Savannah Burning

Chapter Two

I tore out of my room, running down the steps as Mom and Dad opened their bedroom door.

“What’s going on?” Dad asked, fumbling for his glasses.

“I don’t know. It’s the Skye’s, though,” I said, grabbing my sweatshirt from where I tossed it after school.

“Tyson, where are you going?” Mom yelled, pulling her bathrobe tightly around her.

“I’m going to find out what’s going on,” I said, pulling open the back door.

“Tyson!” but I was already out the door. I jogged through the backyard, hopping through my mother’s vegetable garden, ignoring the chill that was nipping at my toes. I approached the fence that separated our yards and rested my elbows on top of it, surveying the scene in front of me.

Mr. Skye’s driveway pulled all the way up to the side of their house, nearly to the edge of their pool. Sitting behind his car was a Sheriff’s truck with the lights flashing on and off wildly. Other cop cars lined the street, their lights on, piercing through the darkness like distress signals. Through the trees of the neighboring yards I could see that the police were barring dozens of news stations from coming any closer to the house behind mine.

My father leaned against the fence next to me, about three inches short of me. “What’s going on?” he asked, squinting through his glasses.

“Something bad,” I replied. Overhead a helicopter flew by, it’s spotlight momentarily blinding us. The trees swayed in response and Dad pulled his sweater tighter around him. “I just saw him today,” I offered to Dad the driver’s door to the police truck swung open and the Sheriff got out. He turned his back to us, pulling up on his belt before murmuring something unintelligible into the radio on his shoulder. He opened the back door to the truck, motioning for someone to follow him.

The Sheriff opened the back door to the truck. Mr. Skye got out first, wearing the same outfit from earlier. Even from a distance you could see he was tired – his shirt was wrinkled, hair a complete mess. Brady Skye held out a hand to someone in the truck and Dad sucked in a breath as a woman stepped out with him.

“Is that –“ I began to ask.

“Karen Skye,” Dad nodded. “Something big must have happened if she’s back.”

Unlike her professional and stoic ex-husband, Mrs. Skye was a wreck. Her curly hair was thrown up into a messy and frizzy bun. Her clothes were untucked, wrinkled and coffee-stained. This was not the picturesque couple that had made headlines all those years ago.

“What the hell?” I whispered. I glanced over at Dad, but he was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched. The helicopter swept its spotlight by again, zeroing in on the police truck.

I looked back over in time to see a third person climbing out of the backseat, the spotlight from the chopper skimming over her, capturing her in a fragment of sudden brightness. At first all I saw were her legs, which were impossible to miss. She was wearing a pair of white cut-off shorts despite the chill that had settled into the night. Not that I was complaining. Quite the opposite, actually; I was positively mesmerized. She stretched her tanned legs out in front of her, flip flops dangling from her toes. The girl stepped out into the open air, backpack in tow and the breath I had been taking got caught in my throat; she was so beautiful, so much so that it was breathtakingly obvious even in the dimness. The most striking feature on this mystifying girl, though, were the freckles that covered her face, almost as many as Mr. Skye’s.

“Whoa,” I whispered, craning my neck to get a better look at her. Mr. Skye put his arm around the girl, who cringed, crossing her arms over herself as Brady began to lead her inside. “Who is that?” I wondered out loud and yet I had the uncanny feeling that I had seen her somewhere before. As if she could hear me asking, the girl looked up at us, her eyes wide and wild in the flashing lights. My stomach twisted and I gasped; the girl was beautiful, that was a no-brainer, but she also looked completely and utterly terrified.

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In Mrs. Kingery’s office, behind her desk there’s a bulletin board dedicated to flyers. Flyers for mental illnesses, eating disorders, for STD’s and how to deal with mono. There were flyers for colleges and for internship programs. There were even flyers for scholarships in memoriam of lost loved ones, one of which features a blonde, five-year-old girl with a map of freckles decorating her face, a girl that was thought to be lost to the world, assumed to be dead, never to come home again.

As of 3:27 am, only hours after my seventeenth birthday, Katie Skye reappeared.

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“I wonder where she’s been,” I said in homeroom the next morning.

“I heard she was involved in a drug cartel,” Robbie interjected.

“No way,” I shot back at him.

“What else would it be?” He prompted. “A traveling circus?” The bell rang and we gathered our things to head to first period. “Whatever it is, it was definitely a kidnapping,” he went on to say. “Apparently she was found in New Mexico.”

“Excuse me, you three,” our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Lucas said, stopping us. “You weren’t in homeroom yesterday but I couldn’t help but notice all three of you managed to make it to my math class later on.”

“Aw, come on, Mrs. Lucas,” Robbie flirted. “We were only a little late.”

“You’ve been late three times this semester already. We’ve only been in session for one month. Come on, don’t make me the bad guy. You three need to help me out a little.”

“So don’t be a bad guy,” I jumped in.

Mrs. Lucas sighed. “What’s your excuse this time?”

I shrugged. “It was my birthday.” Mrs. Lucas closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then, after a pause, “fine. You’re free to go. This isn’t going to happen again. Right?”

“Right!” I exclaimed, grabbing Robbie and pulling him away before Mrs. Lucas changed her mind.

“Thank you!” Daisy yelled over her shoulder as we hurried to our next class. “For real, though. Nobody knows anything?” In the hallway to class, Katie Skye’s name echoed off the walls; it seemed like everyone had a story to tell about her.

“She lives right behind me,” I stated.

Robbie furrowed his eyebrows. “Did you hear anything last night?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I saw them bring her home.” Robbie stopped in his tracks.

“What?” I asked.

“You saw her?” Robbie gasped. Other people glanced in our direction.

“Jesus, Robbie,” Daisy rolled her eyes, shooting glares at gawking students.

“Keep it down,” I hissed, grabbing Robbie and pulling him along. “I don’t exactly want people showing up at my house to catch a glimpse of her.”

“What does she look like?” Robbie asked, stumbling to keep up. I paused, considering his question. Previous to last night, I had only seen Katie’s face on flyers for the Katie Skye Scholarship. Back then she was freckly and frizzy with a jack-o-lantern grin. But now . . . she was beautiful. Exotic. Wild. Terrified. “She’s got freckles,” I offered.

Robbie scrunched his face up. “Now I’m picturing Raggedy Anne.”

I laughed, shaking my head, “no. Definitely not like Raggedy Anne.” Robbie looked at me funny. “What?” I asked.

“Tyson do you . . . do you think she’s hot?” Robbie mock-gasped. Even Daisy, uber-feminist Daisy, perked up a bit.

“What?” I repeated, my cheeks burning. “Dude, no. That’s not even . . . okay, look she was kidnapped. That would just be . . . that would just be rude,” I concluded lamely.

My friends were quiet for a second. Then, “he totally thinks she’s hot,” Robbie said to Daisy.

“Oh, definitely,” Daisy agreed, cracking a smile in my direction.

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It was hard getting anything done in school that day. The building was buzzing with rumors about Katie Skye. It sounded like everyone had heard something different about where she’s been. Between third and fourth period, Heather Corocan and Emily Sage were crowded by fellow students to hear stories of when the three of them were inseparable.

“We would all ride our bikes in the park,” Heather said, fanning herself. “Mine was pink, Emily’s was yellow and Katie’s was purple. It was her favorite color. Her whole room was purple.”

Behind her, Emily nodded somberly. “I’m just happy she’s back,” Emily chimed in.

“Are you going to see her today?” One of the other girls asked as I tried to squeeze through the crowd. I glanced up, catching Emily’s eye as I passed through the crowd. She tilted her head at me, scrutinizing me for a second before turning her attention back to her adoring fans.

“Of course!” Heather was exclaiming, placing a hand on her chest as if it were the most absurd question she’s ever heard. “She needs her friends! Isn’t that right, Em?”

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Robbie had to go to practice after school so Daisy drove me home that day. On our way back to my place, we passed by Bayview Park, our town’s only public playground. Daisy, Robbie and I had spent countless summer days on that thing, finding new challenges and new ways to get each other in trouble. It was where I had my first kiss, in the fourth grade, with none other than Emily Sage, before she got too cool to hang out with us. It was where Daisy fell off the monkey bars, after rising to a challenge Robbie and I had pushed onto her, and broke her arm when she was eight. It was where, when we were all thirteen, we carved our initials into the wood of the sandbox.

Daisy idled up to my house and I got out, gently shutting the door behind me. The Wagoneer was a precious car. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Daisy said through the open passenger window.

“Thanks, Daze. I appreciate it.” She shrugged and waved goodbye before taking off in the direction of her own house. I shifted my backpack onto one shoulder and headed up to my house. Dad was already home and he and Mom were in the living room, watching the local news when I walked in. Bear hobbled over to me, crashing into my knees, nudging his way between my legs so I would give his back a scratch.

“Is this about last night?” I asked, dropping to my knees to give Bear the attention he deserved. My backpack thudded on the floor next to me.

Dad glared at my backpack. “Christ. How much homework do you have?”

I shrugged. “I have something due in each class. The semester is starting to pick up, so.”

“Soda pop and bubble gum,” he grumbled, shaking his head, disgusted. Dad has a grudge against the word ‘so.’ The saying, apparently, was passed on to him from his own father, a man who passed away long before I was adopted into the family. It was his attempt at stopping his son from sounding like an “uneducated moron.” Dad’s words, not mine. I had no idea what the phrase ‘soda pop and bubble gum’ meant to my late grandfather and it was something Dad never thought to ask about. But, alas it stuck.

“What’s the latest story?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch.

“It’s all anyone is reporting on.” Mom picked up the newspaper on the coffee table in front of her. “’After going missing at a local beach twelve years ago, Katie Skye has been found safe and unharmed and has been returned home to her family,’” Mom said. “They’re calling it a miracle.”

“What happened? I thought they said she was dead.”

“They did,” Mom said softly, looking out the window as though nervous our neighbors would be able to hear us talking about their private life. “They just never found her body. Everyone thought . . . everyone assumed that the tide took her body.” I shivered, unable to shake the trickle of guilt that was working its way into my stomach. I knew that my parents still worried about me whenever I went out surfing. Katie’s story was only just one reason why.

“How did they find her?”

“Apparently Katie and her friends got into some trouble with the law,” Dad cracked a grin. “When they arrested Katie they put the pieces together.”

“Arrested? For what?”

“They won’t say,” Mom shrugged.

“Do they know who took her?”

“Not yet. They have no idea who the kidnapper is or how they’ve been getting away with this for so long.” Mom shuddered. “It’s terrifying how someone could do this.”

I watched for a bit as the news reporter retold the same facts my mom had just told me, intercutting real-time scenes from the front yard with the helicopter’s aerial footage of her getting out of the Sheriff’s truck late last night. When it became evident that we wouldn’t be catching a glimpse of Katie Skye, I picked up my ever-heavy backpack and trudged up the stairs to get started on that overload of homework my father so obviously disapproved of.

I sat down at my desk, fully intending to start the history paper that was due the following week, but instead I found my focus drawn towards my window. I crossed over to it, pulling my blinds up.

It was hard to make out what exactly was happening, but I would recognize that electric blue convertible that was parked in front of the Skye’s house anywhere. Heather and Emily were standing in front of Katie’s house, talking to a police officer. Heather was waving her arms, arguing with the officer who kept shaking his head while Emily stared at the crowd. Nearby reporters snapped pictures of the argument.

Hidden to the street below, the back upstairs window slid open and who should come out onto the roof but Katie herself. My breath caught in my throat as she sat down on the corner of the roof, watching the events unfold below her as she lit up a cigarette, able to watch but not be seen through the trees. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as she sat with her knees tucked to her chest, her curls dancing in the wind. She looked so small from here. I watched her pull drag after drag and wondering if she happy to be home. Did she even remember that this was her home? The look on her face last night didn’t seem too happy.

Mrs. Skye came out from the side door of the house and walked up the driveway, barefoot. She looked like the version of herself that I had grown up with through the tabloids – her curly hair pulled up into a knot, a sundress that wasn’t entirely age-appropriate and yet somehow Mrs. Skye made it work with a wrap around her shoulders. She pulled it tighter as the trees swayed with a late-summer breeze. She approached the policeman and placed a hand on his arm, forcing him to take a step back. After a few minutes Heather handed Mrs. Skye a large book before storming off with Emily back behind the barrier.

As Mrs. Skye turned back towards the house, Katie stubbed out her cigarette and flicked it – of all places – into our backyard. She looked up at our house and our eyes locked. We both froze. She had been caught littering but I had been caught spying. Neither of us moved. Below her, Mrs. Skye slammed the side door shut, causing Katie to jump. She glanced at the window before looking back at me and slowly pressed one finger to her lips.

Ssshhhh. I swear, I could hear her voice low in my ear, feel her breath on my neck. Before I could respond, Katie slid back through the window, slamming it shut from the outside and world and, to my dismay, me.