Soul Fire (27 page)

I took a breath and added. “I’ve told this to the resort and as a result, they’re not billing the Camerons for our rescue.” I didn’t bother to tell him that Mom had sent a large donation toward the cost of the new lift as well as to Search and Rescue for new equipment.

My father simply stood there staring at me. I was relentless. “What I’d like to know is,” I lowered my voice, “why would
you
, a wealthy businessman, want to sue a man who is not only fighting for his life, but barely able to work. Bryan Cameron is not a wealthy man.” I glanced at Celeste. Her eyes were riveted on me. “All he has left is a bit of equity in their
humble
home. I’m told everything else has gone to pay Ashla’s hospital bills and their growing medical expenses. The family barely gets by on what her mom’s daycare operation brings in. So, you tell me, Dad, what possible pleasure could you get out of taking anything from a man who is dying of cancer and struggling financially?”

My father’s entire body seemed to have lost its shape. He shook his head, as if confused and ran his other hand over his bald head. Then, without a word, he turned and walked slowly back inside the house. My short victory was like a puck that bounced off the corner of the net.

A hand rested lightly on my shoulder. “I never knew what really happened on the mountain that day,” Celeste whispered. “Ashla never told me. I don’t think she ever told anyone.”

I turned to Celeste and found her wiping her eyes. She said, “Thank you for what you just did. The Cameron’s don’t need any more grief. Now, could you please take me home.”

During the short drive back to Celeste’s house, I fumed over the fact that Mole had not taken down his repulsive websites and realized that there was only one way to deal with that.

I parked in front of Celeste’s house noticing that she had her hand on the door handle before we came to a stop. I reached out and touched her bare arm. “Wait. I need a favor from you.” She turned in her seat and looked at me, her beautiful face completely placid.

“Sure,” she said softly.

“Do you have Mount Olympic’s current yearbook, you know, with everyone’s picture in it?”

“Uh-huh, they came out a couple of weeks ago.”

“Good. Can you and Ashla go through each and every picture making a note of anyone who had a part in bullying Ashla? Don’t mark the photos though. Use a separate sheet of paper and write down exactly what each person did. Classify it as physical, vocal, or whatever, and rate it out of three. Three being the worst.”

Her blue eyes were huge. She saw where this was going. “What are you going to do, Justin?”

“Can’t say right now. I just need you to do this today, if possible. Call me when you’re done and I’ll come by and pick it up.”

She looked dubious. Pastor’s daughter,
do unto others
. “Hey,” I said trying to get her attention. “You said yourself they were psychos and pervs. If this works, it might actually help straighten some them out before they get too far down that road.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Hope so.” She rubbed a knuckle across her lip. “Okay. I’ll call you when we’re done.” With that, she climbed out of the truck, never looking back.

Before pulling out, I grabbed my cell and called Trevor, a good buddy from my hockey team. Past hockey team. His brother designed websites for a living and I needed to have a talk with him.

Crossbow’s absence had changed the entire dynamic of our household. My grandmother wore nothing but black, spoke little, ate almost nothing, and seemed to have shriveled into herself. The rest of us reacted by letting Grandma have her space. Our normally exuberant family was strangely subdued. Even Anika had taken up whispering—a new experience for her, although I think she liked doing anything that was different.

I continued my daily studies with Grandma and found her to be an excellent teacher. Our lack of speech seemed to have allowed a bond—of sorts—to develop between us. Wordlessly, she pushed my last exam in front of me. On the top, in red, she had penned 100% with the comment:
You’ll pass your finals with honors.
Smart girl. I’m very proud of you.

I was taken aback…totally speechless.

“You’re ready, Ashla,” she said softly and left the room.

Was that it then? Were we finished? No more studies? I felt inflated, deflated, happy, and sad all at once. I tried to sort out these conflicting emotions, but gave up.

Pushing the dining room chair back, I eyed the big clock she had hung on the wall. Not yet noon. Since Crossbow’s disappearance, I had spent lunch hours putting up posters of the missing cat , complete with his photo and our phone number, hoping someone would return him before my grandmother and Crossbow each disappeared into oblivion. Of course, this would depend on his being alive. Grandma had called the local veterinarians and animal shelters, but no one had seen a white Siamese cat.

I stepped out onto our porch and absorbed the day’s warmth. We seldom used this small space until summer temperatures motivated us to bring up the patio table and chairs. I had turned around to go back inside when I heard a strange sound under the porch. Straining my ears, I listened intently. I heard it again, certain this time that it was a
meow
.

Dashing down the stairs, I hurried around the enclosed area under the porch, seeking an opening and calling out, “Crossbow, is that you? Kitty, Kitty? Are you in there?” Determining that the only access was through the small damaged door at one end, I yanked on it until it flew off, landing me on my butt with the makeshift door leaving a large splinter in my hand. Cursing, I tossed it aside and stared into the black hole.

“Crossbow? Here Kitty, Kitty,” I called out again and stuck my head into the musky darkness. The air was pungent and putrid. I stopped breathing and ducked back out. The sunlight blinded me, so I reached around for the door with the intention of putting it back on so I could go and get a flashlight. Suddenly, fur came flying at me along with a huge, “Meow!” Crossbow landed in my arms. He  purred and meowed like mad as I toted him up the back stairs and into the kitchen. The loud meows brought my grandmother flying into the room. The cat leapt at her and literally dove into her flat bosom.

For the first time, I could see his
shortened
tail and although he was thin, he seemed in reasonable shape.

My grandmother was cooing at Crossbow and grinning at me as if I had just given her a second life. “Where’d you find him?” she asked.

Thinking I needed a shower, I said, “Under the back porch, and by the smell of it, I think he was there the whole time.”

“Well, I wonder who put him there!”

So did I, but I didn't tell her that.

She looked down at her cat and cooed, “Poor Crossbow. I think I need to get you to the vet.”

I nodded in agreement and headed up for a shower. Neither Deputy Shirley Mason nor anyone in our family had learned who had hurt poor Crossbow and robbed him of half his tail. Whether it was meant to be some kind of warning or a hate message, was up for debate. Regardless, it sent spikes of terror down my spine every time I thought about it.

The handset was ringing when I stepped out of the shower. I threw a towel around myself and picked up. Celeste’s voice, soft but urgent, was on the other end. “Go online quick,” she instructed. I stepped into my bedroom and lifted the lid of my Mac. The last page I’d looked at was there along with an elongated, distorted image of myself. I wanted to slam the lid closed, but Celeste said, “Go to www.PROJECTNOBULLYING.COM"

My fingers raced over the keyboard and up flew a page titled, ‘PROJECT NO BULLYING’. In a row down the left side of the page were photos and across from each was a typed caption.

The first and largest photo was none other than Mako with his name in caps beneath it. The caption read:
MAKO ZELTER, Age 18, Senior, Mount Olympic High. He bragged about stoning a girl less than half his size. He used his truck to run a car off the road and down and embankment. Four teens were inside.

He arranged for two of those girls to be beaten. If you have further information on this deranged individual, please post in the box below.

I drew in my breath. Celeste heard me. “See him? See what it says?”

I nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see me. My eyes traveled down the page. Next was a school photo of Rand and caption:
RAND RILEY, Age 17, Junior, Mount Olympic High. He punched and kicked a girl a fraction of his size. His father is a Trooper, nickname of BULL. No charges laid for this assault. If you have further information on this disturbed individual, please post in the box below, so he can be held accountable for his actions.

“They got Rand too,” I muttered half to myself as I continued down the page. There were school photos of many of the Tarantulas, including Mako’s buddy, Crip. The caption read:
CRIP aka CRIPSON VESTING, Age 18, Senior, Mount Olympic High.
Arrested for assault on two young females. No charges laid. Anyone having further information please post in the box below.

What shocked me even more, was seeing Lisa’s photo. Caption:
LISA McDOWELL, Age 17, Junior, Mount Olympic High, Contributor to the webpage, Peekaboo, Lisa has been seen sliding her cell under washroom stalls and snapping photos that she posts on Peekaboo (thus the name). Anyone having further information please post in the box below.

“See?” Celeste said. “Scroll down to the bottom of the page to the last photo. You’ll recognize the name.”

I did and stopped. It was a large headshot of a dark haired teen with black-rimmed glasses. He looked vaguely familiar. Beside his photo was the caption: MORRIS LOCKBRIGHT, better known as ‘MOLE’, Age 18, Senior, Seattle Tristar Academy, previous school, Mount Olympic High. Author of numerous crime-based websites, this sick sucker posts doctored photos of his victims and horrific remarks that could brand this site as HATE literature.

I stared at Mole’s photo trying to understand why Justin’s best friend would do these things. “Mole. I don't get it.”

Celeste said, “Justin found out Mole was the author of all the horrible websites that have been targeting you. He told Mole to take them all down and when that didn’t happen, Justin came up with the idea of fighting fire with fire. He says when you want to get somebody where it really hurts, you have to give them back what they give out. It’s the only thing they understand.”

I thought about that. “He might be right,” I agreed. “This is going to hit like a bomb.”

“Better believe it. Justin had a friend make up the www.PROJECTNOBULLYING.COM site so creeps like Mako, Rand, Crip, Raptor, Lisa, Mole, and others could be exposed for what they are and what they do. The rest of us can post comments and add our own photos of these whack jobs. We can also identify others.”

“Wow. I’m blown away,” I said, still in shock. I hit a couple of tabs on my screen. The hate sites were still live. “Why would Mole make sites like this? And why did he target me? I don’t even know him.”

“He’s just another bully who gets dirty in a different way. PROJECTNOBULLYING.COM has only been live a couple hours and it has over a thousand hits already. Tara’s cousin is featuring it on tonight’s King newscast. It’s going to go viral, Ashla. Just wait.”

It went viral all right. It was all over the net in no time. Nothing like it had ever been done before. I wondered how all these bullies liked being exposed for what they had done and for all the world to see—including their families, friends, future employers, and so on.

The next afternoon Brenna called me between classes. “Hi Asha, how’s it going? Guess, what? It’s all over Huntley. Justin’s webpage, I mean. Imagine?” Her voice vibrated with excitement.

I wanted to hear about it. “How’s it going over? What is the overall reaction to it?” I asked.

“There’s a lot of talk about it. Nothing negative, if that’s what you’re wondering. Tara’s cousin did a real good job of putting it out there on last night’s news. Did you see it?”

“Watched it with my parents. Celeste told me it was going to be on. I noticed that they never mentioned Justin or who was authoring the site.”

“Probably just as well. Look, I have to go. I’m late for the next class. Talk later, okay?”

The next call was from Celeste, an hour later. “Hey, Ashla, want to meet me tonight for a latte?”

“Thought we weren’t supposed to go out anywhere together?” I tried hard not to sound snide.

“I know, but this is important. How about Bucks at seven?”

“Sure,” I agreed wondering what was so important that Celeste would go against her parents, not something she did lightly. Was it about their move, I wondered?

Dinner was almost normal. My parents talked without worrying about Grandma. Anika had given up whispering, and in fact, was trying to talk over Mom. My grandmother ate all of her meal, smiling to herself between bites, Crossbow snoozing on her lap. Dad seemed to have put on a bit of weight, his face had color, and his eyes were lively once again. He saw me looking at him and winked. “Results get better every time,” he reassured me. That was a huge relief. It seemed I was the last injured party in our family and I wondered if my problems would ever diminish, if Justin’s site would change anything, and if there was hope for any kind of normal life, free of constant fear.

When we were finished, I cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and ran upstairs to brush my hair and grab my hoodie. It was threatening to rain and it looked like I had to walk to Bucks, as Celeste hadn’t offered a ride in her new car, which ended up being an older Cavalier.

I had walked two blocks when I saw it parked along the curb. She lowered the passenger window as I approached. Celeste had been waiting for me. “Jump in,” she said. “Forgot to mention that I’d wait for you down the road. Didn’t want my parents to see me picking you up.”

I didn’t comment and we drove in silence. I could tell by her demeanor than something was up. She sat perfectly erect, tension visible in the way she gripped the wheel. She parked the car and waited for me to get out. “You go on ahead,” she said reaching into the glove box, “I just have to find something.”