The Scarred Letter Read online

  Title Page

  The

  Scarred Letter

  Val Muller

  Barking Rain Press

  Copyright Page

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events described herein are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Scarred Letter

  Copyright © 2014 Valerie Muller (www.valmuller.com)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Edited by Cindy Koepp (www.ckoepp.com)

  Proofread by Robin Layne Wilkinson (www.writingthatsings.com)

  Cover artwork by Craig Jennion (www.craigjennion.com)

  Barking Rain Press

  PO Box 822674

  Vancouver, WA 98682 USA

  www.barkingrainpress.org

  ISBN Trade Paperback: 1-935460-97-8

  ISBN eBook: 1-935460-98-6

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014940658

  First Edition: July 2014

  Printed in the United States of America

  9 7 8 1 9 3 5 4 6 0 9 8 5

  Dedication

  To Dolores Phillips,

  who taught me more in three months

  than most people do in a lifetime.

  Also Available from Val Muller

  Corgi Capers: Deceit On Dorset Drive

  Corgi Capers: The Sorceress of Stoney Brook

  Faulkner's Apprentice

  Coming Soon from Val Muller

  Corgi Capers: Curtain Calls and Fire Halls

  The Man With the Crystal Ankh

  www.ValMuller.com

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Also from Val Muller

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Acknowledgements

  Biography for Val Muller

  About Barking Rain Press

  Other Titles Available from Barking Rain Press

  Seven Days to Goodbye

  The Celibate Succubus

  Dr. Offig’s Lessons from the Dark Side

  The Last Stand of Daronwy

  Sounds of Silence

  The Unremarkable Squire

  First Communion: A Collection of Modern Irish Stories

  Of Machines & Magics

  Postponing Armageddon

  The Revolving Year

  Slip Sliding Away

  Chapter 1

  Heather’s Letters Blog Entry

  Published: August 5th

  If you’re here looking for an apology, you won’t find it. All I did was write the truth, so why should I apologize? Is it my fault that everyone wants to be ostriches with their heads in the sand?

  I’m not apologizing.

  I’m not sure what to expect for the first day of school. I never anticipated such a reaction from the community. I never anticipated all the anger. It’s just… my father always told me to follow my heart, and that’s what I did.

  So why should I apologize?

  It’s been just two days since the post and already 457 comments, mostly negative. Talk about going viral… I think I’ll keep this blog offline for a while. At least until the fallout clears.

  In any case, the deed is done. The pen sure is mighty (the keyboard, that is).

  Signing off,

  Heather

  Chapter 2

  The Auditorium Door

  Burton leaned over the rail as his fellow students scurried below him like rodents. Jocks, nerds, Goths, gamers, popular preppies, isolated rebels—all of them horrible and cruel—poured their way into the ancient auditorium of Orchard Valley High School. Burton scowled at the way the Thunderbolts’ red and black spirit-wear dominated the rest and seemed to congregate toward the front. But it wasn’t the school colors he was searching for—she wouldn’t be wearing those. He sneered at those below, glad that the shadows of the catwalk, dozens of feet above the crowd, hid him from the spirited masses. From the shadows, he could find her. If someone were to look up, only Burton’s sneering teeth would be visible in the darkness.

  A group of the school’s most popular girls gathered behind all the seats. They stepped daintily down the sloping aisle with their perfectly-coordinated fall heels and smoothed their hair each time they moved. Their shrill voices traveled up to Burton, and he listened, savoring their words. They’d heard rumors about that gossip, Heather Primm, and her role in this assembly, and they wanted to see first-hand just how the situation would play out. They held their cell phone cameras at the ready in case she decided to embarrass herself.

  The football players, dressed in uniform for the evening’s game, pushed through the crowd to sit together, coloring the front corner of the auditorium with bright red jerseys. Burton clenched his teeth at the terrible things they said about Heather. The subject of the assembly had changed their lives. They wanted a front-row seat to watch her fry.

  Other students shuffled in leisurely, probably glad for the opportunity to miss class. Teachers ushered them into the seats, suppressing looks of worry in bitten lips or frowns, throwing looks at each other that asked, “How is this going to end?”

  Burton crouched on the catwalk to catch a final glimpse of the situation. The ancient auditorium had seen little renovation since its construction. The hard, wooden chairs were stiff and rickety. They creaked and groaned as if the tortured souls of past students—cruel, careless students—were trapped inside and struggling to get out. Burton couldn’t help but smile. The seats were commiserating—or perhaps celebrating—with him.

  He shrugged off the idea and hurried away. The auditorium was beginning to quiet, and if he was going to get down from the catwalk, he had to do it now. He hurried down the ladder toward the control box at the back of the auditorium’s second story and then took secret shortcuts through the twisted maze of the aging school’s haphazard second floor. Much of Orchard Valley remained in the same state as the auditorium, and sneaking around was easy enough for someone who knew the way and could stand the aging building. The heating units clanged in the winter; the windows stuck in the summer. In classrooms, walls crumbled and paint cracked. The cafeteria retained decades’ worth of school lunch smells in the form a musty film that clung to the clothes of all who entered. None of this bothered Burton, of course.

  But there were two elements of Orchard Valley that the School Board saw fit to keep in prime condition—and even renovate. And these bothered Burton immensely. The first was the school’s football stadium. What was once a baseball diamond and a pastoral tree-lined field had been renovated into a multi-million-dollar affair. The rubberized track boasted the school’s colors, red with sharp black lines marking the lanes. The red-and-black track surrounded bright green Astroturf, something other teams described as “awesome but intimidating,” Burton remembered reading in The Observer. The stadium had been a gift from the taxpayers thanking the Orchard Valley Thunderbolts for their steadily-increasing achievements in football, culminating with their rise to state champions two years in a row. With the prodigious success of the team came countless college scouts and newspaper reporters bringing yet more acclaim to the high school.

  The football stadium even spilled into the main entrance of the school, above which Burton traveled even now. There, the hallway between the main office and the auditorium had been renovated to include prominently-lit display cases draped with red and black velvet under a glowing row of track lighting. They offered great photo ops for an aspiring reporter like Burton, especially the largest case, which displayed—until recently—the school’s newest state championship trophy.

  The second element of Orchard Valley High School that had earned a renovation was the newspaper office. With the rise of the football team, the school newspaper had been cited state-wide for its coverage of the team’s u
nbelievable success. The office had been requisitioned from the library. The library’s second floor, once used to archive periodicals, had been cleared out and renovated for the now-famous—but still ungrateful, Burton noted—state championship newspaper staff. What’s more, a series of three windows had been cut into the walls, allowing those in the newspaper office to look down upon the plebeians in the main hallway below.

  Even now, as the population struggled into the auditorium, he pulled his black leather jacket tighter and snuck into that office through a little-known hallway that connected to the auditorium’s control box. R. Burton Childress stood in the shadows of the darkened office of the Orchard Valley Observer. He leaned against the glass of the newspaper office as the last of the student body struggled into the auditorium below like mice gathering into a hole in the wall. His eyebrows drew up, unsettled. The lighting shadowed his eyes, hiding them in the crevices of their sockets, and he made sure his hair remained brushed down over the left side of his face and ear. His lips moved, though he did not speak. They moved repeatedly, mouthing the same two words over and over again: Heather Primm.

  Chapter 3

  The Character Assembly

  While students struggled into the wobbly chairs, a lone girl snuck through the auditorium doors and dashed into shadow behind all the seats. She pressed her body against the cold concrete wall all the way in the back and tried to remember how to breathe.

  “Find a seat—any seat!” the teachers shouted above the din of student chatter.

  The students quieted somewhat, but even the teachers were upstaged by the stentorian roar of Jared Winters, the former football captain, calling his former teammates to his side. As the jocks sauntered to the left wing of the auditorium, the most popular girls congregated at the back. The lone girl hiding in shadows pricked up her ears: they seemed preternaturally active, hearing every horrible thing spoken about her.

  “It’s Heather’s fault that Jared was kicked off the team,” one of the girls said, standing right in front of the shadowed Heather. Her red lips pouted, and she pointed to Jared with her eyes. “I heard he lost his college scholarship. If I were him, I’d want Heather to have an accident. A bad one!”

  “Totally,” agreed one of her companions, smoothing out her hair. “I heard, like, the school’s going to recognize her at this assembly. I think she should be expelled or something. She’s a traitor. How could anyone turn against her own school like that?”

  The newspaper’s assistant editor, Melanie Williams, added her opinion. “If this were a novel, she’d totally be the antagonist. The school should, like, expel her.”

  The girls stood so close that their strong, fruity shampoo nauseated Heather, and their bodies radiated the heat of their anger. The shadows squeezed against Heather, and the walls closed in.

  A girl snapped her gum and looked around. “This year, we had a shot at our third state championship in a row. Like, no other school can say that! I can’t believe we might have to forfeit last year’s title. What a—” But she had to watch her language because there were teachers everywhere, something for which the hiding Heather Primm was thankful.

  “I would be ashamed to show my face around here.” The first girl flicked her hair and scowled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Heather ended up beat up in the alley behind the dumpster. She’d better watch her back.”

  “Ah, but,” added a timid freshman who had contributed an article or two to the school’s newspaper. “Don’t you think it’s punishment enough? I mean, all the athletes hate her now. And if she is recognized at today’s assembly, everyone will hate her for exposing Jared’s steroid use—and getting our title stripped. With every step she takes inside this school, the pain of what she’s done must be excruciating.”

  The other girls huffed.

  “I just think, like, someone of her talent should be more responsible in how she applies it.” Melanie rolled her eyes. “If I had her writing ability, I wouldn’t waste it exposing things no one wants exposed. At least now, she’s totally ruined her chances of being editor next year.”

  “She’s not even on the newspaper staff,” the little freshman reminded them.

  “No.” Melanie scowled. “But, like, with the success of her blog, everyone thought she was going to join the staff this year. The newspaper advisor was going to talk to Guidance about it. I guess now with all that’s happened—Mrs. Williams wouldn’t dare! Like, I would hate to have her join the staff and be promoted to editor or something. I’ve been waiting for four years just to be assistant editor. It would be totally unfair.”

  Another agreed. “She wouldn’t dare. Besides, have you seen how upset Adam Hollowcast has been lately? You’d think he’d be happy now that he’s the captain of the football team, and only a junior, too. But even he can’t stand what Heather’s done!”

  At the insistence of the teachers, the girls walked toward the seats all the way in the front row. They smoothed out their clothes and hair, and checked their makeup and cell phones as they walked.

  “Millie’s home sick,” one of the girls announced as she flipped her finger across the screen. “But I promised I’d text her as soon as anything good happened to Heather. I hope she trips or something.” She turned toward the back of the auditorium, and her lips curled into a cruel smile.

  In the shadows, Heather wrapped her arms around her abdomen, trying to calm a gurgling stomach.

  Throughout the auditorium, the students waited for the assembly to begin. The low rumble of gossip echoed through the antiquated room, but mercifully it had silenced enough that the girl in the shadows could no longer hear the individual conversations. The students were still talking when the guest speaker made his way to the stage. His suit and tie indicated his status, and as he mounted the stage, the students quieted.

  Wilson Johnson, the student body president, stood on stage to greet the visitor. “It is my pleasure to introduce our guest speaker for today.”

  The girl in the shadows swallowed hard. Wilson paused and squinted at the audience as if his eyes were searching for someone. Reluctance reflected in his face as if he resented his current task, and Heather fought a tinge of guilt.

  “Our special guest is a member of the Massachusetts Chapter of the National Association of Integrity in Journalism. It’s a rare occasion that a member of such an organization would be visiting a high school…” Wilson paused here, as if he might not finish speaking aloud what was written on his index card. But he took a deep breath, averted his eyes, and continued. “We should all be proud that a member of our very own high school acted in such a way to earn such a prestigious visit. So without further ado, I’d like to introduce Mr. Dan Soothe.”

  A spattering of awkward claps filled the silence as Dan Soothe stepped into the spotlight.

  “Good morning, Thunderbolts!” he shouted into the microphone.

  An ear-piercing squeal reverberated through the speakers. Mr. Soothe frowned and studied his notes to pretend he couldn’t hear the students moaning. Then he looked out onto the audience, seeming to consider each group separately. His eyes lingered on the popular girls up front, the jocks at the side, the Goths in the corner. His eyes seemed contemplative. There was some hesitancy in his face that the girl in the shadows could read well enough to explain. He was afraid he would hurt her. He was afraid the recognition would be a hindrance to Heather rather than a help. But his opinions didn’t matter. As Heather had been informed, the Chapter voted unanimously to confer its most prestigious honor on Heather Primm of Orchard Valley High School, and Mr. Soothe’s duty was to see the matter through.

  Mr. Soothe cleared his throat again before continuing, more softly this time. “Today, you have access to an amount of information inconceivable to older generations. You have cell phones, instant messages, email, blogs, news sites, not to mention traditional print sources and a twenty-four hour news cycle. Amidst it all, it’s difficult to keep one’s integrity. Often times, journalists decide to report on what’s popular, or what will bring them positive attention. It takes a rare journalist to divulge the truth without regard for personal consequences.”

  At this pause, the squeaky door opened in the back of the auditorium. Myriad eyes turned to stare as Principal Elders appeared in silhouette in the doorframe. With the gesture of his hand, another figure stepped out of the shadows. Principal Elders put a hand on the figure’s shoulder, and the silence in the auditorium grew excruciating.