A Barlow Lens (8 page)

“Kevin!
Kevin
!” Wyatt barked into the phone, but the connection had gone dead. His fingers tightened around Val's arm to the point Val squirmed away.

“Ow, Wyatt—”

“We're leaving.
Now
.”

“Huh?” Val didn't budge. He dropped the book into the box. “What did he say? That book—”

“Bring it. I've got a bad feeling, and we're getting out of here,” Wyatt said. He reached out and took Val's elbow just as Val leaned down and scooped the box up, tucking it under his arm.

Wyatt hauled Val from the storage locker. He stopped only long enough to shut and lock the door. When Val took a few steps toward where they'd parked their car Wyatt lunged at him, wound one arm around his waist and shoved Val back.

“Stay behind me. Keep quiet,” Wyatt said. He stopped and looked around, taking in every detail.

“What the hell is wrong with you? What did Kevin say—?”

“
Val
! I'm
serious
. Shut
up
. Kevin Fells is one person on this earth, when he threatens to kill someone, I take him
very
seriously.”

The color dropped from Val's face. He stood staring at Wyatt. Not speaking and not moving. Wyatt grabbed Val's hand and yanked. They walked quickly to the car.

Wyatt held one hand out, motioning to the back of the car. “Wait there. Stay quiet and don't move until I say so.”

This time Val nodded and bit his lower lip. Wyatt paced around the car slowly. After he did that, he knelt beside the car and looked underneath. Next he checked the door handle. The car was still locked. Pulling out his keys, he slid it into the lock and turned it, holding his breath. When nothing happened he exhaled slowly. Opening the car door, he pulled the mechanism to pop the hood. Standing to the side so he could still see Val, Wyatt lifted the hood all the way, holding it with one hand as he gave the engine a good visual exam.

Satisfied his car hadn't been tampered with, Wyatt shut the hood and went back to Val. He picked up the box and walked Val to the passenger side. The box went into the backseat, Val into the front. Wyatt locked Val's door before shutting it and sprinted to the driver's side.

When Wyatt was behind the wheel and the door locked, he turned to Val. “I'm sorry. When we're on the highway, I'll explain everything.” He took a deep breath and looked out the front window, reaching for the ignition. “God, I wish he'd left that message on voice mail.” He put the key in the ignition.

A shadow moved across Wyatt's peripheral vision from Val's side of the car. Wyatt barely had time to grab Val's shirt and yank him down, covering Val's head with his arm. “Val, look out!”

Val's window exploded inward, showering them with jagged chunks of shattered glass.

 

Cleveland, Ohio—1927

 

T
HE
DAY
started like any other for Tom. School had been back in session a few weeks. It was mid-September and a hot day already. Tom sat sipping his coffee, wondering how he'd ever get his students to focus on their lessons sitting in a hot, stuffy room. Maybe he'd be able to manage organizing something they could do outdoors. The skies were blue, and not a cloud could be seen, so no rain was likely.

He sighed and looked at the
Cleveland Press
pages in front of him. Specifically at one picture on one page.

“Not a bad photograph, huh?” Emma appeared on the other side of the counter, in front of Tom.

“It's very nice. One of the weekends we went to Euclid Beach. That was a good day,” Tom said.

Emma laughed softly. “Every day we spent out there was a good day.”

“True.” Tom leaned back while she refilled his coffee. “It's still hard seeing that photograph of you and Philip in the paper, announcing you're getting married in a few months.”

Philip was working a different duty shift this month and wouldn't be done until the afternoon. That meant no breakfast together, but they could have an early dinner together. Then there were the evenings they were able to spend together at the Canary.

“There are two vacant apartments in my building,” he said.

“Well, ain't that handy. You tell Philip yet?”

Tom shook his head. “I was going to wait until our next night out at the Canary, surprise him.”

“He'll love that. Our secret. Nancy has her place upstairs, so we'll work it out, and it'll be good for all of us,” Emma said. Tom had come to know her and Nancy very well. Emma was constantly bright and sunny, always seeing the good side of people and situations. “You know we have to get married,” Emma said softly, putting her hand over Tom's. “People expect it. Don't let it get you down, nothing will change.”

Tom looked up and smiled. “I know, but sometimes I think….”

Emma leaned over the counter and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Weddings are fun. We'll dance, and have a ball,” she said. “I promise. You'll see.”

“Guess I'd better get going.” Tom set money on the counter and pushed off the stool. He waved to her as he walked out of the door.

It was a short walk to the school, but by the time he reached the front door, his shirt was starting to stick to him.

The children were arriving for the day, and as he climbed the steps, he was greeted with a chorus of voices: “Good morning, Mr. Manning.” Tom returned their greetings with one of his own, calling each child by name.

No matter how hard he wished it, for some reason his spirits today simply wouldn't lift. He'd known for months and helped formulate their plan. Philip and Emma would marry. An appropriate time later, Tom and Nancy would as well. No one would ever think twice about two married couples spending time with each other. Just like now, no one looked twice at the four of them.

His room was on the second floor. He sighed as he reached the door. There was a class full of students for him to concern himself with right now. Other thoughts would have to wait. As he began his lessons, it was as he had feared: the children were fidgety, and keeping their attention was difficult in the heat and stuffy room.

“Class, close your books and take your drawing supplies out. Last year my class made a book about the school and the history of the building. I think today is a good day to begin that project again.”

Tom smiled at the response. His students immediately perked up, and a few began talking excitedly, offering ideas. He'd barely gotten them settled again when one of the girls asked, “Mr. Manning, what is that smell?”

As soon as the girl's words were spoken, it seemed as if the room filled with a noxious smell. It was the kind that left a bad taste in your mouth. Tom strode to the windows and began opening them.

He turned to the class and said, “Everyone stay seated. I'll see—”

The sound of breaking glass was followed almost immediately by what Tom thought was some kind of explosion and loud crashing of metal against the floors of the hall. Yanking the door of his classroom open, Tom was assaulted by heat, thick, dark smoke, and an acrid odor.

All at once there were screaming, panicked children trying to flood out the door and into the hall, which was already cloudy with smoke.

“No, stop! Everyone. Hold hands. We'll get out. I'll get you out.” By some miracle Tom regained order and got all the students paired with someone, holding hands. His room was at the very end of the hall, and he had all the older children, which was a great stroke of luck in a situation such as this.

They made their way down the hall. There were four large classrooms in that section of the school. Children and teachers were already vacating two of them. Tom stopped by the one closed door and opened it. The room was empty.

“Molly, lead the rest of the class and go with Mrs. Chase's class.” Tom ushered his students closer to the other class. He looked over their heads, getting the attention of Mrs. Chase. “The room looks empty, but I'm going to check to be sure.”

Tom ducked into the room, using the crook of his arm to cover his mouth as he wound his way through desks. The smoke was thicker, and the odor was starting to make him light-headed. He had no idea what could be causing it but knew the section at the very end of the hall was used to store not only classroom extras, but paints, cleaning supplies, and general items for building maintenance. He was sure it was all very flammable and very noxious.

Just as he was crossing the threshold to the hallway, there was a low rumble from the far end of the building. Like thunder it escalated and then erupted in an ear-splitting explosion. The glass in the classroom windows, as well as the doors, splintered and burst.

Tom covered his ears and darted toward the wide steps. The children were screaming and crying; the other three teachers had divided them and had them going single file down each side of the stairs.

“Don't run, hang onto the railing, but walk as fast as you can.” Tom urged them along faster. Smoke was billowing down the steps as if hunting his children.

When they got to the bottom of the steps, the scene was worse. The entire center section of the school was fully aflame. The sound was deafening, and many of the children followed Tom's example and covered their ears. Controlled chaos of a minute ago gave way to full panic.

“The side door, through the teachers' room!” one of the other teachers called. They began herding students to the right. Amid shouts and cries of children trying to find a sibling or begging not to die, Mrs. Chase made her way to the door. She grabbed the handle and tried opening it, but it wouldn't budge.

“It's locked from the outside!”

Tom waded through the mass of children packing into the room. “Back up. Give me room.” Tom kicked at the door. When it rattled and cracked, he used one shoulder, trying to force it open.

Mrs. Chase had gotten the one small window in the room open, but the children could only climb out one at a time. Tom took a few steps back and ran at the door, turning in time to crash his shoulder and side into it and fall out of the building. He landed with a harsh grunt on the sidewalk, scraping a large gash along his elbow and arm. Ignoring it, Tom bounced to his feet and grabbed the arm of the child closest to the door.

“Out, run, go to the playground and
stay together
!”

Other children and adults had found ways out of the building, but Tom could see there weren't enough to account for everyone. People from the diner and others from the neighborhood—some parents of the students—had formed a water chain and were moving buckets of water, throwing them at the flames lapping along one entire side of the building. It was utter and complete pandemonium.

In the distance Tom heard the clanging of bells and almost could be relieved that the fire department was on the way. Police sirens shrieked in the distance, but they seemed to be far away from the school.

Tom didn't have time to wonder about that for too long when he heard other teachers saying one class was unaccounted for. “Miss Wayne took her students to the basement.”

The school principal had made his way over to Tom. They looked at one another, and Tom cursed under his breath.

He grabbed the arm of the principal and motioned to the bucket brigade. “We should get thoroughly wet.”

“Good idea. We can get to the basement from the outside over there,” Mr. Jacobs, the principal, said as they ran to the closest person with a bucket to be doused with water.

Tom followed Jacobs around a corner to the side of the building farthest from the road. There was a small alcove that was secured with an iron gate. Through that Tom saw a door. Jacobs had keys out in a flash and unlocked the bars. Tom grabbed a large stone lying against the building and used it to be sure the gate didn't swing closed.

“This door doesn't lock,” Jacobs said and yanked it open. Tom followed him inside. It was dark and musty smelling, the floor dirt. They went up a few steps and into a large storeroom. There were several such rooms in this section, as well as the boiler room.

Beyond that was a gymnasium and a section for storage under the auditorium. “Do you hear anything?” Jacobs called.

Tom shook his head. “Split up. You look near the auditorium, and I'll check the gym.” He sprinted toward the gym; the locker rooms were the first thing he came to. Stopping at the entrance, he held his breath and listened.

Soft whimpering and sobbing was coming from near an equipment locker. Tom rushed in that direction and found a little girl. She was the little sister of one of his students.

“I had to use the bathroom. I didn't mean to leave the class.” She looked up at him with tear-stained eyes.

Tom knelt in front of her. “Where is everyone else?” This little girl was too young to be one of the students in the rooms on the second floor.

She pointed to the gym, then to the auditorium. He took her hand and led her out of the locker room. “There was a strange man,” she said.

“I'll find him. Right now I want you to go outside, through there. Can you do that?”

The girl nodded.

“Your brother is out on the playground. Go there as fast as you can and stay with him.”

She nodded again and said, “I will.”

Tom stood and turned when he heard movement behind him. At the same time, he gave the little girl's back a gentle shove. “Go on. I'll get the others and be right behind you.” He watched until she was far enough away he knew she'd be fine.

Clenching his fists, Tom turned and hardened his stare at the man standing before him. “Archie, what the
hell
are you doing?” His gaze slipped to keys dangling in Archie's hand.

A glance to the side and slightly behind Archie, and Tom saw a puddle of blood and feet. The shoes on the feet were Mr. Jacobs's.