The chill of the night hit hard. I'd forgotten about the cold.
"I wish I'd brought my sweater," I said, rubbing my arms. I jogged behind Ethan.
"We'll mostly be inside," he said.
"Wow. Thanks for the offer to borrow your jacket. You're such a gentleman."
He stopped, sighed, and removed his jacket.
I took it. "I hope you're not like this with Charlie. Sheesh."
We reached the administration office. Ethan took out a small rag where he had small tools wrapped up in. "My cousin let me borrow these." He knelt down started picking at the door.
I turned and stood guard. "So he wants them back? What the hell does your cousin do?"
"I tend not to question him. He gets results."
The auditorium looked like a dark blob in the night. The school looked different… eerie. The cold breeze wasn't helping. I knelt down beside Ethan, trying to get my legs into the jacket too.
"Don't stretch it," he muttered.
"Sorry. So… you're a tenor?"
"Yeah."
"I didn't know."
"It's nothing to write home about."
"You and Charlie sounded great."
"Thanks." There was a small click. "Got it." He sang that part, which was unexpected and weird, but I didn't comment.
I followed him inside. "Creepy." Empty and dark, it looked like a movie set for a horror film.
"Now I'm imagining all the horror movies I've ever seen," said Ethan. "Let's hurry."
"Thanks for the air of confidence."
Oddly enough, the door to Wyatt's office was not locked. I went inside, but Ethan stayed by the door. "Good," I said, "stand guard. I shouldn't take long."
"It wasn't locked."
I took off Ethan's jacket it and set it on the chair as I turned on the computer. "I noticed that. It was faster."
"It doesn't feel right."
I looked up. "You want to leave? We're already here."
"I know, I know. I just don't like it." He crossed his arms, staying near the doorway. "Are you sure you'll be able to get into the computer?"
"As much as she annoys me, Beatrice hasn't been wrong so far. Besides, can you break into a computer?"
He frowned in the dim light, glancing out into the hall. "My cousin can do more. I just know how to get into public networks."
"Your cousin needs to teach you more lessons." I was already at the log-in page. Password: elizabeth. That was the easy part. The problem was the username, which we had never figured out. And even if it did work, both log-in items had to be correct or else the whole thing was for nothing.
I'd taken time to watch detective shows (to study) and, while I'd enjoyed it, Burn Notice had been no help at all.
I glanced at Ethan, who had his back to me and was look down both ends of the hallway. I knelt down out of his potential sight. I didn't pray at all, but I did call for help.
"Beatrice, help me."
I felt cold on my arms, an internal chill. So she was still hanging around after all. I held my hands on the keyboard and closed my eyes. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
Shift A… D-M-I-N-I-S-T-R-A-T-O-R Shift _ 1
I looked and pressed Enter.
It didn't 'Welcome' me right away, so I thought I was wrong, that maybe Elizabeth Wyatt wasn't something he thought about a lot, or that Beatrice was wrong and the username wasn't it. I was ready to pitch a fit—
But then the desktop popped up. "I'm in," I squealed quietly. I wasn't too bothered by the fact that I was a human Ouija board.
"I'm so happy for you." Ethan didn't look excited. "I'm going to wait near the lobby. Come out when you're done. Don't forget my jacket, and leave everything the way it—"
"Ethan, don't explain to me my own plan." I was already rooting through his history… which was squeaky-clean, of course. That was the easiest thing to keep track of. Ethan left, and I said a silent thank you to Beatrice, who I felt disappear.
I went to the Start Menu and typed in a few dates in the Search box… the day Charlie said he—….
Nothing came up. I was pretty relieved.
Next, I typed in the date Catherine had come out of the office, crying. A list of stuff he'd accessed popped up. Under Files, there were seven photos. I opened up Files and already could see what the pictures were.
They were naked pictures of Catherine Connor.
She sat in a chair, crying with her shirt and bra off. She sat in the very chair across from me… meaning Principal Wyatt had sat at his desk and taken these pictures of her.
I didn't look at the rest; I already felt like vomiting. They all had the same date, just numbered differently at the end.
I found Wyatt's contact list and found email addresses for interim Mayor Seth and one of the supervisors for the county—probably personal ones, not just the ones on their public sites. I attached copies of the pictures and sent an email identifying myself and on who's computer I found these pictures on. I also hastily tacked on that I would accept any punishment I would get for breaking into a school official's office and computer, but as long as Principal Wyatt was punished, it didn't matter.
I sent the email and sat back in the chair, my heart beating miles a minute, my breath coming in quiet pants.
I did it. I caught Principal Matthew D. Wyatt, child molester and rapist. I was both relieved and scared.
I stared at the computer, which I should've logged off and shut down, but I noticed the thumbnails for the other pictures, dates that were before and after Cynthia's disappearance. I almost didn't click on one.
It was a different girl. The next one too.
I opened up a bunch more, getting a horrible feeling in my stomach, terrible taste in my mouth. I counted at least fifteen different girls, some of whom I remembered seeing… even one of the girls I'd seen in the library who was looking at shirtless pictures of Channing Tatum and Taylor Lautner with her friend… and here she was on Principal Wyatt's computer… shirtless and crying.
I went back onto the email site and attached these and sent them to the same addresses when I noticed Ethan's silhouette in the doorway.
I was busy exiting out of everything and logging off. "I found a bunch more. I sent them to Mayor Seth and—"
"You did what?"
....
The principal himself was standing in the doorway. Why wasn't he at the concert? Everyone was there. Why did he leave?!
"I noticed you and the Walker boy sneaking away," he said. Oh God—was he psychic? "Then I saw him pick the lock to the building, so I knew something was wrong." Wyatt stepped forward. "Who told you?"
I straightened up. "I already emailed Mayor Seth and a county supervisor the pictures you took, identifying you as the photographer. You're going to get fired and maybe even imprisoned and Cheshire will know what a disgusting person you are."
He looked… well, mad as he moved forward. I kept his desk between us. Even though he knew he lost, he didn't seem like the type to take that lying down.
Wait.
Where was Ethan? He was supposed to have warned—
I bolted out of the door, hopefully catching Wyatt by surprised. I ran toward the lobby, but I didn't see Ethan until I tripped over him, landing hard on the linoleum.
"Ethan?" He was unconscious, and in the dark, I couldn't see what the problem was. What did Wyatt do?
The principal was calmly walking down the hall.
I shook him. "Ethan—get up—we gotta go." Incredibly futile once I noticed the syringe in Wyatt's hand. Ethan wasn't waking up anytime soon.
"This is how I did it," said Wyatt, lifting the syringe. "I was planning to start using this, so the girls wouldn't make noise, wouldn't even know what was happening, but they'd stayed perfectly quiet." He shook his head. "I bet Charlie told you, didn't she? Even though I threatened to kill her only friend?" He sighed. "I was never going to kill anyone. How stupid would I be? I could just make her life hell. I knew she was a mistake, though, but I couldn't resist." He shrugged. "My family always hated the Jones'."
I stayed kneeled by Ethan. I couldn't leave him. Despite what I'd done, Wyatt seemed more likely to take it out on Ethan… who was in this mess because of me.
Gathering what little resolve I had, I stood up and in front of Ethan. "He didn't do anything, so leave him out of it."
Wyatt looked surprised. "You're protecting him?"
"All of this was my idea. If you're blaming anyone, it's me."
He chuckled. "How noble…."
"Some of us are better people than others."
Wyatt grabbed my throat and shoved me against the wall. I felt the small sting of the syringe in my left arm. "You better hope they were worth it," he seethed into my ear.