The Secret of Zormna Clendar - Julie Steimle (best autobiographies to read .txt) 📗

overhear that conversation, Dad!” Jennifer retorted. “Her commander wasn’t going to come for her.”

For a moment her father flustered. But his eyes narrowed again into a glare at both his children.

“I repeat,” their father practically growled. “The police won’t be able to find her.”

What did he mean by that?

Both Todd and Jennifer stepped back.

“What did you do? Kill her and hide the body?” Todd said exactly what Jennifer had been thinking.

Horrified, they both looked from their mother to their father.

Their father closed his eyes. He set the disassembled telephone on the counter, backing away from it. Lowering their heads as if struck down, perhaps with shame, their parents retreated.

“Of course not,” their mother murmured.

From their subdued expressions and even humiliated remorse that they had upset their children enough to think the worst of them, Jennifer realized then her parents were telling the truth. Angry as they may have been with Zormna, no matter how murderous they had looked that night, at least they were not killers.

And logically, Jennifer realized while thinking more on it, they really had not had the opportunity to lay a finger on the little ninja. In fact, Jennifer knew Zormna could have bested them even if she had not escaped. She had, after all, taken down the state champ wrestler earlier that day.

Sighing heavily, Jennifer slowly turned and walked to the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

Her parents watched her.

“What? Jennifer, what about calling the police?” Todd stared after her, He was still prepared to punch his father to get to the phone, if he had to.

“You call them,” Jennifer murmured, continuing up the steps. “I’m too exhausted right now.”

She vanished into her room, shutting the door behind her.

Mindy and Andrew followed Jennifer’s example and retreated to their rooms before Todd and their parents would get into another fight.

*

Jennifer was freaking out. But Todd had no way to help her.

And though his father had stepped away from the telephone, Todd watched them with the same incredulity. Something had happened. Was finding that brand mark on Zormna’s arm so horrible that they had to throw her out? It just didn’t make any sense.

His parents turned toward the stairs also. His father said, before going up, “Fine. Call the police. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. They won’t be able to find her. That girl has a mind of her own. If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be. Remember, she was military.”

Going up together, his parents’ heads leaned close in deep commiserative deliberation.

Todd hesitated watching them go to their room. But once they were gone, he did pick up the telephone again. And he dialed.

<<Pennington Police Department.>> The other line answered.

Todd’s voice faltered, but he found it as he drew in a breath. “Hello, I’d like to report a missing person.”

 

The police came over later that evening. Todd spoke with them. After giving a brief description of Zormna, he explained what he knew of the events, since Jennifer had gone to bed, and his parents only came down to confirm that they had indeed argued with the girl, and that she had run off immediately after. They police took notes, nodded, and listened. But in the end they said Zormna needed to be gone longer than a day to truly be constituted as a missing person.

Todd stared after their car when they left, devastated.

However, as the police drove off, he noticed the FBI car was not across the street as it usually was. He stared at the empty spot. The nasty, nagging voice of Darren Asher came to his mind, saying: “The FBI must have her.”

And worse, Todd realized he was probably right.

*

“Jennifer, we need to talk to you.” Her mother stood outside her bedroom door after church Sunday, knocking gently on it.

“Go away,” Jennifer mumbled, lying face first into her pillow. It wasn’t like she expected Zormna to show up at church. It had been a silly notion really. But she had hoped it. Jennifer had imagined the crazy blonde to show up like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer arriving at their own funeral. But reality was not like that.

“Your father and I have decided to tell you the truth,” her mother said.

Jennifer sat up. The truth?

Mindy was not in the room. She had gone over to Linda Rook’s house after Sunday school for some kind of ‘tea party’.

Pulling open the door a crack, Jennifer peered skeptically at her mother. “The truth about what, exactly?”

Sighing, her mother said, “May I come in? Please?”

Stepping back, Jennifer let her mother into the room, but she was still angry with her. Her mother gently closed the door. She spoke in whispers.

“Your father and I…” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Jennifer, what I am about to tell you is—technically—illegal. You were supposed to grow up blissfully unaware of the circumstances of our former life and people. This life here was supposed to be a fresh new start, without all the complications from, well…Home.”

“Where is home?” Jennifer asked. The question had burned in the back of her thoughts since the argument on Friday.

Her mother sighed. “Our law states that mention of Home is punishable by deportment—or death.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened.

“We had thought that was what really happened to that old crazy woman when she had died, with the way she had talked,” her mother said. “But now…”

“Now…?” Jennifer peered into her mother’s face, waiting for the awful truth.

Her mother shook her head, closing her eyes once more. “First, what has that Zormna told you?”

Jennifer groaned, throwing up her hands. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing! She never told me anything except to drop the subject about where she came from because the FBI might watch me next!”

Her mother nodded. “So she kept the law.”

Rolling her eyes and growling, Jennifer asked, “What is it you came to tell me?”

Sighing, her mother met her gaze and said, “Only this, that Zormna’s family is dangerous. And that is why we were angry with her. She had hid what she was from us.”

“The Clendar family?” Jennifer replied with an acid glare.

“No.” Her mother shook her head. “The Tarrns.”

Chills went up Jennifer’s arms. Now would come the truth.

“Who are they?” Jennifer whispered.

Nodding appreciatively, her mother replied, “I cannot tell you much more than this: Tarrns are not to be trusted.”

Jennifer frowned. “Why?”

Her mother shook her head. “I cannot talk about this more. Jennifer, just believe me when I say, it is best to forget about it—and her. Trouble follows the Tarrns. It is their legacy.”

With a knowing look, her mother opened the door and left the room.

Staring after her, Jennifer frowned. Her mother never did say where they were from. Ireland or Mars. In a sick way, it didn’t matter. The problem was, Zormna had already told her that her family was hunted. Only she didn’t know why. Was what her mother said the truth or just another lie brewed up to keep her sated? She had to find out. She had to make sure.

Immediately, Jennifer left her room

She went back to Zormna’s house. Jennifer let herself into the place (like she had last time) to see if there were any clues about what Zormna was. After all, she had found that picture of Zormna’s parents. Maybe there was more in the house just waiting to be unearthed.

But after three hours of searching the boxes for their would-be garage sale, all she found were dusty shepherdess knickknacks, desert paintings, and lots and lots of porcelain flowers. As for the closets, they were full of huge frilly dresses. It got dark quickly, and Jennifer finally decided to call it quits for the day.

She climbed out the window she had snuck through and sat down on one of the back porch chairs and waited. Jennifer did not want to go home just yet. Not to the lies. And she was worried about Zormna. If she had not gotten away from the FBI, if Alex was wrong, then where was she? And what were they doing to her?

The clear blue sky darkened towards night. And with it, Jennifer wondered if life would feel light again.

 

Chapter Nineteen: Government Interest

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.”—Thomas Jefferson—

 

Everything ached. Her arms. Her legs. Her back. Several places itched as if they had been bitten by a vicious insect. And as she sat up and rubbed her eyes, Zormna could not remember where she was.

Then she opened her eyes wider.

White, blinding. Bare concrete walls. Bare, cold soft something she was sitting on. One door. Bare, stark room.

With a lurch, Zormna jerked upright. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Panic choked her. Where was she? What happened? This place looked like a prison.

Then the night before came back to her, dropping into her consciousness piece by nasty piece. The fight with the McLennas. Escaping, or trying to. Being chased. Being overwhelmed. Falling. And ending up in the trunk of a car.

Clutching her head, Zormna moaned. The grime of the alley was still in the base of her scalp, along with a tender lump. More slowly, her eyes took in her surroundings. She had to get her bearings. It was the first step in dealing with capture.

What had Alea Arden drilled them on? It wasn’t like she had expected to use captive survival training—ever. But, breathing in and out, Zormna regained her composure and pulled the key points from her memory.

Consider your environs.

Determine your location.

Study your enemy.

Assess your resources.

Currently, all Zormna could see was the white concrete walls of what seemed to be a prison cell. Overhead was a cone-shaped lamp. Her vision was still impaired from whatever drug they had shot her with, and it took more time and much straining to be able to see more. But she could feel as well as look. Dropping one hand down to her side, her fingers set on a thin bare mattress. It was mildly springy.

A bed. No sheets—placed along a, not concrete, but painted cinderblock wall. Yes, she could feel grooves in it. That meant it wasn’t entirely solid, though cinderblock would still be hard to get through.

She pulled up the corner of the mattress, looking under it as her vision cleared. Metal link mesh held the mattress up. Her tired eyes took in the room more. There were no other pieces of furniture that she could see, though there was a bed pan underneath the bed and one electrical outlet along with a light switch near the door.

To her right she spotted a small high window with about two feet of concrete space before it met glass. A bit of daylight shone through it. Apparently the outside wall was concrete, but the inside was cinderblock. Troublesome. As she inched off the bed to look at the window, the door in the opposite wall opened.

“We are glad to see that you are awake, Zormna.” A man carrying a clipboard entered the room through the one door with a condescending smile that turned up the corners of his mouth.

Zormna straightened up her shoulders, assessing his height, lean build and receding hairline. Not a physical powerhouse. In fact, the clipboard man had perfectly manicured fingernails. A meticulous character, apparently. Now she had to see how he was in brains.

“Kidnappers try to get