Nanowrimo 2016, Interlude, part 1
An Dannsa Sìth (a dha-dheug)
Eadar-sgeòil : roinn a h-aon: Abhagasan (Hearsay and gossip)
Midsummer Day, 4 years later
Sports Arena
Town of Bowbridge
Standing in line, waiting to register, Sarah bounced in place, too excited to stay still. She was here. She was actually here. All the studying, all the working and saving, it all paid off and she was actually and really going to college.
Around her the incoming class filled the Sports Arena, presorted by some esoteric system, standing in lines that snaked through the open doors toward the unknown beyond; all waiting to turn in the paperwork that would officially transform them into scholars of Bowbridge University.
"This is so a waste of time," a tall blonde girl standing directly in front of Sarah drawled, the picture of bored impatience. "Other places allow one to pre-register and avoid all this ..." She paused, wrinkling her nose as if smelling something foul. "... hoi polloi."
Sarah settled, startled into stillness by the unexpected statement. She wasn't sure if it was she was being addressed or not. She didn't see a phone and the girl didn't seem to be actively addressing anyone else, so she braved an answer.
"This is pre-registration," she ventured. "Main classes don't start until September."
The girl immediately in front of the other turned around to join the incipient conversation. Sarah had noticed her before, hard not to. Her hair flowed down her back in a smooth fall of brown satin so dark it was almost black.
"Unless you signed up for Summer classes, those start day after tomorrow."
She was beautiful. The oval face, perfect features and exquisite form of an Indian dancing goddess, carved in antique ivory.
"I can't wait," she added, breaking into a wide grin of pure happiness, transforming her into something transcending beauty. Sarah smiled back.
"Me too. I'm here on a work-study scholarship. They advised me to sign up for summer courses so I could start work immediately." She sighed happily, shrugged. "I'd have had to work this summer anyway, so it's not really a hardship and," she grimaced, "... my sisters prefer the space to my company."
An expression of distaste marred the expression of the initial speaker. She edged slightly away, as if worried that Sarah's relative poverty was contagious. Before Sarah could work out how bothered she should be by the reaction, the girl behind her pushed forword to join the conversation.
"Me three. I'm hoping to get into Claire. That would be ..." Stars danced in her black eyes, her dark face glowed. She sighed, an indication of contentment and hope fullfilled. If the other girl was the living embodiment of a statue in ivory, this one was an African warrior queen carved in ebony, all sharp planes and jutting jaw.
Sarah felt quite nondescript in comparison to the others. Even the first girl was an exemplar, perfectly turned out, designer clothing, not a hair out of place or a speck marring her complexion.
"Yeah," Sarah sighed agreement. "It would be great." The Indian goddess concurred. Only the first girl held back. Looking worried, she took another step away, eyes shifting nervously over their heads and away.
The dark queen shoved her hand forward, toward Sarah.
"Jeremiah Boone."
"Sarah Farris."
"Malala Singh."
As one they looked toward the first girl, waiting politely for her to complete the ritual of greeting. She looked nonplussed, shook her head slightly and then, with a fake smile, excused herself, saying she needed to use the ladies and would Sarah save her place for her.
"Well, that was rude," Malala observed as they watched the girl make good her escape.
"You know who she is, don't you?" Jeremiah asked. Sarah and Malala both confessed ignorance. "That's Amelia Buckminster."
Malala gave a little gasp but Sarah shook her head. The name seemed familiar butshe wasn't sure. Then she caught a glimmer of a thought.
"Buckminster? Senator Buckminster? That's his daughter?"
Jeremiah nodded furiously. "That's right, that's her. No way she'd want to go to Claire." A wide grin broke across her face, teeth blindingly white against her dark skin. "Home of the enemy."
Sarah glance over at the equally mystified Malala. "Enemy?" she echoed.
"Oh come on! Where have you been? Everyone knows this. You have to remember."
Once again Sarah looked at Malala then she shrugged, shaking her head.
"Four years ago, remember? The Senator's son went missing. New Year's Eve. It was just him and this friend of his, name of Jason Walker. They're not sure how it happened, the car went off the road. Walker claimed that Buck swerved to miss a deer in the road." She snorted, indicating her opinion. "They'd been drinking." Lowering her voice, she added portentuously, "... and worse." Pausing for effect, Jeremiah waggled her eyebrows, inviting them to use their imaginations, then solemnly nodded her head to confirm their suppositions.
"The friend showed up months later, covered with blood and claiming total amnesia. Naturally everyone knew he was guilty. It was probably some drug deal gone bad. They never found the body and Jason Walker got off on a technicality."
"I remember that!" Sarah blurted. "He was actually found near where I live. My other brother's a cop; he was assigned to guard him in the hospital. He said it was pretty obvious that he'd done it and they would have arrested him except the FBI took the case over and the charges went away."
Jeremiah, looking smug, gestured with one hand in a 'there you go' sort of way.
"But what does that have to do with Claire College?" Malal asked, impatient. Sarah seconded the question.
"Don't you know? That's where he ended up. Jason Walker. He couldn't exactly stay on the main campus, now could he? With everyone knowing he'd gotten away with murder and not just any murder. Charlie Buckminster was Somebody. He was this rising football star that everyone thought would go professional."
"Imagine," sighed Jeremiah, clasping her hands together and gazing up at the ceiling in a paroxym of prayer. "Seeing an actual murderer who got away with it, walking around scot-free."
"Suspected murderer," Malala corrected. "There's no proof he killed anyone. They haven't found a body, have they? They can't even prove this Buckminster guy is dead, let alone how."
Jeremiah dismissed the objection with a snap of her fingers and an airy, "Oh, everybody knows he's guilty."
"And besides which, it was four years ago. He's probably long graduated."
"Oh, no," Jeremiah replied solemnly, shaking her head widely from side to side. "He's here. He's in the graduate programme."
"How do you know all this?" Sarah asked, curious.
Jeremiah smiled. "It's in the paper every year on the anniversary of Charlie's death. His mother, Mrs. Buckminster, gives interviews, demanding that the authorities bring Jason Walker to justice." Her expression grew sly. "I bet that's why Amelia's here. Undercover work. She wants to find something that will force them to reopen the case."
She gave a snort, shook her head. "God knows she can afford to go to any school she wants. Did you see that bag she was carrying? Genuine Vinci original. Worth a couple of thousand at least. And her shoes had to be LeVerre. What I wouldn't give for a pair."
Sarah couldn't help laughing. "Who looks at shoes?" she demanded, joking.
"Me! I do! Jeremiah Boone does and not ashamed of it. Some day I'm going to be rich enough to dress in the manner to which I wish to become accustomed and I'll have a dozen pair of them at least."
Malala looked thoughtful. "Jeremiah," she mused. "Isn't that a boy's name?"
"Yeah. It was supposed to be Jemima but my momma put her foot down."
Sarah and Malala exchanged glances.
"Oh?" Malala prompted. It didn't take much. Jeremiah was more than willing to explain.
"My last name's Boone, you see, and my da's name's Dan. Daniel. Daniel Boone, like the frontiersman? My dad loved that old show. He named my brother Israel, after old Daniel's son. My momma didn't object so when I came along, he proposed to name me after old Daniel's daughter, Jemima. Momma said no way she was giving any daughter of hers a 'mammy' name like that. She raised such a fuss and he wouldn't back down that the rest of the family called Granny in so's I could be sealed up right and proper. Granny's a root doctor. She cast the bones and said they should name me Jeremiah instead. She said that's a power name and I'd be needing it once I grow into it. So here I am," she concluded proudly. "Jeremiah Boone."
"Isn't it hard, growing up with a boy's name?" Sarah asked, curious. She glanced at Malala as she spoke, and her attention was attracted by a flash of bright colour, like the plumage of a tropical bird, over near the entrance through which the line in which they waited snaked.
"Naw. I like it. A lot better than I would have Jemima, that's for sure."
Malala noticed Sarah's distraction and turned to see what she was looking at. A trio of young people had exited the arena, against the press of the crowd, and were standing off to one side talking. Arguing. A woman and two men. The woman stood taller than either of her two male companions and it was the brightly coloured twist of cloth wrapped around her head that had attracted Sarah's notice.
Jemima continued what she was saying, oblivious to the fact that she'd lost her audience.
"Can you imagine me wearing a headscarf?" she scoffed.
"Like that?" Sarah replied, pointing. "Yes, easily."
"It's gorgeous," Malala observed.
Sarah stepped a little out of line in order to get a better look. "How is it staying up there? I can't tell."
Jeremiah made a sound. Full of longing, deep from the heart. Afraid she was choking, Sarah half turned toward her. Jeremiah's face was an odd ashy colour, her eyes wide, her expression indescribable. Start with respect, add in admiration and fear and wonder and that would make the start of it, Sarah decided.
Before she could ask, Jeremiah spoke. "That's not a headscarf," she stated, barely a breath of sound. "That's a tignon. The headdress of a priestess of voodoun. I lay you any odds you want that's Madame Doctor Alys Liddleton. If I could learn even a quarter of what she knows ..."
Sarah looked back at the three, curious about the woman who so awed the ebullient and self-assured Jeremiah Boone. One of the two men with her looked up just as Sarah did; she met his eyes. Light brown, almost yellow, blazing with fury. His gaze hit her like a bolt of lightning, fierce with anger. Anger and loathing. Directed at her.
Quickly, Sarah turned her back, stepping back into line, facing Jeremiah. True to form, Jeremiah had passed out of awe and shock and now appeared to be positively thrilled and full of glee.
"Do you know who that is with her?" she demanded, immediately answering her own question without pause. "That's him. That's the murderer. Jason Walker himself."
Eadar-sgeòil : roinn a h-aon: Abhagasan (Hearsay and gossip)
Midsummer Day, 4 years later
Sports Arena
Town of Bowbridge
Standing in line, waiting to register, Sarah bounced in place, too excited to stay still. She was here. She was actually here. All the studying, all the working and saving, it all paid off and she was actually and really going to college.
Around her the incoming class filled the Sports Arena, presorted by some esoteric system, standing in lines that snaked through the open doors toward the unknown beyond; all waiting to turn in the paperwork that would officially transform them into scholars of Bowbridge University.
"This is so a waste of time," a tall blonde girl standing directly in front of Sarah drawled, the picture of bored impatience. "Other places allow one to pre-register and avoid all this ..." She paused, wrinkling her nose as if smelling something foul. "... hoi polloi."
Sarah settled, startled into stillness by the unexpected statement. She wasn't sure if it was she was being addressed or not. She didn't see a phone and the girl didn't seem to be actively addressing anyone else, so she braved an answer.
"This is pre-registration," she ventured. "Main classes don't start until September."
The girl immediately in front of the other turned around to join the incipient conversation. Sarah had noticed her before, hard not to. Her hair flowed down her back in a smooth fall of brown satin so dark it was almost black.
"Unless you signed up for Summer classes, those start day after tomorrow."
She was beautiful. The oval face, perfect features and exquisite form of an Indian dancing goddess, carved in antique ivory.
"I can't wait," she added, breaking into a wide grin of pure happiness, transforming her into something transcending beauty. Sarah smiled back.
"Me too. I'm here on a work-study scholarship. They advised me to sign up for summer courses so I could start work immediately." She sighed happily, shrugged. "I'd have had to work this summer anyway, so it's not really a hardship and," she grimaced, "... my sisters prefer the space to my company."
An expression of distaste marred the expression of the initial speaker. She edged slightly away, as if worried that Sarah's relative poverty was contagious. Before Sarah could work out how bothered she should be by the reaction, the girl behind her pushed forword to join the conversation.
"Me three. I'm hoping to get into Claire. That would be ..." Stars danced in her black eyes, her dark face glowed. She sighed, an indication of contentment and hope fullfilled. If the other girl was the living embodiment of a statue in ivory, this one was an African warrior queen carved in ebony, all sharp planes and jutting jaw.
Sarah felt quite nondescript in comparison to the others. Even the first girl was an exemplar, perfectly turned out, designer clothing, not a hair out of place or a speck marring her complexion.
"Yeah," Sarah sighed agreement. "It would be great." The Indian goddess concurred. Only the first girl held back. Looking worried, she took another step away, eyes shifting nervously over their heads and away.
The dark queen shoved her hand forward, toward Sarah.
"Jeremiah Boone."
"Sarah Farris."
"Malala Singh."
As one they looked toward the first girl, waiting politely for her to complete the ritual of greeting. She looked nonplussed, shook her head slightly and then, with a fake smile, excused herself, saying she needed to use the ladies and would Sarah save her place for her.
"Well, that was rude," Malala observed as they watched the girl make good her escape.
"You know who she is, don't you?" Jeremiah asked. Sarah and Malala both confessed ignorance. "That's Amelia Buckminster."
Malala gave a little gasp but Sarah shook her head. The name seemed familiar butshe wasn't sure. Then she caught a glimmer of a thought.
"Buckminster? Senator Buckminster? That's his daughter?"
Jeremiah nodded furiously. "That's right, that's her. No way she'd want to go to Claire." A wide grin broke across her face, teeth blindingly white against her dark skin. "Home of the enemy."
Sarah glance over at the equally mystified Malala. "Enemy?" she echoed.
"Oh come on! Where have you been? Everyone knows this. You have to remember."
Once again Sarah looked at Malala then she shrugged, shaking her head.
"Four years ago, remember? The Senator's son went missing. New Year's Eve. It was just him and this friend of his, name of Jason Walker. They're not sure how it happened, the car went off the road. Walker claimed that Buck swerved to miss a deer in the road." She snorted, indicating her opinion. "They'd been drinking." Lowering her voice, she added portentuously, "... and worse." Pausing for effect, Jeremiah waggled her eyebrows, inviting them to use their imaginations, then solemnly nodded her head to confirm their suppositions.
"The friend showed up months later, covered with blood and claiming total amnesia. Naturally everyone knew he was guilty. It was probably some drug deal gone bad. They never found the body and Jason Walker got off on a technicality."
"I remember that!" Sarah blurted. "He was actually found near where I live. My other brother's a cop; he was assigned to guard him in the hospital. He said it was pretty obvious that he'd done it and they would have arrested him except the FBI took the case over and the charges went away."
Jeremiah, looking smug, gestured with one hand in a 'there you go' sort of way.
"But what does that have to do with Claire College?" Malal asked, impatient. Sarah seconded the question.
"Don't you know? That's where he ended up. Jason Walker. He couldn't exactly stay on the main campus, now could he? With everyone knowing he'd gotten away with murder and not just any murder. Charlie Buckminster was Somebody. He was this rising football star that everyone thought would go professional."
"Imagine," sighed Jeremiah, clasping her hands together and gazing up at the ceiling in a paroxym of prayer. "Seeing an actual murderer who got away with it, walking around scot-free."
"Suspected murderer," Malala corrected. "There's no proof he killed anyone. They haven't found a body, have they? They can't even prove this Buckminster guy is dead, let alone how."
Jeremiah dismissed the objection with a snap of her fingers and an airy, "Oh, everybody knows he's guilty."
"And besides which, it was four years ago. He's probably long graduated."
"Oh, no," Jeremiah replied solemnly, shaking her head widely from side to side. "He's here. He's in the graduate programme."
"How do you know all this?" Sarah asked, curious.
Jeremiah smiled. "It's in the paper every year on the anniversary of Charlie's death. His mother, Mrs. Buckminster, gives interviews, demanding that the authorities bring Jason Walker to justice." Her expression grew sly. "I bet that's why Amelia's here. Undercover work. She wants to find something that will force them to reopen the case."
She gave a snort, shook her head. "God knows she can afford to go to any school she wants. Did you see that bag she was carrying? Genuine Vinci original. Worth a couple of thousand at least. And her shoes had to be LeVerre. What I wouldn't give for a pair."
Sarah couldn't help laughing. "Who looks at shoes?" she demanded, joking.
"Me! I do! Jeremiah Boone does and not ashamed of it. Some day I'm going to be rich enough to dress in the manner to which I wish to become accustomed and I'll have a dozen pair of them at least."
Malala looked thoughtful. "Jeremiah," she mused. "Isn't that a boy's name?"
"Yeah. It was supposed to be Jemima but my momma put her foot down."
Sarah and Malala exchanged glances.
"Oh?" Malala prompted. It didn't take much. Jeremiah was more than willing to explain.
"My last name's Boone, you see, and my da's name's Dan. Daniel. Daniel Boone, like the frontiersman? My dad loved that old show. He named my brother Israel, after old Daniel's son. My momma didn't object so when I came along, he proposed to name me after old Daniel's daughter, Jemima. Momma said no way she was giving any daughter of hers a 'mammy' name like that. She raised such a fuss and he wouldn't back down that the rest of the family called Granny in so's I could be sealed up right and proper. Granny's a root doctor. She cast the bones and said they should name me Jeremiah instead. She said that's a power name and I'd be needing it once I grow into it. So here I am," she concluded proudly. "Jeremiah Boone."
"Isn't it hard, growing up with a boy's name?" Sarah asked, curious. She glanced at Malala as she spoke, and her attention was attracted by a flash of bright colour, like the plumage of a tropical bird, over near the entrance through which the line in which they waited snaked.
"Naw. I like it. A lot better than I would have Jemima, that's for sure."
Malala noticed Sarah's distraction and turned to see what she was looking at. A trio of young people had exited the arena, against the press of the crowd, and were standing off to one side talking. Arguing. A woman and two men. The woman stood taller than either of her two male companions and it was the brightly coloured twist of cloth wrapped around her head that had attracted Sarah's notice.
Jemima continued what she was saying, oblivious to the fact that she'd lost her audience.
"Can you imagine me wearing a headscarf?" she scoffed.
"Like that?" Sarah replied, pointing. "Yes, easily."
"It's gorgeous," Malala observed.
Sarah stepped a little out of line in order to get a better look. "How is it staying up there? I can't tell."
Jeremiah made a sound. Full of longing, deep from the heart. Afraid she was choking, Sarah half turned toward her. Jeremiah's face was an odd ashy colour, her eyes wide, her expression indescribable. Start with respect, add in admiration and fear and wonder and that would make the start of it, Sarah decided.
Before she could ask, Jeremiah spoke. "That's not a headscarf," she stated, barely a breath of sound. "That's a tignon. The headdress of a priestess of voodoun. I lay you any odds you want that's Madame Doctor Alys Liddleton. If I could learn even a quarter of what she knows ..."
Sarah looked back at the three, curious about the woman who so awed the ebullient and self-assured Jeremiah Boone. One of the two men with her looked up just as Sarah did; she met his eyes. Light brown, almost yellow, blazing with fury. His gaze hit her like a bolt of lightning, fierce with anger. Anger and loathing. Directed at her.
Quickly, Sarah turned her back, stepping back into line, facing Jeremiah. True to form, Jeremiah had passed out of awe and shock and now appeared to be positively thrilled and full of glee.
"Do you know who that is with her?" she demanded, immediately answering her own question without pause. "That's him. That's the murderer. Jason Walker himself."