Haunted Rayne

16 - Shh, Don't Tell (part 2)

Dorian Matthews was not comfortable with Miss Wilson's request to meet at such a late hour. Shadows gathered in the corners of mahogany shelves, obscuring their contents and adding an extra layer of anxiety to the already vexing ambiance. Miss Wilson sat in her leather chair opposite him, her wrinkled features carved deeper by the orange glow of her brass, antique desk lamp.

"The girl is already trouble," she stated with a stiff frown.

"I'm telling you, I haven't noticed anything strange," Dorian replied. Although he had to admit, he hadn't really been looking. His attention was preoccupied with nightmares and with memories of his twin brother. Now, Rayne mentioned there may be more similarities between herself and his twin brother, Daniel?

What else could there be?

And why couldn't he stop thinking about it?

"Mr. Matthews," the headteacher began curtly, "you are privy to this information, because I have entrusted you with this task. If you cannot perform the most simple of—"

"I'm sorry, I'm confused," he said, lifting his hand to silence her. "Is the task to keep an eye on her, or to catch her doing something wrong? Because it sounds to me like you already believe she's guilty of something."

"She does not . . . belong here, Mr. Matthews, and I want her gone as soon as possible."

He scoffed. "Well, that's not what I signed up for."

"Hmm . . ." Dipping her hand into the right-hand desk drawer, Miss Wilson retrieved a bundle of documents. "Perhaps I was wrong then," she began quietly, sliding paperwork towards him, "to place my trust in you."

Dorian leaned forward.

The first line of the letter stated, "It is with great enthusiasm that the Maria J. Westwood Board of Educators offers you—"

"Whoa, wait a minute." He stopped reading and snapped, "What the hell is this? Some sort of bribe?"

Her expression was grave. "It is an offer letter, Mr. Matthews. To become a part of the school board."

"Jesus, Veronica." He leaned back in the chair. "Why do you want her out of here so badly?"

"Mr. Matthews—"

"No, forget it." He flicked the offer letter back toward her like a Frisbee, and the headteacher seemed surprised, scrambling to catch the paper when it hit her chest and fell to her lap. Dorian said, "Miss Wilson, for your sake, I'll pretend I never saw this. Good night."

He stormed out of the office and into the dim marbled hallway, nearly doubling over to take a deep breath. Slowly, Dorian regained his composure, meeting his own eyes in the long, beveled mirror that lined the long passage. That damned mirror. His glacial blue irises appeared to glow, as though illumined by a stray moonbeam, but there was no moonlight peering through any windows.

Dorian swiftly blinked away the image of Daniel that began to flicker across the forefront of his mind.

Stop it, he told himself. Don't get yourself all worked up.

He shook his head, rushed around the corner, entered the stairwell, hurried to the second floor, and entered the staff's living quarters. Dorian was just about to reach his room when he stopped in the middle of the hall.

Just five doors down, the underclassman History professor, Vincent Davenport, stood at the entrance to his own room wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt. Dorian could not see much, but as he tilted his head, Dorian could tell that just inside the open door, a young strawberry blonde had her lips locked with the History instructor's. Dorian nearly gasped. He was certain by the color of her tresses alone that the female could not have been another staff member.