Chapter 4
As Drake cleaned my face with a wet towel in the boys' locker room, I felt the sudden urge to throw up. I darted away to one of the stalls, heaving all of my lunch into the toilet.
A few minutes later my stomach was empty and I flushed the toilet, wiping a string of saliva from my mouth. I pulled myself weakly to my feet and turned around to see Drake dropping a bloody towel into the garbage can.
I folded my arms and leaned against the side of the bathroom stall and smiled crookedly at Drake. "Thank you for uh--bringing me in here and cleaning me up. I couldn't stand being in there...with--"
"I know." Drake nodded. "And...you're welcome. I completely understand."
I raked my fingers through my hair nervously as I fought off the temptation to go back into the girls' locker room and look at the body again. It was a terrifying and gory sight, but somehow her mind just longed to see it one last time. Thankfully, Drake's perfect face distracted me from my thoughts and I grumbled, "That was a very...very stupid idea."
"I know." Drake replied, lowering his head shamefully. "I shouldn't have convinced you to come with me."
"It wasn't your fault, though, that you didn't know Mrs. Harris was dead." I pointed out. "But you know that we're going to be suspects in the investigation, right?"
Drake nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I know."
I clawed the side of my head, groaning. Chills were tickling my spine, and my hands still trembled with fear. I knew that it was the body that frightened me. I couldn't stand being around something so horrible. Mrs. Harris was a kind and caring woman. Who in their right mind would want to kill her? It just didn't make sense.
Drake was shifting his weight from one foot to another anxiously. I knew that he felt the same way that I did. Sighing, I straightened myself and brushed past him, mumbling: "All right, then. Let's go and see Mr. Rye."
"So, Mr. Elias and Miss. Hoffman, you found Mrs. Harris's deceased body and didn't call the police until ten minutes later?" Mr. Rye tore his dark eyes from Drake and then glued them to me, making me squirm nervously in the leather chair.
"Well, Mr. Rye, Lila was terrified, covered with blood, and I just wanted to help her and clean her up. So, I took her to the boys' locker room to do so." Drake blurted.
Mr. Rye pressed his glasses close to his eyes, biting back a sigh. "And why, exactly, were you two walking around--alone, together?"
I lifted my head and looked nervously at the tall, buff police man that stood in the corner of the room, with his head down as he scribbled notes onto the small scratch pad in his hands. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. What is he writing down? I pondered. Is he writing something bad about us?
"We were...uh, Mrs. Harris wasn't in the classroom so all the other kids just left." I gave Drake a skittish glance. His only response was an awkward shrug, which comforted me a little.
Mr. Rye and the cop kept their curious eyes on me, pinning me to the chair. If you act nervous, they'll get suspicious. I reminded myself. With more confidence this time I went on: "So, Drake and I left to go look for Mrs. Harris and, well, I..." I stopped myself, suddenly remembering the image of the teacher's bloody body appearing in my mind.
"She went into the girls' locker room and I went into the boys' to check if she--uh, Mrs. Harris--was in there." Drake added.
I nodded, looking at the cop.
"And why did you think that Mrs. Harris would be in the boys' locker room?" Mr. Rye questioned, his dark eyes glaring at Drake, making the boy swallow. The deputy looked to Drake this time.
"We--uh--we had already checked the Teacher's Lounge and we just happened to walk past the locker rooms. We thought that it wouldn't hurt to look, so...we did." Drake finished.
"Were there any other students in there with you?"
"No." Drake stated.
"No." I followed.
"Huh." Mr. Rye huffed, "So now Mr. Noland here is going to take you back to the station for questioning." He rose to his feet, giving Mr. Noland a nod.
I gulped loudly, quickly shooting Drake a worried expression. "But what about--"
"Don't worry, your parents will pick you up after." Mr. Noland promised, reading my mind.
Drake and I rose to our feet, feeling our hearts suddenly speeding up as Mr. Norman led us out, taking us to the police station just around the corner.
A half-hour later, Mom had her fingers coiled tightly around the steering-wheel as she made her way through the Springfield Police Station's parking lot.
My eyes were fastened outside while our old Chrysler circled around a huge jet-black Yukon parked directly in the middle of the lot. As we passed it, I saw a familiar face smiling at me through the passenger-side window. I shifted in my seat to get a better look and relaxed once I saw Drake looking at me through the window.
I couldn't help but smile back, waving at him. Mom rotated her head over to me and saw me, and then saw Drake. Her face scrunched up into a frown. She pressed down a little harder on the gas pedal. "Who is that?" She growled, flicking her eyes back to the road in front of her. "Is that a boy?"
My smile turned to dust and my head dropped, and I prepared myself for an argument destined to happen. "No, I--I don't know." I grumbled, tilting my head onto the side of the door.
"It sure seemed like you knew." Mom hissed. "You can never trust boys, you know."
"You don't know him." I replied. "You've never met him."
"Don't have to. All the boys are the same...clumsy, foolish liars that--"
"This one's different." I answered. "He's very nice and he..."
"Stay away from him." Mom ordered. "If I see you with him, you're grounded, you hear?"
I gawked at her. "But mom--"
"No buts." She demanded. "Don't even look at him."
I gritted my teeth together and folded my arms in my lap, glaring outside of the window. Mom didn't know who Drake was. She would probably change her mind if she saw him. "Why don't you want me to hang out with him--or any boys?" I continued.
"Because."
"Why?"
"Because they're like your father: lying and arrogant cheaters..."
"That's why you're divorcing him?" I interrupted her.
Mom snapped her head over to me, her face twisted into a baffled expression. "How did you--?"
"You talk loud on the phone." I answered, turning away.
Mom's mouth moved, but for a moment she didn't speak. She paused for a moment to think of what to say, but the only thing that came out was: "How long have you known?"
I shook my head. "A while."
Mr. Rye took the steaming coffee cup in his hands and stared blankly at the brown liquid that sloshed inside of it. A short moment passed, and he was finally bored with it. He rested the cup on the table, and then pressed his back into the seat behind him, crossing his legs on the table's surface.
Sitting on the chair across the table was Deputy Norman, who was watching him with bored, tired eyes. He was in the midst of waiting for Mr. Rye to respond to his latest question. The principal, unfortunately, was still ignoring him. Norman didn't know if the guy was just taking a while to come up with the answer or he didn't want to answer at all. After another minute of silence he repeated the question, making Mr. Rye's head snap up.
Mr. Rye's eyes darted to him. He watched the police officer for a moment, eyeing him with his dark, hate-filled eyes. He was aware that the officer wanted a straight answer, but he just didn't feel like saying anything. But, as the man kept his eyes fixed on him for the next two minutes, waiting for a reply, he knew he had to. He let out another tired sigh and picked the coffee cup back up, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip. When he was finished, he cupped his hands around it in his lap. "No, I don't think they did it."
"Not at all?"
Mr. Rye tried his best not to scowl at the man. "Well, I don't necessarily believe their ridiculous story that they had just left the classroom to go find Mrs. Harris." He took another swig of coffee, then grimaced to the bitter taste.
"For?"
"Why would two kids want to find their teacher? I mean--none of the kids really like her that much."
"Do you think that's the reason why she was killed? A student didn't like her and chose to murder her?"
"Of course not!" Mr. Rye's voice boomed. "I don't even think any of the boys have the balls to kill a chipmunk, much less a woman. Well, except for the druggies, of course."
"What about the girls?"
Mr. Rye chuckled, shaking his head. "No. Definitely not. They freak out whenever they step on a caterpillar, I can't image what they would do if they tried to kill someone. They're too sissy to do it, anyway."
"Uh-huh." Norman noted a few more things down on his notepad.
Mr. Rye swallowed quietly, not taking his eyes off of Norman's pen as it moved back and forth. "I--I just don't understand why someone would want to kill her. She was just--"
"Are you aware of the murder of Emily Lane down in Old Man Frederick's corn field that occurred just two days ago?" Norman interrupted him, but grabbed his attention immediately.
"What?"
Norman slapped his notepad shut and slipped it into his coat pocket, taking a deep breath. He tented his fingers together in his lap, licking his lips. "One of your students, Emily Lane, was murdered."
Mr. Rye crossed his arms, glaring at the man. "Why am I being informed of this now?"
"Her death has been...under investigation. We thought it would be better to figure out what had happened to her before we exposed it to the public."
"Did you tell her parents?"
"Right away."
Mr. Rye lifted his head, eyeing Norman cautiously. "What happened to her? How did she die? Did you find the murderer?"
Norman clenched his jaw for a moment, scanning his mind for the answer, until: "Emily was run over by a car twice, and then she was stabbed in the stomach and then in her right arm."
Mr. Rye brought a hand up to his lips, hiding his gaping mouth from the man. He shuddered. He couldn't imagine what kind of person would do such a thing like that, especially to a girl like Emily Lane. Emily was such a nice girl, and Mr. Rye was always fond of her. It was horrible, the way she died. "Did--did you find the murderer?" He repeated, shoving the image of her gory dead body away.
"No." Norman shook his head slowly. "We don't even have a single witness. All we know is how Emily was murdered, and that the car that ran over her was a small one. A sports car, I assume, considering the size of the tracks."
Mr. Rye closed his eyes, imagining how the poor girl must've felt before she was murdered. It must've been brutal. His eyes drifted back to Norman. "What does her murder have to do with Mrs. Harris?"
"Probably nothing." Norman replied, "But after examining your teacher's body I began to wonder...maybe the same person that killed Emily two days ago did the same to Mrs. Harris."
"If a kid had murdered Mrs. Harris today and Emily, for one: not even one of student here owns a car. Second--"
"Maybe they stole it."
Mr. Rye glared at the man. He hated it when people cut him off in the middle of his sentence. He thought of it as presumptuous and rude. Still, though, he had to be respectful to this man. Finally he responded, "Maybe."
"Just...keep an eye out for me, will you? Make sure that you keep an eye on anyone that looks suspicious."
"All right." Mr. Rye promised. "I will. Just promise me that you'll find the one responsible for this, all right?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't." Norman said regretfully. "But I'll try." He waved goodbye and quickly left Mr. Rye's office, determined to return to the station and look over the evidence.