Authors: Mae McCall
45
Jackson and Cleo went into business together the following
month, systematically removing the faculty and staff from the Harper
Valley School for Girls until the place was a ghost town. Without teachers,
the students had stopped coming back. Even Blue had jumped ship. Apparently, Virginia had become quite abusive since Jackson’s disappearance.
One morning, as Virginia Adams clipped briskly across campus
and up the steps of Main Hall, she sensed a stillness that was so absolute, it
was like a heart had stopped beating. Looking around, she realized that the
campus was absolutely deserted. She rushed up the steps and unlocked the doors
to her office, sliding them open so forcefully that one of them bounced back
out of the slot.
“Hello, Virginia,” said Cleo, beaming at her from the
leather office chair. “I heard you’ve been lonely lately, so I’ve brought you
some company.”
Two men stepped away from the wall to her right. “Virginia
Adams, we’re here to discuss a few…suspicious disappearances of former
employees from this school. We can talk here, or you can come with us. Your
choice,” said the one in the pale gray suit. The other man held a stack of
folders with red lines drawn across the front. Virginia’s mouth moved, but no
sound came out. Her eyes darted back to Cleo, who stood up and walked around
the desk. “It’s always so nice to see you,” she said cheerfully as she patted
the woman’s arm and walked out the door to the black Jaguar that sat idling at
the curb. Cleo gave a little finger wave as she opened the rear door and got
inside, and Virginia could have sworn she heard Etta James….
“Now what?” said Jackson as Cleo buckled herself in.
She sighed and looked out the window. “Show me something
new, Jackson,” she said. “My pleasure,” he replied with a smile, and their eyes
met in the rear view mirror. Within four hours, she was on a plane to China, joining
the Mile High Club with enthusiasm and athleticism. As the sun began to set
over the Pacific, she fell asleep and started drooling on his shoulder.
Smiling, he tipped his hat down over his eyes and put his arms around her. “See
you in the morning, Cleopatra,” he murmured.
“My name’s not fucking Cleopatra,” she whispered, drifting
back to sleep to the sound of his low laughter.