Prologue
Upstate New York, 1979
Edward Fontaine stood at the doorway, watching the
children on the playground while keeping an eye on the
weather. As headmaster of Montgomery Academy, a small
private school, it was his duty to oversee every aspect of
the daily routine, including the welfare of the children.
Granted, his teachers were doing their part as they
stood duty out on the playground, but Edward had a bird's
eye view from the top of the steps. As he watched, he felt
a shift in the wind and glanced up at the sky. The light,
fluffy clumps of clouds that had been there earlier were
now massing into something large and dark. Although the
play period was not over, he didn't want to take a chance
on one of the children being shuck by lightning, so he
hurried into his office and rang the bell. It echoed
throughout the building and out on the grounds, and even
though he was still inside, he could hear the collective
shouts of the children's dismay.
As he reached the top steps, the first rumble of
thunder shook the windows. The children's reluctance to
end their play was replaced with frantic haste as the
teachers began herding them inside.
"Hurry! Hurry!" Edward shouted, calling to the
youngest children at the very farthest end of the
grounds. "It's going to storm. You must come inside!"
Virginia Shapiro and her best friend, Georgia, had
been at the top of the slide when the first bell rang. At
six years old, their dilemma now became one of climbing
back down the steps or sliding down and risking the wrath
of having"played" when they were supposed to be going
inside. When the second ripple of thunder shattered the
sky above them, Virginia began to cry. Georgia took her by
the hand, uncertain what to do.
Edward could tell the children were in trouble and
bolted down the steps. As he ran, it occurred to him that
he should be in better shape, but the thought disappeared
with the first drops of rain upon his face.
"Come, children, come," he urged, standing at the foot
of the slide. "It's all right. Just slide to me. We'll go
inside together."
Georgia tugged at Virginia's hand, giving her a brave
little smile.
"Come on, Ginny ... we'll go together, like always."
Ginny sniffled and nodded, and moments later they went
flying down the slick, metal surface and right into Mr.
Fontaine's arms.
"That's my good girls," he said, quickly taking each
one by the hand. "Now let's run. I'll bet I can beat you."
The girls squealed and pulled loose from his grasp as
they tore off across the yard. He sighed with relief and
then started after them at a jog, knowing full well he was
going to be wet before he got back.
They were nowhere in sight as he entered the building.
But as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, he saw them
at the far end of the hall, scurrying toward the last room
on the left.
He'd almost forgotten. Today was Thursday. The Gifted
and Talented Class met on Thursdays. The niggle of doubt
that crossed his mind was not the first he'd had as he
watched the door close behind them. It wasn't as if he was
allowing anyone to harm them. Quite the opposite. Those
particular seven little girls had one thing in common that
had garnered them access to the class. And the money he'd
received as a "special endowment" for allowing the class
to proceed was not something he could overlook. The fact
that the parents didn't realize the true nature of the
class often disturbed him, but he knew the children were
not being harmed. Besides, it was already done, and that
was that.
A strong gust of wind blew a curtain of rain against
the backs of his legs. Turning his mind to more pertinent
affairs, he quickly shut the doors of the main entrance
and went to his office. There was always paperwork to be
done,
Inside the last room on the left, seven little girls
sat quietly in their respective chairs, watching for the
teacher to begin. The glass in the windows rattled as
thunder continued to rumble. They didn't hear the rain
peppering against the windows or see the lightning as it
began to flash. Their eyes were on the teacher, their
minds focused on the sound of his voice.
That night, long after the children had gone home, the
storm still raged. Wind-whipped trees bent low to the
ground, their branches bowing in supplication to the
greater strength of the storm.
Just before midnight, a great shaft of lightning came
down from the sky, shattering wood and shingles alike as
it pierced the roof of the school. Before anyone noticed,
the school was completely engulfed in flames. By morning,
there was nothing left but an exterior wall and a huge
pile of smoldering timbers.
Edward Fontaine stood on the outskirts of the
playground, looking at what was left of his school in
disbelief. He didn't have the resources to start all over
again, and going back into the classroom as a teacher
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