“We’ll take the necessary precautions, and if things start getting hot, we’ll get out of here,” Uncle Jamie said at breakfast before school.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” she said. “We could go now if you want. Doesn’t matter to me.”
He paused in the middle of sipping his coffee. “Really? I thought you were just complaining about moving and wanted to stay here till Christmas holiday.”
“Break. Americans don’t say they’re taking a holiday. They say vacation. And break if it’s a delay in their work or school schedules,” she corrected, getting a smirk. “And no. I don’t care. It’s fine if you wanna’ go now.”
“We’ll see,” he said and finished his eggs. “I discussed it with them, and they said they’d let us know if they hear anything else on this virus.”
She bit her thumbnail, wondering if she should tell him what she knew. That would lead to questions about using the internet and where she’d gone to use it and who’d been with her at the time. Too many questions. Even more lies to cover them. She could barely look him in the eye as it was. He didn’t deserve that, not after all the sacrifices he’d made for her.
“Okay. Just keep me in the know,” she said and gave him the hang-ten symbol as she rose to set her plate in the sink.
“Be careful, Wren,” he warned and joined her there. “They think that guy who went berserk the other day on the job site had this sickness. That was crazy. He was hitting people with a cement hammer. The one guy’s still in the hospital that got beat.”
“Hm, yeah,” she remarked, knowing that Alex was also still in the ICU but not from being hit with a hammer. He’d probably find out at work today when he went. No sense explaining the situation with Elijah. He was officially dead to her. He really could fuck off this time.
Wren drove to school and parked near a side entrance and walked fast to the front entrance. The air was so cold today, the sky so overcast that she feared it was going to snow. She hated the snow.
A girl bumped into her going past security into the building. It caused Wren to spill her coffee from her to-go mug on her jacket. The girl just kept going.
“Asshole,” Wren swore under her breath and kept her head down.
“What’d you say to me?” she asked and stopped dead in her tracks. “Did you hear what this loser just said to me, Jen?”
Her friend nodded. “Oh, yeah, girl. I heard it.”
“Bugger off, asshole,” Wren repeated, getting a strange look from her.
“You…”
“Skylar, just keep going,” the police officer said to the girl who’d knocked into her.
Wren kept going, too. She had no time or patience for these people in this stupid little town with their stupid football and their stupid athletes, one in particular. She really hoped Jaime got them out of here soon. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. Usually, that was about all the notice she got. Just to be safe, she’d washed and packed away her clothes last night in the hopes he’d say it was time again.
They had a sub in English, and she was relieved that Elijah wasn’t there. Most of the kids played on their phones. Instead, she got a pass to the library where she researched Tacoma, Washington, since it was a city Jamie had named last night as a possibility if they had to move.
She was able to avoid Elijah during lunch, too, and sat in a corner away from the rest of the kids. She had no desire to see him, not ever again. As she was finishing her salad, the girl who’d run into her this morning approached her table.
“Hey, bitch,” the girl called loudly, trying to draw attention, which instantly did.
“This ought to be intelligent,” Wren said to herself and heard a few chuckles from tables nearby. Maybe this Skylar chick wasn’t as popular as she thought. Wren noticed she was flanked by girls she knew to be cheerleaders. She was probably one, too.
“What do you mean by calling me an asshole this morning, bitch?” she asked as she marched around the table in her pink tracksuit to confront Wren.
“What do you want?” she asked calmly.
“You called me an asshole, bitch.”
The girls in her posse issued ‘ooh’s.” Wren had been in many situations like this before being the new kid all the time. It usually happened on the first day. She was under strict orders to turn the other cheek. For the past four years, she had.
“Gee, so sorry to have offended,” she said stiffly and with no real feeling.
“You will be, you fucking weirdo,” the nasty girl promised and dumped the rest of Wren’s salad on her lap.
Wren just pursed her lips, trying to hold back a grin, and nodded her head knowingly. Then she made the terrible mistake of looking up and catching movement off to her right across the cafeteria. Elijah was marching her way with a pissed off expression on his face. Was he mad that she was about to get into it with one his likely conquests? Skylar picked the wrong day and time to mess with her. Seeing Elijah only made her even angrier than she already was.
Wren shot out of her seat.
“Yeah, you wanna’ fight, bitch?” the girl encouraged.
Skylar took two aggressive steps at her with both hands out as if she were going to pull her hair or choke her. Wren slapped her hands down, hooked onto one of them and flipped the girl over her back. She landed on the concrete floor. She hit hard, too. She let out a loud ‘oof!’ when she came to a stop. Wren didn’t care.
Unfortunately, Skylar grabbed at her leg and tried to trip her as she stepped away. The girl was embarrassed. She was going to be a lot more soon enough.
Wren hauled back and kicked the girl solidly in the ribs. She rolled away in pain but sprang to her feet. She charged Wren, who dodged her and gave her a push into the table, sending lunches flying. The girl spun and swung on her, which Wren expertly ducked. One of her friends screamed. Wren didn’t care. It felt good to take out a little of her anger at the world for a change. Skylar wasn’t about to stop, though. She was embarrassed in front of her friends and still thought she could win.
The girl swung wildly at her, which she dodged again but grabbed the back of Skylar’s head and pulled it downward as she brought her right knee up connecting with her face.
Training with Jamie for four years straight had made her this way. When she was fighting with him, she had been taught to do it as if her life depended on it. Moves were automatic, defensive or offensive. It didn’t matter. She didn’t have to think about what to do next. She didn’t feel panicky, either. Her hands were still and calm, not shaking at all. Sparring with Jamie made her tough.
Skylar straightened and held her bloody nose. She charged forward again, so Wren dodged and ended it by sending the girl flying across a table through other kids’ lunches and covering her in food debris. It wasn’t like when she fought Jamie. He was like kicking at solid steel. Skylar doubled over and fell to her hands and knees. Wren shoved her over onto her side with the bottom of her boot. She was crying and holding her bloody nose.
Wren had no sympathy for her. She had it coming. She’d seen the girl bullying other kids since she came to this shit school. She’d also heard all of the nasty comments the girl had made about her, too.
“You crazy bitch!” one of Skylar’s friends screamed.
Someone was stepping into the ring. Or, at least that’s what her words implied. Wren lunged toward her but was grabbed from behind in a bear hug. She knew somehow that it was Elijah by the sheer size and strength of his arms.
“Enough, Wren,” he shouted above the melee as a lunch monitor came over. Kids were yelling and encouraging the fighting. It was like being in a Roman colosseum.
“Take her to the principal’s office, Mr. Brannon,” the man said with an angry, judgmental scowl on his face.
“Yes, sir,” he answered like the robot he was. “Come on.”
She yanked free, grabbed her bag, and stormed out.
“What the hell, Wren?” he asked her once they were out in the hall by themselves.
She shot him a nasty glare and threw her arm toward the cafeteria door. “I don’t need an escort, Chosen One. Just go back to your throne. I know where I’m going.”
Wren marched ahead, but he caught up.
“Hey, stop, dammit,” he said and grabbed her upper arm, which she shirked free. She did stop, though.
“Don’t touch me!”
He reared back with surprise, “What was that all about? You beat the hell out of that girl.”
“That girl? You mean, one of your many jersey chasers? Is your ego going to suffer with one out of commission for a few days?”
He gave her a surprised and perplexed look. “What?”
“Oh, please,” she derided. “You’ve probably banged half the chicks in this school.”
“How the…” he started but stopped abruptly. “We’re not talking about me here. Why’d you do that?”
“She pissed me off,” she admitted with a shrug and continued walking. “Keep that in mind the next time you lay hands on me.”
“Half the time, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or never talk to you again. And I think you’re feeling the same way about me,” he said, then looked surprised that he had.
She scoffed and shook her head, “You’ve got a very wild imagination, Golden Boy. I never, ever have wanted you to kiss me. I’d rather die, so stay away from me or you’re gonna get what your little girlfriend back there got.”
“Just because you beat up a jersey chaser sure as hell doesn’t mean you could do the same to me.”
She hit him with a raised eyebrow carrying with it a taunting message. He backed down but folded his arms across his broad chest.
“Okay, maybe you could get close. But why do that?”
“She’s an asshole. Like I already told her,” she said as if that made it okay.
“What’s your problem?”
She laughed at the irony of his statement. “Oh, that’s so…” She couldn’t even finish. Where to start? “Gee, didn’t you get my message? Or can you not read? I thought I made myself very clear. Just stay away from me, Golden Boy.”
She rushed away for her disciplinary meeting with the creepy principal, who Elijah told her he called Principal Pothead. Principal Prick would make more sense.
“He’s not in, young lady,” his secretary told her. “But I’ve already heard about your little fiasco in the lunchroom. You are making quite the reputation for yourself.”
“Thanks. I aim to please,” she stated with sarcasm. “So, when’s he gonna be in, Phyllis?”
“Just go to class, Miss Foster,” she said, giving Wren a hateful look. “You’ll have to meet with Principal Russo after school. He’s in meetings till then.”
This piqued her interest, “About what?”
“Excuse me?”
“What are the meetings about?”
The lady with too much rouge and red lipstick and tall, teased, matching poofy red hair exclaimed, “Well, you’ve got some nerve. Go to class, young lady!”
Wren rolled her eyes and left. Instead of going to class, she went outside to catch a breath of fresh air. Her phone rang a few minutes later. It was Jamie. She had to sell her scuffle with the Skylar chick as self-defense. He told her they were leaving at the end of next week, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Two weeks. They’d be out of here by November first. Good. She was glad.
“Tacoma?”
“Yes, or some small city in North Carolina. We’re not sure. Then you’ll return and start fall classes at Ohio State.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your request was approved. They said with a college and city the size of Columbus, you’ll have no trouble blending in. That is if you can stay out of fights till then.”
“Sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“Ice your knuckles, Wren,” he said. Then he joked, which was rare, “And probably your knees, knowing you.”
He disconnected to her morose chuckle. Then her phone buzzed before she even got it put in her pocket.
I skipped fifth. Meet me in the workout center.
Apparently the English language is too difficult for you. Let me clarify what you clearly didn’t understand yesterday. Go to hell.
I’m not asking. Get over here now.
“Ass!” she swore. Wren decided to ignore his brutish demands. Elijah Brannon was not going to tell her what to do. Instead, she marched to the cafeteria kitchen and stole a baggie of ice. Then she went to class. She didn’t want to, but she also wasn’t going to let him think she skipped because of him.
He wasn’t in Chemistry class, either, and neither was their teacher, so the sub- the wrestling coach, who knew absolutely nothing about Chemistry- let them go early. She walked to the principal’s office again to meet with him. Wren startled as Elijah appeared at her side talking.
“Why didn’t you come to the gym?
“Hm, let me think…” she asked rhetorically and flipped him off in slow motion. “Clear it up for you?”
“Stop being so damn immature,” he ordered, angering her. “I need to talk to you.”
“No, you really, really don’t. Now, I have somewhere to be.”
“I’ll wait for you,” he said.
Wren rolled her eyes and snorted. She sifted quickly into the crowded hallway around them and lost Elijah.
She went into the principal’s office and was told to sit and wait for him, which she did, for thirty-four minutes. What a total dick.
“Is he ever getting here? I mean, the school’s all gone but me.”
“Oh, don’t be so high-falutin’, little missy.”
She frowned. What the hell did that mean? Sometimes American slang made no sense.
“Is he coming?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Phyllis answered. “Now, I have to go and pick up my granddaughter from daycare. You keep your little butt right there. He just messaged and said he’d be here in two minutes.”
“Fine,” Wren relented.
It took him ten not two more minutes, and by the time he came in, Wren was devoid of patience.
“Let’s go, Wren Foster,” he ordered and ushered her into the hallway.
“What? Where?”
“The detention room,” he said and walked past her in a huff.
“Why?” she asked and followed a bit more slowly.
“Let’s go!” he barked. “Keep up. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”
She trudged after him but wondered why he wanted her to go to the detention room with him. Was she supposed to sit in there by herself with an empty school? Detention was probably over by now or nearly so. She wouldn’t stay. She’d just climb out a window and leave and call Jamie. She wasn’t ever supposed to be bothered with stuff like detentions.
“I want you to get a good, long look at where you’re going to be spending a lot of your time.”
“Fine, just tell me where to report tomorrow after school and I will,” she said. No, she wouldn’t. Jamie would get her out of it.
He turned left down a darker hall with no windows. They passed her economics classroom and the chem lab. Then he turned right. She was trying to memorize the route. It was a big school, and she didn’t have it entirely committed to memory, which didn’t matter now because she was leaving it very soon. He made two more turns.
“Seriously,” she said to his back. He was a tall man, probably around six-three and lean. He was balding and wore brown polyester slacks, always with the brown slacks. “Just give me the room number, and I’ll show up tomorrow for detention.”
“Hold your tongue, Miss Foster!” he barked rudely.
He opened a door to their right and stood aside until she entered. Once they were inside, he turned and swiped his key card through a slot. The light turned red. Had he just locked it? Wren immediately felt on edge.
“Sit!” he ordered.
Wren looked around. There were no desks. There was a single chair in the middle of the tiny room. It wasn’t the detention room at all. It couldn’t be. It looked more like an oversized janitorial closet or something. Or some sort of interrogation room. It was about the size of her kitchen in the trailer. There were cupboards to her right and shelves on the left. The walls were cement block, unfinished. The back of the room did not provide an exit, either. She turned back to him.
“What are we doing in…”
She received a sharp slap against her cheek. It instantly stunned her. Then she saw red from anger.
“What the f…?”
He slapped her again. This time she actually grabbed her stinging cheek and reared back as he leaned in. What was he thinking?
“I knew you were going to be a pain in my dick,” he swore at her angrily, spittle hitting her face. He was sweaty. Had he really just left meetings? He looked like just came from a sauna. “You think you can come into my school and act like a fucking heathen just because of those papers?”
Wren flinched, thinking he was going to hit her again. It was hard to see. He’d hit her hard enough to make her right eye water. Jamie would kill him for this. “I think I should go. You can call my uncle.”
“Oh, your uncle. Right. Fuck your uncle,” he swore.
“Principal Russo, I don’t want you to get into trouble,” she said, and he smiled. “This could severely affect your job, sir.”
She was going to try and make him see reason. Wren ran through the threat assessment checklist in her head. He was being really weird. He’d struck her. They were in a small, dimly lit room at the back of the school somewhere and everyone other than kids playing sports was gone for the day. This situation was not an accident.
“I don’t want you to get fired,” she said and rose her chin an inch to show him that she held all the cards.
His hands moved from his hips to the buckle of his leather belt. He sniffed and swiped a hand over his sweaty brow.
“Sir, this isn’t going to end well. You could lose your retirement.”
“This isn’t going to end well for you, either,” he promised with a glint in his dark eyes and whipped off his belt. Was he going to beat her with it?
Wren slid her hand to the butt of her pistol inside her hoodie. She’d had to call Jamie to have him take care of the principal when he’d thrown a fit over her carrying on school grounds. He knew she had the gun, and that was why in the next instant, he pounced with animal-like quickness on her. She drew it but wasn’t able to pull it all the way up before he was on her.
“You little bitch,” he said and grappled with her until he had her wrists and the gun fell, skidding away.
Wren tried to knee him in the crotch, but he was no amateur. He deflected. She pushed up through his arms and sliced down on his elbows. She tried to run past him. He grabbed her around the waist and slammed her into the door and flattened himself against her. It was hard to breathe. He meant it to be.
She managed to flip and take a knee to his crotch. He deflected it again, wrapped her in a bear hug, to which she got a half-strength head butt against his forehead. Then he took them both to the deck. It knocked the wind out of her because he spun at the last second, letting his weight fall on her. Breathing became difficult, which made fighting him off even harder. He reared back onto his haunches and backhanded her. She reached up and clawed his face, even tried to gouge his eyes. That earned her a punch to the ribs. Now, she really couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t holding back. Nothing about this was normal.
Wren didn’t have the strength to punch him again. She could barely draw a full breath. No matter. She used her legs as Jamie taught her how to get out of this very scenario.
She kicked at his back, kneed him there, too, and hooked her calf around his. He shook her shoulders hard, slamming her head into the concrete, which effectively stunned her. He kept wrestling with her hands, trying to capture them.
“What the hell are you doing?” she screamed in between gasps for breath as he tied her wrists with his leather belt. She brought her fists down on his head, and he backhanded her. “Are you crazy?”
Wren struggled and fought in earnest to get her hands free and was disappointed that he’d managed to tie them so quickly. He was a lot stronger than he looked. It was like wrestling Uncle Jamie, only this man wanted to kill her and Uncle Jamie loved her.
“My uncle is gonna kill you!” she yelled in his face and thrashed about under him. She spat blood at him.
What he did next made her almost throw up. He squeezed both breasts painfully.
“Are you fuckin’ crazy? Get off me!”
Wren went wild with panic and began kicking and squirming. This wasn’t about school-sanctioned discipline anymore. It never was.
He ignored the kicks, which were full strength, and pulled her arms above her head while straddling her and squeezing her breath out of her ribs his legs were so tight. Then she heard metal against metal and looked up. He’d latched his belt onto something, a chain or hook wound around a steel pipe coming out of the wall, a water or gas line by the upside-down looks of it. This spurred her to try harder.
He had planned this. Why else would he have known that pipe was there and to fasten his belt to it with some sort of clamp or clasp or whatever it was? He took the time to set this up, plan it, orchestrate it. Wren had to get free.
“If you hurt me, my uncle will kill you,” she warned again.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said as if that made sense.
“Mr. Russo, he’ll kill you,” she repeated. “You don’t understand. He’s…”
“Oh, I understand all right. You don’t understand. It’s all over now,” he said.
“What? What do you mean?”
She wanted to throw up again as he drooled over her and ran his hands down the front of her. Literally drooled. Spittle hit her shirt. His eyes were glassed over and bloodshot. She wondered if he was sick or just high on a bad batch of pot. She didn’t know a lot about drugs, but maybe sometimes a bad batch could make a person violent. Maybe he’d taken something else, something stronger like cocaine or heroin.
“If he finds out…” she said.
He gripped her face with one hand and squeezed painfully.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got you in here as long as I want you, Foster. You understand now?”
She shook her head, and he squeezed her cheeks more forcefully. He ran his other hand down over her front, fondling her breasts and further down to cup between her legs her through her jeans. Wren tried to scream, but his hand came up over her face, this time covering it with a rag that smelled bad. No, it smelled putrid, and then that’s all she remembered.
…her head hurt. She blinked hard and sucked in a deep breath. She could hear her phone ringing. Somewhere.
Then her eyes focused, and she remembered what happened.
“Good, glad you didn’t miss the big event.”
Principal Prick was above her. His shirt was missing. She looked down. So was hers. As a matter of fact, she was stripped down to just her panties.
“Don’t worry,” he said, holding his phone up. “I took plenty of pictures and video to commemorate the event.”
“Wh…” her throat was too dry to form words. Her stomach was so sick she was afraid the rising bile was going to end up all over the front of her. And her mind was foggy and confused.
His voice had changed so drastically. He always drew out certain vowel sounds, but now it was like nothing was holding him back from being the psychotic creep he obviously kept hidden.
“You’re very photogenic, Wren Foster.”
Why was she so woozy? He’d stuck that rag that smelled funny against her mouth. Had he drugged her with something? It had to be. She couldn’t remember, didn’t know what time it was, or what had happened. Had she blacked out? She had to have. Did he rape her? This wasn’t right.
His hand was moving over her naked breasts without worry or care. Her head lolled sleepily to the side, and she spotted her pistol and clothing in a pile. She had to get to them.
“Okay,” she said, her words slurring just slightly. “Okay, I’ll do what you want.”
His hand slid down and inside her panties. She wanted to vomit again, but this time it was from his touch and not the gross taste in her mouth.
“Oh, you’ll do what I want anyway, kitten,” he stated as if she had no choice. “You thought you were so tough, didn’t you?”
That was it. The vowel sounds went up an octave in pitch. It was so creepy.
She shook her head. His hand moved from her to himself. She had to lower her gaze and look at the floor beside her. She didn’t want to watch him touch himself over her.
Her phone rang again. Damn. If only she could get to it. She heard it off to her right somewhere.
“I already know you don’t have a tracing device on it,” he said, touching her inside her panties again. He wasn’t gentle. “Can’t have a phone with GPS, right? Oh, yeah, I’ve been studying all about people like you.”
Her eyes darted to his, which seemed black. He also seemed more insane now. Maybe he was just coming into his own and was more comfortable revealing it to her. Somehow, intuition or something else told her she was going to die. He couldn’t let her go after this. He planned on killing her.
“My uncle…”
“I already called him at work,” he said. “See, you think I’m a stupid middle-aged loser, don’t you? I’m not. I’ve been waiting very patiently for you to come along. A long, long time actually. And then you showed up at my school, and I knew. I knew you were sent here at this exact time for this exact purpose.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the end times. Haven’t you been watching the news, pet? It’s all over now. Two dead ones in my own school just last week. Night crawlers are what they’re being called. That little shit, Brannon called the Sheriff. I knew he was a little weasel. Sheriff took care of it, too. Killed those night crawlers. As a matter of fact, your English teacher is one of ‘em now, too. Ugly bitch. Sheriff covered it up like he’s supposed to, though, but it’s happening. Soon, we’ll all be free.”
“Free?”
His eyes glittered with insanity and yet sanity, as well.
“Free to be who we really are. Transformed. Enlightened. I’ve always been enlightened. You will be soon. Everyone will be. Then you’ll be free, too, pet.”
This terrified her. She knew exactly what she was dealing with. It was the reason her sixth sense had gone off every time she was around him. It was trying to warn her, and she hadn’t listened. Her principal was insane, probably a serial killer or rapist and she’d ignored her own instincts. He just kept rambling.
“You’ll be free of restrictions, laws, everything.”
“You called my uncle?” she asked, trying to delay the inevitable.
“Oh, yes, my pet,” he said and stroked her hair. “He won’t be worried about you. I told him that you and a few other students were in detention and then I was going to make you work on decorating the gym for Saturday’s homecoming as punishment. Don’t worry. He won’t be expecting you for hours.”
“But he’ll call the police if I don’t show up soon.”
He smiled, and more of the insane showed in it. “Tsk-tsk. That’s a lie. I know you don’t call the cops. Not your kind, huh?”
“But we…”
He leaned down swiftly and breathed into her face, “Enough talk.” His tone was threatening, and the pitch had lowered to something new and deep. “Don’t make me use the rag again.”
She wriggled her hands and felt the leather belt slip just a little. It gave her hope. Then he started touching her again, and that hope diminished even more.
Wren began struggling with him, which somehow seemed to make him more excited. It didn’t matter. She had to distract him so that she could keep working her hands back and forth. She felt like they were almost out.
Her phone rang again, and someone on the other side of the door called her name. Principal Russo whipped his head to the side to look.
“Wren?” a male voice called out again.
She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to remain mute and take the chance the person would leave. She screamed her head off, which earned her a punch to the jaw. That pissed her off, and she started pummeling her feet into him. She managed to land a good square kick to his junk. He howled as someone banged on the door. Wren screamed for help again at the top of her lungs. It sounded hoarse and strange.
Then there was a loud sound like someone was kicking at the door. She was still wrestling with the principal. He seemed intent on raping her even though the cops could be at their door.
“Get off me!”
“Shut up, little whore,” he said into her face, his voice sounding even deeper and more menacing than before. “That lock’s gonna hold. You’re still getting this.”
“Help!” she cried out and continued to kick at him. The fingers of her left hand slipped, and she nearly wept with joy as she got one hand free. She began hitting him with vigor. He jammed her legs apart and tore at her panties.
Then the door slammed inward, smacking loudly against the wall. She looked up to see Elijah standing there with the most obvious look of shock she’d ever seen on a person. His eyes were huge. Then they were violent.
“What the…get off of her!” he screamed and ran at Principal Pothead, hitting him hard and taking him to the concrete floor. It was just like he did at the pharmacy. Probably what he did every Friday night. She was never gladder that he played football.
Wren wasn’t waiting for his help. She dug in her heels and scooted to a seated position where she could work on the restraint binding her hand. Her eyes jumped to the corner where Elijah was wrestling with their naked principal. The man took a cheap shot at Elijah by hitting him on the back with a heavy-duty industrial broom. He fell over, spied her pistol, and grabbed it. Then Elijah brought it up in front of him from his position on his back on the floor. He fired, and nothing happened.
Their principal lunged for Elijah, knocking the gun free. He had no choice but to drop it to defend himself. Then they were on their feet again. Elijah hit him in the jaw, and he spun around into a stainless-steel sink against the wall she hadn’t seen before. The principal had a sharp object. She saw it reflect in the light when his hand moved.
“Elijah, he’s got a knife!” she cried as her hand finally slid free.
Wren scrambled on her hands and knees to her pistol, flicked off the safety, and yelled, “Get down, Elijah!”
He ducked, and she fired, the bark of the .45 so loud it stunned her ears in the small room. Elijah backed away as their principal stumbled toward him. She couldn’t shoot again. Elijah was in the way now.
Mr. Russo screamed in a rage and shoved at Elijah, who was just as shocked as he was. The principal managed to push him until he fell backward toward Wren. Then the naked man ran through the open door as Wren fired two more shots at him. She was sure another one connected with his shoulder. Elijah rushed over and slammed and locked the door. Then he was at her side as she turned the pistol’s safety mechanism back on.
“Wren, oh, Wren,” he said and whipped off his hoodie and pulled it down over her head gently. “Oh, my God.”
Her arms hurt terribly from being tied so tightly and stretched so taut for such a long time. They were shaking. All of her was. She knew it was shock. She also knew how to handle it.
Elijah gently helped her slide her arms into the sleeves and pulled it down over her hips.
“Here, your jeans.”
He picked her up as if she weighed the same as Hope and carried her to the chair that was still sitting in the same spot despite all the violence that took place in the room. He set her gently down on it.
“We need to get outta here,” she said, her voice quivering. “He could come back.”
“I need to call the police.”
She vehemently shook her head, “No, no cops.”
“Wren, dammit!” he swore as he helped her pull on her socks and boots and even tied them for her. “You’re hurt. I need to get you to a hospital. We need to call the police. Our freaking principal just tried to rape you. Right? He didn’t do it yet, right?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then we have to report this. He’s a psycho…”
“Yeah, I know. But I can’t have the police involved, Elijah. You don’t understand.”
Her phone buzzed. It was Uncle Jamie. She didn’t even know what to say to him. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the phone.
“Take me home. Please. Just take me home.”
Elijah stood with a nod, and Wren saw the spot of red on his t-shirt from her seated position.
“Hey, are you hurt?” she asked quickly and lifted the hem of his shirt. “Oh, damn. Elijah, did he stab you?”
“What?” he asked and looked down at the blood slowly trickling out of a wound in his stomach.
Wren jumped out of her chair and went to a metal cabinet against the wall. She located a box of tissues. It was the only thing she could find to use.
“C’mon, we need to go,” she said. “Press this against your wound.”
“I need to call the cops,” he said.
“Elijah, I need to tell you some stuff. I’ll tell you on the ride, and then you can call the cops, okay?”
He nodded shakily. This was a traumatic event for him, too.
Wren opened the door slowly and peered around the corner. She didn’t see their psychotic principal, so she nodded over her shoulder. A blood trail to the right indicated he must’ve gone that way. She pointed to it, and Elijah inclined his head to the left. She wasn’t about to argue with that.
“If you get weak, you can lean on my shoulder. I don’t know how much you’ve bled out.”
“I don’t think much,” he said. “I don’t think it’s that deep. I feel fine. Just stings a little.”
She nodded as they made it back to the front door without seeing Mr. Russo. When they left the building, Wren could see a blaze in the parking lot. It was her car. He’d lit her car on fire.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “C’mon, Wren. I’m parked right up here. I moved my car and came back in to wait for you.”
She flicked the safety off on her pistol again and kept it in a two-handed grip until they got to his car.
“I’ll drive.”
“Sure,” he said and handed her the keys. As they were getting in on their respective sides, she couldn’t shake the feeling their principal was watching them from somewhere on the grounds. It made her fire up the big engine, peel out, and speed away. It was a good thing she knew how to drive a stick.
She dialed Jamie, “I’m on my way. We’ve got a problem.”
“I’ve called about ten times. What’s the situation?” he asked on the other end of the line.
“I’m gonna need help and so does my friend. I think he was stabbed. I think we’ll need to leave tomorrow instead of next week.”
He cut the call, and Wren pressed harder on the gas. She even ran two red lights in her haste but managed not to stall out. Beside her on the seat, she kept one hand on the pistol. She glanced up to see Elijah staring at her. He seemed upset, but not because he’d just been stabbed.