I ran.
The cold air burned my lungs. My hand still clutched the canister as I cut across the road, weaving between parked cars, trying to put as much distance between us as I could. If I could just get around the corner –
His fingers caught the back of my coat. I stumbled off balance when he dragged me almost off my feet again, rough and fast. I twisted and raised the canister –
But this time his hand snapped around my wrist and squeezed so hard my fingers went numb. I couldn't press the button before he wrenched my arm to the side and twisted. Pain shot up to my shoulder. The canister slipped from my hand and clattered to the ground.
"You little shit. Ya think this is funny?!"
I tried to yell, but his other hand clamped over my mouth, this time tight enough to cover my nose, too. I kicked at him and clawed at his arm, but it didn't do any good. My lungs screamed for air. Everything started to tilt sideways. My vision tunnelled, narrowed to a smear of lights and motion.
Then nothing.
Eli
31
Twenty minutes. That's how long ago Rowan texted to say he was leaving the school. It should've taken ten. Maybe fifteen if he stopped to stare at somebody's gaudy Christmas decorations.
But twenty?
I tried to keep it in perspective. He could've gotten caught up talking to someone. Another teacher, maybe a parent. He once told me about a kid with a head of curls who sometimes followed him around like his shadow. Rowan might be introverted, but he did like to talk to people, and he could get sidetracked easily when he was around someone he felt comfortable with.
Still, I stayed near the window to watch for him. Just in case.
After thirty minutes, I still didn't see him coming down the road. I pulled out my phone to call him. It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Straight to voicemail.
I hung up and tried again. Same thing.
Okay... He could've dropped his phone somewhere. Or maybe forgot it at his desk.
I threw my coat back on and left the flat. As I steppedout onto the street, I told myself I'd meet him halfway back, probably find him chatting with somebody he hadn't seen in a while. I'd give him shit for it – playful, of course. Tell him he reallydidalmost make me send out a search party.
But the knot in my gut wouldn't go away. Something felt off. Rowan could be forgetful at times, but he wasn't careless. If he had stopped for any reason, he'd have let me know so I wouldn't worry.
My nerves spiked when I turned the corner and still didn't see him. I pulled out my phone and tried calling again, more out of restlessness than anything else. It started to ring.
And this time, I heard it.
It was faint and muffled, but the unmistakable buzz of his ringtone cut through the quiet. I slowed and turned toward the sound as it came again, a little clearer this time. It was close. I crossed to the other side of the road, scanning the ground until I spotted something tucked just under the edge of a bush near the pavement.
Rowan’s phone.
I crouched to pick it up. The case was chipped along one corner, and the screen sported a spider web of fresh cracks. It must’ve hit the ground hard.
My stomach sank.
I stood up slowly and glanced around now with sharper eyes. I suddenly becameveryaware of how empty the street was. No movement. No voices. Just the distant hum of traffic from the main street and the quiet rustle of wind through bare branches.
Then I spotted it – about a metre off the kerb, just past the edge of the pavement. A messy streak of red stood out against the concrete.
It looked like blood. The thought made me sick.
