Lisa Jackson - Without Mercy

There is no Blue Rock Academy, nor a sheriffs department whose jurisdiction included the academy. But there is an incredibly beautiful stretch of country in the mountains of Southern Oregon, so while the institution isnt real, the landscape is and let me tell you, its phenomenal!

H elp meOh, God, please someone help me. The voice was a desperate plea, barely audible over the sounds of a familiar song and the steady drip of liquid splashing, like a single drop of rainwater hitting the ground. Over and over again.

Her heartbeat pounding in her eardrums, Jules Farentino, barefoot and wearing only a nightgown, made her way toward the den where a fluttering blue light was barely visible through the sheers on the French doors.

Hurrythere isnt much time.

She wanted to call out but held her tongue. The feeling that something was wrong heresomething dark and evilcaused her to creep silently along the icy floors.

Slowly, she pushed open the door to the den and peered inside. The L-shaped couch and a recliner were illuminated by the weird, flickering light of the muted television.

Michael Jacksons voice sang about Billie Jean through the speakers.

Above the melody:

Drip. Drip. Drip.

So loud.

Like rolling thunder in her aching head.

Liquid warmth splashed on the tops of her bare feet, and she looked down quickly. Her eyes rounded as she saw the blood dripping from the long blade of the knife in her hand, the red stain spreading into a pool.

What!

No!

She tried to scream but couldnt, and as she looked toward the open French doors, she saw her father lying on the floor near the coffee table. Help me, Jules, he said, lips barely moving. He stared up at her, eyes unblinking, a jagged gash on his forehead, a stain spreading on the front of his rumpled white shirt.

Blood gurgled from the corner of Rip Delaneys mouth as he stared up at her, whispering in a wet rasp, Why?

Transfixed, her hand now sticky with blood, she started to scream

Seven forty-five in the morning. Its a chilly thirty-seven now. Thats only five degrees above freezing, you know, but temperatures will climb until midafternoon, topping out near fifty. Its going to be a cold, wet one today, a major storm expected to roll in later this morning. Now for the traffic report

Jules awoke with a jerk.

Her heart was pounding, her head splitting, the radio announcers voice an irritant. She slapped off the alarm and shivered. Her bedroom was freezing, her window open a crack, wind rushing inside, rain beating a steady tattoo against the roof.

Damn, she whispered, wiping her face, the vestiges of her ever-recurring dream slipping back to the dark corners of her mind. She glanced at the clock and groaned, realizing with a sinking feeling that shed forgotten to reset her alarm.

Rolling off the bed, she disturbed her cat that had been sleeping in a ball on the second pillow. He lifted his gray head and stretched, yawning to show off his needle-sharp teeth as she snagged her bathrobe from the foot of the bed and threw it on. She didnt have time for a shower, much less a jog.

Instead, she threw water over her face, tossed a couple of extra-strength Excedrin into her mouth, and washed them down by tilting her head under the faucet. After yanking on jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, she found an old Trail Blazers cap. Then she searched for her keys, scrounging in her purse and in the pockets of the jacket shed worn the day before.

Her cell phone rang, and she found it plugged in to the charger on the floor near her bed.

Flipping it open, she saw Shays face on the small LED screen.

Where are you? her sister demanded.

Im on my way.

Its too late. Were almost there!

Already? Jules tugged on one sneaker as she glanced back at the clock. I thought you were leaving at nine.

The pilot called. Theres a storm or something. I dont know. He has to fly out earlier.

Oh, no! Make him wait.

I cant! Dont you get it? Shes really doing it, Jules, Shay said, and some of the toughness in her voice disappeared. Edies getting rid of me.

That was a little overly dramatic, but so was Shay, through and through.

Jules finished lacing her running shoes. Then tell her to wait.

You tell her, Shay said, and a second later Jules heard her mothers voice say, Look, Julia, theres no reason to argue with me; this is beyond my control. I told Shaylee that she has to go whenever the pilot can fly her safely to the school, and he says they need to go earlier because of the storm.

No, Mom, wait. You cant just send her to

I damned well can. Shes underage. Im her guardian. And shes got a court order. Weve had this conversation before. Lets not re-hash it.

But

Its either this or juvenile detention again. This is her last chance, Julia! The judge ordered her to make a choice, and she, smart as she is, took the school. It was also her choice to hang out with that criminal and take part in a crime. Her boyfriend wasnt so fortunate; he didnt have a rich father to get him a lawyer. Dawg will be going to prison for a long time, so your sister should count herself lucky!

Just wait!

The connection was severed, leaving Jules to worry from the middle of her messy bedroom. She couldnt believe her mother was actually shipping Shaylee off to a distant school for troubled teens, one that was in the middle of no-damned-where. She flew out of her condo and waved to Mrs. Dixon, her neighbor, as the woman carried her wet newspaper into her unit.

Once inside her old Volvo, she drove toward Lake Washington and the address shed gotten from Edie earlier, the spot from which Shaylee was to be picked up by seaplane for her ride to Blue Rock Academy in southern Oregon. Edie had given Jules the address the day before.

Jules floored it.

However, the freeway was a parking lot, and the latest traffic report blaring from Juless radio didnt make her feel any better. Apparently everyone who owned a car in the state of Washington was sitting on the I-5 freeway in the drizzling rain, as evidenced by the line of blazing taillights stretching ahead of her Volvo. Jules peered wearily past the slapping windshield wiper as the traffic crawled north. Still fighting a headache, she drummed her fingers on her steering wheel and wished she knew a faster way to get to Lake Washington.

Shed battled rush hour down in Portland, Oregon, when shed worked at Bateman High, but since losing her teaching job last June, shed been spared the annoyance of rush hour. In her current position as a waitress at 101, a high-end restaurant on the waterfront, she covered the night shift and usually avoided traffic. One of the few perks of the job.