Chapter 13

A Lonely Recovery

After the doctors stitched up Heather’s wounds, Heather’s mother insisted that Heather stay home for at least a week. Ruby went to school as usual, and after the first two days, her mother returned to work. Heather was left to sit in solitude all day long. But her mother’s concern for Heather’s well-being was actually a hindrance to her recovery: for each day that she spent alone in this house, her resolve to return to school weakened.

Heather spent the first few days in a restless fog. Never one to enjoy sitting around, Heather was forced to stay on the couch all day listlessly flipping through talk shows. This was not her choice; the pain medication forced her to be so bound. For Heather, the medication had the effect of distorting reality. When Heather watched the talk shows, all the voices blended together, and she heard echoes of Jared Winters and Melanie Williams and the other kids at school, their angry voices condemning her.

Her delusions also brought her visions of Adam. In her foggy mind, he decided to come forward and declared his part in the incident to the whole school. Then she pictured them going to the Homecoming Dance together. In her mind they danced and danced in a kaleidoscope of color, a euphoric dream. Her feverish brain was too delusional to tell her it couldn’t be so.

When she finally convinced her finger to click off the television, she spent her time reliving all the past events, her medication adding its own color of horror to the memories: the buzz around town when she first published the blog entry; her excruciating walk through the auditorium; her terrible hour upon the stage; and the painful attack in the alley.

Her delusions were so powerful that when Burton came to the door with the first days of Heather’s missing schoolwork—Heather’s mother had enlisted him to do so—Heather thanked him with a strong embrace. Though he blushed at the gesture, he took a quick peek at her pupils and muttered that it was medication, not sentiment, causing her apparent affection.

When Burton returned the following day, he brought a bag of tea. He made Heather a cup and stayed until her eyes returned to normal. After that, Heather took tea rather than her prescription. It allowed her head to clear enough to desire returning to school. But Mother still insisted she stay home.

Heather’s endless hours in the house became to her like being locked in prison. How many times had she picked up her home phone and dialed the first six digits of Adam’s number! But she never allowed herself to follow through with it. Why should someone else have to be burdened by the incident?

Even her beloved books offered her no comfort. As the protagonists battled pages of adversity, Heather’s mind wandered, preoccupied with her own troubles. It wasn’t long before Heather ran out of things to keep her mind occupied; it wasn’t long before she fell into the temptation of her laptop. She checked all the social networks daily, sometimes almost hourly. For the first few days everyone posted gossip and speculation. Even from class, students posted from their cell phones:

Primm’s absent again.

Looks like Heather got scared off.

You mean “scarred” off! lol

Good job to whoever did that to her.

The Traitor has paid.

Everyone wanted to know who had attacked Heather, but no one came forward.

Even as Heather became “old news”—the latest was that some punks decided to ride around the school on scooters wearing wigs—she could always find a comment or two about herself or about the football team or about her blog. Many students expected Heather had left, never to return. Why would she dare show her face there again? The comments offered her no comfort, for most students felt she got what she deserved. If there were any students sympathetic to her, they dared not post their support. Each minute Heather spent on the Internet weakened her courage to return to school.

And so it was that Heather came to imagine herself a prisoner in her own home, incarcerated there by the hatred of the entire student body—not to mention more than a few faculty and administrators—of Orchard Valley.

When she’d had all she could take of the Internet, she turned to staring at her face in the mirror. Her skin had started to heal around the stitches, forming dark scars in the shape of the letter T. As she stared at her melancholy face, she realized that her attackers had achieved their goal in branding her forever as a traitor. The doctor admitted that though the scars would fade, they would never go away completely. And Heather would stare and stare, wondering how her face would look in a year. In five. In forty.

The one solace for Heather that week was Ruby. Mother usually arranged for a babysitter in the mornings to see Ruby to school. Since Heather was home all week, Mother opted to save money by having Heather watch Ruby instead.

While Heather stayed home, Ruby snapped back into her old self. She did her homework as soon as she got home, and she went to bed on time. In the mornings, Ruby worked on her make-believe paper, The Ruby Review. In it, she wrote articles portraying Heather as a hero. She made up fantastic stories about the ways Heather’s face was cut by terrible monsters. Sometimes the monsters were human. Other times, they weren’t. Then she made up news articles about how these villains were caught and jailed—or expelled. She wrote articles in which Adam Hollowcast was voted Homecoming King, and his beautiful date, Heather Primm, was voted Queen. Heather didn’t have the heart to tell her that juniors were not eligible for such awards. Or that she wouldn’t be going to the dance with Adam. Besides, it was nice for Heather and Adam to spend time together—even if it was only in the imaginative musings of a six-year-old.

After Ruby left, though, the house became a prison once again. Heather’s hours blended into days of torture with nothing but time to dwell on the negative.

In the afternoons, Burton Childress came by with Heather’s schoolwork. He always dropped it off right after school so that he could be alone with Heather before Ruby returned.

“All the kids at school are still talking about the attack,” Burton told her one miserable afternoon.

The afternoon sun peeked in and out of the windows, hidden mostly behind dark purple storm clouds. The purple light made the autumn foliage look even more spectacular, and Heather wished she were outside enjoying it rather than moping inside with her creepy neighbor. But she knew if she went outside, Burton would follow.

“And why wouldn’t they be?” Heather snapped, snatching her school work. “It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in the school since—ever!”

Burton sat right next to her on the couch. Though Heather felt the temptation to shudder and pull away, her scar gave her a sort of strength: what could Burton dish out that was worse than what she had already endured?

“And there are more kids than usual absent. They—or their parents—are afraid because the ones who cut you haven’t been caught.” He stared deep into Heather’s eyes. There was genuine concern for her in Burton’s voice, but Heather turned away. “Why not reveal the name of your attackers?” Burton asked his deep voice.

“I told you, just like I told everyone else. I didn’t see them.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hard to believe.”

“They had dark hoods on, and I didn’t recognize their voices.”

“That’s a lie,” Burton moaned. “Why won’t you tell?”

“What does it matter to you? You should be glad that the school has avenged you, just like you wanted.”

Burton considered this. “I had wanted it, yes, but I think you’ve gotten more than your fair pay-back. Why not name your attackers? What they did was not only against school rules, but against—”

“Because it doesn’t matter! The attack might as well have been done by every single member of the student body. And even some of the faculty. That’s how badly everyone wished for my punishment. It doesn’t matter who did it. The deed was done. It was the inevitable result of my blog entry. You said so yourself, and that’s all there is to it. No one said life is fair.”

“You were on the news, you know.”

Heather crossed her arms. “No I wasn’t. They called the house, but I never agreed to any interviews.”

Burton shook his head. “Maybe you weren’t personally on the news, but your story was.”

“Big deal. Anyone who watches the local news probably already heard what happened. People just need blood. Blood sells.”

Burton frowned. “I’m not talking about the local news. There was a thirty-second blurb about you on the national news. And they had people e-mail in their comments and reactions. You’re famous, Heather. Maybe they don’t know your name, but they’ve all heard about the girl with the scar. And the country wants you to name your attackers.”

Heather did not react to Burton’s news. She already knew about the national news story. Her father had called her the other evening after seeing the news story up in New Hampshire. The news station had not released Heather’s name, only the name of the high school. Heather’s father didn’t know his own daughter was the victim of the attack.

When Heather told him, he went nuclear. Heather remembered with a shudder the explosive arguments he and his mother used to have. Heather stayed on the phone for a good long while listening to her father scream about being kept in the dark again. Her only solace was that her mother wasn’t home; otherwise, he would have insisted on screaming at her. After he had calmed down enough to remember who he was on the phone with, he asked whether Heather was all right. His sympathy quickly worked back up to anger, however, and demanded that Heather name her attackers. But Heather refused. She played down the incident and made her father promise to stay in New Hampshire for now. On top of all else going on, she just couldn’t deal with her parents fighting again. Not yet.

Like Heather’s father, Burton pressed on. “Who are they? Who hurt you? Tell me.”

“What good would it do me?”

“They threatened you,” Burton said.

Heather didn’t answer. Burton’s lips drew up in the corners, and Heather wasn’t sure if he was smiling with delight at her plight or trying not to frown out of sympathy.

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t give you their names.”

Burton pursed his lips and squinted. “It’s strange that the security cameras weren’t recording. And that Principal Elders just happened to close his blinds to have a meeting with a parent just before your attack. It’s all very suspicious.”

“It just worked out, didn’t it?” Heather huffed.

“I wouldn’t think someone so adamant about exposing the truth would—” But Burton couldn’t finish, for Heather shot him a look that stilled his tongue. The two sat in awkward silence.

“Ah! I almost forgot,” Burton said, although it didn’t seem like he had nearly forgotten. Not at all. “Speaking of Principal Elders…” He reached into his backpack to retrieve an envelope. “Principal Elders suggested you might want this.”

He handed her the envelope. “Transfer papers?” she asked.

“He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable at a private school. He asked me to pass these along to you. It’s something to think about.”

Indeed it was.

He pointed to a brochure. “Hawthorne Academy. It’s a private school. Students live in dormitories, and discipline is very strict. The Academy would not have allowed such a crime to your beautiful face to go unpunished.”

Heather could feel Burton’s body heat radiating from him as he spoke. Despite his compliment she couldn’t help but shiver, chilled by his use of the word “beautiful.” He put his arm on the couch behind her, and she eyed it the way she might eye an approaching copperhead.

“I could never afford it,” she said, leaning forward.

Burton leaned forward as well, ever so slightly. “Principal Elders addressed that. He already contacted the school board, and because of what happened, the School Board and the county attorneys agreed to subsidize your tuition. They’re afraid you’re going to sue. You know, maybe I could transfer there, too. We could be good friends. We could leave all this behind. I would protect you, you know. I would dispel rumors that may have reached the students there so that you might have a fresh start. And I’d always be there for you… unlike…” Burton raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Heather shook her head. She would never reveal the source. Besides, after all that had happened, how could Burton still be thinking about dating her? Was he that desperate?

“How about some more tea, then?” Burton asked.

“No,” Heather whispered. She took tiny sips of the tea that was already in her mug, and she watched the clock carefully, hoping that Ruby would hurry home—until she arrived, Heather had nothing to do but stare into those intense eyes, those chilling eyes, those calculating eyes of R. Burton Childress.