Лиза Макманн - Fade

“Wow.”

“Why don’t we do yours first. Then I’ll have a better understanding of how to do mine.”

Cabel flips through a spiral notebook. “Okay,” he says. “I already scribbled some notes here, at school—No! Not the evil eyebrow! I’ll decipher them and dictate, I promise.”

Janie glances at his notes.

“What the…,” she says, and grabs the notebook.

Reads the page.

Looks at him.

“Mr. Green, Mrs. White, Miss Scarlet…Well, if it isn’t Professor Plum.

So where the hell is Colonel Mustard?” She bursts out laughing.

“Colonel Mustard is Principal Abernethy,” he says with a sniff.

Janie stops laughing.

Sort of.

Actually, she giggles every few minutes as she reads. Especially when she finds out Miss Scarlet is actually Mr. Garcia, the industrial tech teacher.

“It’s coded for secrecy, Janie.” He’s really not sounding amused. “In case I lose the notebook, or somebody looks over my shoulder.”

Janie stops mocking him.

But he continues. “It’s a smart idea. You should code your notes too, if you take any. It only takes one stupid mistake to blow your cover. And then we’re all screwed.”

Janie waits.

Makes sure he’s finished.

Then says, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Cabe.”

He looks mildly redeemed.

“All right then, moving on,” he says. “First hour is advanced math. Mr.

Stein. Room 134.”

She plugs in the info, including the class list. “Anything of note?” she asks.

“In this space here,” he says, pointing, “write, ‘slight German accent, tendency to trip over words when excited, constantly fidgets with chalk.’ The guy’s a nervous wreck,” Cabel explains.

“Next is Mrs. Pancake.” They don’t chuckle at the name, because they’ve known her for years now. “I have nothing of note on her.

She’s just that sweet, round grandma type—not the profile I expect we’ll be after, but we don’t rule anybody out, okay? I’ll keep watching.”

Janie nods and goes to the third page, fills in the appropriate information, and within thirty minutes, Cabel’s charts are done for the day. She e-mails them to him.

“I’m going to finish my homework while you’re working on your charts, if you don’t mind,” he says. “Let me know if you have any questions. And be sure to take notes of any intuition, funny feelings, suspicions—anything. There are no wrong things to track.”

“Got it,” Janie says. She clicks her fingers over the keyboard with finesse, and finishes her charts before Cabel gets his homework done.

She goes back and lingers over each entry, trying to think of anything of note, and promises herself to be more discerning tomorrow.

“So,” she says lightly when Cabel closes his books, “did you talk to

Shay today?” Janie couldn’t help noticing Shay was in three of his classes.

Cabel looks at her with a small smile. Knows what she’s really asking.

“The thought of being with Shay Wilder makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a butter knife,” he says. He pulls Janie toward him in a half-hug. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he smoothes her hair.

“Are you staying tonight?” He asks after a while. There’s hope in his voice.

Janie thinks about the box of files from Captain on her bed.

She hates that they’re sitting there, untouched. It’s like homework hanging over her head. She can’t stand it.

But.

She also hates the thought of leaving Cabel.

The question hangs in the air.

“I can’t,” she says finally. “I’ve got some things to do at home.”

It’s hard, somehow, to say good-bye tonight. They linger near the back door, forehead to forehead and curved like statues as their lips whisper and brush together.

9:17 p.m.

Janie comes home to a mess after getting stuck hiding in a stand of trees for fifteen minutes while Carrie shoveled snow off her car and left, probably off to Stu’s apartment. Janie doesn’t want any questions about where she was coming from. She knows the day will inevitably come where Carrie discovers Janie’s car in the driveway but Janie not home.

Luckily, Stu and Carrie spend most of their time together. Carrie’s parents like him all right. Even after Carrie broke down and told them she’d been arrested. They seemed relieved to hear that Stu wasn’t into cocaine.

Of course, they still grounded Carrie. For life. As usual.

9:25 p.m.

Janie settles in her bed under the covers, and opens the box of material from Captain. She pulls out the first file, and dives into Miss Stubin’s life.

News flash: Miss Stubin never taught school.

And she was married.

Janie’s jaw hangs open for two hours. The frail, gnarled, blind, stick-thin, former school teacher who Janie read books to lived a secret life.

11:30 p.m.

Janie holds her aching head. Closes the file. Returns the stack to the cardboard box and hides it in her closet. Then she turns out her light and slips back under the covers.

Thinks about the military man in Miss Stubin’s dream.

Miss Stubin, thinks Janie as a grin turns on her lips, was a player back in the day.

1:42 a.m.

Janie dreams in black and white.

She’s walking down Center Street at dusk. The weather is cool and rainy. Janie’s been here before, although she doesn’t know what town she’s in. She looks around excitedly at the corner by the dry goods store, but there is no young couple there, strolling arm in arm.

“I’m here, Janie,” comes a soft voice from behind. “Come, sit with me.”

Janie turns around and sees Miss Stubin seated in her wheelchair next to a park bench along the street.

“Miss Stubin?”

The blind old woman smiles. “Ah, good. Fran has given you my notes.

I’ve been hoping for you.”

Janie sits on the park bench, her heart thumping. She feels tears spring to her eyes and quickly blinks them away. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Stubin.” Janie slips her hand into Miss Stubin’s gnarled fingers.

“Yes, there you are, indeed.” Miss Stubin smiles. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

Janie’s puzzled. “Get on with it?”

“If you are here, then you must have agreed to work with Captain

Komisky, as I did.”

“Does Captain know I’m having this dream?” Janie is confused.

Miss Stubin chuckles. “Of course not. You may tell her if you wish.

Give her my fond regards. But I’m here to fulfill a promise to myself.

To be available to you, just as the one who taught me remained with me until I was fully prepared, fully knowledgeable about what my purpose was in life. I’m here to help you as best as I can, until you no longer need me.”

Janie’s eyes grow wide. No! she thinks, but she doesn’t say it. She hopes it takes a very long time before she no longer needs Miss Stubin.

“We’ll meet here from time to time as you go through my case files.

When you have questions about my notes, return here. I trust you know how to find me again?”

“You mean, direct myself to dream this again?”

Miss Stubin nods.

“Yes, I think I can do that. I’m sort of out of practice,” Janie says sheepishly.

“I know you can, Janie.” The old woman’s curled fingers tighten slightly around Janie’s hand. “Do you have an assignment from

Captain?”

“Yes. We think there’s a teacher who is a sexual predator at Fieldridge

High.”

Miss Stubin sighs. “Difficult. Be careful. And be creative—It may be tricky to find the right dreams to fall into. Keep up your strength. Be prepared for every opportunity to search out the truth. Dreams happen in the strangest places. Watch for them.”

“I—I will,” Janie says softly.