For Your Own Good

by Samantha Downing

  “It doesn’t make sense,” says Robby Herald, the proprietor of Nature’s Food, a gourmet grocery store downtown, and a lifetime resident of the area. “If they caught the murderer, how could someone else be killed the same way?”

  He’s not the only one asking that question, yet the ones who can answer it—the police and the DA’s office—aren’t talking.

  Teddy smiles. All it took was an email.

  If he had never created all those fake social media profiles online, he wouldn’t have known anything about sending anonymous emails or how to route them through Eastern Europe so they couldn’t be traced.

  And if he hadn’t gone to the trouble to learn all of that, he wouldn’t have known how to send an email looking like he’d tried to hide it but failed. The way a normal, unknowledgeable person would do.

  So that’s how he sent it. Just a tip from an anonymous source.

  And when the police get around to tracing that email back to who sent it, the trail will lead right to someone who knows everything that happens at Belmont. Someone who hates the parents and teachers who look down on him. Like he’s barely a human being.

  Someone like Joe, the custodian.

  It’s truly remarkable how good Teddy is at this. And he didn’t even know it until now.

  When he arrives at school, the crowd of reporters out front is much larger than yesterday. More food trucks as well. Teddy drives by without looking at them.

  The security guard at the gate waves, then motions for him to roll down his window.

  “Be careful out there,” the guard says. “Some of these reporters have been rushing up to people, trying to get a comment.”

  Teddy refrains from smiling.

  Inside the school, a security company is setting up cameras over the doors and in the hallways. Last night at the parents’ meeting, the headmaster had said this would happen. He’d said Belmont would be the most secure school on either side of the Mississippi River. Some of the parents even looked like they believed it.

  Not that any of it matters. Teddy has no intention of killing anyone else.

  This morning, he doesn’t go to the teachers’ lounge. Instead, he goes straight to his classroom, gets settled, and starts working on today’s assignments. Last night, he spent so much time fixing the justice system, he didn’t have time for his own work.

  When his first-period students arrive, they’re all talking about the news. Two classes later, they’re talking about the killer at Belmont.

  “He needs a name.”

  “The Belmont Butcher?”

  “But he doesn’t butcher people.”

  “Why are we assuming it’s a ‘he’?”

  “How about the School Slayer?”

  “There’s no slaying. It’s poison.”

  “The Exterminator.”

  “You guys are sick.”

  Zach Ward. He walks into the room and doesn’t look happy about the conversation. “Courtney’s still in jail, you know,” he says to a group of students. “If someone is killing people here, the police need to admit they were wrong and let her go.”

  For the first time he can remember, Teddy agrees with Zach. Maybe his selfish student is finally learning something.

  During class, Teddy even starts to think maybe Zach isn’t so bad. Still has that smirk, of course, and he’s still one of the most arrogant kids at the school. But he is smart. Teddy has to give him that. Teddy also has to give himself credit, because he never stops trying to make his students better. There’s always a way.

  At lunchtime, Teddy goes up to the lounge to see what the teachers are saying. At least, that was his plan. As soon as he steps out of his classroom, he runs into Ms. Marsha.

  “Teddy,” she says. “I’m so glad I caught you.”

  Ms. Marsha looks more tired than usual. The bags under her eyes are quite dark. “Good afternoon,” he says. “You’re looking well today.”

  “Thank you for saying that, but I’m afraid I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “How is it going?” he says.

  “Busy, as you can imagine.”

  Right across from them, someone is on a ladder installing a camera. Busy day, indeed.

  “However,” she says, “we do have a temporary replacement for Sonia. She’ll be teaching her classes for the rest of the semester.”

  “Wonderful,” Teddy says. “You do work fast.”

  Ms. Marsha almost smiles. “Actually, we got lucky. She volunteered to help us out.” She glances behind him, making Teddy turn around.

  When he sees who it is, his heart stops.

  Same shiny dark hair, same pert nose. No longer a girl, either. She’s the woman he saw at Sonia’s memorial service.

  Fallon Knight.

  His former student. The one who didn’t get into a top school because of him. The one who calls him an asshole in her emails.

  Fallon turns to him and smiles.

  44

  THE LOOK ON Teddy’s face is glorious. Fallon stares at it for a second before reaching out to shake his hand.

  “Teddy. How nice to see you again.”

  Shock delays his answer. Maybe it’s the shock of seeing her. Maybe it’s because she called him by his first name. He’s not Mr. Crutcher anymore.

  “Fallon,” he finally says. “Welcome back.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let me show you where Sonia’s classroom is,” Ms. Marsha says, leading Fallon away. “You can get settled and review her lesson plans. Teddy, we’ll speak later.”

  As they walk down the hall, Fallon has a strong urge to look back at her old English teacher to see if he has recovered. She doesn’t, though, because it would make her look weak.

  Ms. Marsha, still as old as dirt, leads her to Mrs. B’s classroom.

  No. Her classroom.

  It’s been a few years since Fallon graduated from Belmont. With the exception of the security guards in the hallways and the chain-link fence outside, the school looks exactly the same. But it feels different.

  Everyone looks a little dazed, like they were playing video games for too long and have just reentered the real world. Even the students seem different. Not quite scared, but not nearly as confident.

  “I had Sonia’s lesson plans printed out for you,” Ms. Marsha says, pointing to a file on top of the desk. “I’ll have her student list and their current grades emailed to you.”

  “Thank you,” Fallon says.

  “A substitute will finish out her classes today if you want to sit in. I expect you’ll start tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “Perfect.” Ms. Marsha pats her on the shoulder. “Good to see you again, dear. Now, I’ve got to run.”

  Fallon wonders if she calls any other teachers “dear.” Not likely. Although that’s not a battle she’s willing to fight. Just like when she’d volunteered to come help out, the headmaster had offered her a salary far below what a starting teacher should make. She didn’t argue then, either.

  She’s going to need all the friends she can get at this school. The Teacher of the Year is a big enemy to have.

  The last time she and Teddy spoke face-to-face was the day she graduated from Belmont. By then, she had been turned down at every college she had applied to. No Ivy would touch her. Neither would Bennington, Amherst, or Georgetown. No one would even talk to her, let alone explain why. It felt as if there were an incriminating video of her on the internet that everyone had seen except her.

  Graduation day was the worst. Her friends were all going to their favorite schools, or close to it, while her parents were angry. They showed up at the ceremony out of spite, convinced their daughter had a secret life that was preventing her from getting into a better school.

  There she was, lost in a sea of blue gowns and gold sashes, feeling like the
pariah she had become. Her parents posed for one picture with her before leaving altogether.

  As she watched them go, she heard Crutcher’s voice.

  “Fallon,” he said. “Congratulations.”

  He stood before her, wearing his stupid tweed jacket with the elbow patches. At the time, she had no idea it was all his fault. He was just the arrogant English teacher she never had to see again.

  “Thanks, Mr. Crutcher,” she said.

  “I heard you didn’t get admitted to your top choice.”

  She shook her head, not telling him she didn’t get into any of her choices.

  “It will all work out,” he said. “This is the kind of thing that makes you a better person.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “It’s true. You’ll see.” He smiled and walked off to congratulate someone else.

  Fallon has spent a lot of time thinking about that conversation, replaying it again and again. Because she still can’t believe how cruel it was.

  Back at Belmont now, she sits through the afternoon classes, watching the students more than the substitute. It’s surprisingly easy to read their personalities. While she was in college at State, her parents had refused to give her spending money, so she worked part-time as a waitress and bartender. That experience in the service industry was coming in handy.

  When the last class ends, she stays behind, trying to get comfortable sitting at Sonia’s desk. The room looks different from this perspective. She imagines all those teenage eyes staring at her. Waiting for her to mess up. Waiting to make fun of her. Waiting for a weakness they can take advantage of.

  Just like she used to.

  Not an easy job. Not a desirable one, either. She would rather be in grad school, on her way to getting her master’s and then her PhD. College is where she always wanted to teach.

  At the end of the day, she drives through the gate. The road is empty, the reporters gone. Fallon drives across town, as far away from Belmont as she can get and still be in the same county. To the wrong side of town, the wrong side of everything—as her parents used to say. They don’t pay her bills anymore. They don’t pay for anything.

  Her apartment is a box, a studio with a kitchenette and a bathroom. Empty except for an inflatable bed, a suitcase, and a single lamp. Almost like she just moved in.

  She didn’t.

  Although there are no pictures on her wall, she has a lot on her computer. Most are of Teddy, and they’re all organized in separate files: Home. School. His regular corner store.

  She’s been watching Teddy for a while.

  45

  IF IT’S NOT one thing, it’s another. Teddy is wise enough to know that. He doesn’t expect life to be good every day, or for only good things to happen.

  But if he could reap the rewards of his hard work for a day or two, that would be great.

  He’s on the brink of saving Courtney. The media is going nuts, the police and the DA are under pressure, and, no doubt, Courtney’s high-priced lawyer is right in their face, demanding answers about what’s going on. Anytime now, they’ll drop the charges. They have to. Just days before the trial is due to start, the tide has turned. The jury pool has been tainted. No one likes to try a case they’re going to lose, and the DA knows he will.

  Because of Teddy. He had to save Courtney, and that’s exactly what he did.

  But does he get to enjoy this?

  No. No, he does not.

  Tonight, he planned to drink some milk, watch the news, and celebrate his good deeds.

  Ruined.

  Instead, he sits in front of the TV, and the news is on, but he can’t enjoy it at all. He poured himself a glass of milk, but it’s been sitting too long. Not cold anymore.

  Ruined because of Fallon. She had to come back now.

  In just a few years, she’s aged quite a bit—and not in a good way. Sometimes, those things can’t be helped, though. It’s all in the genes.

  The last time he saw her was the day after she graduated from Belmont. He was heading into Hector’s store when she drove up and stopped at the light. Fallon drove a Mercedes SUV, all black, and she was talking on her phone, gesturing wildly, not paying attention to anything but her call. Despite how unhappy she looked at the graduation ceremony, he didn’t regret what he had done. She was so self-absorbed, so vain. So clueless.

  She’s still angry at him. He knows this from her emails, and from the petulant, bratty look on her face today. Fallon hasn’t changed a bit. Hasn’t learned a thing.

  If only people understood how difficult it is to teach these students to be better people. He tries and tries and tries, and yet sometimes, even he can’t help them.

  Not that he’s going to give up. He never gives up.

  It’s for their own good.

  * * *

  MONEY CAN’T BUY everything.

  Another Ward-ism, and it’s true. No matter how much Zach offers Kay, the jail guard isn’t willing to let Zach see Courtney again. Too many people paying attention, she says. The day has been crazy with news and media and a stream of lawyers coming in to see Courtney. Yes, she needs the money, but she also needs her job.

  He has to try another way. There’s always a way.

  Another Ward-ism: Even cement walls have cracks.

  “A phone call,” he says to Kay. “What if I call you, and you give Courtney the phone?”

  They’re in the parking lot of a bank, now closed for the day. Both are still in their vehicles, like they’re undercover police. Kay’s car looks like it’s from the eighties. Zach’s looks and smells like it belongs to an ostentatious prick.

  An ostentatious prick with cash.

  “I’ll give you the same amount.” He holds up a fresh stack of bills straight from the ATM. “For just a phone call.”

  Kay is quiet. The radio is on in her car, turned down low, playing a country song. Zach almost breaks the silence to say how much he likes that song, which is true, but then she speaks.

  “I’ll call you at one o’clock in the morning. Hank will be on his break.”

  “Perfect.”

  Zach stays awake, afraid to miss the call, and keeps himself busy with homework, the news, and social media. The #HomicideHigh messages have multiplied again, and now everyone thinks Courtney is innocent.

  Imagine that.

  But it makes him wonder what he would think if he didn’t know Courtney. Maybe he would’ve believed she was guilty before deciding she was innocent. Yes, most likely he would’ve, and that disappoints him. Something to talk about with the school therapist, if he feels like it. Or think about when he’s high.

  At exactly one in the morning, his phone buzzes.

  “Hello?”

  “You have eight minutes,” Kay says.

  Zach starts to answer, but she’s already gone.

  “Hey,” Courtney says. She sounds half-asleep.

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “I can’t believe Mrs. B is dead.”

  Right. Zach forgot he hasn’t talked to her since that happened. The sadness comes back when he remembers. “I know. It sucks.” He keeps his eye on the clock. Seven minutes. “You’ve heard what’s happening in the news?”

  “My lawyer told me today. He thinks they have to let me go.”

  “They better.”

  “But I kind of liked being a poster child,” she says. “Now I’ll just be normal again.”

  Zach smiles. Now she sounds like Courtney. “Then you have to be the poster child of something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. You should be the poster child of high school newspapers.” Four minutes. “I took over editing the paper while you’ve been out, and that’s a horrible job.”

  “You screwed it up, didn’t you?” she says. “You screwed up my paper.”

 
“Probably.”

  “Loser.”

  It’s good to hear her say that.

  “Hey,” he says, “are you really coming back to Belmont? Like, after your . . . after what happened to your mom here?”

  “Hell, yes. How else am I going to find out what happened to her?”

  A minute and a half left. “Can I ask you something? About the case, I mean,” Zach says.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you know what was used? I mean, to . . . kill them?”

  “Yeah. They had to tell my lawyer. It’s just not public.”

  “Was it really a poison?”

  Pause. “Yes. And they think I put it in her coffee.”

  46

  FALLON ARRIVES AT school early, but not before the reporters. They’ve already congregated outside the gate, along with a coffee-and-pastry food truck. She stops only to introduce herself to the guard.

  The reporters don’t interest her, and neither does the trial. The murders are horrible, yes. Especially the murder of Sonia Benjamin, who was a good teacher. Not the best she ever had, but she did treat her students with respect. Teddy could have learned a lot from her if his head wasn’t stuck so far up his own ass.

  Fallon’s car is just as crappy as her apartment. Probably the worst one in the parking lot. She doesn’t care about that, either. Or her clothes, which are secondhand, from a thrift shop in the ritzy area of town. It’s possible she is wearing a skirt and blouse donated by a student’s parents.

  Doesn’t matter.

  The security company workers are still on-site, installing the new camera system. They’re the only people around this early in the morning. Fallon parks and goes inside, heading straight to the teachers’ lounge.

  Before yesterday, she had never seen it. The kids had always wondered what it was like inside, speculating that the lounge was a private dining room with menus and waiters and golden carafes filled with coffee.

  Wrong.