Pittacus Lore - The Power of Six

I turn from the square, from the hidden and destroyed list, clean the brushes, and put everything away.

“I’ll see you guys next week,” I say to the faces.

Before leaving the cave I take in the landscape painted on the wall beside the passageway leading in and out. It’s the first painting I’d ever attempted here, sometime around the age of twelve; and while I have touched it up a bit over the years, mostly it has remained the same. It’s the view of Lorien from my own bedroom window and I still remember it perfectly. Rolling hills and grassy plains accentuated with tall trees. A thick slice of blue river that cuts across the terrain. Small bits of paint here and there that represent the Chim?ra drinking from its cool waters. And then, off in the far distance at the very top, standing tall over the nine archways representing the planet’s nine Elders, is the statue of Pittacus Lore, so small it’s almost indistinct; but there’s no mistaking it for what it really is, standing out among the others: a beacon of hope.

I hurry from the cave and back to the convent, keeping an eye open for anything out of place. The sun is just below the horizon when I leave the path, which means I’m running late. I push through the heavy oak doors to find the welcome bells ringing; somebody new has arrived.

I join the others on their way to our sleeping quarters. We have a welcoming tradition here, standing next to our beds with our hands behind our backs, facing the new girl and introducing ourselves one by one. I’d hated it when I had first arrived; hated feeling on display when all I wanted to do was hide.

In the doorway, standing beside Sister Lucia, is a small girl with auburn hair, curious brown eyes, and petite features not unlike a mouse. She stares at the stone floor, shifting her weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other. Her fingers fiddle with the waist of her gray wool dress, which is patterned with pink flowers. There’s a small pink clip in her hair, and she wears black shoes with silver buckles. I feel sorry for her. Sister Lucia waits for us all to smile, all thirty-seven of us, and then she speaks.

“This is Ella. She’s seven years old and will be staying with us from here on out. I trust that you will all make her feel welcome.”

A rumor is later whispered that her parents had been killed in an automobile accident and she’s here because she has no other relatives.

Ella flutters her eyes up as each person says their name, but mostly she keeps her gaze on the floor. It’s obvious she’s scared and sad, but I can tell she’s the kind of girl people will fall for. She won’t be here for very long.

We all walk to the nave together so Sister Lucia can explain to Ella its importance to the orphanage. Gabby Garcia stands yawning in the back of the group, and I turn to look at her. Just beyond Gabby, framed in one of the clear panes of the stained glass window at the far wall, a dark figure stands outside looking in. I can just make him out in the oncoming nightfall, his black hair, heavy brows, and thick mustache. His eyes are trained on me; there’s no doubt about it. My heart skips a beat. I gasp and take a step backwards. Everyone’s head snaps around.

“Marina, are you okay?” Sister Lucia asks.

“Nothing,” I say, then shake my head. “I mean, yes, I’m fine. Sorry.”

My heart pounds and my hands shake. I clasp them together so it’s not noticeable. Sister Lucia says something else about welcoming Ella, but I’m too distracted to hear it. I turn back to the window. The figure is gone. The group’s dismissed.

I rush across the nave and look outside. I don’t see anyone, but I do see a single set of boot prints in the snow. I step away from the window. Perhaps it’s a potential foster parent assessing the girls from afar, or perhaps it’s one of the girl’s real parents sneaking a glance at the daughter he can’t provide for. But for some reason I don’t feel safe. I don’t like the way his eyes settled on me.

“Are you okay?” I hear behind me. I jump, then turn around. It’s Adelina, standing with her hands clasped in front of her waist. A rosary dangles from her fingers.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I say.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Worse than a ghost, I think, but I don’t say that. I’m scared after this morning’s slap, and I pocket my hands.

“There was somebody at the window watching me,” I whisper. “Just now.”

Her eyes squint.

“Look. Look at the prints,” I say, turning back and motioning to the ground.

Adelina’s back is straight and rigid, and for a moment I think she’s actually concerned; but then she softens and steps forward. She takes in the prints.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she says.

“What do you mean it’s nothing? How can you say that?”

“I wouldn’t worry. It could have been anyone.”

“He was looking right at me.”

“Marina, wake up. With today’s new arrival there are thirty-eight girls here. We do the best we can keeping you girls safe, but that doesn’t mean the occasional boy from town doesn’t wander up here to sneak a peek. We’ve even caught some of them. And don’t think for a minute we don’t know the way that some of the others dress, changing clothes on the walk to school to look provocative. There are six of you turning eighteen soon, and everyone in town knows it. So, I wouldn’t worry about the man you saw. He was probably nothing more than a boy from school.”

I’m sure this was no boy from school, but I don’t say so.

“Anyway, I wanted to apologize for this morning. It was wrong of me to strike you.”

“It’s okay,” I say, and for a minute I think of bringing John Smith up again, but I decide against it. It would create more friction, which I want to avoid. I miss the way we used to be. And it’s hard enough living here without having Adelina angry at me.

Before she says anything further, Sister Dora hurries over and whispers something into Adelina’s ear. Adelina looks at me and nods and smiles.

“We’ll talk later,” she says.

They walk away, leaving me to myself. I look back down at the boot prints, and a shiver runs up my back.

For the next hour I pace from room to room looking down the hill at the dark town cast in shadow, but I don’t see the looming figure again. Perhaps Adelina is right.

But no matter how hard I try convincing myself, I don’t think she is.

SILENCE FALLS IN THE TRUCK. SIX GLANCES IN the rearview mirror. Flashing red and blue plays along her face.

“Not good,” Sam says.

“Shit,” Six says.

The bright lights and screaming siren rouse even Bernie Kosar, who peers out the back window.

“What do we do?” Sam asks, his voice frightened and desperate.

Six takes her foot off the accelerator and steers the truck to the right side of the highway.

“It might mean nothing,” she says.

I shake my head. “Doubtful.”

“Wait. Why are we stopping?” Sam asks. “Don’t stop. Step on it!”

“Let’s see what happens first. We’ll never make it if we lead this cop on a high-speed chase. He’ll call for backup and they’ll get a helicopter. Then we’ll never get away.”

Bernie Kosar begins growling. I tell him to chill out and he stops, but he keeps vigil out the window. Gravel pings against the truck as we slow along the shoulder. Cars speed past in the left lanes. The cop car pulls to within ten feet of our rear bumper, and its headlights fill the truck’s interior. The cop flips them off, then aims a spotlight straight through the rear window. The siren stops wailing but the lights still flash.

“What do you think?” I ask, watching from the side mirror. The spotlight is blinding; but when a car passes, I can see that the officer is holding the radio up in his right hand, probably running our license plate, or calling for backup.