Don't Breathe

by Heleyne Hammersley

‘Er, I think I already said. I want to talk to whoever’s in charge of the students. I know that everybody from Fellbeck has been evacuated to the theatre.’

  The man shook his head. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘One of my colleagues has been in contact with her son who’s in year eight. He said that the whole school was here.’

  The man sighed. ‘Wait here.’

  He opened one half of the double door behind the reception desk and slipped through, closing it carefully behind him. Natalie tried to remember the layout of the building from her previous visits – if she was right, the door led straight into the stalls. She took out her phone and navigated to the newspaper’s website – nothing about the school evacuation so far – and then to the Twitter feed of Cumbria Police. Nothing. If it hadn’t been for the receptionist’s odd attitude and the eerie sense of quiet at the school, Natalie might have been tempted to think this whole thing was a hoax.

  She still had another contact in the police force who worked out of Whitehaven, but she hadn’t heard from him in months. Not since he’d asked her out for a drink and she’d made a pathetic excuse not to meet him. Was it worth a try?

  ‘Sod it,’ she whispered to herself as she scrolled through her phone to his number and tapped once.

  ‘Kit Pierce,’ he answered after two rings and had obviously deleted her number as he didn’t know who was calling.

  ‘Kit. It’s Natalie.’

  ‘Oh.’

  This wasn’t going to be straightforward. ‘Look, I’m sorry to bother you but I need some information.’

  ‘Yeah, not very likely.’

  ‘I thought you might say that. I’ve not been very nice to you in the past and I can only apologise. I should have been honest with you instead of making stupid excuses. You’re a nice man, Kit, but I was never attracted to you.’

  ‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better?’

  ‘Well, it’s the truth.’

  He laughed. ‘Sorry. I was winding you up. My ego’s not that big. I spent ten seconds feeling sorry for myself and then moved on so don’t worry that I’ve been pining over you for months. What do you want to know?’

  ‘I just need to find out if an incident has been logged at Fellbeck Academy. I’ve got a feeling I might be on a wild goose chase and I don’t want to look like a tit in front of my editor. Can you find out. I don’t need any details just a yes or no will do.’

  ‘Leave it with me. I’m on a break but I’ll have a look when I get back to my desk.’

  ‘Cheers, Kit. And I am sorry I was a bitch.’

  He’d already hung up.

  The manager reappeared followed by a man that Natalie vaguely recognised. Tall, well over six feet, and broad, he strode out from behind the desk, his large stomach and barrel chest leading the way.

  ‘You’re the journalist?’ There was a hint of disbelief in his voice as though he found it unlikely that she might have the skills and credentials needed for the profession.

  Natalie handed him her card.

  ‘So, what do you want?’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Jack Raynor, head of sixth form at Fellbeck. What do you want?’ The man’s tone was a challenge and his pugnacious stance backed it up.

  ‘Is it true that the school has been evacuated? I was there a few minutes ago and it looks deserted.’

  ‘It’s the morning of a school day, what were you expecting? At this time in the morning students would be in their classes, not out in the playground.’

  Natalie noted his careful use of the conditional – would suggested that they may or may not be in class. ‘You’re denying that the students are here? A colleague had a text from her son suggesting that he’d been sent to the theatre as the whole school had been evacuated. I did wonder if it was a prank and he was just winding his mum up.’

  The man’s face visibly relaxed – she’d given him an excuse. ‘Could be,’ he said. ‘You know what kids are like.’ He tried a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. It was obvious that he hadn’t been promoted for his people skills. ‘So, if that’s all…’ he handed her card back and she slipped it into her pocket.

  ‘Just a prank,’ Natalie said as if she were mulling it over. ‘Makes sense, I suppose.’

  Rayner nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘There’s one thing that bothers me though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s early morning on a school day, Mr Raynor, so what are you doing here?’

  His mouth opened and closed like a fish caught in a net gasping for oxygen and then he smiled, a more genuine expression this time. ‘Nicely done,’ he conceded. ‘But I really can’t talk to you.’

  ‘How about I tell you what I know?’ Natalie suggested. ‘Can I get you a coffee? If the café’s open.’

  The teacher nodded and led the way upstairs.

  Raynor sipped his Americano and studied Natalie over the rim of the mug. She could see that he was still suspicious of her motives, but he could do little to deny that there was something going on with the school.

  ‘This morning I was checking the newspaper’s social media feeds and I found a cry for help from one of your students. He claimed to be trapped in a classroom and that a number of armed men were keeping him there. I asked one of my colleagues to text her son, who’s a Fellbeck pupil, and he confirmed that the school had been evacuated. There’s no movement at the school and nobody’s answering the phone. So, what’s going on?’

  Raynor lowered his mug and held eye contact with Natalie for a few seconds. ‘Okay, here’s what I know. I was in assembly this morning when Cam Cleaver, the head, came in and told me we had an incident. He said there were armed men on site and we had to evacuate. They were in the humanities block where the sixth-form register and, when Cam updated me, they were holding one class hostage. The rest of year thirteen are at the leisure centre – they were let go pretty quickly from what I can gather.

  ‘I’m waiting for Cam to sort out the bus companies so we can let the students go home. We haven’t told the kids what’s going on – I just hinted at a water leak and left it at that.’

  Natalie wished she could make notes – what Raynor was telling her was possibly the best story of her career so far but it would be counter-productive to record him now that the teacher seemed willing to talk. ‘And the students are all in the theatre?’

  Raynor nodded. ‘The police were called as soon as Cam knew what was going on.’

  ‘So the police are on site?’

  The teacher nodded. ‘There was a detective inspector there before I left. Sounds like they got there pretty quickly. I think he was waiting for specialists from Kendal.’

  So there had been little point in Natalie calling Kit after all – he’d only confirm what Raynor had just told her. But why hadn’t she seen police vehicles in the school car park? There hadn’t been even one marked car and nothing that suggested a specialist team.

  ‘How are the students? I bet they’re excited to be out of school for the day.’

  Raynor gave her a genuine smile. ‘Of course. It’s an extra day’s holiday. Not quite Christmas come early but not far off. One or two have started texting their parents because I told them that they’re not going back today – they’re all just waiting for the buses to arrive.’

  ‘And will you go back – to see what’s happening at the school?’

  Raynor seemed to give it some thought. ‘My car’s there. In fact, most of the staff will have cars there – so I suppose we’ll all have to go back once the police sort it out. I expect the place will be crawling with police cars and probably journalists by now.’

  He’d obviously either not listened to Natalie’s account of her visit to the school or he’d forgotten.

  ‘There’s nobody there,’ she said again. ‘I couldn’t see any police cars. No vans, no reporters.’

  Raynor frowned and checked his watch. ‘It’s still early. If they’re coming up from Kendal it’ll take a w
hile. At least there are a couple of them on site – they’ll know what they’re doing.’ His words were convincing, but Natalie could read the doubt in his eyes. ‘And it’s winter. There’s always some sort of delay on the M6 – even the police wouldn’t be able to get through quickly if there was an accident or something.’ Raynor’s voice was quieter, almost as though he were talking to himself.

  She was about to suggest that something might have gone wrong when her phone rang. Kit Pierce. She listened to what he’d found on the police computer system, thanked him and hung up.

  ‘That was somebody from the local police,’ she said. ‘He’s just searched their computer system for me.’

  Raynor nodded for her to continue.

  ‘Mr Raynor, there’s no log of a call from Fellbeck Academy to Cumbria police this morning. There’s nothing from the last week. Whoever’s taken charge there, it’s definitely not the police.’

  21

  Harley kept his eyes lowered. He thought he must have been in shock for a while as he couldn’t remember much after stabbing Tom. Shit, he’d stabbed Tom Cleaver. Of all the people in the class he’d had to attack the head’s son. He knew that the repercussions would be bad, really bad, but something had happened while he’d been sitting with his back to most of the students. Harley could feel the weight of their eyes on him, their judgement and their fear, and he hated it. He’d genuinely believed that he wanted to be different; to be the sort of man that people respected and feared but he knew now that other people’s fear wasn’t sustaining – it was suffocating, stifling. These people didn’t have any respect for him because he’d wielded a knife, they had only contempt. That’s why Harley couldn’t look at anybody in the room.

  He’d been an idiot – all that parading round while he was collecting the phones – and then pulling a knife on Tom. He thought he’d impress the masked men, that maybe they’d see a kindred spirit and he could be like them. Now, he didn’t want to be like them, he just wanted to go back to a time when he thought he knew who he was, when he was happy and safe.

  He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Was it bravado? If he was brutally honest with himself it was just selfishness. He’d taken all the other phones but, when he realised that nobody had noticed that his own wasn’t amongst them, he decided to keep quiet about the iPhone in his pocket. If one of the men had challenged him, he would have just said he’d forgotten all about it and handed it over. They just hadn’t noticed.

  Then things had got out of hand. One minute he’d been squaring up to Cleaver and the next Tom had been lying on the floor bleeding. He hadn’t meant to stab him – he was just sick of him and his superior attitude about everything.

  Harley risked a quick glance at what was happening in the room. No change. Miss Frith was still at her desk, looking paler by the minute. He’d admired the way she’d stood up for Tom and had insisted that the men get some first aid supplies sent over. But her reaction to the fourth man, the one who’d brought Annie back, was just weird. Who the hell was he to her? He risked a quick look at the man near the window, the one in charge. He looked a bit lost, his eyes were all over the place like he didn’t know what to do next and Harley knew that, by stabbing Tom, he’d interfered with their plans. That made him vulnerable.

  He wanted to turn round, to check that Tom was okay, to see how Shabz, Jibreel’s sister, was doing, to check on Annie and Jess but he didn’t dare risk it. They wouldn’t have welcomed his attention anyway, not after what he’d done.

  Looking down at the screen of his phone, one hand supporting his head, he willed it to come to life, to fill with messages that help was on the way and that everything was going to be fine. Harley knew how childish that was though. Nothing about this was going to be fine. He would be excluded from school and probably arrested for what he’d done to Tom and all his plans for the future would amount to nothing – especially if he was sent to jail. He knew from the experience of some of his friends that there was no coming back from that.

  Had his message got through? It was killing him not knowing. His first instinct when he’d eased the phone onto his lap was to text his mum. She’d know what to do. But he knew she turned her phone to silent at work and she’d not see a text until her first break. His dad’s situation was similar – as a GP he couldn’t check his phone every few minutes. Most of the other numbers stored in his phone were friends who would have been in school – some of them in this classroom – people who used to be his friends at least.

  He’d thought about dialling 999 but there was no way he could speak to whoever answered and one of the men might hear the operator at the other end.

  None of his apps were any good. He’d kept Instagram but never used it and Snapchat was pointless. Then he remembered. The phone had been his mum’s – she’d only used it for two weeks before her work gave her a better model with dual sim so she used that for everything now. Her Twitter app was still there, somewhere. There might be a way to contact somebody who could help.

  It had taken forever to navigate to the app. Minute movements and tiny taps on the screen had eventually led him to his mum’s private messages. Ordinarily, Harley might have spent some time reading them, seeing if he could find out anything that he could use to his advantage. This time he just wanted to find a way to get help – nothing else mattered.

  When he saw that she’d contacted the newspaper he couldn’t believe his luck. All he needed to do was compose a message and pray that somebody in the newspaper office checked their social media feed regularly.

  After what felt like an hour of tapping, checking, tapping again he’d managed to word something that might be convincing. Then he’d used the distraction of an altercation between the masked men to add more information. He had no way to know if it would work but at least he’d done something. If somebody at the newspaper saw his message and believed him, the police might be on their way soon. If they weren’t already.

  Harley looked up as one of the men – the one in charge – grabbed his phone from the pocket of his tactical vest and looked at the screen.

  ‘Not long now,’ he said to the other two.

  ‘How do you know? I’ve not had a message?’ The one named Mo crossed the room to peer over Larry’s shoulder.

  ‘Fuck off,’ said the other man, shrugging him off and stepping away, closer to where Harley was sitting. ‘If they’d wanted you to get a message, they’d have sent one. I’m in charge so I’ve got the message.’

  ‘So, what does it say?’ Curly asked from his position near the door. Harley could hear the challenge in his tone. If Larry was in charge, he wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping his troops in order – the other two were getting restless.

  ‘It says mind your own fucking business,’ Larry snapped, pocketing the phone. He moved even closer and Harley felt his heart rate pick up as the first tendrils of panic gripped his throat. Larry was going to see the phone. One more step and he’d be able to look directly down on where Harley was sitting, with the phone on clear view in the fork of his groin. He didn’t know what to do. If he shifted position even slightly to let the phone slip out of sight between his legs he ran the risk of it falling on the floor or, at the very least, drawing unwanted attention to himself.

  ‘If it affects me, I want to know what it says,’ Curly continued. ‘There’s been enough cock-ups this morning.’ He glared at Harley. ‘This little shit knifing people and that bitch trying to escape. If you’re in charge you need to take responsibility for what’s gone wrong.’

  ‘Hey, watch your language when talking about my students,’ Miss Frith said. She turned to Curly with two bold slashes of red across her cheeks. ‘You don’t know these kids so don’t talk about them like that.’

  Larry turned to her, grinning. ‘Ballsy, I like that.’ He moved away from Harley, towards the teacher and Harley let out the breath that he’d been holding. The colour had gone again from Miss Frith’s cheeks, but her eyes were bright with a challenge.

  ‘I
don’t know what’s going on here but I don’t think it’s got anything to do with the students and, from the way you’ve allowed us to get help for Tom, I don’t really think you want anybody to get hurt.’

  ‘How do you know we’re not here for you?’ Larry said, licking his lips ostentatiously. ‘I like the feisty ones.’

  ‘Pack it in,’ Mo said. ‘That’s not why we’re here. Stick to what we’ve been told. You said it’s nearly over, let’s just sit tight.’

  ‘Who died and put you in charge?’ Larry asked. ‘I give the orders so shut the fuck up.’

  Harley could feel the tension in the room escalating. At least Larry had been diverted from Miss Frith for now – Harley had genuinely thought that Larry was going to do something to her. He didn’t want to think about what that might have involved, and he knew the other females in the room must’ve been having the same thoughts. He wondered what was ‘nearly over’. Was something going on in another part of the school? Had a ransom demand been made and met? Were they all going to be killed when this was over? The uncertainty was agonising.

  Harley risked another look at his phone. No response from anybody at the newspaper. He wondered if they’d taken him seriously – the situation was so unlikely that they may have treated it as a prank. Or perhaps somebody had rung the school and been fobbed off. Surely the police were already on their way – it wasn’t like the men had sneaked in. Cleaver had probably evacuated the school by now – unless this was happening in every other building. The unknowns made him want to scream.

  Larry had moved position again and was sitting on Miss Frith’s desk. His head was down, close to hers, and he was whispering something. Whatever he was saying was upsetting the teacher – her eyes were teary, and she was shaking her head. Harley felt sick.

  He thought again about the people in the room. He knew them all, some were almost friends, others did the same A-levels. How could he use them to create a distraction – something to defuse the tension, to unsettle the men and maybe get them to leave? If this was nearly over, they must have been given a set time to be out of the building. If he could distract them until then he might save anybody else from getting hurt and he might divert Larry’s focus from Miss Frith.