Between Darkness and Daylight by Gracie C. Mckeever Page A
Authors: Gracie C. Mckeever
Tags: Siren Publishing, Inc.
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uncle must have some cool hook-up with NYPD to have gotten him off without even a slap on the wrist. He hadn’t even missed a day of school, was back the next day like nothing had happened. What they didn't know, what he'd never tell them, was that he had gotten a slap on the wrist and more—like the living daylights scared out of him. But in the end his little "escapade,"
as Uncle Zane put it, had ended better than Ransom could have hoped for anyway.
He had just started forward when someone shoved him from behind.
At first he thought it was one of his homeboys, still razzing him about being tight with Nova and Uncle Zane, until he saw the older, heavy-set woman pass him. Manuela Diaz, one of his uncle's students, was close on her heels, trying to hold her back. The older lady was shouting in rapid-fire Spanglish, but Ransom caught the important stuff and it didn't sound too good for Uncle Zane. The woman seemed to have one mission: getting through the crowd to his uncle to tear him limb from limb.
He caught the flash of the carving knife the lady pulled out of her purse, and then the crowd jostled him to and fro as it parted to let the crazy woman through. Manuela made a diving grab to try and stop her, yelling,
" Mami , no!" again and again. But she couldn't get a good grip on her and the older lady yanked out of her grasp, lunging at Uncle Zane.
Ransom pushed forward with his hands, desperate to part the mass. A scream stuck in his vocal chords when he caught a glimpse of Manuela's mother raising the knife over her head and plunging it downward as she screamed "Liar! Liar! Baby killer!" at the top of her lungs.
He couldn't see Uncle Zane anymore—it was as if the man had fallen off the face of the earth—but he caught sight of Nova. She stepped up to meet the woman, an arm raised to deflect the knife's downward trajectory.
Between Darkness and Daylight
77
Her thick leather jacket split as easily as paper beneath the sharp blade.
Nova yelped, then did that swift self-defense move she had used on him, grabbing the woman's wrist and twisting it up behind her back, forcing her to drop the knife.
Manuela's mother swore and screamed the whole way down to the pavement and her daughter knelt by her side—apologizing, crying, and praying—as she caressed rosary beads in one hand and rubbed her mother's shoulder with the other.
“Uncle Zane!” Where was he?
As if summoned, his uncle reappeared, picking himself up from the pavement, disheveled, his face and coat dirt-smudged, as if he had been trampled beneath the rush of stampeding teenage feet. Other students stood on nearby cars, lampposts, and mailboxes, shouting and cheering.
A squad car pulled up to the sidewalk, lights flashing and sirens whooping, and kids dispersed in every direction. Some ran away from the school, while others ran inside. The rest lingered to see what all the fuss was about and what fate would befall a fellow student and her deranged mother.
Ransom made it to the scene just as two uniformed officers climbed from the front of the squad car, while a plainclothesman got out of the back.
"Youngblood, you're making this into a weekly habit."
He didn't know whether the man was talking to him or Uncle Zane, but he recognized the detective as the same guy who'd taken charge of him at the precinct and escorted him to the interrogation room for "safekeeping"
until his uncle arrived.
"How'd you get here so fast?" Zane asked.
"Got a report of a disturbance inside the school. Seems it poured out here." Leary eyed Nova as she turned the ranting and foaming-at-the-mouth woman over to the two uniforms. He went to her side and examined the slash to the arm of her coat. "You'll need to get that looked at."
"I'm fine, really." Nova held her arm close to her body, as if trying to hide the injury from Zane, who came to her side and pulled her into his arms.
"What were you thinking?” he demanded.
78
Gracie C. McKeever
Ransom was curious about
as Uncle Zane put it, had ended better than Ransom could have hoped for anyway.
He had just started forward when someone shoved him from behind.
At first he thought it was one of his homeboys, still razzing him about being tight with Nova and Uncle Zane, until he saw the older, heavy-set woman pass him. Manuela Diaz, one of his uncle's students, was close on her heels, trying to hold her back. The older lady was shouting in rapid-fire Spanglish, but Ransom caught the important stuff and it didn't sound too good for Uncle Zane. The woman seemed to have one mission: getting through the crowd to his uncle to tear him limb from limb.
He caught the flash of the carving knife the lady pulled out of her purse, and then the crowd jostled him to and fro as it parted to let the crazy woman through. Manuela made a diving grab to try and stop her, yelling,
" Mami , no!" again and again. But she couldn't get a good grip on her and the older lady yanked out of her grasp, lunging at Uncle Zane.
Ransom pushed forward with his hands, desperate to part the mass. A scream stuck in his vocal chords when he caught a glimpse of Manuela's mother raising the knife over her head and plunging it downward as she screamed "Liar! Liar! Baby killer!" at the top of her lungs.
He couldn't see Uncle Zane anymore—it was as if the man had fallen off the face of the earth—but he caught sight of Nova. She stepped up to meet the woman, an arm raised to deflect the knife's downward trajectory.
Between Darkness and Daylight
77
Her thick leather jacket split as easily as paper beneath the sharp blade.
Nova yelped, then did that swift self-defense move she had used on him, grabbing the woman's wrist and twisting it up behind her back, forcing her to drop the knife.
Manuela's mother swore and screamed the whole way down to the pavement and her daughter knelt by her side—apologizing, crying, and praying—as she caressed rosary beads in one hand and rubbed her mother's shoulder with the other.
“Uncle Zane!” Where was he?
As if summoned, his uncle reappeared, picking himself up from the pavement, disheveled, his face and coat dirt-smudged, as if he had been trampled beneath the rush of stampeding teenage feet. Other students stood on nearby cars, lampposts, and mailboxes, shouting and cheering.
A squad car pulled up to the sidewalk, lights flashing and sirens whooping, and kids dispersed in every direction. Some ran away from the school, while others ran inside. The rest lingered to see what all the fuss was about and what fate would befall a fellow student and her deranged mother.
Ransom made it to the scene just as two uniformed officers climbed from the front of the squad car, while a plainclothesman got out of the back.
"Youngblood, you're making this into a weekly habit."
He didn't know whether the man was talking to him or Uncle Zane, but he recognized the detective as the same guy who'd taken charge of him at the precinct and escorted him to the interrogation room for "safekeeping"
until his uncle arrived.
"How'd you get here so fast?" Zane asked.
"Got a report of a disturbance inside the school. Seems it poured out here." Leary eyed Nova as she turned the ranting and foaming-at-the-mouth woman over to the two uniforms. He went to her side and examined the slash to the arm of her coat. "You'll need to get that looked at."
"I'm fine, really." Nova held her arm close to her body, as if trying to hide the injury from Zane, who came to her side and pulled her into his arms.
"What were you thinking?” he demanded.
78
Gracie C. McKeever
Ransom was curious about
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