Alternate Ending #1

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Alternate Ending #1

"Remember, test next week! I'll know if you studied or not," I told the students. They all bolted like bats of Hell out of my classroom.

Once the last one filed out, I collapsed into my chair, ruffling my shoulder length brown hair. I sort of missed my short hair, I wasn't going to lie. But I couldn't cut it again. When I moved on from my life, I swore I would let it grow out. It would make the change feel real.

I spun the chair until I was at my laptop, skimming through attendance of my classes and all their grades. These classes were a mixed bunch. Attendance and grades were on all spectrums. I put my chin in my hand. Now I understood how all my teachers felt with their students.

I had asked for this career. Some days and students made the job worth it. Other times, I wanted to curl into a ball and wish to travel back in time and redo my life. But I knew time travel didn't exist, not for me.

The halls outside of my room were quiet, so most students were still in class. That was the thing about working at a community college: classes were on different days in different rooms at different times. I was lucky to secure my schedule and remain in the same room in the same building.

I glanced at the clock on the laptop. I still had less than a half hour to go before I was out of here. I'd make the commute back to my apartment, where noisy neighbors above would greet me with their arguments. I wished I could afford something better.

I heard a knock on the door frame, but I kept my eyes on the computer.

"No, I'm not going to change your grade because you begged, Reggie," I said out of the corner of my mouth. "Your grade reflects your effort."

"Wow, you can be really harsh on your students."

My eyes widened, I slowly sat up straight in my chair. I fumbled for the bottled water at my side.

That voice. The voice I swore I thought I'd never hear again after seven years of no visits or whispers from him.

I knew I wasn't hallucinating; I wasn't on any medication that would cause it nor did I have a mental issue. It wasn't a voice inside my head, either. It was funny, how I instantly recognized who the voice belonged to though I almost forgot what he sounded like.

With wobbly legs, I got out of my chair and faced him properly. I didn't know why I expected him to be decked out in a suit and tie. Maybe it had been from all those visits he and Dean had made to hospitals and such, posing as FBI agents and health inspectors and anyone of importance that required a suit. His fashion sense hadn't changed at all; he still packed on the layers, with plaid being the under layer.

The biggest feature I noticed though was his hair, that wild lion's mane of his. It looked like it was racing to reach my length. When was the last time he had a haircut? When he was little?

I kept an iron grip on the water bottle as I slowly approached him. He watched me with careful, soft eyes. Those eyes I remembered. Those eyes had held so much anger and so much pain, but so much spirit at the same time. He was a very emotional man, in both a good and bad way. His eyes looked aged, though, as I got closer. Whatever he went through changed him.

"Sam?" I almost didn't get his name out, the shock was still cloaked over me.

"Hi, Kota."

The name catapulted my mind back to some memories. Some good, some bad, but mostly good. I can't remember the last time I heard that name.

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