She Lies Alone: An utterly compelling psychological suspense novel, page 5
I waited for her to say something about also being on the river trail on Friday, but she only took a bite of her sandwich and glanced out the window. I stirred my rice, realizing how silly I was to think she’d taken an unauthorized, off-campus nature walk with a student.
“I saw you talking with Rowan after school. Everything okay there?”
“Oh, yeah. I asked him to stay late. He seems to be one of those kids who is falling through the cracks.”
“Yep. He’s a loner. Real quiet. Word is he got kicked out of private school a couple of years ago for fighting.” I lowered my voice and stretched toward her. “He wore a shirt with a picture of a machine gun on it to school last year. And, of course, you know about the watch list, at least according to the email that we weren’t supposed to see.”
Elena dipped her chin, her mouth downturned. “Yeah, I saw that stupid email. I hate that there’s a list. It’s so Orwellian.”
“A little unfair maybe, but I’d rather deal with an Orwellian list than a pissed-off kid showing up to school with a gun.”
Elena leaned back, blinking. “Of course. I just thought if I connected with Rowan over something that he’s good at, maybe we can prevent the whole gun thing from ever happening.”
I nodded. “Your logic is solid.”
“I’m starting a poetry club. Rowan told me he writes poetry in his free time. He showed me some of his work. It’s dark but actually really good.”
A piece of fried broccoli stuck in my throat, but I choked it down. “You have to get Albright’s approval for after-school clubs. Talk to Jefferson first.”
Elena peered into her lunch bag. “There’s nothing to approve yet. Besides, who can argue against poetry? It’s therapeutic. It’s exactly what Rowan needs. Poetry makes the private world public, as Allen Ginsberg once said.”
I nodded like I knew the reference.
“Anyway, the first meeting isn’t until next Tuesday.”
“No sense wasting time,” I said, my voice laced with sarcasm.
For as artsy-fartsy as Elena was, she got things done. She didn’t sit on the sidelines and complain. I admired that about her, even though it wasn’t clear whether her unapproved poetry club was a viable solution to the nation’s epidemic of school shootings.
I slid the abandoned newspaper toward me, cringing at the headline. The Silver Slasher Strikes Again. “Oh, no,” I said, eyes scanning the article. Over the past two months, there’d been a series of sexual assaults against college students on the nearby university campus, each one escalating in violence. People referred to the perpetrator as The Silver Slasher because of the shiny silver blade he held to his victims’ necks as he assaulted them, as well as his trademark move of stealing a piece of jewelry from each victim. This time, the victim was a nineteen-year-old woman walking home from a fraternity party.
Elena’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Why can’t they catch this guy? It’s so sad that women can’t even feel safe to walk alone at night.”
“He’s a real sicko. It says he stole this woman’s silver bracelet before he ran off.”
“The perp is probably some entitled frat boy.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but all of the women have described him as over thirty. I guess none of them really saw his face.”
The door burst open and Nick sauntered through with a crumpled brown bag in hand. He greeted the PE teacher and then headed toward us. “Hello, ladies. Mind if I join you?”
“Please.” Elena motioned toward an empty chair next to hers.
Nick plopped his bag down on the table and took his seat.
Elena leaned toward him. “Hey, sorry about Friday. Something came up and I had to take care of it.”
Nick focused on his crinkling lunch bag. “No problemo.”
“She can make it this Friday,” I said.
“Great, Friday it is.” Nick peeled the tinfoil off a peanut butter sandwich. “So, Elena, what could possibly have been more important than happy hour at Friends Brewery?” His voice held an edge.
My teeth clenched. Nick’s ego had been bruised. Still, he didn’t need to be a dick.
“Oh.” Elena straightened herself up in her chair. “I, uh—”
I cleared my throat. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell us.”
“No. It’s just that…” Elena’s eyelids fluttered, her pale skin reddening. “I recently broke up with my boyfriend and I had to return some things to him. He was trying to come over and pick them up from my new apartment. It’s a long story, but I didn’t want him to find out where I lived, so I had to meet him.”
Hope sparked in Nick’s eyes. He’d probably spent the weekend stewing, not allowing himself dream of a scenario so much in his favor. His lopsided grin found Elena, his left eye winking at her. “Poor bastard.”
Elena failed to stifle her smile, her cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red. “Dean was so selfish. I just want to put it all behind me.”
I debated pulling Nick aside and giving him a refresher course on the district’s policies against sexual harassment. On the other hand, Elena seemed to be basking in his not-so-subtle flirtation. A change of subject would be my safest escape.
“Hey, Nick, congrats on your big win on Saturday.”
“Thanks.” He squared his shoulders, the bulge of his bicep muscle straining against his shirt. “My boys got it done.”
“Who did you play?” Elena asked.
“The Wildcats. Our biggest rival.”
“Awesome.”
“We went to the finals last season. Hoping we can do it again this year.”
“Impressive.” Elena tucked a few loose strands of her golden locks behind her ear. “When’s the next game? I’d love to watch.”
Her eyes hung onto Nick’s a moment longer than necessary. I was caught in the middle of an electromagnetic connection; two charged particles on a collision course.
“Thursday night, 5 p.m. It’s a home game against The Cyclones.”
“Great. I’ll be there.”
“Hope it goes well,” I said, chewing as fast as I could. I finished off the fried rice and swallowed the final segment of my orange. My chair scraped back from the table as I lifted my hand to my lunchmates. “I’ll leave you two good-looking humans to your food, I’m off to get some grading done.”
“Bye, Jane,” Elena and Nick said at the same time, neither one bothering to look at me.
The coffee splashed into my travel mug as I inhaled the addictive aroma and praised science for the purine alkaloid known as caffeine. The beans were perfectly roasted, thanks to a non-enzymatic browning process known as caramelization. I’d made it to Thursday, and with the coffee, it was possible I’d survive another early morning. Lifting my cardigan from the back of the kitchen chair, I slung it around my shoulders. Morning shadows loomed on the other side of the window—7:05 a.m. Another day, another dollar. If I left now, I could get to my classroom by 7:25 a.m., twenty minutes before the first bell.
The house sat silent, except for Craig’s heavy footsteps creaking down the hall. I’d already been asleep by the time he’d stumbled home late last night from an emergency plumbing job.
“Morning, sunshine.” He lumbered toward me and kissed my head.
“Morning.” I reached for the sugar jar as he extended his battered Nike shoebox toward me, lid propped underneath.
“Looky here.” He pointed into the box. “We have a new addition.”
Inside the collapsing box, a jumble of shiny objects stared back at me—a toy soldier; a rusty old ring; a plastic, beaded bracelet; coins from faraway countries; and a variety of rocks. A miniature Rubik’s Cube balanced on top, king of the trinkets.
“Where’d you find that?” I asked, pointing to the tiny, discolored cube.
“Caught in the washing machine drain trap. Owner said I could keep it when I told her about the sculpture.” He chuckled.
Over a few beers several months earlier, Craig and I concocted an idea to create a sculpture out of the random objects he’d collected from drain traps, backed-up pipes, clogged garbage disposals, broken dishwashers, and dryer vents. We enjoyed arguing over whether to entitle the masterpiece “The Secret Life of a Handyman” or “Clogged.” Either way, the idea kept us entertained and Craig’s collection continued to grow.
“The cube will add some much-needed color.” I said. “Have an awesome day.”
“You, too. Keep those kids in line.”
“Always.” I ventured into the dark morning, travel mug in hand, and drove to school.
When I pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later, handfuls of students clustered in groups outside the side entrance. Rowan’s shadowy outline came into focus as I approached. He sat alone on a far step, shoulders hunched, and head hung low. His eyes peeked through a ragged curtain of bangs. Piercings glistened from his nose and a ratty trench coat swayed around his knees.
Following Elena’s lead, I continued my path toward him, treating him as I would any other student. I cleared my throat. “Hi, Rowan.”
Rowan’s head jolted up, startled. He didn’t speak. He only stared at me, his thin lips pressed together, and his steely pupils burrowing directly through me. My feet slowed at the awkward exchange, then moved at warp speed through the double doors. I released a breath as the door swung shut behind me. It wasn’t so much Rowan’s goth look that bothered me. There were plenty of students with unkempt hair, piercings, and somber clothes whose motives I’d never questioned, and whose alternative looks suited them. My unease had more to do with his morose demeanor and the chilling emptiness in his eyes.
Suddenly, Elena’s poetry club made perfect sense. How else could anyone connect with this strange boy? Rowan was exactly the sort of tortured soul who would spend his free time scribbling dark, cryptic poems for others to decipher.
I hurried through the hallway, sucking in my gut to squash the tremor that Rowan’s stare had set in motion. My cynicism was no match for Elena’s idealism. I wondered if her poetry club would be enough. The odds were equally good that her efforts could backfire, that she could become an object of his obsession. I hoped her naivety wouldn’t get her into trouble.
I didn’t let myself fully exhale until the bell for fifth period—my free hour—finally arrived. I planned to spend it alone in my classroom in silence. I’d take a quick refresher course on tomorrow’s lesson plan, and the lab equipment needed cleaning. But first, I had to run to the ladies’ room.
As I stepped into the empty hallway, in-session classes hummed around me, but Elena’s classroom door sat slightly ajar.
“Seriously. Relax!”
I paused at the sound of Elena’s voice, remembering she also had fifth period free. Curiosity pulled at me, inching me forward. I peered through the narrow window to the side of the door, finding her leaning against the edge of her desk, arms crossed.
Jefferson paced next to her, his face pinched and pale. “This is not acceptable. You get a warning this time.”
My heart pounding, I stepped to the side, keeping a sliver of a view through the glass.
“A warning for what? Caring about my students?”
The man’s eyes bulged. “You cannot spend one-on-one time with students outside of school hours without documenting it. You must get permission! I have to fill out a form in advance.”
Elena raised her palms in the air. “Fine. I’ll notify you before speaking to any of my students outside of class.”
“You can speak to them, of course. Just no undocumented one-on-one meetings after school hours. That’s not allowed.”
Elena’s chest expanded, her eyes closing. “I get it.”
Jefferson scratched his temple through his gray, Brillo-pad hair. “Three warnings and we’ll have to create an Improvement Plan. I know we’d all prefer that it didn’t come to that.”
Elena uncrossed her arms and laced her fingers together. “Well, then, I guess this is a good time to mention that I’m sponsoring an after-school poetry club. We’re going to meet on Tuesdays in this classroom.”
“You need to fill out a Club Request Form and turn it into Principal Albright.” Jefferson rummaged through his manbag and removed a file. He flipped through several pages and handed Elena a light green sheet of paper. “Here’s the form. He’ll let you know if it gets approved.” Jefferson turned toward the door, almost spotting me. I darted away, but not before I saw Elena roll her eyes. When I returned from the bathroom, her room was empty.
My sixth and seventh hours passed in slow motion. Maybe because my own department chair had never written me up for anything, the conversation I’d overheard between Elena and Jefferson upset my equilibrium. Then again, maybe a stern warning was all Elena needed to survive her steep learning curve.
Just as the day’s final bell rang, a text beeped through from Craig: Got a call to replace some siding. Won’t be home until 6:30.
As much as I wanted to get out of this place, lugging five stacks of last week’s pop quizzes home wasn’t high on my list. It was easier to stick around and grade them here. But the sunlight outside my windows beckoned to my vitamin D-deprived body. The warm weather wouldn’t last much longer. I laced on my tennis shoes, deciding to take a walk first.
I followed a wide loop around the school grounds, eyeing Nick’s soccer team warming up on the field as I passed. Elena perched near the sidelines with her stylish sunglasses shielding her eyes and her floral sundress billowing in the wind. I continued huffing it for several minutes, walking around the far side of the tennis courts where a few of my students rallied back and forth. On my second loop, the soccer game had started, a crowd gathering in the stands along each sideline. I kept moving, passing the tennis courts again, and smiling at a woman who walked two aging golden retrievers along the trail at an alarmingly slow pace.
Another person hovered off the path, catching my gaze. Phoebe slouched behind the metal fence of the court where McKenzie was serving. She wasn’t dressed in tennis clothes, but she was focused on the match. As McKenzie tossed the ball in the air, Phoebe coughed. McKenzie stopped mid-swing and glared over her shoulder. She repositioned herself and tossed the ball above her head a second time. Phoebe coughed.
McKenzie threw her head back in exasperation, the sun reflecting off her shiny ponytail. “Can you not stand there, please?”
“Oh, sorry. Does it bother you?” Phoebe asked, sarcasm cutting through her voice.
I loitered at an even more sluggish pace than the woman with the golden retrievers, a warning bubbling through my veins. Phoebe wore a satisfied expression like she’d won a game of checkers. The unsmiling tennis coach strode toward them from a nearby court to handle the situation. I forced myself to keep walking as I wondered about Phoebe’s role on the team. When I passed the courts on my next loop, McKenzie’s match was in progress, but Phoebe was gone.
I completed my walk thirty minutes later, returning to the ungraded papers inside my classroom. It was already 5:45 p.m. by the time I stacked the last pop quiz on top of the pile. Admiring my organized classroom and sparkling lab equipment, I heaved myself up from my chair and massaged the kink in my back. The halls had mostly cleared out, only a few stragglers remaining from after-school activities. Exiting the side door, I followed the longer route to my car, hoping Nick would still be hanging around so I could find out how the game went. The student parking lot sat mostly empty as I paced along the sidewalk in the direction of the soccer field. A cluster of girls squealing in high-pitched voices and carrying tennis rackets crossed in front of me. They scattered toward a few of the remaining cars.
I turned the bend, treading around a patch of woods and peering down toward the field. Two stray soccer balls lay in the middle of the grass, but the players and spectators had cleared out. I shrugged, continuing toward my car when something moved behind the nearest goal. I paused and stretched my neck, recognizing the skirt of Elena’s floral sundress fluttering in the wind. The goalpost obscured part of her body, but not enough. Through the netting, I could see Nick wrapping his muscled arms around Elena. She leaned toward him, the two of them making out like seniors on prom night.
My pulse raced as I glanced in every direction, checking to see if Jefferson or any students or parents had witnessed this inappropriate public display of affection. The sidewalks were empty. It was only me.
“The soccer net is see-through!” I wanted to yell but didn’t. There was no point embarrassing anyone, including myself. I jogged toward the parking lot instead. I’d talk to them tomorrow, as a friend. I’d remind them how, at a school like Ravenswood, appearances mattered. Albright was a rule follower. No one could blame them for pursuing a romance, but they needed to be more discreet. There were only a handful of teachers I enjoyed spending time with, who I counted as actual friends. I couldn’t stand the thought of either one of them losing their job.
I rushed toward my car, adrenaline shooting through me as if I’d witnessed some sort of crime. My reaction was ridiculous, and I forced myself to inhale a deep breath and chill out. It was only a kiss. This would end up being an entertaining story to tell Craig when I got home, but nothing more.
I stepped from the grass onto the cement, noticing a lone car parked near the edge of the lot, a silver Camry glinting in the early-evening light. My feet scurried past the empty car, but a flitting shadow pulled my attention toward the front window. I spun around, the outline of shaggy black hair sending my heart rate racing again. The light shifted and a familiar profile became visible behind the glass. Rowan slunk down behind the steering wheel, peering out in the direction of the soccer field. He was watching Elena and Nick from his car. He’d seen the whole thing.
Six
Amy
Amy punched the four-digit code into the locker and pulled open the door. Perspiration dripped from her forehead into her eye and she wiped it away with the skimpy gym towel. She’d completed her weight-lifting routine followed by forty minutes on the elliptical machine. Small victories.
