Warning Signs. Katy Lee

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      She crossed the yellow-tiled floor to the stall door and pushed on it. It opened easily. Empty. Stephanie wasn’t in there, after all.

      Miriam headed back to the door. She curled her hand around the cool metal handle and pulled.

      It didn’t budge.

      She shook the handle a few times, wrenching it toward her, but no matter how much muscle she put into the pull, the door stayed shut.

      Is it locked? But the door didn’t lock on its own. It had to be locked with a physical key. A key that Stephanie kept on her desk. Had Stephanie locked the door for the night, thinking no one was in there? Wouldn’t she have checked first to make sure?

      Miriam pounded on the door. If Stephanie was still out in the hall maybe she would hear the banging and come back. Miriam fisted her hands and kept up the banging.

      Please hear it, Stephanie, please! Miriam’s words were only in her head. But in the next moment, the lights went out, and Miriam opened her mouth to speak aloud.

      It was now necessary.

      She hoped she was getting the words out correctly and loud enough for someone to hear. Her fists pounded harder. She fumbled in the pitch blackness for the door handle and yanked again and again. She banged and yelled some more. She banged through throbbing hands. She banged until they were numb. Someone had to still be there. Someone had to walk by sooner or later. If she let up, they would never know she was in there.

      She pressed her cheek to the cool wood, feeling her drubbing vibrations pick up speed to a level of thrashing. Her heart rate joined the pace until sweat drenched her and she couldn’t stand on her feet any longer. Her pounding weakened and slowed as her strength fizzled. She had no idea how long she’d been in there. It felt like at least an hour. Everyone was surely gone by now. Slowly she turned her back to the door and slid down to the floor.

      Where was her dark-haired rescuer now? Probably down at the pier having dinner with one of the pretty local girls, laughing over something that wasn’t even funny and making friends with people who could understand him.

      Someone not like her. The freak, as Mother always said.

      Miriam touched her face with pulsing hands and felt hot wet streaks of tears. She vaguely wondered when she had started crying as she stared off into the black room. She accepted she would be spending the night locked in this dark room as though she were ten years old again and being taught a lesson. And like all those other times of punishment, Miriam wasn’t sure what she had done wrong this time to be locked away, once again isolated into a cold, dark world, when all she ever wanted was to find a home.

      She closed her eyes, preferring the darkness behind her lids to the darkness around her. It gave her a sense of control in a situation where two of her senses were lost. Her hands moved by memory, calling on her heavenly Father as she had all those times of punishment in her mother’s home. And once at her grandmother’s when she’d come to Stepping Stones to visit with her mother.

      That had been the worst darkness ever. So much so that Miriam, to this day, tried to block the horrifying images out, never wanting to relive the terror of that room in her grandmother’s basement again. With its damp dirt floor and salty, musty air, it had been so much scarier than the closet at home. Her chest tightened. Pain ripped through her lungs from the remembrance. Images that could only have been the workings of her wild imagination still haunted her.

      A woman with bulging eyes. A man’s hand grabbing at her.

      No one had been in that room with her. Mother had told her she’d made it all up. But if that was the case, why did it feel so real? So real that even though she now lived in her grandmother’s house, she still refused to enter that room. It was locked, and it would stay locked forever.

      Breathe, she told herself. I’m not there now. I’m in a bathroom at school. Nothing scary here. Please, God, find me. She leaned back and called on her true rescuer—the only one who could find her in the darkest of places.

      THREE

      The radio at Wes’s belt chirped out a code that referenced a disturbance at the docks. “That’s my cue to hightail it out of here.” He headed for the classroom door. “I’ll call you tonight to go over the plans for the impromptu locker searches tomorrow.” He stopped in the doorway. “Oh, and Owen? Thanks for not being too mad at me for leaving out the fact that Ms. Hunter is deaf. I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew. I know it’s a tough topic for you...with your son and all.”

      Owen glanced up from his chair behind the teacher’s desk. He could see that Wes was worried. “I’m over it.” He hoped he sounded convincing and picked up the English class syllabus to change the subject. “Besides, the fact that Ms. Hunter gave me this intense of a class when I’m supposed to be investigating only makes me think you might be right about her. If the signing duo’s guilty, their secret won’t last for long.”

      Wes relaxed with a grin. “Great. I knew calling you was the right thing to do. Good to be catching the bad guys with you again, buddy. See you tomorrow.”

      Owen jerked his head as a goodbye, but his attention was fully absorbed by the syllabus still in his hands. It might as well be Greek. He let the paper flutter to the desk. How was he ever going to teach this class? Why couldn’t he be a substitute gym teacher or maybe a lunch aide?

      He picked up a copy of the book the students were presently reading. The Sonnets of William Shakespeare. He hadn’t been kidding earlier when he’d made that remark to Ms. Hunter about understanding Shakespeare. Apparently the jokes were on him now. He shouldn’t be surprised she’d put him in this class. She was probably in her office now, laughing about it with her lackey.

      Owen fanned through the paperback book, noting the number of poems that raced by on the flipping pages. “There’s over a hundred of them. How am I going to pull this off?” he said, wondering if teachers could tuck cheat sheets up their sleeves. He made a mental note to make some tonight. He had to appear as if he knew what he was talking about, if for no other reason than to put the laugh back on Ms. Hunter.

      After folding the syllabus, he stuffed it into the book and stood from his hopefully very temporary desk. He slipped the book in his back jeans pocket and hit the lights to the classroom.

      The hall lights were all off except for red emergency lighting that lit up the corridors like a runway. He followed them back, turning at the corner of his wing into the main hall. The office door was sealed shut at the end of the long stretch. Had everyone gone home and left him there without as much as a goodbye?

      What about his note to Ms. Hunter? Had she stood him up? All right, maybe stood up was the wrong phrase. That sounded too datelike, and a date was the furthest thing from his calendar.

      He glanced at his watch; the red hue made it hard to read the little hand on the six. Through the glass entry doors, the last rays of sun filtered in, casting shadows on the walls and floor at the end of the hallway. Miriam Hunter and her sidekick were probably having dinner without him right now, thinking up ways to make his job harder. As if things couldn’t get any harder than finding a drug supplier while teaching English.

      Owen made his way to the exit. He didn’t have a key yet, but he knew the doors would lock as soon as they closed. A jingling sound came from behind him. His rubber soles squeaked on the tile and echoed through the long empty hallway. He circled around, an ear tuned for the sound again. Something metal, if СКАЧАТЬ