Righteous Fire

By Mary Sawyer

Still reeling from her brush with death and the two tragic murders at her Middle School, Principal Stella Page attempts to regain normalcy in her life. Returning to Edgewater Middle School after summer vacation seems like the perfect distraction, but as the weeks wear on, tensions rise in her closest relationships including with her husband Greg and close friend and colleague Harriet. When Stella takes an interest in a troubled new student, she becomes entangled with him and his dysfunctional family. What comes next witll test Stella in ways none of them could have imagined as she faces her most terrifying foe yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Sawyer
• Release date: Jul 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201834777

Book preview

Prologue

Josh, follow me. His face flushed with excitement, Kyle took off, swerving his bike to avoid a tree. The trail behind the base theatre wound through a stand of pines. The boys' fat bikes handled the sharp turns easily. There was just enough light through the trees for Kyle to look back and see Josh, as Josh darted close behind him. Great. Kyle loved a race.

Tall and lanky with short brown hair, Kyle could sit up tall on his bike seat. This gave him an advantage over his best friend Josh who was shorter and heavier with longish hair that often hung over his eyes.

As he climbed the hill above the theatre, he stood up on his pedals to give his legs more power. The closely planted trees made the short climb tricky and adrenalin filled his body. The last bit of light from the autumn sun showed him the way up out of the dark trail. Not stopping for Josh, Kyle turned and headed back down the hill, startling Josh as he raced by with just a whisper between their handlebars.

Shit, Kyle, you'll pay! yelled Josh.

Kyle laughed and pedalled faster, but Josh put on a burst of speed and was on Kyle's tail as he braked to make the turn at the bottom. Kyle skidded onto the trail that branched off and ran alongside the theatre. Ahead, he saw a door in the building ajar. He pulled up and switched on his helmet light. Josh's brakes squealed as he slowed behind Kyle.

Let's take a ride in here, Kyle shouted, without looking back. Inside, the room was dark and empty, like a big warehouse. Kyle whooped and raced across the concrete floor, easily handling the corners as he moved around the perimeter. Kyle's voice echoed off the metal walls, reverberating around him, and up to the ceiling high above. There didn't seem to be anything in the building. Kyle's LED helmet light didn't show much of what might be ahead but that didn't slow him down. He braked hard when he got back to the entrance. Josh skidded to avoid colliding with him.

The door was shut.

Kyle got off his bike and set his bike stand. He reached out to push on the door. It wouldn't budge. What the fuck…? He looked where the door handle should have been, but his helmet light showed that the door was smooth.

There's no handle! exclaimed Josh.

You shut the door. Didn't you see there wasn't a handle?

I didn't shut it—I was riding right behind you, Josh yelled. Then he said more quietly, Why wouldn't there be a handle?

Well, there isn't and the door is shut.

Maybe the wind blew it. Unless someone out there shut us in, Josh said.

Shit, shit, help me get this open. Kyle rammed the door with his whole body.

They pounded and yelled. Someone had to hear them. They dug at the edges of the steel door.

Kyle stepped back. Josh, stop! This isn't working. The light from his helmet shone on Josh's panicked face. Josh reached up and pushed the light away.

Kyle pulled back. He tried to speak calmly: Relax. I'm going to call for help. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled his mom's cell. Nothing. No service.

Josh stepped back and scrabbled in his own pocket. There was a clatter. Christ, I dropped my phone! Josh scanned the floor with his helmet light and reached down to feel for his phone. I got it! He punched in his mother's cell number. Nothing.

Fuck, Kyle said. The signal's not getting out of here. We're screwed.

We've got to search better. There's gotta be another way out of here. Josh looked at the back of the room; his helmet shone a narrow beam through the blackness. Kyle, breathing hard, looked around too. Nothing.

Josh pushed past Kyle as if he wasn't there. I'm going to walk around the inside of this room.

Good idea. I'll go the other way. Kyle could hear Josh's heavy breathing as he moved away from him. Kyle's heart hammered. All he saw was a solid wall of black steel. It was getting hot in the room, too. But that could be from his fear. He was wearing his favourite black, fat bike T-shirt under his grey windbreaker. Josh had his green army surplus jacket on over his fat bike T-shirt. Both wore jeans that were well worn and easy to ride in. He held his breath, waiting for Josh to shout excitedly on his side of the room that he had found a door.

Kyle couldn't stay quiet. He needed to hear Josh's voice in the dark. Shit. There's nothing but the wall, the floor and a heap of dirt. What's on your side?

Same here… Nothing.

Kyle let out the breath he had been holding for too long and heard Josh move faster, feet scuffing the concrete floor. He moved faster too.

When they got back to the entrance, Kyle looked back across the room. Josh did the same and their beams crossed one another much like the small spotlight at their high school dances. Except this place was empty, with deep shadows the only things dancing.

I've got to get out of here. Josh charged past Kyle and grabbed at the edges of the door. Kyle raced over and tried to get his fingers in between the door and the jamb. There wasn't any space at all. All they got was bloody, torn fingernails.

Stop. It's not going to open. Kyle dropped his arms. The panic drained from his gut.

We're, Josh tried to slow his breathing, trapped in here. And no one knows where we are. He went down on his hands and knees gasping for air.

Kyle looked away from Josh. Watching him panic brought him close to losing it. He had to think of something, anything that could help. Come on. Come on. What had his dad told him? Come on. He paced in circles, heart hammering. Think. A chill swept over him so he untied his jacket with trembling hands and put it back on. His head snapped up. Josh! Didn't your dad put a tracker on your phone? It might take a couple of hours before he looks but he'll see us. I'm sure the app will work through these walls. That's what your dad does. Tracks things and people. We're okay, we're okay, Josh… we can wait here until they find us. Kyle bent down and his light shone on the floor next to his best friend.

Josh shook his head.

It will work, bud. I'm sure it will, Kyle said.

I disabled it.

CHAPTER ONE

Two people lay on rubber mats on the grass. They were near a cliff that dropped straight down into the bay. They could hear the waves crashing against the cliff. Sometimes they felt a light mist as the breeze blew up a bit of the spray from the waves. The warm October sun shone through it, keeping them dry and warm. The wind, which could be a force too strong to battle at times, was gentle today, almost as if it knew it needed to be kind to the two people exercising on the mats. At thirty-five the man was lithe and strong, his body flowing between yoga moves easily and almost gracefully. The woman, at sixty years of age, was only seconds behind, holding the poses a tad longer than the man. She had her own grace and fluidity.

Craig sat up. He looked out over the Bay of Fundy, where the waves pushed hard against the shoreline. Farther out, the ocean glittered in the waning rays of the sun. Craig pulled on his sweatshirt. It was smart to stay warm, now that they had stopped, and neither of them was in a hurry to get up and join the others. It was part of the practice, especially with a partner, to take some time before leaving the common space and joining the wider world. After months of working out together, they were quite comfortable sitting like this. Teacher and student.

Stella shifted beside him, wrapped her shawl over her shoulders, and sat up on her yoga mat. How do you handle all the trauma you see, now that you are Mountie?

The question surprised Craig. They had developed an easy way of doing yoga together—she'd learned the poses carefully, mindfully, and seriously—and this was the first time she'd asked him a question about his work. His gaze returned to the ocean. The answer was not simple, nor easy. He settled, legs crossed and arms resting on his knees.

I'm not sure ‘handle' is the right word. He paused again looking out at the sea, thinking about the tidal forces beneath, fighting the wind, forces that could sweep a person away in a second.

I've worked hard to find a way of dealing with the bad stuff. When my sister went missing, I started looking for ways to cope with trauma.

Stella nodded, glancing at his hand rubbing the mat as if it were a blanket whose wrinkles could be removed if he rubbed hard enough. Craig caught the glance and with a smile put his hand under his leg.

When I worked in insurance, I came across a few studies on the value of meditation for relieving stress and anxiety. I'd been using it when I went rock climbing to control my breathing and the physical tensions that happen on a steep rock face. He took his hand from under his leg. I was controlling this pretty well, he raised his hand, with the help of a therapist. I asked what she thought of meditation as another tool. She was all for it and I've been at it consistently ever since. After that, Yoga for Trauma training came my way and it seemed the next logical step.

Stella knew what Craig had been struggling with ever since she had been his Grade Five teacher, the year his sister had disappeared. A short while ago she'd had her own nightmare—kidnapped and held captive by a deranged man. That made it even easier for Craig to share his trauma with her. Misery doesn't always love company, but he found it could make someone a better confidante. Emma, his wife, knew all about his sister but he felt a different level of comfort with Stella. It was a long time ago but he hadn't forgotten how much he had trusted her after his sister's disappearance.

What I learned was not to fight against the terrible things I see. Resisting never works. The only way I can deal is to let it filter through me. When trauma flows through us, it loses its power. Craig shook his head. Not sure I'm doing a great job of explaining it.

Greg wishes he'd been the one in that room instead of me. He'd carry all the trauma for me if he could, but we both know he can't.

No one can do that, said Craig. But being a silent witness, just listening to what the other person has been through helps lessen the burden. My uncle told me to simply bear witness with my parents, to never try to take on the full load of what happened to my sister. That would hurt me and cause them more worry when they already had enough.

We got an alert at the office that two boys from MHS are missing. Are you involved in that?

No, I saw the alert but the night shift took that one.

We didn't get much information either. Hoping for the best, Stella said.

Me too.

Stella was quiet for a moment watching the waves roll across the bay, then she turned to look at Craig. Does your Obsessive Compulsive Disorder make you feel as if you did end up a victim?

No… I don't think that now, although I did when it was bad in high school. The therapist said I would have had signs of OCD anyway but the trauma made it a lot worse. Even talking about it now triggers symptoms, as you just saw. Craig stood up. He smiled down at Stella. And now I'm going into the cabin and tidy up something.

Craig looked out at the bay, rolled up his mat and turned and headed towards the cabin. Seeing his wife sitting on the verandah with his other close friends, all having drinks and talking, reinforced his commitment to this place as their real home. Wilderness. Isolation. Friends.

Neither his grandfather nor his father had wanted any human to spoil this piece of wilderness and Craig and Emma had done their best to respect those wishes. The cabin had an unobstructed view of the Bay of Fundy, and with the solar panels on the roof and a huge generator, they were comfortable here summer and winter.

Craig reached the porch where Emma was curled up in one of their cushioned twig chairs, smiling at the others, each in their own twig chair. The smile was most likely because of some joke Jack told at Craig's expense.

Hey, Emma said there's a story about how you got this land, but that it's your story to tell. So tell, Jack prompted. Craig never passed up a chance to tell the story. Emma had heard it too many times to count and she would have to endure it again, payback for laughing at whatever Jack had said.

He leaned against the porch railing. It started when my great-great-grandfather, Austin Davies, got this land when he arrived on the ship, the ‘Glenlee.' He'd set out from Scotland to make a new life for himself at the age of 17. His ship was bound for New England but storms and rough seas forced the ship off course and it had to harbour in a cove. The captain thought they could ride out the storm here. Craig waved his arm towards the bay. That was a bad decision and they took quite a beating. Craig saw that his audience, except Emma, was quite rapt, so he continued. My great-great-grandpa Austin came ashore to set up shelters while the ship was repaired. He never got back on that ship. He headed inland and found work as a farmhand and stayed to build a life for himself. When he was able to set some money aside, he bought this parcel of land. Craig pointed down to the shore, Right where the ‘Glenlee' had landed and up the cliff to where this cabin sits. He never built anything here, though. No one did for a long time.

Greg looked toward the shore. No surprise. This part of the coast has been secluded and hard to get to for years. I remember when I was a kid my dad would bring us to the caves down in St. Martins. The road didn't go near the coast so we didn't see much of the bay until we got there.

As you probably saw on your way here today, a lot more people are living before you get to St Martins, overlooking the bay. The Fundy Trail is a great way for people to see a lot of the coastline. It's a striking trail and I never get tired of spending time on it. But we're partial to our piece of the coast.

For years there was worry that all of this land would be taken for the Fundy National Park. Luckily this piece wasn't expropriated—my dad would have fought that hard—and when the Fundy Trail was constructed, my family again worried the lot would be taken if they wanted to start the trail above St. Martins. When that didn't happen, I told my dad I would enjoy the land before our luck ran out, so Dad deeded it over to me. Craig's thoughts went to his dad giving him the deed about three years after Margie went missing. He knew even then as a teenager that his father had lost all of his fight. He shook off this memory. With the trail finished the land is finally worth something, but I'll never sell.

Emma reached out and took Craig's hand. He smiled down at her.

Well, I love what you two have done with the place, Nancy broke the silence.

Thanks, Nancy. We wanted a place that was comfortable but easy maintenance so we could just come and relax. And St. Martins is close enough that if we do run out of something, we can get it close by. Best of both worlds.

It certainly is all of that.

Craig nodded, then said, I'd better get us some food before we all starve out here.

He went into the cabin, stood at the counter next to the plate of meat he was after. Telling that story always made him feel proud, yet sad. He turned and let his eyes roam the space. He took in the main room, which was large enough to serve as kitchen and living room with a woodstove backed by a soapstone wall. The doors to the two bedrooms were open showing the large comfortable beds covered in quilts. The floors were softened with sheepskin rugs.

The warm dark colours with minimal furniture or clutter pleased Craig. It soothed his soul, as he told Emma. She accused him of saying that all the time, just so she wouldn't add more stuff to the place. They also loved vacationing in Mexico and always brought something back for their cabin. The mix of Mexican and local art and crafts made the place inviting. Everything in the cabin was placed with care and Emma was very good about keeping the place exactly how Craig envisioned it. Every new piece replaced another, which went on to someone else. It would have been perfect if his parents were here too. The feeling of family history, that didn't include his sister's disappearance, always settled him and today he felt in control. Working at not thinking about the missing boys, he prepared the meat and kept his attention on the conversation on the veranda.

Good class? Greg asked as Stella came up the steps. Stella was letting the silver strands show through her brunette bob. Greg was already fully silver at sixty-five. Emma told Craig they made a striking couple. He thought so too but now with Stella working hard on her yoga she would be surpassing Greg in health and fitness pretty soon.

Great class. When are the rest of you joining? Stella asked.

Emma laughed. I was thinking the same thing as I watched you two. It's not like I have a quiet, trauma-free job. But our schedules clash a lot; it might be too hard for Craig and I to coordinate one more thing. But I'm certainly thinking about it.

I've got the same issue. A doctor and a nurse of pediatrics, Nancy waved her hand between she and Emma, that's one heck of a lot of stress, but I'd love to join the class.

I'm probably the last one for that kind of yoga, and if my wife finally stops getting in the way of killers, I'll be even more unlikely, Greg offered.

Hey, don't blame me for you being too lazy to go to a yoga class. Wait until your back goes out again or you hit a slump in your painting. Stella smiled at Greg.

Okay, okay. I could use some sort of flexibility class, since I'm hunched over an easel for hours at a time.

I can barely fit my run in each day right now, Jack grinned and pointed down at his belly, but at some point I should do the class. Craig's ears perked up at hearing Jack say that. He was one of the fittest guys he worked with. There wasn't an ounce