"Sometimes people run…to see if you'll come after them." The words haunted my mind as I sat in my office, struggling to keep my mind on my papers.
That's exactly why I had gone. I wanted Dad to come after me, Mom to stop me in my tracks. I wanted Rachel to stop me and say, "Joe, come home." I wanted my best friend-
I stopped there. There was no way he was alive. Tears welled up in my eyes. I threw my pen across the room, and wiped my face. It was really stupid of me to brood over this stuff. I ran away from home a long time ago, and I ran from the pain a long time ago, too. Move on with it, Joe. I couldn't, though. It killed me, the fact that I wasn't there when my best friend's wife lost her husband. Sure, I showed up to the funeral, but after that? Maybe an occasional letter, a rare phone call. And one night time visit where I got in through her window, stayed for three days and left when Cammie came home from a trip at Dave's parents home.
Why was I so emotional? Well, here's the thing; it was the anniversary of the day I met David Morgan, all those years ago, when he guest spoke at Blackthorne. I was a senior, he was twenty. We hit it right off. Soon after, I was best man at his wedding, falling all over myself because of Rachel's drop-dead gorgeous sister (who was currently in the building, and we had both moved on) and eventually becoming devastated when he was proclaimed dead. His poor, sweet mother. She was devastated. I visited them frequently. They knew who I was, but not where I was originated, where I studied. Oh, sure, they knew I'd made a full ride scholarship to Princeton that I accepted, for a chance at normality (when, in actuality, it was anything but). They knew I loved Cammie to death, treated her like a sister, and protected Rachel from the harsh reality of it all. They knew I wasn't in touch with them so much anymore. But what they didn't know was my real job, my actual work. They didn't know what I taught to a bunch of teenage girls that loved each other like sisters, and wore messy buns (until they, awkwardly enough, came to my class) that thought Mr. Moskowitz was "cute" and were weirded out by Mr. Smith's ever-changing faces. It kind of hurt, knowing that we lied to the most innocent woman out there…
She'd been a better mother than my own ever was…is.
Did I mention they're still alive, my parents?
No, don't mention them, Joe you idiot. They aren't your issue anymore. I got up, tired of beating myself up, and went into the staff lounge. I sat in a chair closest to the fireplace, and sipped a warm cup of black coffee. Harvey sat next to me.
"You look a bit lost there, Joe. You all right?" I nodded.
"Yes, I'm fine." I said, knowing, at this moment, it was actually true. "Are you feeling all right?" He nodded. Rachel joined us.
"Well, hello Harvey." She sat next to me, and briefly squeezed my shoulder. The red rims around her eyes told me she had known today's meaning for me. I smiled warmly at her.
"Rachel, you look wonderful." Harvey said. Now, that's why I liked Harvey. Because he didn't really mind complimenting people when they needed it, rather than bugging people about their issues. Rachel was, in a word, sexy. I had to admit it. Not that I was into her, gross. I love her to pieces (way to sound like a girl, Joe) but not like that. She was more like a sister. Besides that, she was Dave's property. And I would never do that to him. I mean, he once made me promise to marry her if we ever fell in love… but she still was in love with Dave. There wasn't that between us. But, as I was saying, Rachel, all her life, had every annoying male look at her and calls her sexy. The only one she liked to hear that from was Dave. It wasn't often she got "beautiful" or "wonderful" or "gorgeous." She always smiled when it wasn't at a horrible flirting attempt.
"Wow, thanks Harvey." She went a bit pink in her cheeks. "I really needed that, actually." He grinned bashfully.
"No problem." He sounded embarrassed but happy. I winked at him. There was an absurd time where I thought he liked her. Mr. Smith's response when he heard I was wrong was to say, "stop the presses, Joe Solomon's wrong!" I laughed it off, because it was true, in a sense. Usually, I make sure I've got my facts straight, before I can make my statement. Apparently, I missed a few. After a few more polite exchanges, I got up, and went to bed.
~_~_~_Break~_~_~_Line~_~_~_
I caught the sight of a nearby boy, aged ten, blonde hair dirty and plastered to his forehead. Sobs shook his shoulders. His small frame was much too small, but the lines of fear, anxiety, worry, proved that he was much to mature for his age. A drunken man stumbled towards him. The boy shook worse, from fear more than from his tears.
"Joey, son…" He slurred his speech, wasted beyond belief. The boy stood, and looked at the floor.
"Yes, father." The boy was bodily thrown across the room. I winced at the audible crack of his ribs.
"You'll get your payment for that, boy. For making me lose my job." The boy called Joey curled up in a terrified ball, struggling not to show a sign of weakness. The father punched him in the kidneys. Then, pulled out a knife. Joey's dark eyes widened in fear, and he uncurled from his fetal position, slowly backing up, until his back was pressing against the wall. The man pinned his son to the ground. He screamed in terror.
"Come here, Joey. Time to let Daddy have some fun." The slurring was worse now. The man slowly dragged his knife across the boy's neck, going a bit deeper each time. I winced as the boy howled.
I woke with a start, a cold sweat running down my face. The back of my neck throbbed, the now-repaired tendons and ligaments aching in remembrance. I leaned back into my pillows.
Another abuse nightmare. That was the third one this week. I crawled out of bed, no longer able to sleep. I pulled on a pair of jeans over my plain black boxers and pulling a belt through the loops. I slipped my shoes on, and grabbed my hoodie, pulling it over my head before heading into the chilly elevator, and out of the Sublevels, into the cold hallways of Gallagher Academy. I slowly made my way down the hall, intending on heading somewhere other than my nightmarish sleep, when a feeling came over me. One I caught quickly.
A student was out of bed. I turned to find Cammie standing there, looking shocked.
"Mr. Solomon?" I caught her pajama-clad state, her tennis shoes without socks, her unkempt hair, and slight drowsiness.
"Couldn't sleep, Ms. Morgan?" I asked quietly. She shook her head, and approached me. I chuckled quietly. "Me either." She came over to me, and looked at the statue of Gillian we stood in front of.
"I caught that so many times…"
"It took me a while to figure it out too." I replied softly. "See, Cammie, it's one of those times, where the answer with be standing in front of you with a big sign saying 'look at me!' and you still can't find it." She chuckled slightly.
"Honestly, that's a little more comforting." I cocked an eyebrow at her. "I mean, you're the best spy I know, Mr. Solomon. If I wasn't the only one who couldn't figure it out…" She paused for a moment, looking me in the eye. "Then I wasn't the only one." That made sense. What spy wants to be totally alone on that kind of statement? She began to shiver. I wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders. "Mr. Solomon?"
"Ms. Morgan?"
"Where exactly are you going?" I looked around, making sure there wasn't a sole in sight, before leading her towards the P&E barn.
"Well, Ms. Morgan, I happen to like doing things that preoccupy my mind when I can't sleep."
"Or something disturbed your sleep." She accused. I struggled not to allow my face to go red.
"How did you know?"
"Your hair is a mess, and you aren't wearing a t-shirt under your sweatshirt. And the circles under your eyes show that you've been disrupted from your sleep." I blinked. She was certainly Dave's child.
"Very clever, Ms. Morgan." I said. "You certainly are your father's daughter." She looked away. I scaled the wall, into the higher loft, and sat, rather than practiced my karate moves or started doing some push-ups. It would have been a good idea, get the blood flowing through my cold limbs, but Cammie's warm, pajama clad frame sat closer. She shivered. I put my arm around her shoulders again. We sat in a contended silence.
"Do you miss him?" I didn't need to ask to know who she meant.
"He was my best friend, Cammie." I said, deliberating my choice of words. I didn't want to hurt her again, like the first day of school that I taught. "He saved me from myself, when nobody else could. He saw through my mask, my…."
"Defenses?" Cammie supplied the word.
"Exactly. He was there for me when I ran, ran from those who bring the very life to you, that brought you into this world. My father wanted nothing more than to take me back out of it. Your father saw through my scars, my burn marks, and my pain filled eyes. He saw right passed it all." I looked at her. "Like you saw past the fact that my sweatshirt is the only thing I have on top. How did you know that?" She blushed slightly.
"Uh, well, it's a little big around the neck." Oh…
"I see." I said. We went quiet.
"What happened to him?" She whispered.
"Nobody knows Cammie." I replied in a low tone. She shook her head.
"You're wrong." Then, she repeated the words Zachary Goode had tried too hard to pound into my head, along with Grant, and Jonas.
"Someone does."
A single tear ran down her cheek. I brushed it away, and, like I did so often fourteen years ago, I pressed my lips to her forehead. After all, when she had no father, who else would, as Dave had so eloquently worded it, "kiss it better?" She leaned into my chest.
"Maybe I gave you some of the best advice earlier, Cammie." I said to her. She looked up, confused. I brushed a stray hair from her face, and tucked it behind her ear. Then I realized that would be the single creepiest thing I have ever done to a girl her age. Ever. Forgive me, Dave, I meant it like you always did. Like the Godfather I'm supposed to be."Running, just to see if someone will come after you. Is that what you did?" She bit her lip, and nodded sheepishly.
"Maybe that's why Mom retreated to her office afterwards, and won't let anyone in." She sat upright.
"Cammie, I've know your mother better than I've know myself at times. Do you honestly think, in the state she's in, she'd want us to see her looking her most vulnerable." She deliberated that. "Your friend, Rebecca Baxter, she'll be fresh on your tail." Cammie giggled.
"Or, Lizzie probably put a tracker in every button on my pajamas." She added. I laughed.
"Ms. McHenry might have sprayed you with some perfume Ms. Sutton laced with a tracker, which Ms. Baxter will then use to find you, by scent or by the trackers, whichever's more dangerous." She burst out laughing.
"I wouldn't put it past them." I leaned against the post, and watched her laugh. So much like her mother and aunt before her.
"Thank you, Mr. Solomon."
"Whatever for, Ms. Morgan?" She rolled her eyes at the formality.
"The laugh. I needed that." I grinned.
"Hey, anything for a family I hold very dear to me. Repeat that to anyone and I'll have you in detention for months on end." She laughed again. I rose to my feet, and reached out a hand, helping her to her feet.
"So, if I hadn't come with you, what would you have done?" I smirked and glanced towards the weights. She looked at me. "How much?" I rolled my eyes.
"I'll tell you that if you tell me how you got to Ohio." Her eyes widened in shock. "I have my sources. I won't tell your mother. No." She looked surprised. "Because I suspect it's something I won't ever understand." She snorted.
"Girls intuition?" I laughed.
"Quoting him?" She nodded. "No, that's not what I meant." She looked up at me. "I meant a sisterhood. That's one thing no man will ever understand. I get the woman's intuition thing." I said. "Almost like what the celebrity gossip journalists call a 'bromance.'" She laughed. "I get that part. What I don't get, is a sisterhood."
"You didn't get a brotherhood?"
"No, not at my…" I narrowed my eyes at her. "What do you mean by that?" She looked at me evenly.
"You were best friends with my father." She retorted, her voice cool, calm, collected.
"Right." I dropped the slight suspicion. "Sorry, got a bit…"
"I know." I lead her into the school, holding open doors, and sneaking her past teachers, who knew this would be a rough week for me, but didn't know I had a student in my possession, so to speak. I got her back to her dorm.
"A word of anything I said gets out; you'll be scrubbing the Sublevels until you get married."
"It'll be awfully difficult to find someone in the Sublevels." She said. I looked in her eyes. That was the point. It's kind of my duty as Godfather….
"Exactly." I turned and left the room. I felt better, by the enlightening conversation with Cammie. She's got a different aspect to the whole…all of it.
After that talk, I slept without another nightmare.