posed for pictures near the gingerbread railing of that rustic clapboard porch. Indubitably, this cinder block tribute to a simpler generation symbolized more than the hopes and dreams of promising young thespians. It was a gateway to a better tomorrow.
After twenty years, I couldn’t remember all of Cynthia’s habits. However, there was one ritual I hadn’t forgotten. This phenomenal educator liked to find a quiet place and contemplate the day’s activities. So, when I pulled into the parking lot, I stepped out of my car and proceeded down a covered walkway until I reached the school cafeteria. That’s where I found my old friend sitting alone at a corner table with a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper.
Considering the changes the optimistic idealist had undergone, I was pleased she was the one who arranged our reunion. I wouldn’t have recognized her. She’d gained a few pounds since the last time we were together. Yet, her curvaceous middle-aged frame was still turning heads. That shoulder-length mane of loose highlighted waves with messy finish bore little resemblance to the long black tresses she sported in the nineties. She was quite fetching in that lime-green jumpsuit. Time had been good to this incomparable preceptor. She hadn’t lost a step.
As I approached Cynthia’s table, it occurred to me that I was no longer the tenacious young loudmouth she knew in Miami. The curly head of hair she used joke about was turning grey and receding. My three-piece brown suit and matching fedora was one of the few outfits I wasn’t ashamed to wear in public. Arrogance and self- indulgence had done a real number on me. Who could predict what she’d think of the lines beneath my tired and yearning eyes? I considered bailing out before she realized I was there, but when she looked up and flashed that alluring smile, there was no turning back.
“Spider!” Cynthia exclaimed, rising from her seat to greet me.
“Hello, Cynthia,” I said, embracing my old friend. “It’s been a long time.”
“Please sit down.”
“Just smell that bacon and hash browns,” I said, removing my hat and overcoat, as I joined her.“The kitchen staff is making a real ruckus in there.”
“Oh yes,” she concurred. “They’re usually here before daybreak. Even I can’t beat them to work.”
“I’m surprised to see the cafeteria so empty before the first bell.”
“In about twenty minutes or so the students should be rolling in.”
“Aren’t you cutting it kind of close?”
“I don’t have a homeroom class. So, for the next hour and a half, my time is your time.”
“You’ve got a real nice gig here, Cynthia,” I told her.
She took a sip of coffee and smiled. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve walked over to the coffee maker and poured you a cup.”
“It’s alright. I’ve already had breakfast.”
“Well, if you insist. And you’re right, Spider. I do have a great job. There’s nothing quite like playing a part in shaping the minds of kids who’ve grown up to benefit society.”
“I used to benefit society.”
She reached over and touched my hand. “I heard about the troubles you’ve had,” she said. “I also know how hard you’ve worked to make up for your mistakes. That’s the true measure of your character. I believe in you, Spider.”
“Thanks.” I said. “I gather you’ve been climbing the walls.”
“That I have. I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve spent looking out the window, wondering where Baxter could be. Now, my baby’s finally coming home.”
“When do you expect to hear from the government?”
“In a week or two. The Air Force colonel I spoke to on the phone said my son will board a plane in Germany and land at the naval base in Heritage County before the end of the month.”
I was about to request a little background on Baxter’s childhood when Cynthia was distracted by the arrival of a student. Though we’d never been formally introduced, I immediately recognized the heavy-set teenager. Her name was Roberta Parson.
Images of this seventeen-year-old athletic sensation had graced the covers of magazines all over the state. Her achievements in wrestling and weightlifting had made her a local celebrity. She had to be at least six foot tall. Her biceps were huge.
If my recollection of high school was correct, the attributes that made Roberta special may have been mentioned, but seldom in a good way. It was more gratifying to crush her spirit with degrading barbs and unrelenting scorn. As usual, there were several students who could have reached out to her, but they feared the disapproval of ignorant contemporaries who had no concept of what was truly important.
“So, there she is,” I commented. “I’m finally going to meet Roberta Parson. She really is bigger than life.”
“Don’t let that brawny build fool you,” Cynthia said. “That kid’s in great shape. If she wasn’t wearing that letterman jacket, you’d see that her core is toned and flat. In fact, she can outrun several players on the men’s football team.”
“She seems to be setting a fashion trend.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was referring to the faded blue-jeans.”
The compassionate teacher leaned forward and looked at me. “It has nothing to do with fashion,” she told me. “Roberta can’t afford the expensive labels her classmates wear. Her father works three jobs to make ends meet.”
“I spoke out of turn,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s so easy to draw the wrong conclusion.”
“That’s the trouble. Too many people who don’t really know her assume they understand what her life is like. Regrettably, mean girls and pompous jerks exist in all tax brackets. Every day, she endures snide remarks and contemptuous stares. Those are the enemies she can see.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I suspect a few of the more popular girls are planning something horrible for Roberta. Some people can’t feel good about themselves unless they’re putting someone else down.”
“Have you talked to the kid?”
“I’ve tried, but when you’ve been treated like dirt all your life, it’s easy to fall for the first friendly face that comes along.”
“You’re really worried about her.”
“Yes I am. Before coming to Gideon Baylor, Roberta attended one of the toughest high schools in the county. I can’t begin to imagine what she must have endured. And I don’t have to tell you how differences got settled there. If she’s pushed too far, someone might get hurt.”
Roberta was beautiful. She wore the burgundy and blue school colors with pride. Her silky shaggy bob bounced off her shoulders with mesmerizing grace. I didn’t have the full story concerning her past, but when I looked into those tormented dark eyes, I began to understand Cynthia’s concerns.
“Hi, Ms. Melton,” Roberta said.
“Good morning, Roberta,” Cynthia replied. “This is Mr. Petrie. He’s writing an article about my son.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Petrie,” the deferential student addressed me.
“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Roberta,” I said, rising to shake her hand. “You’re the pride of Chamberlain County.”
“Did you have an early morning practice?” Cynthia asked her.
“No, I just dropped in to get a breakfast bar before homeroom,” the girl explained.
“Then you’d better get it before the troops come storming in,” her teacher admonished.
Before Roberta could respond, a hoard of hungry students flooded the cafeteria in a matter of seconds!
“Looks like you’re right,” Ms. Melton,” Roberta said, on her way to the kitchen. “I’ll see you in class.”
“She’s quite a young woman,” I said to Cynthia.
“She certainly is,” the distracted educator responded with her gaze fixed on the shapely young blond in the Holly Ribbed Lace-up sweater.
“Who’s she?”
“One of the chicks I’m worried about. Her name is Miranda Sipe. She’s a poor little rich girl who thinks her daddy’s money can get her out of anything.”
“She sure has expensive taste in clothes. Those high-waist jeans and solar boost running sneakers must’ve cost a fortune.”
“When did you become an authority in the world of teenage fashion?”
“I investigated a rash of burglaries in Pensacola last year. I had to learn fast. So, what has Miranda done to warrant your suspicion?”
“Three months ago, she wouldn’t have given Roberta the time of day. Now suddenly, she’s the girl’s best buddy. Something ugly is about to happen, Spider. I just hope the fallout isn’t too horrible for us to handle.”
“Although I’m not proud of it, I have to admit I’m a victim of the generation I grew up in. When I look at that endearing pug nose and sweet hazel eyes, it’s hard to imagine her doing anything vindictive.”
Cynthia shook her head and rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly the way she wants you to think,” she said. “I don’t have anything against the child, but she has a dark side. Her loyal stable of mares follow her around and obey every whim that pops into her head. They are usually the targets of Miranda’s merciless tirades. She rants, raves and calls them the most deplorable names.”
“Why do they put up with it?”
“Because even in this blackboard paradise, few things are more terrifying than being ostracized by the coolest girl in school. They’d do anything to evade the cruelty and humiliation they’ve helped their fearless leader inflict upon others.”
“Just when I was beginning to believe high school was becoming a civilized environment. I wouldn’t have guessed a girl with so many advantages would need to command a private army of emotional terrorists.”
“Fear and insecurities have nothing to do with the size of a person’s bank account, Spider. It all boils down to a distorted point of view. Miranda believes money and social status give her the right to treat people any way she wants. Her posse is convinced that life in school would be a nightmare without her approval. Now wrap your mind around that for a minute or two.”
“Have you spoken to Miranda’s parents?” I asked.
“Her father has a lot of clout in this part of the state,” Cynthia explained. “Moreover, he believes his daughter. The man made it clear that he would not tolerate vindictive teachers who harass her. As far as he’s concerned, the girl can do no wrong.”
“He sounds delusional.”
“That’s obvious. Regrettably, a rude awakening is somewhere in his immediate future. We live in volatile times, newshound. Something’s coming. And it’s not going to be pretty when it arrives.”
Fifteen years ago, I might have dismissed my old friend’s concerns and encouraged her to take a vacation. Yet, at a time when cyber bullying, mass shootings and domestic violence dominated the evening news, I couldn’t expect an educator with Cynthia’s instincts to bury her head in the sand. Anyone observing this precarious modern age had to realize indifference was a luxury our society could no longer afford.
CHAPTER 3
After composing an itinerary for the next few days, I accompanied Cynthia to her classroom where she prepared to greet her first-period arrivals.
Although it had been more than three decades since I took my place among twenty-five potential graduates with a world of possibilities at their feet, I hadn’t forgotten the stifling insults and blatant backstabbing that made me leery of everyone’s motives. Even an assembly of brainiacs with access to so much knowledge couldn’t resist the human tendency to form clicks. Every faction I remembered could be found on the Gideon Baylor campus. Within the confines of Cynthia’s classroom, I detected the foibles and peculiarities of awkward teenagers endeavoring to be seen as players. However, there were two young men present who didn’t have to put on airs.
Lloyd and Lawrence Chapman were identical twins with an indomitable determination to attain their goals. As captain of the basketball team, Lloyd had recently led the Pronghorns to the state championship and Lawrence was poised to set a record for the most interceptions in Florida high school football.
The Chapmans were handsome gentlemen with silky dark hair and captivating brown eyes. Though I didn’t know them personally, I had viewed several local television segments that discussed their tireless work ethic and the loving relationship they shared with their parents. These personable jocks were focused and honorable. They weren’t ashamed to express their fondness for Roberta. I’d heard through the grapevine that they’d frequently gone out of their way to help the headstrong brawler resist the impulse to retaliate against her enemies. Considering the devious facial expressions of the students around them, I had a feeling these conscientious paladins would be called upon to save their fellow athlete from herself again before the end of the day.
Roberta walked in and gave the twins a high-five. Like her, the Chapmans wore the (GB) insignia on the front of their letterman jackets with pride.
After taking her seat near the back of the room, the current weightlifting champion looked up and caught sight of Miranda Sipe sauntering in with three of her devoted cronies behind her. The adulation of a schoolmate so many kids wanted to emulate gave the dejected outcast a sense of belonging. I wanted to be happy for Roberta, but after listening to what Cynthia had to say about this unsettling alliance, I wasn’t inclined to take anything for granted.
It was the first time I’d ever been in a documentary filmmaking class. Unlike the typical schoolroom décor I spent my youth abhorring, the posters on the walls weren’t limited to a specific area of study. I was well acquainted with the images of historical icons such as Albert Einstein, Frederick Douglass, Dorothy Dix and George Washington. On the other hand, there were representations of celebrated figures that weren’t as common to this generation. For instance, the grainy photos of Rube Foster, Satchel Paige, Larry Doby and Buck Leonard served as constant reminders of a time when some people had to fight harder to realize their dreams. Those pioneering sluggers played baseball with the Negro Leagues during the days of segregation. I was sure the youngsters were more familiar with the salute to the 1969 Apollo moon landing and Woodstock. Of course, no tribute to cinematic excellence would be complete without noting the technological achievements of exemplars like Thomas Edison, Oscar Micheaux, Gordon Parks and Alice Guy-Blaché.
The television set mounted on the wall was beyond the reach of the tallest student. I was particularly impressed with the dry-erase board. When I was in school, teachers wrote on chalkboards and allowed some eager kid to clean the erasers. Ah well, at least the black markers they use now won’t make anyone sneeze.
I sat down beside Cynthia’s desk as she addressed her pupils. “Good morning,” she said. “I hope you all enjoyed your three-day weekend.” She pointed to me. “This is Mr. Petrie. He’s writing an article about the return of my son. He’ll be following me around for the next few days. I hope you’ll show him the kindness and courtesy a guest of this school deserves.”
I stood up. “Thank you, Ms. Melton,” I said. “Now I don’t want anyone to get nervous because I’m here. You won’t find me peeking into windows or trying to learn the combinations to your lockers. I have no interest in digging up any skeletons. I just want to write an article that will make the public love your teacher as much as you do.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Petrie,” Cynthia said. “I’m sure all of you found time to complete your assignments. If you’ll recall, I asked you to compose a fifteen-minute recording of a subject that piqued your interest. Who would like to be first?” Five students raised their hands. “Let’s have Miranda come up and play her DVD.”
The expressions on half the faces in the room became more intense with every step Miranda took. If the disaster Cynthia dreaded was imminent, I had a feeling it was about to happen.
Miranda put her disc into the machine and pressed the play button. Although she had her suspicions concerning the spoiled rich girl, the unwary teacher had no idea what was about to appear on that screen. It was Roberta swimming laps in a backyard pool!
“I call this The Plight of The Bloated Manatee,” Miranda declared with a beaming grin. “As you can see, this extraordinary water mammal is capable of amazing feats. She can swim on her back with minimal effort. Experts believe she can hold her breath for more than an hour. She’s a real phenomenon.”
The room erupted with laughter, but Roberta wasn’t amused. She clutched the edges of her desk as tears rolled down her cheeks. I could almost hear the pounding of her heart.
Without warning, the disconcerted patsy stood up and charged her malevolent adversary like an angry Rottweiler! Roberta tackled Miranda to the floor and wrapped her huge hands around the mean girl’s throat.
“Roberta!” Cynthia shouted. “Let her go.”
Recognizing the ferocious scowl on Roberta’s face, the Chapman brothers darted across the room and endeavored to contain their impetuous companion before she went too far! Though it seemed to take every ounce of strength they possessed, the twins managed to pry the fomented power lifter’s hands from the victim’s neck.
“Let me go!” Roberta demanded, as the boys restrained her arms and dragged her toward the door. “I’m going to slap the smirk off that little tramp’s face.”
“Take her outside and wait for me in the corridor,” Cynthia instructed, reaching down to help Miranda. “I’ll call the school nurse on my cell phone and join you in a minute.”
I opened the door so the Chapman’s could hustle their irate fellow jock out of the classroom. Even for two of the strongest athletes in school, she was a terror. Roberta struggled frantically to break free.
On the way out, I caught a glimpse of Miranda. She was clutching her throat and coughing. It was hard to believe so much damage could have been inflicted in such a limited amount of time, but that was the kind of pandemonium the vindictive prankster’s antics had set in motion.
I’d read about a few scrapes Roberta had gotten into before coming to Gideon Baylor. They were serious infractions, but in most cases, a sympathetic stranger who saw her potential or a friend in a position of authority came to the rescue. Although I was hoping for the best, after witnessing what she’d done to that rich man’s daughter, I couldn’t think of anyone with enough juice to get her out of this one.
There was a bench near the window overlooking the rose garden. Taking methodical care to maintain control of their powerful detainee, Lloyd and Lawrence sat her down.
Roberta had stopped resisting and her outrage seemed to be tapering off. “I’m alright,” she said. “You don’t have to get a cattle prod.”
The twins relinquished their grips and stood up. They couldn’t hide the disappointment they felt.
“What is your problem?” Lawrence asked. “Do you want to go to jail?”
“She had no right,” Roberta muttered. “Miranda’s nothing but a slime-sucking maggot. The little witch kept hanging around, trying to talk me into going for a ride in that fancy car of hers. She invited me to eat with her arrogant friends. All along, she and her stagy divas were plotting and scheming. I thought I had a loyal friend with real class. She was no better than the rest. What kind of person does that? What made her think she could do something like this and get away with it?”
“I wish I knew, Champ,” Lloyd said. “Miranda’s not the only one. There are a lot of kids who think they have to step on someone else to feel superior. Somehow, they convince themselves that money and prestige give them the right to treat others like dirt. I know it’s pathetic, but it happens.”
“Yeah, well people like that deserve what they get,” Roberta said. “If I’d had two more minutes, it would’ve taken years of plastic surgery to fix that pretty face.”
“That’s the problem,” Lawrence told her. “You let Miranda’s twisted games make you crazy. What she did was vile and insulting, but you’re the one who’s going to suffer. The only thing you’ve managed to accomplish is an assault charge.”
Roberta lowered her head and sighed. I could see reality was beginning to set in. “Well, I really blew it,” she said. “They’re going to bust me this time.” She looked at me. “I just don’t understand it, Mr. Petrie.”
Before I could respond the school nurse and the resource officer from the County Sheriff’s Department came rushing past us. Though it wasn’t appropriate to engage him at that moment, I recognized the cop as he entered the classroom.
His name was Coy Gleason. The two of us attended the same high school. While I was used to seeing the burly former halfback in uniform, I never suspected he’d don the black shirt and charcoal gray trousers of a Chamberlain County law enforcement official. As teenagers, we were a most unlikely pair. I was a minuscule bookworm with a desire to understand everything around me. I spent a lot of my free time at the public library. Coy, on the other hand, was the shameless embodiment of a tall dark stranger. His curly black hair and beguiling brown eyes made him one of the most popular boys on campus.
Unlike many of his handsome counterparts, the principled gentleman didn’t depend on his looks to make life easier. He despised the thought of toying with the affections of vulnerable young girls and he couldn’t stand a bully. Even as a youth, Coy seemed to possess a sense of honor and justice that compelled him to stand up for those who couldn’t protect themselves. I was certainly glad to have a friend like him in my corner. If there was anything that could be done for Roberta, I had every confidence this uncompromising officer of the law would give it all he had.
When Cynthia joined me and the kids in the corridor, the dejected expression on her face spoke volumes. It didn’t take a psychiatrist to understand how much she cared for Roberta. This wasn’t the first time she’d gone to bat for the wayward girl. Regrettably, unless something miraculous took place, I feared it would be the last.
“Stand up, Roberta,” Cynthia said.
The student rose to her feet and looked into her teacher’s eyes. “I know it doesn’t mean much now, Ms. Melton,” she said. “But I am sorry.”
“Roberta, I’ve warned you about that temper time and time again,” the teacher told her. “I tried to get you to see what Miranda was about, but you just ignored me.”
“I know how much you tried to help me,” the child said. “Now that I think about it, the real Miranda showed herself more than once. I should’ve seen what she was up to, but I wanted to believe I really meant something to her. You just don’t know what it’s like, Ms. Melton. The girls who don’t act like they’re afraid of me, talk behind my back because they can’t stand the thought of someone like me being close to Lloyd and Lawrence. It’s crazy.”
Cynthia put her hand on Roberta’s shoulder. “You’re right, honey,” she said. “I haven’t walked in your shoes. But I do know you can’t defeat ignorance with your fists.”
“What’s going to happen to me now?” the bemused outcast asked.
“I don’t know,” Cynthia told her. “Right now we’ve got to get down to the principal’s office.” She took my arm. “I’m sorry, Spider. If you can hang around, we’ll get together for lunch.”
“Sure thing, Cynthia,” I said.
She turned to the twins. “Lloyd, I want you and Lawrence to go back inside. Everyone is reading Chapter 18 of your text books until the end of the period. The guidance counselor will be down to take over the class in five minutes. Let’s go, Roberta.”
As I watched Cynthia escort her tormented pupil down the hall, I wondered what awaited Roberta on the other side of the principal’s door. Hopefully, the people responsible for shaping the future of that ostracized loose cannon would take everything she’d been through under consideration.
CHAPTER 4
By lunch time, I was waiting in the teachers’ lounge struggling to devour the last chilidog I found in the vending machine. I probably should have thrown it away, but after infiltrating two of the most dangerous criminal organizations in Central Florida, I was convinced a piece of meat on a bun wasn’t capable of doing me in. Needless to say, I had a long night ahead of me.
I was contemplating whether or not to set out for the nearest hospital and have my stomach pumped when Corporal Coy Gleason entered the room.
“Coy!” I exclaimed standing up and walking toward him.
“Spider Petrie,” he said, shaking my hand and embracing me. “I haven’t seen you in twenty-five years. Where have you been, man?”
“At the heart of one catastrophe or another.”
Coy retrieved a Coke from the machine and joined me at my table. He noticed the chilidog. “Do you plan to finish that?” he asked with a grimace.
“I intend to try,” I replied.
“So how have you been, Spider?”
It was highly unlikely that Coy hadn’t heard about the missteps I’d made down south. I realized I couldn’t go through life worrying about the negative opinions of haters who didn’t have all the facts. However, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing the respect of my oldest and dearest friend. Even in his teens, the Corporal was someone who looked for the best in everyone. I’d always expected compassion from my benevolent pal and as usual, he didn’t disappoint me.
“I’ve had my share of ups and downs.”
“I know. We all make mistakes, buddy. People who really care about you, don’t judge.”
“Thanks Coy. I needed to hear that…So what possessed you to become a cop?”
“I presume you’ve heard about Claude Blakeman.”
“Sure. He was arrested the year I graduated from college. I believe he was sentenced to twenty years in prison for assaulting a young girl.”
“That’s right. Her name was Leslie Kemper. She spent four years in a coma. When she regained consciousness and told her story, Claude should have been released.”
“Why wasn’t he?”
Coy took a deep breath and looked at me. “Leslie was Clyde Croxton’s little sister,” he said.
“Isn’t he a hit man out of Atlanta?” I asked.
“One and the same. While the girl was still in the hospital, Claude was shot by some wacko who confronted him on the courthouse steps. The shooter claimed to be in love with Leslie. I later learned there was an inoperable brain tumor. He had three months to live. And even though he had a modest life insurance policy, his wife was able to bury him and move out of the poorest neighborhood in Albany Georgia. She purchased a three-story home and sent both her children to the University of Florida. Would you care to guess where that money came from?”
“Croxton.”
“Exactly. If Croxton had let the law handle things, Claude would be alive today.”
From the expression on his face, I gathered Coy’s interest was more than professional. “Coy, what was Claude to you?” I asked.
“You’re still the perceptive bloodhound you were in school,” he said. “Claude was my brother-in-law. He was married to my sister, Bethany. A few weeks after his death, she took her own life.”
“Oh, Coy, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you let me know what you and your family were going through?”
“I know I should have, Spider. But for a long time I just felt numb. I should’ve reached out to friends like you. It’s hard to explain.”
“You don’t have to explain, old friend.”
“Thanks man. But you deserve an answer to your question. I became a cop because too many criminals were running the show. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not delusional. I’m perfectly aware that I can’t win the battle by myself. I just want to make a difference.”
“Times have changed since you and I were in school. A verbal altercation can get out of hand before you know it. Kids are killing each other with no fear of the consequences. One wrong move at the wrong time can cost you everything.”
“That’s why I wanted to be assigned to a high school. Anything I can say or do that keeps a kid on the straight and narrow is worth the effort.”
I stood up and walked over to the window. “I can understand that,” I said, looking down at the parking lot.
Coy could see I was distracted by something outside. “What’s up, Spider?” he asked, as he stepped over and stood beside me.
“It looks like Roberta.”
“Roberta? Is that a crowbar in her hand?”
Coy and I watched as the angry teenager approached her nemesis’ car.
“This isn’t going to end well,” the Corporal said, heading out the door. “You stay here. Maybe I can stop her before she does something stupid.”
My old friend had always been a fast runner, but we were on the third floor and Roberta had already made it to Miranda’s Corvette.
Giving no thought to the inevitable consequences of her actions, the implacable weightlifter smashed the vehicle’s windshield and dented the fender!
From my position at the window, I watched Coy exit the building and attempt to quell Roberta’s assault on her betrayer’s property.
“Roberta!” the Deputy cried.
When Coy was about thirty yards away, Roberta produced a .38 caliber revolver and opened fire! The Corporalrolled over the hood of the nearest parked car and landed on the asphalt.
Realizing she was no match for the trained marksman, the desperate vandal retreated to her pickup truck and started the engine. By the time Coy regained his footing and took aim, Roberta crashed through the gate and sped away!
Coy holstered his weapon and radioed for backup. He didn’t appear to be wounded, but when he staggered forward and fell to his knees, I raced out of the lounge and scurried the stairs!
“Coy!” I exclaimed, as I darted across the pavement and knelt beside him. “What is it, man?”
“I think I cracked a rib,” he told me.
“What could’ve come over that girl?”
“I don’t know. But she’s in a world of trouble now.”
As a crowd of spectators gathered around us, I looked toward the window of the teachers’ lounge where Cynthia was now standing. I didn’t have to wonder what she was thinking. The trepidation on her face said it all. The young woman she’d worked so hard to protect was on a collision course with tragedy and until the indignant street fighter learned to accept responsibility for her own actions, it would take more than the commiseration of a compassionate mentor to keep her out of jail.
CHAPTER 5
Fire/Rescue personnel descended upon the scene and prepared Corporal Gleason for transport. Once the paramedics evaluated his condition, the patient was taken to Kendrick Bedford Medical Center on Highland Street.
Although there didn’t appear to be any permanent damage, I felt obligated to spend the night at the hospital with Coy. Unfortunately, the vending machine chilidog I’d eaten earlier had other plans. My dreaded night of horrors began about two hours before midnight and didn’t let up until daybreak.
After getting dressed and dragging myself to the hospital, I was pleased to learn Coy had been moved from the ER to a private room on the second-floor. Despite every effort to look somewhat alive, I couldn’t conceal my resemblance to the proverbial forty-miles of bad road. I hoped my old friend wouldn’t mistake my appearance for a hangover.
I wasn’t the first visitor to check on the Corporal. Cynthia was sitting in a chair beside his bed when I entered the room.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Spider,” Cynthia whispered, rising from her seat to embrace me. “Coy dozed off about twenty minutes ago. He was about to tell me what his superiors intend to do about Roberta.” She took a closer look at me. “You don’t look so good.”
“I know. I had a chilidog out of the vending machine in the teachers’ lounge.”
“I wish you’d said something before putting your vital organs in danger.”
“How does Roberta’s situation look on your end?”
“Miranda’s parents are pressing charges. And she is now expelled from Gideon Baylor.”
“That’s a shame. What made the kid snap?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out. Everything was cool in the principal’s office. She expressed regret and didn’t make a fuss about being suspended for three weeks. I just didn’t see this coming.”
We could hear Coy moan as he awakened from his slumber. “Spider,” he muttered, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “When did you get here?”
“I just arrived,” I said.
He peered at me for a moment. “It looks like someone had a long night with a chilidog,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” I replied.
“Coy, before you fell asleep, you were about to tell me something about Roberta,” Cynthia reminded him.
“That’s right,” he said. “One of the nurses gave me a shot earlier. I’m still a little groggy. Anyway, there’s an APB out on Roberta. A talented defense attorney might be able to soften the blow when it comes to the assault on Miranda, but taking that shot at me is going to cost her.”
“Does anyone in your department have any idea where she might have gone, or where she could’ve gotten her hands on a gun?” Cynthia asked.
“Every patrol unit in the county is on alert,” the Corporal assured her. “We’re not talking about a kid who has a lot of friends here. But she grew up on the streets and she knows where to hide. Locating a piece is merely an afterthought for young people today.”
“I’m worried about that gun,” I said. “Cynthia, you know the girl better than we do. Is she capable of trying to shoot it out with the cops?”
“If you’d asked me that yesterday, I would’ve told you no,” she said. “But there’s a side of Roberta I’m just beginning to see. She has a hole in her heart that trophies and academic accolades can’t fill. I called her father. Maybe we can put our heads together and come up with some kind of solution.”
“That’s a good idea,” I concluded.
Before Cynthia and I left, Coy’s physician dropped in to discuss his condition. The Corporal was going to be released the next day, provided he spent the week resting at home. I wanted my stubborn buddy to make a full recovery. So I was prepared to keep an eye on him for as long as it took to be certain he was complying with the doctor’s instructions. In the meantime, something had to be done to give Roberta a fighting chance. That quest could best be accomplished by reaching out to the man who knew her better than anyone.
CHAPTER 6
I’d always known Cynthia to be a woman of her word. When she set out to have a conversation with Roberta’s father, I had no doubt she’d pitch a tent on the man’s front lawn if necessary. However, neither of us had anticipated how difficult it would be to touch base with him.
The Parsons lived in a one-bedroom lintel block house with an asphalt tile roof and teal trim. It was a long way from the suburban paradise the family once shared. Comprehending the trials and tribulations that plagued her father’s existence couldn’t have been easy for a girl Roberta’s age. Still, I was confident that with time and maturity she’d come to realize how much the old man wanted her to have the best. I just prayed she’d live long enough to benefit from his benevolence.
While I didn’t want to waste valuable time that should’ve been spent looking for Roberta, I knew I couldn’t get a decent grasp of the situation without asking her father some uncomfortable questions. Yet, if my approach was too direct, I might have come off sounding judgmental. So I resolved to take a step back and follow Cynthia’s lead. She gave me the rundown on the way to Mr. Parson’s home.
“Gerald is a devoted father,” the empathetic educator told me. “He has three jobs. That’s why we’re meeting him at 3:30 in the morning.”
“You seem to think a lot of him,” I observed.
“Well I don’t get to speak to him as much as I’d like, but from my conversations with Roberta I believe I have an adequate portrait of the man’s world. For more than a decade, he has sacrificed and toiled to make a secure life for his child. The poor widower has seen so many dreams crumble beneath his feet. If Roberta gets herself killed, I don’t know what will happen to him. This is a very delicate matter.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Cynthia,” I said. “I just want to help.”
When we pulled into the driveway, the light over the front door was on and a silver-haired man in a janitor’s uniform was standing in the doorway. As we stepped out of the car and approached the house, I began to see the toll Roberta’s situation had taken on her father. He had a watery gaze and there were circles around his eyes. I suspected he hadn’t eaten in a day or two.
“Come in,” Gerald said. “I’m sorry for making you get up so early.”
“It’s quite alright,” Cynthia said. “This is Spider Petrie. He’s writing an article about my son’s homecoming.”
“That’s right,” Gerald recalled, shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Petrie.”
“Mr. Parson,” I said.
The Parsons’ tiny home was immaculate. Their tan sofa bed appeared to be new, but I was sure that secondhand recliner was on its last leg. Although the nineteen inch digital television set wasn’t a flat screen, it was likely purchased around 2009 during the transition from analogue broadcasting. The shelves were adorned with family portraits and athletic awards Roberta had achieved over the years. I could almost feel the love this ardent father carried in his heart, as I was enticed by the aroma of fresh brewed coffee.
Our gracious host invited us to sit down at the breakfast table where he’d placed three mugs along with everything else an avid coffee-drinker needed to battle the elements that awaited us outside. Cynthia took cream. I liked sugar.
“I was so happy to hear your son is coming home,” Gerald said, sitting across from me. “Even after all you’ve been through, you’re still here at this abominable hour doing what you can to help me find my daughter. No wonder Roberta thinks so much of you.”
“She’s very special, too,” Cynthia replied. “I just wish I could’ve seen the land mine before she stepped on it.”
“Did Roberta always have such an explosive temper?” I asked.
“Not before Nora died,” he explained. “She felt so cheated without her mother. The financial troubles I experienced later on didn’t make the child’s life any easier. She’s a good girl, Mr. Petrie.”
“I believe you, sir,” I said. “Do you know where she could have obtained a gun?”
“Are you kidding?” the disillusioned father shrugged. “Around here, you’d have more trouble finding a candy bar.”
“From some of the talks we’ve had, I gathered Roberta’s size has been a point of contention for quite some time,” Cynthia said.
“You’re right, Cynthia,” Gerald confirmed, taking a sip of coffee. “Her mother didn’t live long enough to help her deal with the cruelty teenagers are capable of unleashing. I did my best to reassure her, but at that age, we tend to believe our peers more than our parents. That’s why I was so grateful for the interest you took in her. She couldn’t stop talking about Ms. Melton. It was wonderful to know she was in the presence of a successful woman who’d stood up to the forces of negativity and survived.”
“Did you know Roberta was spending time with Miranda and her friends?” I asked.
“Not at first,” he said, clearing his throat and yawning. “You’ll have to excuse me. I toss and turn most nights and when I’m up, I pace the floor. I was a little put off when my daughter began hanging out with her rich friends. I just couldn’t see what she had in common with girls who lived such privileged lives. But like all parents, I wanted Roberta to have people in her life who appreciated her for who she is inside. I allowed myself to believe the media attention made her special in the eyes of other students. I never expected anything like this.”
“All of this has really been hard on you; hasn’t it Gerald?” Cynthia observed.
“You better believe it,” he responded. “I just don’t understand how a person’s size can negate all the good qualities he or she possesses. If you were in a restaurant telling vile racial jokes, people would get up and walk out on you. But very few people even flinch when they hear a fat joke. It’s the only form of prejudice that’s perfectly acceptable. Who gave Miranda and her friends the right to condemn Roberta? Does her height and weight disqualify her from being treated like someone with feelings? What law says a big girl doesn’t deserve compassion? Roberta is a remarkable young woman who cares about others. She looks after the elderly and volunteers at the hospice. Now don’t misunderstand me. I don’t condone what she did. Violence isn’t the answer. But I know what my child is worth. I just wish I knew where to find her.”
“Is there some place she might consider to be a refuge?” I asked.
“Not that I can recall right now,” Gerald said. “The Highway Patrol found my pickup truck near the Alabama line. They told me I can get it back tomorrow. It’ll make getting to work a lot easier. This is crazy. By now, she could be anywhere.”
“It’s hard to say,” Cynthia admitted, as the three of us stood up. “I’m not going to lie to you, Gerald. If Roberta is tried as an adult, she could be looking at some serious time. Taking a shot at a sheriff’s deputy was a bad move. I can understand the anger she felt toward Miranda, but the way she reacted was overkill. Regardless of how this disaster plays out, your daughter is going to need counseling. But don’t lose hope. Spider and I are going to do everything we can to get her back safely.”
Well I guess I’d better get ready to head out,” the encouraged father said, checking his watch. “My ride should be here in about ten minutes.” He walked around the table and embraced Cynthia. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything you need,” I said, handing him my business card.
“You’ll never know how much I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Petrie,” he told me.
“We’ll keep in touch,” I promised with a hand shake.
When Cynthia and I left the Parson home, I was struck by a bolt of undeniable reality. Good intentions and wishful thinking weren’t going to lead us to Roberta. I had to tap into every resource at my disposal. That would involve a considerable amount of pavement pounding. So the next morning, I awoke before sunrise and hit the streets.
CHAPTER 7
Though I was fairly new to Chamberlain County, years of observing people and digging for the truth had conditioned me to look for hidden patterns that sculpted the personalities of the man or woman I sought to find. For example, developing a physique like Roberta’s required a relentless routine of healthy eating and weight training. While she was obviously able to maintain her brawny prowess by pumping iron at school, I suspected she needed to spend time with professionals who understood the significance of a targeted workout regimen. That task could best be accomplished by visiting every health club in the area. I spoke to college athletes, Olympic hopefuls and amateur boxers who believed they were going to be champions someday. While many of them had heard of Roberta, none seemed to be acquainted with her. After a week of probing and prodding, I managed to work the nerves of every bodybuilder within a ten-mile radius. That was a status most guys my size tried to avoid. Roberta’s predicament made the dreary skies of autumn even drearier. Everyone involved struggled to keep their spirits up. The situation looked hopeless until that rainy morning when Cynthia received a long awaited call from Washington D.C.
The anticipating mother was informed that her son’s plane was scheduled to arrive at the naval base in Heritage County. Considering everything she had on her mind, I deemed it wise to make the fifty-mile drive south in my car. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing my old friend in a tragic accident on the happiest day of her life.
I didn’t think anything could stifle Cynthia’s enthusiasm. She was giddier than a cheerleader. For her sake, I tried to contain my disappointment and steer clear of the subject that weighed heavily upon both our hearts. I thought I was quite skilled at sustaining a poker face, but when it came to eluding the perception of a conciliator who’d negotiated reprieves for seven condemned women in a Serbian prison, I didn’t have a chance.
Cynthia sighed and leaned toward me. “It’s alright, Spider,” she said.
“What’s alright?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road as I clutched the wheel.
“I’m worried about her, too.”
“It’s been a week and a half, Cynthia. Where could the kid be?”
“I don’t know, man. The authorities are still looking for her. By the way, how is Coy getting along?”
“I talked to him last night. The doctors cleared him for duty. He promised to call when they located Roberta.”
“Your concern for Roberta doesn’t diminish the joy of my son coming home. You’re a compassionate man and you feel for the girl’s father. But I sense something else is going on.”
The rhythm of the windshield wipers was beginning to sound like a dirge. The pounding rain called to mind the darkest moments of a dismal past I thought I’d left behind. It wasn’t easy to admit why I’d invested so much time and emotion into the problems of a young woman I’d only known a few weeks, but I couldn’t hide anything from Cynthia. “You’re right,” I said. “This can of worms hits close to home. I wasn’t very popular in high school. My small stature gave ignorant jerks a license to push me around. I don’t want to imagine what they would have done if Coy hadn’t been my friend. Now, forty years later, I meet a girl like Roberta. She can obviously take care of herself. Yet, her considerably smaller nemesis concocted a scheme that’ll alter the course of her life for years to come. When will young people learn, Cynthia? These stupid pranks have consequences. You don’t have the right to hurt someone just because you don’t like the way they look.”
“Sounds like the river runs deeper than I thought,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump my garbage at your doorstep.”
“You don’t have to bury your feelings around me, Spider. I raised a child who had to deal with bullies.”
“Baxter was bullied?”
“Oh yes. That seems to be the plight of a kid who dares to be different. I can’t say the pain goes away. But like you, my son became a man with a big heart. He could’ve chosen to walk around with a chip on his shoulder and blame the world for his problems. Instead, he looked for ways to serve his fellowman and bring comfort to the downtrodden. And for that, I’m so proud of him.”
“As well you should be,” I said. “Don’t pay any attention to me, Cynthia. I’m just miserable because I can’t think of a way to help the Parsons.”
“You’re doing all you can,” Cynthia said. “The rest is up to Roberta.”
By the time we entered Heritage County, the rain had subsided and the sun was shining. Baxter’s plane had landed a half-hour before we arrived at the naval base. Cynthia was elated. In a perfect world, we would’ve greeted her son and driven him home before lunch. To our regret, it soon became apparent that the plans and schemes of mortal men become sorely distorted amid the blinding fog of governmental red tape.
Homeland Security and State Department agents spent most of the day debriefing the young man. I sat with Cynthia in a chilly waiting area reading old magazines and choking down coffee that should’ve been used as paint thinner. Cynthia understood the Government’s interest in a recently liberated American hostage, but she’d prepared a celebratory dinner for Baxter and it didn’t look like we’d be leaving in time to watch him enjoy the feast. Even though the food would still be delectable the next day, as far as the long-suffering mother was concerned, the party wouldn’t be the same. Finally, around 6:30pm, my friend was allowed to embrace the child she feared was lost forever. The drive back to Chamberlain County took about an hour and a half. The three of us decided it would be more convenient to postpone Cynthia’s dinner and grab a bite to eat at a roadside diner. Bernie’s Burger Bin was open all night.
Bernie’s was one of the last eateries a southbound driver passed on the way to Interstate 10. It wasn’t fancy and no one was required to wear a tie, but as far as I knew, the place had never been reported to the Health Department. While I had to admit it was difficult to determine the quality of the restaurant at such a late hour, the aroma of scrumptious country cooking emanating from the kitchen was very inviting. I didn’t know what to make of the lethargic young waitress who was practically out on her feet.
Every table was unoccupied when the Meltons and I entered this outlandish greasy spoon. That haunting saxophone solo on the juke box made me feel like I’d stepped back in time. From a corner booth I observed the passing cars on the highway and wondered where all those people were headed on that breezy moonlit night. I suppose my journalistic instincts should’ve made me suspicious of my inexplicable surroundings, but my mind was on Baxter.
After five years of captivity, the solicitous young man scarcely resembled the photographs his mother had shown me. The gangling humanitarian looked pale and undernourished. The traumatized brown eyes behind those wire-rimmed glasses revealed the heart of someone who’d witnessed more atrocities than I could imagine. The possibility of lice infestation compelled military medical personnel to trim a considerable portion of his curly dark locks. I didn’t expect him to open up to me, but I’d been acquainted with enough victims of physical torture to recognize the agonizing trail of tears and turmoil ahead of him.
Baxter hadn’t spoken a word to me since we left the naval base, so when the waitress took our orders and left, I was surprised by the expression of gratitude on his face. “I want to thank you for driving Mother down to pick me up, Spider,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” I replied.
“I’ll never forget it,” the liberated activist insisted. “After all, it’s not the first time you’ve come to my family’s rescue.”
“I told Baxter what you did for his father years ago,” Cynthia said.
“A true friend is a treasure to be cherished,” Baxter said. “Trust me; I know.”
“You’ve had to overcome a few mountains in your life; haven’t you?” I asked.
He lowered his head. “I guess Mother told you about my childhood,” he deduced. “Everyone doesn’t understand. They wonder how something that happened when you were so young can still have you by the throat. But the pain never leaves you. Unlike so many kids, I had the love and understanding of unselfish parents who helped me find the good in myself. If you’re not careful, you’ll begin to believe what ignorant fools say about you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Cynthia commented.
“You’re thinking about Roberta,” I said.
“Who’s Roberta?” Baxter asked.
“She’s one of my students,” his mother explained. “The girl is a walking mass of contradictions. She’s one of the strongest athletes in the state, but her feelings are as fragile as dried leaves. The public adores her. Yet, she craves the friendship of shallow peers who wouldn’t know a genuine emotion if it kicked them in the head.”
“What about her parents?” the insightful young man inquired.
“I believe her father truly loves her,” I said. “But he’s carrying the load by himself. Roberta’s mother died when she was little and a girl her age really needs her mother.”
“That’s true,” Baxter agreed, taking his mother’s hand. “But I can tell you from experience that a loving and selfless single father or mother can be the deciding factor in a troubled youngster’s life.”
Cynthia kissed her son’s cheek. “I love you, baby,” she told him. “And I want you to have a joyous and satisfying life. But we’ve got to be realistic. It’s going to take a lot of effort to overcome what you’ve been through.”
“I understand that, Mother,” he responded. “That’s why I’ll be heading back to the naval base twice a month for counseling with Commander Moreland. He’s a psychiatrist who has treated former prisoners of war and patients with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but I’m willing to do what’s necessary to have a normal life again.”
I could see why Cynthia was so proud of her son. Despite all he’d suffered, his concern for the plight of others was refreshing. The compassionate philanthropist spent the rest of the evening expressing unfeigned empathy for Roberta and her father. From the point of view of someone who refused to let the darkness in men’s hearts obscure his path, I gained the forbearance and discernment needed to show a girl of Roberta’s temperament a milder way of coping with the storms of life.
After driving Baxter and Cynthia home, I realized they would need a day or two to get reacquainted. So I went back to my place and spent the next week preparing the questions I wanted to ask them.
CHAPTER 8
The biggest scoop of my career was a phone call away. I could hardly wait to break the chains of my wretched past and regain the prominence that once made me the most respected journalist in South Florida. I couldn’t believe the turn my life had taken. I hadn’t felt so exuberant in years. I’d even renewed my commitment to improving my health. Early morning bicycle rides through the park made me feel like a new man. So I was more than a little ebullient when I discovered a message from Baxter on my voicemail. He wanted me to meet him in a vacant lot across the street from Audra’s Coffee Shop at the corner of Wingate and Paxton. I should’ve noticed the apprehension in his voice, but I was too excited to pay attention. Blissfully unaware that more was at stake than the vanity of a self-serving reporter, I got dressed and headed out.
Although I was walking on a cloud, the six-mile drive to Audra’s Coffee Shop provided a moment of introspection that brought me back to earth. I’d been looking forward to interviewing Baxter and his mother, but arranging to meet in a vacant lot on a windy overcast morning sounded a little suspect. I didn’t know my old friend’s son very well, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d done that would make him want to set me up. Years of lurking in the shadows had made me pessimistic. I hated questioning the motives of such a fine young man. On other hand, if Baxter did have a secret beef with me, I could have been cruising into a trap. I needed some insurance. So I placed a call to Coy Gleason.
After making a full recovery from the injury sustained in the altercation with Roberta Parson, the Corporal had returned to duty with a renewed determination to find the elusive teen. If something fishy was going on, I knew he’d have my back.
I was pleased to see Corporal Gleason sitting on the hood of his black and gray patrol unit, hanging on every word Baxter had to say. With an armed law enforcement officer present, I was able to abandon my misgivings about approaching the person who’d left such a disturbing message on my voicemail. However, the man I shared a meal with more than a week earlier was quite different from the attester I saw flailing his arms and spouting consternation.
I pulled up beside the unit and stepped out of my car.
“Spider,” Coy said. “I appreciate the call.”
“It’s good to see you back on your feet, Coy,” I said. “What’s this all about, gentlemen?”
Cynthia’s son was sweating and trembling. He’d obviously had a restless night and his clothes were a mess. “Mother received a call about two hours before daybreak,” he said. “It was Mr. Parson. She asked him where Roberta was. I heard her repeat this address as she wrote it down. I think she and Roberta’s father are in the coffee shop.”
“Has anyone tried to call Cynthia?” I asked.
“I’ve made several calls,” Coy told me. “But her phone goes straight to voicemail.”
“Are you going to call for backup, Coy?” I asked the Deputy.
“I don’t want to create that kind of commotion until I know what we’re dealing with,” the Corporal explained. “You’ve already seen what Roberta’s capable of when she feels cornered. Setting her off with unarmed civilians in the line of fire could spark a bloodbath.”
“With those blinds down, we can’t even get a clear look through the storefront window,” Baxter pointed out. “We’ve got to get my mother out of there.”
After withstanding the most blatant indignities his enemies could inflict upon him, Baxter Melton had returned home with a positive outlook and a forgiving heart. Yet, when it came to the welfare of his mother, the magnanimous optimist could barely contain his delirium. I couldn’t blame him. Cynthia was a special lady who’d devoted her life to the edification of young people. The world wasn’t ready to lose her and neither was I.
In spite of the danger we were facing, I was convinced my old buddy was capable of bringing the potential stalemate to a peaceful conclusion. At that point, I didn’t think Roberta was aware we were across the street. If we maintained our position for the next few minutes, there was no reason to doubt the dexterous officer would soon have an effective solution in motion.
In the quiescent hours of a dreary autumn dawn, success appeared to be within our grasp, but as I’d experienced so many times in the past, the unexpected intrusion of an egotistical opportunist can change the course of history. The human disaster that threatened to turn a run-of-the-mill standoff into the massacre of the decade was the Sheriff Department’s Tactical Response Team (TRT) Coordinator, Major Russ Malone.
The appearance of the towering sniper with the salt-and-pepper mustache wasn’t a complete surprise. His high-handed antics were legendary. Various sources within the department had given me eyewitness accounts of the abuses he’d inflicted upon uncooperative suspects who dared to challenge his authority. He was conceited and ambitious. No one wanted to see him take charge of a delicate situation with the lives of innocent people hanging in the balance. Nevertheless, the balding tyrant was here to stay.
Within a matter of seconds, an INKAS Sentry APC vehicle accompanied by two patrol units and an unmarked SUV descended upon the scene! Twelve sharpshooters dressed in military green jump suits emerged from the Sentry and scampered across the pavement! Armed with AR-15 assault rifles, the resolute invaders vanished into the surrounding cityscape.
Baxter was stunned. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“It’s the Tactical Response Team,” Coy told him.
“I thought you didn’t want to call in the cavalry,” I said.
“I didn’t,” the Corporal replied. “But those are Malone’s troops. They don’t usually wait for an invitation.”
“Who’s Malone?” Baxter asked.
“He’s an honest cop’s nightmare,” the Deputy said. “The Major is a man on a mission. Ten years ago, he was wounded in Afghanistan. Most men would have been grateful to be alive, but a purple heart wasn’t enough for a bloodthirsty soldier who wanted to be a hero. That’s the root of his vindictive personality.”
“Didn’t I hear something about him running for office?” I asked.
“He’s mentioned it,” Coy responded. “That’s what makes this situation so volatile. Malone wants to be Florida’s next Attorney General. Convincing the voters he’s the candidate who can bring an end to the hate crimes and mass shootings that plague our society will make him very attractive. An ambitious politician with a chip on his shoulder is the last thing we need.”
Malone stepped out of the unmarked SUV and approached us. The permanent scowl that mangled his countenance was a festering reminder of the glory he felt he’d been denied. I couldn’t believe a man who’d experienced so much could be stranded in a mire of egotism and bitterness.
“Just who do you think you are, Gleason?” the Major demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Major Malone,” Coy responded.
“You’re supposed to be at the school,” Malone told him.
“Deputy Houston has been assigned to assist me this week,” the Corporal explained. “She’s perfectly capable of handling any problem that occurs. By the way, how did you know I was here?”
“I keep an eye on everything that goes on, Corporal,” the veteran sniper declared. “Ever since the Parson girl took a shot at you, you’ve been on a one-man crusade to bring her in.”
“But we’re not sure she’s in there,” I said.
“And just who might you be?” the Major asked.
“This is Spider Petrie,” Coy said. “He’s writing an article on Baxter Melton’s homecoming.”
“Of course,” Malone recalled, turning his attention toward Cynthia’s son. “I heard about it on the radio.”
“My mother’s in there, Major,” Baxter said. “I have no way of knowing what’s going on.”
A deputy approached us and handed Malone a laptop. “I do,” the Major replied, placing the computer on the hood of Baxter’s car. “One of my men made it around to a side window. He took this pic of Roberta. As you can see, she’s loading her revolver.”
“So she is in there,” Baxter said. “And she has a gun. If someone makes her nervous, she could kill my mother.”
“She won’t get the chance,” the Major asserted.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Once my man is inside, he has orders to take the girl down if she shows the first sign of opening fire.”
“She’s seventeen, Major,” Coy told him.
“The most recent school shootings were perpetrated by teenagers,” the opinionated bounder reminded him. “These mass attacks are a scourge on our society. It’s time to send a message.”
Coy was outraged by Malone’s obvious attempt to promote his own agenda. “I can’t believe you’d have a young woman shot to advance your political goals,” he said. “This is a gifted kid who needs our help. You can’t just throw her away!”
“Watch yourself, Corporal,” the Major admonished. “We are officers of the law and it is our duty to protect the public. If you have a problem with that, you’re free to return to Gideon Baylor. Now I’m in charge here and I’m going to do everything possible to protect the people in that coffee shop.”
Coy walked over to his unit and popped the trunk. I knew he had something in mind, so I stayed close to him.
“What’s going on, Coy?” I asked.
“Can you believe that bozo?” the agitated Deputy snapped, removing his jacket and gun belt. “He’s going to use this human tragedy to get his picture on the front page.”
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“Well I’m not going to wait around here for the media circus to begin. If we end up on the morning news, there’s no telling what Malone might do. I’m going in.”
“What?”
“I’ve got to talk Roberta into giving up without a fight, Spider.”
“But she shot at you the first time. Seeing you walk in there could really set her off.”
“That’s why I’m going in unarmed,” Coy said, securing his sidearm in the trunk. “Cynthia is her favorite teacher. And I’m sure she won’t harm her own father. Now I’m on my way.”
“Not without me,” I declared, as the two of us headed across the street at full gallop.
Unaware of the Corporal’s intentions, Major Malone was taken aback by the sight of us advancing toward the coffee shop. “Gleason!” he shouted. “You and Petrie get back here. I’ll have you up on charges for this. Gleason!”
I realized Baxter was terrified, but there was no time to reassure him. I cared about his mother and I didn’t want anything to happen to her. In the past, I’d risked my life to get a story. I had a reputation for being fearless, but this was the first time I had so much at stake. I couldn’t afford to fail.
When the Corporal and I reached the front entrance, I took a moment to catch my breath. My panting was a reminder of old times. In high school, Coy was in tiptop condition and I was a human donut disposal.
I’d almost regained my composure when I noticed something had caught my old friend’s attention. “What is it, Coy?” I asked.
“The catastrophe I’ve been dreading,” he said, pointing to the news vans and reporters that were invading the TRT command position across the street. “If we don’t get in there and convince Roberta to surrender peaceably, Malone is going to show the media how he deals with trigger-happy teenagers.”
“I’m ready.”
CHAPTER 9
From the outside, Audra’s Coffee Shop was as common as a five-dollar bill. The stucco shrine to the best in all of us had endured the most violent natural disasters that plagued the local community. For the past three decades, citizens from various walks of life had enhanced the character of this quaint little establishment. Judging from the venerable eatery’s mundane appearance, I didn’t expect it to make a lasting impression. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Although Coy and I had never taken the time to study the history of Audra’s place, our life-altering education began the moment our feet struck the vinyl tile floor. I couldn’t imagine how many civic-minded patrons had occupied those three-quarter circle booths and expressed their opinions on a variety of subjects. I didn’t dare to presume the number of fearless hams who’d made use of that Ion Audio Block Rocker and let their hair down on Karaoke night. The brown Hadrian wallpaper behind the stage was adorned with photographs of politicians, entertainers, athletes and dignitaries who’d dropped in over the years. I couldn’t deny the breathtaking spectacle of this legendary piece of Americana, but my mind was on more pressing matters. Two of the finest people I’d ever known were oblivious to the intentions of a frightened girl who was about to make the gravest mistake of her life.
Cynthia was sitting across the table from Gerald Parson when she looked up and caught sight of us. “Spider!” she exclaimed springing to her feet. “What are you and Coy doing here?”
“Your son heard you repeat this address over the phone before you left home,” I told her. “He followed you here.”
“Where is Baxter?” she asked.
“He's safe and sound across the street,” I said. “But why are the two of you here so early in the morning?”
“This place is owned by Terah Clifford's aunt,” Cynthia said.
“Who's Terah Clifford?” Coy asked.
“When Roberta was in junior high, Terah helped her with her schoolwork,” Gerald explained. “She also looked after her when I had to work late. The two of them were very close. I finally remembered my daughter would come to her when she needed help.”
“Is Terah here now?” I asked.
“No,” Cynthia replied. “Terah gave Roberta a key to the place and let her stay here while her aunt was out of town. What's going on, Spider?”
“There’s an army across the street,” I told her. “And they’re about a heartbeat away from shooting their way in here.”
“But there’s no need for that,” Gerald said. “As soon as Roberta gets her coat, we’re all going to walk out of here together.”
“I doubt that,” Coy said.
“What are you saying?” Cynthia inquired.
“Roberta is preparing for a fight,” I told them.
“How do you know?” the worried father asked.
“The buffoon in charge of that band of storm troopers out there showed us an image of your daughter somewhere in this building with a pistol,” I explained. “It was taken by a sniper who’s looking for a way to break in. He has orders to take the kid out.”
An expression of sheer terror swept over Gerald’s face. “They’re going to kill my little girl,” he lamented.
“I don’t intend to let that happen,” Coy assured him. “All we have to do is persuade Roberta to walk outside with me and this nightmare will be over. Now, where is she?”
“I’m right here,” the juvenile declared, as she emerged from the kitchen with a .38 caliber revolver in her hand and a .380 semiautomatic strapped to her waist.
“Roberta!” Gerald chided. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” the girl said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
“It’s too late, kid,” Coy told her. “Those guns are only going to get you killed.”
“Maybe that would be the best outcome,” Roberta concluded.
“How can you say something like that?” Cynthia asked. “Can’t you see you’re breaking your father’s heart?”
“I know it’s been hard on you, Dad,” the girl conceded. “You worked so hard to raise me right. I’m so sorry I couldn’t make you proud.”
“What are you talking about, child?” Gerald asked. “You’re my pride and joy. Just look at all you’ve accomplished. You are respected in every corner of this state. You should feel good about what you’ve done.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“My mother was gorgeous, Mr. Petrie,” she told me. “I used to watch men’s faces when they looked at her. Some would even lose their train of thought when she spoke to them. No matter how hard she tried to teach me that beauty’s only skin-deep, I could see the advantages of looking like her. Women like her and Ms. Melton just can’t understand.”
“We’ve already established that, Roberta,” the insightful educator reminded her. “Our battles in this world are different. No one can deny the long and winding road you’ve had to traverse. But you’ll never find anyone who doesn’t have a treacherous mountain to climb sometimes in this life. There are people out there who have all kinds of limitations, but they refuse to allow the negative opinions of an ignorant minority to control their lives. Being thankful for what they have is what keeps them moving forward. You are a celebrated athlete. Contrary to what you believe, you are beautiful and intelligent. Most importantly, you have a father who loves you. He didn’t abandon you when you lost your mother. You have more now than a lot of people receive in a lifetime. Why do you want to throw it all away?”
“Haven’t you heard?” the teenager asked. “I’m a freak. No one’s ever going to be safe around me unless I’m in a cage.”
“That’s not true, Roberta,” her father said with tears rolling down his cheeks. “You’re a lovely young woman with so much to offer. Your mother knew it. And so do the people who are trying to keep you down. You are so special. That’s why they’ve worked so hard to smear your reputation.”
“He’s right, kid,” I said. “People like that keep a foot on your throat so no one will take a second look at their flaws. You’re too smart to give in to that kind of deception.”
“If nothing anyone has said means anything to you, I want you to consider this,” Coy said. “There’s a sadist with a badge across the street that won’t shed a tear if you’re driven away from here in a Coroner’s Wagon. Now there are issues that need to be addressed, but we can’t deal with them today. So let’s put an end to this absurdity while we still can.”
Coy had a talent for getting to the heart of a matter. There was a strange expression on the girl’s face. She appeared to be taking the Corporal’s admonition to heart. Unfortunately, Major Malone had moved his people into position and given the order to take the juvenile suspect down.
When Gerald heard the snipers shatter the glass door, the frantic father dashed across the room and attempted to shield his daughter from the onslaught of automatic gunfire! Everyone hit the deck, as Roberta returned fire, wounding one of the tactical officers.
She was about to retreat through the kitchen when she realized her dad had been hit. “Dad!” the teenager exclaimed, embracing her wounded father and lowering him to the floor. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt. I was only thinking about my own pain when I should’ve been appreciating all you’ve gone through to keep me safe.”
Gerald was barely conscious when he reached up and touched her cheek. He’d sustained two slugs in his back and a single round was lodged in his thigh. “It’s alright, baby,” he said. “I love you.”
Roberta stood up with the revolver in her hand. “Ms. Melton,” she said.
“What is it, honey?” Cynthia responded, as Coy and I helped her to her feet.
“Make sure my father gets the help he needs,” she pleaded, trudging toward the front exit. “You’ve been good to me, Ms. Melton. I couldn’t have asked for a better teacher or friend. Thank you for everything.”
“Where are you going, Roberta?” Coy asked, moving closer.
“That’s far enough, Corporal,” she said, pointing the gun at him. “This is the only way.”
Cynthia suspected what the self-destructive pariah had in mind. “Don’t do it, Roberta!” she cried. “Come back!”
I couldn’t explain the haze of apprehension that overtook me. It felt like everything was in slow motion. I realized how much Cynthia loved Roberta. She wasn’t going to stand still and watch that precious young woman give up. Anticipating the compassionate teacher’s next move, I wrapped my arms around her waist and battled to keep her from approaching her wayward student.
Coy made a last-ditch attempt to restrain Roberta, but the effort was in vain. When she stood in the doorway brandishing the revolver, the cops opened fire!
“No!” Cynthia lamented, breaking away from me. Oblivious to the puddle of blood that saturated the leg of her blue-jeans, the grieving teacher knelt beside the bullet-riddled corpse of a girl who had so much promise, and touched her face. “How did it happen? Where did I go wrong? This beautiful child had the world at her feet. Why couldn’t I do something to save her?”
I’d known the magnanimous adventurer for close to thirty years. During all that time, she’d never shed a tear in my presence. Even when her husband’s life was in jeopardy, the staunch survivor’s armor remained impenetrable. However, this tragedy was different. The life of a teenager she loved like a daughter had come to an end. Watching my old friend sob like a baby was heart-wrenching. There was nothing I could do to ease her pain.
Coy reached down to check Gerald’s pulse. “He’s still alive,” the dejected Deputy said. “I’ll radio Fire/Rescue.”
Standing in the middle of that disaster area, I wondered who would tell Roberta’s father what had happened. The mildest man I’d ever known had risked everything to save his child’s life. Now, she was gone. Just when I was convinced the situation couldn’t get worse, Major Malone came strutting in.
“What a mess,” the self-serving Tactical Commander commented. “This generation really has its problems. Ah well… I guess it’s all in the way she was raised.”
The way Coy looked at Malone sent a chill up my spine. The amiable peace officer didn’t lose his temper very often, but I’d never forgotten the first time I saw that truculent glower. My buddy’s fuse was lit and he was ready to explode.
“What did you say; you contemptible piece of garbage?” Coy snapped.
For the second time, I stood between a cherished friend and ineluctable catastrophe. “Coy!” I exclaimed, clutching my pal’s arm and holding on for dear life. “He’s not worth it, man. Don’t throw away everything you’ve worked for.”
The Corporal’s willingness to stand-down didn’t alter Malone’s mood. He was furious. “Don’t think for a minute that you’re going to get away with that kind of insubordination, Gleason!” he admonished. “You and I are going to have a meeting with the Sheriff later today. Then you’ll see just how contemptible I can be.”
I marveled at Malone’s ability to conceal his indignation when the press and medical personnel appeared. While the cunning phony addressed reporters, Coy and I escorted Cynthia out. Fortunately, the newshounds hadn’t thought to stakeout the rear exit. I was sure the benevolent teacher didn’t want to leave Gerald’s side, but by that time, there was nothing she could do for him.
I didn’t know what compelled Baxter to drive his car around to meet us, but the inclination couldn’t have struck him at a better time.
The terrified son leaped out of the vehicle and ran toward us. The sight of blood on his mother’s clothes nearly brought him to his knees. “Mother!” he exclaimed. “You’ve been shot.”
“It’s not her blood, Baxter,” I told him.
Looking into her teary red eyes, the young man approached Cynthia and embraced her. “What happened in there, Mother?” He asked.
“They killed Roberta, Baxter,” she muttered. “The police just gunned her down.”
“You’d better get her out of here,” Coy advised.
After helping the anxious former hostage get Cynthia in the car, Coy and I watched him drive away.
“She’s going to need more help than her son can give her,” the Corporal said.
“More than likely,” I replied. “But I know Cynthia. She’s strong enough to overcome any ordeal life throws at her. My money is on her.”
“I pray you’re right.”
CHAPTER 10
Coy wasn’t the only one praying for Cynthia. Over the next few weeks, students and teachers from Gideon Baylor made inquiries concerning the welfare of the beneficent pedagogue. They were willing to do everything possible to restore the mental, physical and emotional health of a woman who’d worked so hard to empower the community’s young people. No sacrifice was too great.
Despite all she’d suffered, Cynthia insisted upon attending Roberta’s funeral. The doctors weren’t sure how the ceremony would affect her, but no one wanted to imagine what might happen if she missed this opportunity to say goodbye. I’ll never forget the look on Gerald Parson’s face when he looked down and laid a rose on his teenage daughter’s coffin. The grieving father was inconsolable.
As was the case after so many tragedies, the sun came up the next morning and everyone had to get on with the business of living. When he wasn’t with his therapist at the naval base, Baxter Melton made certain his mother received the care and comfort she needed to cope with the trauma of Roberta’s death.
It took about a week and a half, but I finally completed the article on Baxter’s homecoming. Though I’d worked hard to produce a quality piece of journalism, the managing editor of Panhandle Personalities Magazine wasn’t satisfied. He wanted a story detailing the incident at Audra’s Coffee Shop and the circumstances that compelled an up and coming athlete to sink so low. I agreed Roberta’s story needed to be told, but I refused to write anything that would besmirch her memory. So when that part of the article was completed, I sent a copy to her father. Considering all he’d been through, it was the least I could do.
A month had passed since Gerald buried his child. I dropped by one afternoon to see how he felt about the feature. He seemed to have aged in the last few weeks. I wanted to do something to make him feel better, but the wound in his heart couldn’t be healed with well wishes and platitudes.
We sat down at the breakfast table where he served Cynthia and me coffee the first time I was there.
“I’ve already had lunch, but I’d like to offer you something,” my gracious host said, placing the article on the table in front of me.
“It’s quite alright,” I responded. “I can’t stay long.”
“A parent couldn’t be prouder of the job you did on this piece. You’ve really captured the essence of the problem. You truly understand. In fact, I got the impression you were speaking from experience.”
“You’re right. As a youngster, I was also the victim of vindictive teenagers who weren’t capable of realizing that putting someone else down to elevate themselves was merely a pathetic expression of their own insecurities. I didn’t have the privilege of knowing a teacher like Cynthia.”
“If more teachers were like Cynthia, a far greater number of children would stand a better chance of making it out of high school with a more positive outlook. When I was coming up, a lot of adults thought the best way to deal with a kid’s bad behavior was to beat it out of him. With all the technical advances we’ve made over the years, you’d expect bullying to be a distant memory. Instead, it’s become a bigger problem than ever. Today, the anonymity of the internet provides the perfect platform for deluded individuals to express all the hate, rage and vulgarity they can come up with. When will this foolishness end?”
“I don’t know, Gerald.”
“What’s this I hear about Major Malone? Has he really been assigned to the Liaison Division?”
“That’s right. He’s now the officer who coordinates joint investigations with federal authorities and the Department of Law Enforcement.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to handle being chained to a desk?”
“He will if he wants to collect his pension. At least the citizens of Chamberlain County will be a lot safer.”
“I can’t argue with that. What about the cop Roberta shot at?”
“Oh, Coy is doing fine. In fact, he was promoted to sergeant.”
“That’s great. He really deserves to wear that badge. He seemed to genuinely care about Roberta.”
There was another subject I needed to address. Although I didn’t know how Gerald would react, I felt it was something I couldn’t overlook.“Since you haven’t mentioned it, I thought it would be prudent to ask you about Miranda Sipe,” I said. “I’m sure you noticed I didn’t spend a lot of time talking about her. Too much emphasis on her role in all of this would make the story sound angry and vengeful. I don’t think Roberta would’ve wanted that.”
“You’re right,” he said. “My daughter had a temper, but she wasn’t a monster. She regretted the way everything got out of hand. I truly believe she would have forgiven Miranda. It’s the only way we can rise above the pain and get on with our lives. I’ve forgiven Miranda, Spider. And someday, when the time is right, I’m going to let her know.”
I could hear a vehicle pull into the driveway outside. “It sounds like you have another visitor,” I said.
“No, that’s my ride to physical therapy,” he told me.
I stood up and shook his hand. “I’m grateful to you for granting me the privilege of letting people know the real Roberta,” I said.
“Thanks, Spider,” he replied. “The article was a wonderful tribute to my daughter.”
When I walked outside and headed for my car, the foreboding autumn sky reminded me of the day Roberta died. I couldn’t explain the overbearing feeling that impelled me to take a ride to her grave site. I remembered Cynthia mentioning that her late prodigy liked chrysanthemums. So I found a local flower shop and bought a bouquet on my way to the cemetery.
I parked beside a navy blue station wagon at the edge of the graveyard. By this time, the harmless drizzle that began about a half-mile back showed signs of becoming a full-fledged rainstorm. Since the site where Roberta had been laid to rest was several yards from the nearest structure, I retrieved my umbrella from the trunk. I trekked across the manicured grass that adorned the memorial tombs of people who died centuries ago. Glancing at headstones of fallen soldiers, accident victims and precious infants who didn’t reach the age of one was a sobering experience. A busy life seldom renders sufficient occasion to reflect on one’s mortality, but it’s something most of us tend to contemplate at one time or another.
From a distance, I could see someone standing near Roberta’s grave. Though she wasn’t facing me, I was sure the shapely figure was a woman. Clad in faded blue-jeans and a hooded sweater, the disconsolate seeker fell to her knees. I didn’t want to intrude, but I had to learn the identity of this young lady.
The vast array of flowers, balloons and sympathy cards that well-wishers had placed on the vault since the day of Roberta’s funeral swayed in the wind as evening showers grew more intense. So many fans and fellow athletes wanted to express their heartfelt adoration for the redoubtable trailblazer. I wondered what course the girl’s life would’ve taken if she’d been aware of their affections when she was still with us. Nevertheless, there was nothing to be gained by living in the past.
As I drew closer, I realized it wasn’t the first time she and I had met. The last time I saw her she was wearing designer clothes and sporting an ego that almost landed her in the Emergency Room. Yes, this contrite mean girl had undergone an astounding transformation. I couldn’t begin to imagine what could’ve made such a deliberate change in the life of Miranda Sipe.
“Miranda,” I said.
She wiped her eyes and stood up. “Mr. Petrie,” she responded. “I didn’t know anyone else was here. I guess you’re surprised to see me.”
“Well you didn’t attend the funeral,” I told her, placing the chrysanthemums on Roberta’s grave.
“I didn’t dare. Everyone knows what went down between Roberta and me. Those star struck junior high school fans of hers would’ve lynched me. At the very least, I would’ve been the target of her father’s rage. I’ll bet he cringes at the sound of my name.”
“I spoke to him earlier today.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he forgives you.”
“After everything that’s happened?”
“After everything that’s happened.”
Miranda closed her eyes and shook her head. I couldn’t distinguish her tears from the drops of rain rolling down her cheeks.
“It makes sense you know,” she said.
“What does?” I asked.
“Mr. Parson’s reaction. The man is a real class act. So was Roberta. I knew it the first time I saw her, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to cut her down to size. Now I realize I was driven by spite and jealousy.”
“Why would a girl with all you have be jealous of anyone?”
“That’s just the kind of incredulous thinking I’ve always counted on. Those self-conscious chicks that followed me around like sheep let me convince them that I ostracized girls like Roberta because they didn’t measure up to some impossible standard of beauty and social status. It’s hard to believe I could be so cruel. I didn’t give a second thought to the way I made people feel. All I cared about was feeling superior.”
“How do you feel now?”
“I wish the ground would open up and swallow me. How will I ever look Ms. Melton in the eye again? Mr. Parson will never see his daughter graduate or get married. Facing the fact that two good people are suffering because I wanted to elevate myself makes me sick.”
“You’ve done a lot of soul-searching, Miranda. Understanding the reasons for your actions is an ability many people much older than you would love to possess.”
“But how many of them have the blood of the state’s most celebrated athlete on their hands?”
I rubbed the back of my neck and endeavored to choose my words carefully. “Roberta had problems before she met you, Miranda,” I said. “Life isn’t always easy. Taking responsibility for your actions is commendable, but we can’t change what has happened. And there’s nothing to be gained by torturing yourself. I can see you’re not the same person I met three months ago. The best any of us can do now is to learn from our mistakes.”
She reached out and embraced me. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” she said, as we heard the rumbling of distant thunder. “I’m going to do everything I can to dispel those old attitudes. No one has a right to abuse another person just because they look different.”
“I have a feeling you’re going to accomplish great things, kid. But we’re not going to help anyone if we’re in the hospital with pneumonia. We’d better get out of here.”
Miranda and I left Roberta’s graveside with a more optimistic lease on life and a renewed determination to treat others the way we wanted them to treat us. I certainly learned a lesson about judging a book by its cover. Ominous clouds and freezing rain couldn’t diminish the warmth in my heart. If the girl’s commitment to a better tomorrow was genuine, I couldn’t calculate the number of men and women whose lives would be touched by the sheer benevolence of her very presence. Teenage bullying had been infecting communities long before I came along. Perhaps with everything Miranda had learned hers would be the generation that finally turns the tide.
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