I’m even less okay when I look beyond the fire remains to the adjacent wall of the main building. Across the pale cinder block, the message Buck told me about is scrawled in black spray paint.
YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM THE PAST.
My knees threaten to buckle, but I stay upright.
For a long, horrible moment, my vision blurs as the school rises in my mind the way it’s supposed to be. The squeak of children’s shoes on the hallway floor, the slap of backpack straps against puffy coats, little voices bouncing off cinder block walls before the first bell.
Then, images of the children I’m charged with protecting layer over the threatening words. Second graders looking for worms after the snow melts. Fifth graders dragging their feet after recess. T.J. running ahead because he’s excited about something.
Whatever this is about, my students don’t deserve to be involved, and I need to protect them. I need to protect T.J.
Buck comes up behind me, but thankfully, he doesn’t touch me, because I think I’d break if he did.
“It’s no surprise, but the accelerant pattern matches,” he says after a moment. “Same family of solvents. Same application method.”
I stare at the wall until it blurs.
When students arrive here every morning, it’s my responsibility to keep them safe. Parents hand over their children, the most precious thing in their lives, and expect me to give them back intact.
When I wrap my arms around myself and step backward, Buck immediately steps in front of me, blocking the message from my view.
“I have a company coming to remove the paint,” he says.
The fact that he’s already thought of that, when I’m sure it’s not part of his job, nearly undoes me. “Thank you.”
His eyes search mine. “We’ll lock down campus access tighter for now. More cameras, more motion lighting. I’ll have Sentinel add midday drive-bys. I want one of us visible at pick-up and drop-off until we end this.”
One of us.The words hit me in a way he probably doesn’t intend. More personal, and also more dangerous.
CHAPTER 17
ELENA
By the time the school day ends, I’m held together by nothing stronger than habit.
I speak with staff, and I call the district. I talk to parents who heard about the fire before the official message went out, and I try to sound reassuring enough that they don’t hear the crack in my voice.
I smile at children and monitor lunch, where I redirect T.J. when he starts asking questions in front of other kids.
Kira calls and asks if I’d like T.J. to spend the night at their house, which is likely the most secure spot in the whole county, so I take her up on the offer.
When I tell T.J. about the plan, his first reaction is to ask if I’ll be okay without him. My chest squeezes painfully, but I keep holding together.
“Kira’s house is going to be a lot more fun than sitting in the office while I finish paperwork,”I tell him.
He’s too observant, too much like Tyler when he suspected I was masking my real feelings. “Is it because of the fire?”
I kneel in front of him and smooth a hand over his hair. “It’s because I need to handle some grown-up things, and I need you somewhere I know you’re safe.”
His mouth presses into a tight line. “I’m safe here, too.”
The fact that he says it like he’s trying to comfort me hits me harder than if he’d cried.
“I know, Bug.”
When Atlas and Kira come to pick him up, she touches my shoulder once, light and warm. “We’ve got him.”
I nod because speaking seems risky.
