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“WHAT MADE YOU DECIDE to join the debate club?” Ham asked as they rolled toward the classroom where the meeting was being held.
“Really?” Priscilla responded. “Is there anything else I can do as far as after-school activities are concerned?”
“I guess that’s right,” Ham replied, “and I don’t mind going along with you just to hear your wit and conversational skills exercised and honed,” he added.
Priscilla cut him an inquisitory glance; she couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. She was beginning to get the hang of talking and turning the chair simultaneously while it was moving, but was still suffering through jerking turns, and stops when she sucked too hard. Turning into the hall toward the classroom for their activity, her sudden intake of air caused the chair to rock to a halt. Ham stopped and pivoted his chair around. He looked at her inquisitively, and her eyes pointed to the end of the hall as her blanched expression told him she had seen something unexpected.
When she found her voice, Priscilla said, “I just saw Mr. Jenkins walk across the end of the hall.”
“Mr. Jenkins is dead,” Ham said.
“Do you think I don't know that?” Priscilla snapped. Without further discussion, Ham sped off down the hall. “Wait for me,” Priscilla called after him.
Ham stopped abruptly, chagrined. “I'm sorry; I keep forgetting your chair doesn't go as fast as mine.”
“I guess I'll just have to wait until the supervisor of the Medical Service Center can get me the display model he promised my mom,” Pris replied.
“Oh,” Ham exclaimed. “I didn't make the connection that you were the student in my school who was waiting on the faster chair.”
“And what other student in our school needs a faster chair besides you and I?” Pris snarked.
“I thought it might have been Alice,” he admitted.
Ham had begun moving down the hall again, and as they rounded the corner where Priscilla had seen Jenkins disappear they were drawn to the sound of voices raised in heated argument. Approaching another classroom down a short hallway, they stopped shy of the door to listen.
“I don't care if they found one of the bodies,” shouted the first voice.
“You have to care,” shouted a second voice, just as loud.
“We have to stay on schedule,” the first voice exploded.
“If we don't take a few days off and let things die down, there won't be a schedule,” shouted the second voice.
Ham decided to move a little closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of who was in the room without being seen. The two men chose the same moment to stop speaking, and the whirr of his wheelchair was loud in the empty hallway.
“What was that?” the first voice asked in a more reasonable tone.
“I don't know, go check it out,” gruffly replied the second voice.
Without thinking, Ham flicked his hand at the door and it slammed shut. Screwing up his face, he concentrated on the door lock. After a moment, they both clearly heard the clack of the tumblers in the locking mechanism turning into place.
“Let's get out of here,” Ham whispered fiercely, spinning his chair around.
Priscilla hard-sucked on the tube, commanding her chair to move backward. She was watching the convergence of the walls and hoping she didn’t run into one before she reached the main hallway. She had never practiced backing long distances, but it made more sense to her to back down the short hall than take the time to turn around. The muffled sounds of shouting could be heard through the door as both teens continued their retreat. Ham had just turned the corner and stopped to look back for Priscilla when the distinctive spit of a pistol silencer was instantly followed by the crack of wood as the door splintered around the lock.
Backing into the main hallway, Priscilla soft-sipped to turn the chair left, then blew hard into the straw to move it forward. The drive mechanism complained at the abrupt change in direction, but responded correctly. Concussions could be heard down the hallway behind them as one or both of the men kicked at the door, trying to force it open. Priscilla rolled forward just as the door jamb broke and the door crashed into the hall, rebounding off the wall behind it. She saw movement out of her peripheral vision as the hallway disappeared from her view.
Students from an earlier club meeting emptied out of a room into the hallway, which Ham and Pris gratefully blended into as the crowd moved toward the exit doors. Flowing with the other students, they headed for the parking lot.
“I hope my mom is here early,” Priscilla gasped between efforts to keep her chair moving straight down the sidewalk and talking. She was breathing so heavily from fear she was over-controlling the chair commands.
“If she's not, we’ll have to blend in with the other kids in the parking lot and hope your Mom gets here before they all leave,” Ham replied.
Behind the group of students, a short, heavy-set man with thick jowls and a bald pate stopped short of exiting the building. His rumpled suit hung open as he braced his arms over his head on the door frame, struggling to catch his breath. The grip of a pistol could be clearly seen under his left armpit. He glared after the group, not sure what to do next. Turning, he went back to the room where he and Jenkins had been arguing, but the room was empty. Swearing an oath under his breath, he gathered his briefcase and cell phone before heading toward the rear entrance.
Having reached the parking lot within the relative safety of the crowd, Ham told Pris, “Stop here, facing the parking lot.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked; concern heavy in her voice.
“I’m just maneuvering around to face in the opposite direction,” he said, stopping alongside her. “This way, we can watch the front of the school and the parking lot simultaneously.” Ham seemed overly proud of his quick thinking. “And this way, if we have to move, you’re already pointed in the right direction.”
They sat in silence, allowing their breathing to return to normal. After several minutes, Pris asked, “So your dad is the supervisor my mom has been working with?”
“Yeah, and now that I know it’s you, I’m going to push him to make it happen,” he replied. “As soon as I can find him sober,” he added quietly.
“Did your dad drink before your mom left?” Pris asked.
The expression in Ham’s sorrowful eyes answered her. “Her leaving just seemed to break him,” he replied dejectedly. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a good man and a good father, and he never abuses me; he’s a happy drunk,” he finished with a wan smile. “And he never goes to work drunk, or drinks on the job,” he added, seeming to want to assure her his father was dependable.
“So, how long have you been able to lock doors with your power?” Pris asked, changing the subject.
“About 15 minutes, I’d say,” Ham replied, glancing at his wristwatch.
“You mean you didn’t know you could do that until you did?” she breathed.
“I just seem to be discovering more and more about my abilities, especially whenever you’re around,” he replied, unwilling to meet her eyes.
“What do you mean by that?” Priscilla asked warily.
“I mean, my powers have all manifested whenever I’ve felt like you were in danger,” he replied, finally meeting her gaze.
“So, you’re a protector, then,” Pris surmised.
“I’m your protector,” he replied with thinly-veiled intent.
It was Priscilla’s turn to avert her gaze. “I’m not sure how to respond to that,” she said almost too softly to hear.
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to get used to the idea that someone other than your mom cares about you,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“We need to tell Frank what just happened,” Pris blurted out after a moment, changing the subject.
“I’ll do that when I get home,” Ham replied. “He’ll probably want to ask more questions, I’ll bet. And here comes your mom. I’m okay with getting a ride home this time,” he finished, and Pris just smiled.