Vicious Cycle (Vicious Cycle #1)(87)

Dropping the cut on the chair, I bent down and picked a silk scarf out of the pile of clothes I had tossed out of the suitcase. It was one I had worn to teach in many times. Tonight it would serve another purpose. When I started over to Deacon, he momentarily appeared relieved. He thought I had finally come to my senses. Instead, my trembling hands took the scarf and gagged him. He bucked and fought against me, but somehow I got it tied.

Tears dripped down my cheeks when I finally allowed myself to look at him. “I’m so sorry, but I had to do this. I did it for you, and I did it for us.”

He stared at me with eyes that burned with rage and venom. I didn’t even want to imagine what he would have done to me in that moment if he had gotten free. I had to turn away from him as fast as I could. I couldn’t bear to have him looking at me that way during what might be the last minutes I had with him.

Instead of allowing myself to break down, I swiped the tears from my eyes. I grabbed the cut and shoved it down in my messenger bag. In a moment of vanity, I grabbed my makeup bag as well, so I could repair the damage of my tears. Once I slung the messenger bag over my shoulder, I headed to the door. With my hand hovering over the doorknob, I willed myself not to look back. Instead, I said, “I love you.”

Then I walked out the door.

As soon as I arrived at the school, I was herded into the cafeteria for a presentation by the principal. Facing the massive crowd, I found myself sandwiched between my fellow kindergarten teachers. My legs shook with nerves as I tried to focus on what was being said. In the end, I couldn’t tell you one word my principal spoke. Instead, I kept scanning the parents’ faces, searching for Sigel or anyone from his club. I hated that he had chosen the school for us to do our business. It wasn’t just about the one clean part of my world, my school, getting sullied. It was more about the fact that I feared people getting hurt regardless of Sigel’s promise.

At seven thirty, we were dismissed to our classrooms, where for the next hour we would meet with parents. On the walk to my room, teachers chattered around me, but I couldn’t join in. Instead, I tried focusing on keeping the frayed and tattered strands of my sanity from coming completely undone.

When I got inside my classroom, I thankfully found relief. With parents to greet and students to talk with, my worries about Sigel were forgotten. I was able to genuinely and enthusiastically talk about each student’s progress and graciously take the compliments from their parents on how I was doing teaching their child.

The sound of my principal’s voice on the intercom made me jump. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now eight thirty. We would ask that you wrap up your questions and conversations and make your way to the exits. Thank you again for attending Buffington Elementary’s Parents Night.’”

I walked the last remaining set of parents to my classroom door. Just as I waved good-bye, my cell phone rang. I glanced warily at it over my shoulder, then hurried to grab it. “Hello?” I questioned breathlessly.

“Come down the D hall—the wing of the school that hasn’t been finished. Go to the last bathroom on the hallway. I’ll be waiting.”

When the call ended, I took a deep breath. I went over to my bag and took out the cut. After I laid it on the desk, I reached inside for the knife. I slid it into one of the inside pockets of the cut, one that I could keep my hand on at all times. With a determined step, I walked out my classroom door. As the herd of parents and children streamed through the main lobby, I eased my way through them, feeling a little like a salmon swimming upstream.

While people came out of the B and C hallways, the double doors to the D hall were empty. Because of overcrowding, the school had been forced to open early, before the last wing was completed. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw no one was watching me as I stood before the closed doors. I pushed them open and stepped into the darkened hallway.

The only light to guide my way came from the emergency signs. My heels echoed along the silent hallway. The snap and pop on the tile reminded me of gunshots. I counted down the first and second bathrooms. When I reached the third door, I faltered. I couldn’t seem to bring my feet forward or my hand to push open the door. Fear clutched me in a viselike grip. Closing my eyes, I prayed for strength and for courage. Of course, the irony in praying with regards to plans to kill someone was not lost on me.

Think of Willow. Think of Deacon. Think of your parents.

Drawing in a deep breath, I pushed forward on the door. Light flooded my eyes, causing me to squint. As I glanced around, I saw the main area was empty. Passing the urinals, I headed for the stalls. The sound of my heels once again grated on my already-frayed nerves.

“Sigel?” I finally questioned, my voice echoing back to me.

With a trembling hand, I reached out to push open the first stall’s doors. It was empty. I went on to the next one. “I’m here, Miss Evans.” Sigel spoke in a low tone. The voice had come from the handicapped stall two down.

Knowing where he was didn’t speed me up. Instead, I crept even slower down to the stall.

I opened the door. He casually leaned against the wall. His face was devoid of any emotion. I couldn’t help craning my neck around. “Where are your goons?”

“They’ve been ordered to stay back. Keep their eyes and ears out for any Raiders scum.”

“They won’t find any,” I replied.

“I hope not.”