Turning off the water and wrapping myself in a fluffy towel, I tentatively pad across the tiled floor. Swiping my hand through the moisture on the glass, I assess the reflection. Red hair, pale skin, freckles splattered across my nose and cheeks, bright green eyes. Usually, I’m pretty content with my appearance, not one to harp on small physical hang ups. But right now, I can’t help but notice how exhausted I look. Bags hang heavy beneath my eyes. The winter is always a long and exhausting stretch for teachers, but typically, I handle it with ease. Yet lately, I’ve been feeling extra worn down, like I’m swimming through quicksand every day.
I’m unhappy.
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I love my job. Ihave a nice house. I’m married to my high school sweetheart; I should be happy. But, I’m not. I’m sinking.
As I dress, as I eat breakfast, as I collect my things and get in the car, my mind is processing the realization. I try to remember when things changed, when I went from happy and carefree to…not. With a frustrated sigh, I stare into the gray skies outside. The cold November rain pelts my windshield as I navigate the downtown streets toward school. Maybe this is just seasonal depression. Maybe I can convince Brody to take me on a trip somewhere warm.
Turning into my spot in the faculty lot of the high school and swinging on my staff badge, I take a deep breath before plastering on a smile. Slipping my legs out of my car onto the wet pavement, the cold air hits me immediately. I’m not feeling it today. But the show must go on. As I close the car door and pull the hood over my head, a shiver runs down my spine.
Someone is watching me.
I can feel their eyes, their presence. Yes, it’s cold out, but the chill I feel right now is not from the cold. I spin swiftly, only to be met with emptiness. The rain drops deafen out the world as they hit the stiff material of my hood, but it’s clear—there’s no one behind me. I’m imagining things.
“Hey you.” A hand lands on my shoulder, causing me to jump and scream. “Woah, it’s just me,” Catie placates as I spin to face her, my breathing heavy with fear and exhaustion.
I’m met with the cool blue eyes of Catie Miller. She is a tall, thin blonde with a trigger mouth, and practically no censor; and my best friend. She’s never afraid to voice her opinions and speak her mind. She is sassy and sarcastic. The complete opposite of me. I envy her confidence, her ability to not care what others think of her. Catie was my staff mentor when I started teaching here, a veteran teacher who showed newer teachers the ropes at the school. Catie isn’t that much olderthan I am, but her knowledge, confidence, and ability to connect with students made her one of the most respected teachers at the school. So, when I was new and inexperienced, they had her teach me the ins and outs. Somewhere along the line, she became my closest friend.
“Emergency stand-up staff meeting in the library in like five minutes,” Catie grumbles, taking a swig of coffee as our steps fall in line with one another. We make our way across the black pavement toward the school, and I attempt to shake off the fear and the feeling of being watched.
“What? Why?” I ask.
Catie simply shrugs her shoulders. “Email came like ten minutes ago. Just said to meet in the library, no extra information.”
We walk together into the looming white building ahead. The grass is green but the leaves have long since fallen from the trees, leaving the grounds a desolate and vacant no man’s land. When the cherry blossoms bloom in a few months, bringing life and joy back to the landscape, it will feel like a different space. But for now, it’s just bleak. It doesn’t help the creep factor that the looming white building is the oldest high school in town. It’s been right in the downtown of Bellingham for over one hundred and fifty years. Plus, from this downtown location, they were within walking distance to the famous “Ted Bundy Bar,” a waterfront watering hole with a sign declaring Ted Bundy had stopped there to have a drink during his reign of terror in the Pacific Northwest. Here, staff wore their badges at all times, a clear sign they were supposed to be there, weren’t trespassing, weren’t some monstrous serial killer stalking prey.
Swiping my badge against the pad on the glass front doors, I hear the lock disengage. For a high school, ours isn’t huge, approximately thirteen hundred students in total. I like the smaller class sizes and some of the perks that come fromworking in a well-funded district, but there’s definitely a sense of entitlement that runs through these halls. Privilege is worn like a badge of honor, and sometimes, it’s a bit hard to swallow. I’m not from a wealthy family, but I married into one, making me part of the problem, I suppose.
We trudge down the white and gray checkered hallway toward the library. It is a dark room, with low hanging fluorescent lights and ancient gray carpeting. It desperately needs to be updated, but school budgets have focused more on technology than literature in recent years. All the staff are congregated around the tables in the center of the space, sitting in the worn out chairs. Our principal, Erik, is standing in the front, leaning against the circulation desk. Catie and I grab a seat at the ELA department’s table. We were never assigned to particular seats but each department, once upon a time, had claimed a table and that was their sacred space. No one dared sit at a different table or switch things up, it would be considered blasphemous among the older staff members.
My department chair, Susan, gives me a sweet and reassuring smile as I throw myself in my chair and drop my bag on the floor next to me. Susan is warm and protective and kind. She is also an amazing teacher and someone I look up to. If Catie or Susan tell me to do anything, anything at all, I would do it without a second thought or question. They’re kinda my people here. The rest of the department sits with their faces buried in their laptops, planning and grading and emailing. We’re all busy this time of year.
“Anyone know what this is about?” Catie asks, slinging her teal messenger bag to the floor as she slides into the open seat next to me.
“Erik will speak in just a moment,” Susan responds, as if she knows slightly more than everyone else about what’s going on. I shoot her a quizzical look but she ignores it.
Just as I’m about to attempt to make small talk to ease some of the uncomfortable silence, Erik pushes off from the desk behind him, drawing the attention of the entire staff.
“As you all know, Celeste Briggs has been out these past few weeks,” he begins, causing a hushed and uncomfortable silence to settle across the room.
Been out, that’s an interesting choice of words to describe the situation.
Immediately, Catie’s hand shoots up into the air next to me to interject. Erik’s eyes fall on her and he heaves a heavy sigh. He looks away, determined to ignore her, but she’s having exactly none of that.
“Have the police found any sign of her yet? Any clues?” Catie asks him sharply without prompting.
Celeste Briggs was a younger business teacher here. She’d started around the same time as I did at the school but we weren’t close. She was a curvy, cold, and distant coworker who I had never really gotten along with. The students liked her, I guess, but she was always off-putting to me. She disappeared on Halloween a few weeks ago. She’d never shown up for work that Thursday, so the school had called for a welfare check. Her apartment was empty and she was gone, seemingly without a trace. Whispers spread—she ran away, she was kidnapped, murdered. I didn’t honestly know what to believe.
Another chill races down my spine and I fight the urge to turn around despite the persistent feeling that someone’s eyes are on me again.
It’s all in your head.
“No. The police haven’t updated me much, but last I heard, there were still no leads,” Erik answers before continuing, “But the show must go on, as they say. So, we’ve finally found a long-term replacement who will take over her position for the foreseeable future.”
For the foreseeable future? That sounds ominous, like a long-term solution to what they had all been hoping was a short situation. Erik motions to the doors behind them all as the sound of someone entering through the large library doors reverberates through the cavernous space. The entire staff swings around to look at the doors, and my breath gets caught in my throat.
Entering the room is the most attractive man I have ever seen. He’s tall—very tall—with broad, muscular shoulders that are straining against the tight black T-shirt he’s wearing. Over the T-shirt is a sharp black blazer that’s doing very little to hide the muscled package underneath. Dark ink peeks out from all exposed areas, even his hands have small swirling designs. Styled hair is swooped out of his face and equally dark hair dusts his chiseled jawline. He is so ridiculously good looking that I let out an audible scoff, causing Catie to side eye me. Teachers do not look like that.
Who the hell is this guy and what does he think he’s doing here dressed like that?
