The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller Page 2

  The Escort rolled up to a red light. Lori looked out the passenger window at a small park on the corner of Maria Avenue. She enjoyed going there and getting lost in her dreams, though she didn’t get to go often, her mother was usually too busy to take her and would never approve of Lori going by herself, not with the park so close to a major road. Still, seeing the park always brought a smile to her face.

  The public library was four blocks down on the right. Carol volunteered a few days a week. She sponsored special events like book readings for children or guest speakers that kept her busy planning. Last Friday, the Mayor came and talked to a group of first graders about the importance of reading. They seemed lost, but at least he read a book to them. Elmwood Middle School, for grades fifth - eighth, was just a few blocks past the library. Lori was halfway through the fifth grade.

  When they reached the school, Carol drove around the circled lot in front of the main office and pulled up behind a row of SUV’s parked at the curb. She put the car in park and picked up her purse from between the seats.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You need lunch money, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay then,” Carol said, handing her daughter a couple of balled up dollar bills. “Now you’d better go. You're already late.”

  “Are you gonna pick me up from school?”

  Carol sighed. “We’re not going to make a habit of this, okay? I gave you a ride to school. You can ride the bus home.”

  Lori beat her fists down on her knees in frustration, bowed her head, and then quickly perked up as an idea came awake inside her. “Hey, what about Dad?”

  “He’ll probably have to work late.”

  “Mom,” Lori whined, as the idea went back to sleep.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take the bus home. I’ll be at the library for most of the afternoon, so Mrs. Mills will watch you next door. ”

  “Fine,” Lori pouted.

  She opened the car door, jumped out, slung her book bag over her shoulder, and, for the second time, slammed the door shut.

  3

  When the final bell rang, it was like music to her ears.

  Three o’clock finally came.

  Even though it was a relatively good day in comparison to recent ones, the hardest part was still to come. She still had to survive the fifteen-minute bus ride home on number 254, and nasty Tommy Williams.

  Lori had managed to stay away from Jennifer Wells all day in class, and even though Jennifer rode the same bus, Lori did not expect any trouble from her. Jennifer didn’t hate her after all; she just didn’t want to be friends anymore. But Tommy Williams was a different case all together.

  Tommy was a typical bully, tall and overweight for his age with a close set of eyes and tubby cheeks. He was a walking wall with an obscene mouth; no word or combination of words was off limits. He would say whatever whenever to whomever, and while most of the other kids didn’t like Tommy either, Lori had to hate him the most. Occasionally, he would sneak up behind her on the bus and plant fresh boogers in her hair. He was a gardener of the gross. Though, thankfully, this came as a rare occurrence, as the urge to eat the crusty nose candy was usually much stronger than the urge to share. Needless to say, these actions and numerous others didn’t win him many friends, but Tommy didn’t care what any of the other kids thought of him anyway, his only goal was to beat up on the smaller kids. He especially liked to pick on girls, and Lori was probably his favorite.

  Lori walked down the hall toward the bus loop with her books upon her back and a large sheet of tan construction paper in her hands. Today, Mrs. Lawson (her fifth grade art teacher) had the class working with acrylic paints. Lori painted a portrait of her family gathered together at the park with their arms around each other, smiling. She put a big yellow sun in the background beyond a few skinny green trees. Her teacher thought she had done an exceptional job. Lori was proud, too, and couldn’t wait to show her mom and dad.

  When she reached the bus loop, Lori headed down the sidewalk reading the large white numbers on the side of each bus looking for number 254. About six buses were lined up in a row. Number 254 was fourth in line.

  Mr. Davis drove number 254. This was his first year and the kids (all twenty-five of them) made him feel at home real quick. He was a single man, only twenty-nine years old, and wasn’t used to being around large numbers of children. He tried for the most part to ignore the rats and just pay attention to the road, but that could be difficult sometimes, especially with devils like Tommy Williams running up and down the aisle cursing and throwing things at the other kids, at him.

  Lori stepped on to the bus and rounded the corner. Six kids were already on when she sat down, including Jennifer Wells, who was talking with the popular kids that in just days had become Lori’s replacements. It made her sad to think that their friendship was over. They had been best friends since they were five. They used to play all the time at the park when her mom would take them. Never again. Image has a hunger for tearing people apart, and makes no apologies for its ruthless appetite.

  Speaking of appetite, here comes Tommy Williams.

  Lori grasped her portrait tighter and held it down between her knees. Mr. Davis pulled on the lever and opened the bus door. Tommy climbed on and ran to the back of the bus, passing Lori along the way, and sat down next to Peepee.

  Peepee was Tommy’s best friend, but everyone always said that Peepee only hung around Tommy because he was afraid of being beaten up. Peepee would never admit to this, for obvious reasons (like not wanting his teeth knocked into the back of his throat), but it was what everyone thought.

  Joseph Milburn was actually his real name, a fine, respectable name, but Peepee quickly became his nickname after the first chain of uncontrollable bladder incidents two Christmas’s past. Jolly with joy, was Jerry, the seventy-two-year-old school janitor ever busy during that holiday season.

  Peepee was short and skinny, smaller than the average twelve-year-old. His freckled face and dressy clothes made him an ideal target, a born nerd. Tommy only took to Peepee after he realized he could get something out of the relationship. If Tommy wanted to play a prank on somebody, he would almost always get Peepee to do the dirty work.

  Peepee, I dare ya to lift Molly’s dress. I dare ya to spit in Davies mashed potatoes. I dare ya to piss under the table. Come on. What are you afraid of, shithead?

  Zip.

  Janitor Jerry, bring a mop to the cafeteria, and no stalling, old man.

  Bus number 254 pulled out of the school parking lot and turned left on Fairway Blvd. Lori had escaped riding the bus to school, but the ride home was always the worst. On the ride up only one stop lay between her house and the school, but on the way home the bus would take the opposite route, leaving seven stops ahead of hers. Unfortunately, Tommy’s was the ninth.

  The bus approached the first stop. Six kids got off.

  Lori couldn’t help but think that as the bus slowly cleared of kids, she would be more likely to be noticed by Tommy.

  With the second and third stops now in the past, the atmosphere on the bus shifted. Twelve kids had exited into the bowels of homework leaving the bus half full and half quiet, and even though Tommy was still loud and seemingly unaware, Lori slouched down in her seat just a little more.

  The ride home was halfway over. The next two stops would dispose of another four kids leaving just nine remaining for the last four stops. Among those nine: Jennifer Wells, Peepee, and Tommy Williams.

  When the bus reached number six, Lori felt her heart take cover in her stomach. Number six was, of course, Peepee's stop, which meant the end of Tommy’s preoccupation and the beginning of boredom, and Tommy didn’t like to be bored. With Peepee gone, and the bus now quiet, God only knows what Tommy could be up to. Lori wasn’t about to turn her back to check though, she had gone unnoticed this long, no point in ruining it by doing something stupid so late in the game.

  Fate would have it another way.r />
  Just seconds after the bus pulled away from stop six, Lori heard scuffling in the seat behind her. She hadn’t dared to look back but assumed the seat was empty for some time now. Her fear of Tommy had become so acute she could almost smell him.

  Was that his breath upon her neck?

  The very thought made her skin crawl. Perhaps it was all just her imagination getting the best of her.

  Sure, just her imagination.

  Lori tried to take a deep breath, but before she could completely expel the air from her lungs, someone tugged on her hair from behind. She jerked her head up and turned around. Tommy laughed and pointed his fat finger in her face.

  “Leave me alone, Tommy.”

  A crowd began to gather around wondering what was so funny. Mr. Davis looked in the rear view mirror and shook his head.

  “What’s the matter?” Tommy asked. “You didn’t think that was funny?”

  “No, now leave me alone!”

  Lori turned back around.

  The bus came to a stop at number seven and much of the crowd dismantled. Jennifer Wells also left and gave a short glance back at Lori through the bus window before disappearing into her house.

  Lori tried desperately to ignore Tommy who was now flicking her ear lobes and slapping the back of her head. Her stop was next, and she counted the seconds.

  Tommy sat up, done with the flick and slap fest, and peered over her shoulder. “Hey, what’s that?” he asked, pointing at the painting Lori had made in class.

  “None of your business.”

  “C’mon, lemme see it.”

  “No, Tommy,” Lori said, tightening her grasp on the portrait.

  The bus turned on to Maria Avenue.

  “Fine,” Tommy yelled. “I’ll just take it then!”

  As the words left his mouth, the paper left Lori’s hands. Well, all of it but a tiny scrap from the corner. Now only half of the bright yellow sun lay between her fingertips.

  Lori turned around and screamed, “Give it back, Tommy! Give it back!”

  Tommy waved the painting around in the air, out of her reach.

  “Awe, what do we have here?” he remarked in a childish voice. “Is that your Mommy and Daddy?”

  Lori continued to scream at him, but it wasn’t doing any good.

  “Oh, and look,” he continued, pointing to the picture Lori drew of herself. “Is that the family pet?”

  “Please, Tommy,” she begged. “Give it back!”

  The bus slowed down at the corner of Maria and Mockingbird. Stop number eight had finally come.

  “Okay,” Tommy said. “I’ll give it back.” The fat kid ripped the construction paper into five pieces and threw it in her face.

  Lori rushed to pick up the pieces that fell on the seat. Although she tried to fight them off, the tears came.

  “Oh, what’s wrong?” Tommy asked, laughing. “Got something in your eye?”

  “Shut up!” Lori screamed.

  She grabbed her book bag and ran off the bus with a stream of tears running down her face and the last remains of her family portrait folded in her trembling hands. The last thing she heard before the door of the bus closed was Tommy’s laughter; it stayed with her even after the bus was long out of sight.

  She stood on the sidewalk at the corner of Maria and Mockingbird and stared at her house. The driveway was empty. Her mom and dad weren’t home yet.

  She wiped the tears from her eyes with her shirtsleeve and flipped through the torn pieces of her painting. How could something she had worked so hard to create be destroyed so easily? Her mom and dad would never get to see what she had made. No reason to be proud. Sure, she could tape it up and still give it to them, but the feeling wouldn’t be the same. Something died with that painting, something irreplaceable.

  4

  The sky darkened.

  A sprinkle of rain fell.

  Thunder.

  Lori dropped the torn pieces of construction paper on the sidewalk and walked down Maria Avenue toward Fairway. Along the way she thought about how mad her parents would be if they knew where she was going. On the days her mother volunteered at the library, Lori would stay with Mrs. Mills next door until her mother came home.

  Not this time, Lori thought.

  She didn’t care anymore about the consequences. Any punishment her parents could dish out would never make her feel sorry for it.

  By the time she reached the small park at the corner of Fairway, the light rain had stopped completely, or had perhaps decided not to follow her down the street. Florida could be like that sometimes, raining on your neighbor’s lawn but not yours. It was one of the strangest things to witness if you happened to be around at just the right moment.

  The traffic was heavy down Fairway. Rush hour approached as hundreds of eager people retreated from their job life back to their home life. This was the time of day that was the most dangerous to play near the road. Lori knew her parents would be furious if they caught her, and in an odd way, it made her smile. Negative attention is better than no attention after all, and she had been getting a lot of the latter lately.

  The park was a half-acre in size, though most of the land was just thin flat grass. There was, however, a small slide, two cement barrels, a set of monkey bars, and every young girl’s favorite, a swing set.

  Lori sat down on the only usable swing. The other swing had been wrapped over the top bar numerous times and dangled from a single chain like a dead man hanging from a noose, rocking back and forth. The neighborhood boys had obviously manhandled the swing. Young boys always seemed to have a unique fascination with destroying things. It didn’t matter what, whatever was in sight, and if nothing were around, they would usually turn on each other.

  She swung back and forth on the swing and watched the cars idle by on the road honking their horns at each other, letting out some of the balled up frustration from another lousy day at work. It felt good to run away from her troubles and let the wind fly wildly through her hair.

  After a few minutes, she built up enough speed and height to attempt her first jump. Her mother would never let her jump, she said it was too dangerous, and oftentimes told a story of some kid who used to live in the area that had supposedly died years ago from jumping off a swing. Poor boy had broken his neck, the story went, or cracked his skull, or something of the sort. The story changed slightly with each telling, reworded, much like a preacher might inscribe new meaning into the Bible to better convert a new age of skeptics. She often wondered if there was a book, or volume of books, all parents were required to read filled with these little horror stories; stories likely compiled by many scared parents in an effort to scare other parents from allowing their kids to be kids. If so, the scare tactics weren’t working, not at all, and Lori would sneak a jump in when her mother’s back was turned.

  See, mom, I’ve never broken my neck. I’ve never cracked my skull. I’ve never even broken a bone, so there! I’m not going to die either—nope, no way I say. I’m going to live forever and ever and ever.

  Two conditions made for a successful jump: length and landing. Length was most important though, the farther the jump the better. No honest judge ever deducted points for a twelve-foot fall on your ass. In fact, falling could be fun sometimes, all the other kids had a good laugh, and except for the unfortunate scrape here and there, you would most likely be laughing too.

  Lori swung a few more times for good measure then pulled back on the chains and leapt off the swing. When she landed, her feet slid into the sand causing her to lose her balance and fall backwards. She laughed, stood up, and brushed the sand off her jeans.

  If only mom could have been here to see it.

  She walked back over to the swing, counting the steps along the way. She had jumped about eight feet off the swing, not bad, one of her better jumps, especially considering she had almost landed on her feet.

  Now it was time for a second jump, time to achieve her best jump ever.

  5

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nbsp; Over an hour had passed since Lori stepped off the bus. She knew it was probably about time to head back, her mother would be finishing up at the library, but there was just enough time left for one final jump.

  For this jump, she spent extra energy building up plenty of height and speed, and by the time she let go of the chains, she was already out of control.

  In the mid air plunge, her body drifted forward and to the right causing her to land face first in the grass at the edge of the swing set. A rush of pain hit her all at once, but surprisingly, her head didn’t hurt. She had managed to block most of the impact with her hands, but her right knee hurt a little.

  She turned over and sat up to look at her knee. There was a ragged cut in her jeans about an inch long on the top of the kneecap. A little blood began to trickle through. Then she cried like every young kid does when they find out they’re bleeding.

  Lori stood up and looked around the ground searching for what had cut her. A gray object stuck out of the sand near the edge of the grass. She picked it up and wiped away the yellow specs from the cracks.

  The object looked like a miniature statue, a figure of someone carved out of dark stone about three inches tall. A large cloak draped over the body from the head to what was left of the feet. The hidden figure's arms were perched out in front of it with its palms facing upward, as though it were carrying something invisible.

  Once she had all the sand brushed away, Lori had stopped crying completely. She forgot about her knee and the pain and gazed madly at the odd figure lying in her hands. Her eyes were transfixed upon it. One could easily begin to believe she, too, had turned to stone. From somewhere far off in the distance, she heard a voice. A voice she thought she recognized, screaming her name, begging her to come back home.

  6

  “Lori!” Carol yelled. “Answer me! What is the matter with you? You know you’re not allowed to go to the park alone!”