Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

“I know this interview isn’t traditional, but at Blue Rock we like to think of ourselves as family, so I ask people to interview here, rather than at the school. Let’s talk about Blue Rock. Come on into my study. Cora, dear, could you get us some coffee? Or tea?” Lynch asked Jules.

“Coffee,” she said decisively. The last thing she wanted to appear was wishy-washy. She knew instinctively that an I-don’t-care attitude wouldn’t fly, and she was desperate to see her sister again; this was her best chance. Maybe her only chance.

“Coffee it is, Cora. But tea for me, please.”

Cora Sue nodded stiffly.

The reverend paused to pet the expectant dogs on their heads, then with a quick “Go with Momma” and a snap of his fingers, he sent the poodles down the hallway to pad after Cora Sue and Dr. Williams.

Jules’s stomach was jumping, her nerves getting the better of her. Her four-inch heels clicked loudly on the marble floor while cutting into the top of her foot as she walked with Dr. Lynch under a glimmering crystal chandelier that hung from three stories above the foyer. While the other women and the dogs headed toward an archway to the far side of a sweeping staircase, Jules followed Lynch through double doors to a study near the rear of the home. Inside, floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanked a massive fireplace where a gas fire hissed over “charred” ceramic logs. This room overlooked the lake where the seaplane that had taken Shay to southern Oregon was tied to the dock.

Lynch followed her gaze as he settled behind a carved desk big enough to serve six for lunch. “The plane,” he said with a chuckle. “I guess it’s a bit of an indulgence, but it does make things easier. Our academy is remote, as you know, though there is a road that’s open most of the year. It’s impassable sometimes with the snowfall in the winter. If the weather warms too quickly in the spring, the runoff from the mountains tends to wash the road out.”

Again his softly amused chuckle. “Not to worry, though, we have the seaplane and a helicopter pad. Only in the very worst weather are we completely isolated, and even then it’s not a problem. With our own generators, live-in staff, and stores of supplies, we can get through any catastrophe God sees fit to send us.” He waved Jules into a visitor’s seat at his desk and settled into a leather executive chair opposite her. “Well, I guess we might not survive the ten plagues of Egypt as they were described in Exodus.”

“Right.” Jules knew nothing of the plagues but kept it to herself and made a mental note to bone up on Exodus. Attempting to appear comfortable in the stiff wing-back chair, she listened while Lynch, obviously in his element, began a diatribe about the school, its history, the good it had brought the community and youth across the country. Nothing negative, no bad vibes at Blue Rock. An orator at heart, Lynch explained how the school, “a little bit of heaven here on Earth,” attained its goals. Aside from academics, the eighteen-month curriculum included eight moral-value workshops, four drug and alcohol sessions, and gender-specific classes that dealt with sexual issues. The students were divided into peer groups and were encouraged to work together to solve interpersonal problems. Lynch went on about the school’s mission, about the good Blue Rock Academy was doing in turning around young lives.

Jules would have loved to believe it—what an incredible and altruistic vision! However, she knew it was just too good to be true. Lynch, however, seemed to be buying what he was peddling, his dedication sincere.

After a tight-lipped Cora Sue brought in the tea service, he even went so far as to play a CD about Blue Rock Academy wherein several people gave their testimonials.

The first was a graduate of Blue Rock. He had been a famous soap opera star, according to his sincere message, “strung out on heroin and on the verge of suicide” before he was twenty. His “totally self-destructive” behavior would have killed him if not for the faith and self-respect he found at Blue Rock Academy.

The next familiar face was a popular and handsome TV evangelist who praised the academy for its good works of showing the nation’s youth the “true and glorious” path to Christ and saving young lives.

What about Lauren Conway? Jules wondered, but managed to hold her tongue. She couldn’t afford to blow her cover before she was hired. If she was hired.

The third testimonial was by a husband and wife team of authors who published self-help books. The covers of You Are What You Believe and The Answer were flashed upon the screen.

He clicked the television off after the infomercial and after pouring a bit of cream and lots of honey into his tea, stirred the concoction and said, “We have had our share of detractors, of course, and though most of the charges are completely unfounded, there have been a couple of black marks—blemishes, if you will—on our reputation.”

Here we go, Jules thought, sipping her black coffee and waiting to hear the spin on the “blemishes.”

“One of our students went missing last fall.” He sighed loudly as he stared into the depths of his teacup, as if he could read the leaves or come up with some answer. “We don’t know why, nor has she been found. Yet. I have my ideas of what happened, but I can’t even begin to speculate. It wouldn’t be fair to her family.”

Translation: The lawyers for Blue Rock Academy advised anyone associated with the institution to clam up.

“I heard about that,” Jules said, realizing that anyone who applied to work at the school would have done his or her research about the institution.

“Then you probably know that the reason we’re looking for a new teacher is that one of ours was accused by a student of taking … liberties. Again, I wouldn?

??t want to comment on that except to say these two little situations are to be expected, I suppose, people being what they are. But”—he held up a long, judicious finger—“I would remind you that the students we work with aren’t mainstream; they have issues. Problems. The reputation of Blue Rock Academy speaks for itself.” He paused then, cocking his head as if hearing the music for the first time. “Is that Bach?” He closed his eyes and moved his hand as if waving an invisible conductor’s baton in rhythm to the softly flowing notes from the string section.

“Excuse me.” He opened his eyes at the end of the interlude. “Sometimes … Well, music moves me.” Then, straightening, he asked, “How quickly could you take a position with the academy?”

Jules’s heart began to beat a little faster. “The information on the Web site indicated a position was open immediately.”

“And you could do that?”

“Yes,” she said easily. “I could be ready tomorrow.”

“Really?” He looked surprised, and she inwardly kicked herself. She didn’t want to appear too eager or raise any suspicions.

“I could arrange it, yes, though, of course, it would be best to have a few days,” she admitted.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully; then he checked the wall clock over the fireplace. “I’ll get back to you, Ms. Farentino,” he promised. “Soon. Either way.”

“I appreciate it.” She stood and extended her hand, looking him squarely in the eye. “Your school sounds very interesting. Cutting-edge. A necessity for so many of our disenchanted youth.” The words nearly stuck in her craw with what she knew, but she managed a smile.