Storm Warning

Prologue

Upstate New York, 1979

E dward 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 struck 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 didn’t seem possible, either. His dream was finished. His heart had been broken.

Within the week, all the students had transferred, some to private schools, others moved into the public school system. The seven who’d been chosen for the gifted class were mainstreamed into first-grade classes in three different districts, and life went on. They learned. They grew. And every night their parents put them to bed, unaware of the time bomb that ticked in their heads.