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One
The Present
A thunderous crack stung
her ears and sent her heart into an awkward dance. Surprise blew past her lips
as blackness descended upon her, swallowed her, and left her feeling
isolated from any safety. Boy, she really hated darkness. Really.
Even though Jessie
VanZant had practically grown up in the locker room beneath the high school
gym, she wasn't sure she could find her way around without at least a
little light.
It was after ten o'clock
on a dense and muggy August night in Kansas. She was alone in the building
because no one else was crazy enough to work so late—especially
before school was in session. She'd been comfortable because the basement
was cool, as basements always are, and hopeful thoughts for the new school
year had kept her company.
Jessie unfolded her legs
and stood up from the smooth concrete floor. She'd been taking inventory of
equipment for The Panthers upcoming season and had surrounded herself with
shoulder pads, thigh pads and helmets—all of which would make her
first few blind steps dangerous.
A high-pitched screech
tore through the vicious darkness as harshly as a floodlight would have.
Jessie lurched at the
eerie, yet familiar, noise the locker room door in the gym made every time
it opened. She started to cry out for help. But her voice caught in her
throat—which cramped with an internal warning. Whoever had just
entered the locker room might not be there to help her.
Normally such a thought
wouldn't have crossed her mind. However, given the experiences she'd had
over the past few weeks she had reason to be cautious.
Her shell-shocked mind
then understood no one would come to the locker room in order to help her
because no one knew she was there.
At least she hadn't told
anyone she'd be there.
She quickly understood
she had every right to be wary, maybe even outright frightened, by the
situation she was in.
While the tiny hairs on the
back of her neck jumped to attention, her ears strained to hear even the
slightest noise. All she heard, however, was the erratic thumping of her
heart. Habitually, she rammed her fingers into the rebellious coils of her
hair while she contemplated what action to take.
The unmistakable sound
of rubber-soled shoes treading over concrete worn smooth long ago slid
through the air.
Whoever was headed her
way was at the bottom of the stairs—just outside the door to the locker
room. Standing in the middle of the equipment area, smack-dab in the middle
of the huge space, like a statue, she'd be easy to find. And that was
definitely not a good thing.
Instinct, mixed with
fear, caused her to spin away from the locker room entrance and leap
through the air in an attempt to clear the equipment strung out around her.
Her left foot landed on
top of a helmet and slipped. Her ankle twisted unnaturally and erupted with
a splintering pain that shot all the way to her knee. She crashed to the
unyielding cement with a thud, a sharp gasp, and a silent oath.
Using her arms and
uninjured leg to propel herself across the floor, Jessie snaked toward the
multiple rows of gray lockers that stood ten or fifteen feet away.
Her head connected solidly
with cold metal, telling her the lockers had been less than ten feet away.
The sound of the
collision between her head and the locker reverberated through the huge
space, revealed her location, and nearly scared her senseless. Luckily, she
still had enough presence of mind to know she should do her best to hide.
Moving slowly enough to
be quiet, she eased past two rows of lockers and slid halfway down the
third. There, she held her breath and listened with every ounce of her
concentration.
Very, very faintly, she
heard... well, it sounded like papers being shuffled.
Who in the world would
be moving papers around in the locker room at ten o'clock at night, in a
blackout? The possible answers to that question sharpened her fear until
she felt a dozen daggers of panic pressing against her heart, eager to
pierce. And who could see in this inky air? She saw absolutely no light.
None. So, how could someone maneuver. And shuffle papers?
Several jerky heart
beats echoed within the confines of her head and clashed with the jumbled
thoughts flopping around in there.
Oh, God! Oh, God!
With the unrestrained
violence of a spring tornado, the fear from so long ago broke through the
defenses she'd painstakingly built against it over the years.
Feeling trapped and alone
in the dark, dark, dark room, her mind rewound to another time when she'd
been trapped and alone and scared to the point she couldn't move and could
hardly breathe.
Daddy! God, please
help me! Please! I need my Daddy!
Damn it! She wasn't a
scrawny five year old! Okay, she was still small. But she worked out
religiously and taught the fundamentals of self-defense to everyone from
teenagers to senior citizens within the city limits of Derby. She could
defend herself. She would fight back harder and smarter than she'd fought
back before. This time, the bad man would have a much bigger fight on his
hands.
Oh God! The bad man!
The locker room door
squealed and interrupted her panic, bringing her back to the present.
Mercifully, the door clicked shut again.
Too afraid to move in
even the slightest way, Jessie remained huddled against the lockers for a
minute. Maybe longer.
The fluorescent tubes
ten feet above her buzzed. With a small explosion, light defeated darkness
and a reassuring hum filled the air.
Using the lockers, she
pulled herself to her feet. Her ankle was definitely sprained and not
capable of holding any weight.
After standing on her
right leg and listening for any type of noise until she truly believed she
was alone, Jessie awkwardly hopped past the equipment she'd been so worried
about a few minutes ago and around a temporary wall erected five years ago
so the boys would have privacy while she was in her office. Once she
reached her small office, she'd call Richard Clooney, the principal of the school
and the man she'd been dating for the past six months, and ask him to help
her and her twisted ankle home.
Jessie gripped the
doorway to her office with both hands and hoisted herself inside.
A strangled cry of alarm
gurgled up from her seized vocal chords.
The newspaper article
detailing the recent vandalism to her car—an article that hadn't been
there before the lights went out—decorated the middle of her
otherwise empty desktop.
In red ink and tall,
block letters, a now familiar message blared across the newspaper: 'Resign!
Now!'
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