by Matt Drabble
Thom tried to avoid staring directly at the slightly uplifted groin area that his biology teacher was indicating towards. Stark began dabbing at his trousers.“You’re a strange one, Thom,” Stark said pleasantly. “You’ve got brains, you’ve got intelligence, but no one seems to be able to, um, stimulate you.”
Thom suddenly felt a little uncomfortable; the school around them was deserted of teachers and students. His dawdling had left only him behind.
“I mean that you could go far, you could go as far as you wanted. You just have to give a little more effort,” Stark said in a strange hushed voice as he continued cleaning his trousers.
Thom was not completely oblivious to the ways of the world; he’d had a couple of girlfriends back in LA, and he’d even brushed a tender breast over a thick jumper once before. It was not until Stark gently brushed a trembling hand across his cheek did alarm bells ring. Stark’s other hand was still dabbing the coffee stain at his groin and his breathing deepened and hitched. For a moment, Thom thought that the teacher was having a stroke of some kind - his breath was positively panting now. Thom’s own mind suddenly exploded as he felt an unwanted hand brush his own thigh. He looked into the teacher’s eyes and saw a strange blend of terror and excitement in Stark’s expression.
The world stood still and Thom’s body felt frozen like a deer in the headlights. He desperately wanted to scream and yell for help and tell the teacher to get the fuck off of him, but all he could do was sit and shiver. Abruptly, the poisoned silence was shattered by a ringing cell phone. Stark suddenly looked as though he was aware of his actions for the first time. The teacher’s face reddened a crimson shade and he stood quickly and awkwardly. Stark took the phone from his inside pocket and flipped the ringing phone open. His expression turned from red to black as he saw the identity of the caller. Thom sat fixed to the sofa and he knew that this was his window, but something about the shaking biology teacher was fascinating to watch.
“H-H-H-Hello,” Stark stammered. “I wasn’t…” he spluttered nervously. “But I, I, I wouldn’t, I resent the…”
Thom watched as Stark’s face grew increasingly terrified; his expression was now a mask of terror. Whoever was on the other end of the phone was shaking the teacher to his very core.
“But…, but…” Stark was barely able to speak against the incoming tirade, “I will… of course… yes right away.” He pressed the end call button with a shaking finger. “Thom, you’d better go home now, son,” he said in a strained robotic voice.
Thom managed to hoist himself up off of the sofa; Stark kept his back to him and wouldn’t turn around and face him. As scared as he’d been, the slumped shoulders of the teacher now wobbling with the soft sound of crying brought forward an unwanted dreg of sympathy. He squashed it hard and left quickly and without a word.
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Henry Stark was calculating the time that it would take for him to get home, get the ready-packed case and get out. His heart was pounding and not in the good way. He cursed his weakness; for so long it had been kept under control, locked and chained in the basement like the filthy animal that it was. He couldn’t believe that one slip had already ruined everything. It was a roller coaster that had been set in motion; the car had climbed the steep incline slowly and steadily without him even noticing. He’d sat on the sofa, staring into the eyes of the young, fresh virgin spoils, without even realizing that his mind was set in motion. Suddenly, the roller coaster had tipped over the top of the slow, steep incline and then pitched forward. The car had rolled with startling speed, careering forward and violently out of control. His primal instincts had taken over whilst his self-preservation had lain dormant and silent. All it had taken was one hand on one thigh and his world had collapsed around him.
His hands trembled with fear as he desperately tried to get his keys in the car ignition. He steadied himself with considerable care. If he didn’t grasp onto the life preserver now, then he would never be found again. The phone call had shattered his fantasies into a million pieces and had dragged him back into the real world; a world that had now turned black and deadly.
Eventually he calmed himself enough to start the car. With forced control, he pulled out of the parking lot slowly and nonchalantly drove the short distance to his house. He thumped the wheel in frustration; everything here had been perfect, so perfect. The money was fantastic; the classes were small and the students eager and manageable. The school board had even provided him with a house in town. It was a spectacular property, far in excess of anything he had ever seen before.
Throughout his whole career he had been able to suppress his unnatural desires during work hours. There had been a number of select and discreet organisations that he had maintained a cautious membership to. This select band of merry men had provided him with enough data to enable him to function out in the real world; he had guarded his memberships with the utmost care and scrutiny. He had always been able to keep his desires under control through sheer force of will and cowardice over his discovery, and he had never laid a hand on any student. It was the most perverse of ironies that he had been suspended from his last job over an untrue allegation of abuse by a failing student with a grudge to bear. Alan Hatcher had been an academically underachieving thirteen year old. “Hatch” had been an all star performer on the field, the court, and the pool, but never in the classroom. He was popular with both sexes in the school. He had an easy, casual manner that drew people to him; boys wanted to be him, and girls wanted to be with him. His effortless charm had won him fans amongst the faculty, none more so than the principal, who had come to Henry one day pleading with him to tutor the boy through his classes. Hatch’s prowess in the sporting arena drew much wanted and needed attention to the school in an age of competition for funding. Henry had been the most effective teacher at the school, owing in no small part to his desire to be close to his children. At first, Hatch had been willing and attentive but his interest had soon waned. His attention was difficult to hold; he would lose focus quickly and his temper became short and easy to blow. Henry noticed that Hatch would have mood swings and would become easily upset, and it soon became clear that a standardized test for ADD was in order. Hatch had been willing to try the test as the thought of becoming mellower and much more on an even keel was appealing to him as he was aware of his own troubles. The problem had been Hatch’s father - a bear of a man determined to see his only son rise to the sporting heights that he had been unable to scale. Butch Hatcher had reacted severely and unexpectedly to the threat to his own dreams and Henry had soon found himself on the end of a particularly nasty smear campaign of sexual abuse. The irony being that Henry had often fantasized about that very subject and it had taken all of his iron will to keep his hands to himself. Fortunately - and surprisingly for Henry - the school had rallied around him; his students and fellow teachers had banded together and marched to his defense. It had been a rough few weeks but eventually Hatch himself, along with his mother, had stepped forward and refuted the allegations. Henry had been lauded to the rafters for his dignity and calm in the face of such monstrous accusations. In reality, Henry had spent the weeks praying for a miracle, basking in the realisation that if he had ever acted on his impulses then this would be the reality of his fate. Once cleared, he had sought to leave the area and find another school far away from the inevitable distrusting eyes of those who would always wonder, despite his clearing. He hadn’t intended to take another teaching position, but the email from Eden had been a gift from the heavens, one promising a new and prosperous life. Once he’d visited the town, he was sold. The school was a luxury for a teacher and the size of the town meant that he could never be tempted again. There would be no place to hide and no crowd to conceal himself amongst. Until today he had kept the promise to himself; it had been a mad slip, an insane fall from grace, that had ruined everything.
He pulled into his driveway and ran to his front door; it was one of the few locked doors in the town he’d wag
er, but there were some dangerous publications that had been ever so carefully concealed within.
He flew up the stairs and into his spacious bedroom, his shoes scraping on the hardwood floor that normally would not have permitted such footwear. He quickly grabbed the ready packed suitcase from on top of the wardrobe. It was an old habit that had never died, an emergency door that he had never fully closed. The open bedroom door suddenly eased towards closing behind him and a vast dark shadow fell across his world, drowning him in terror. He turned slowly to face his reckoning. “Please,” he wept, his hands up and out, “I can just leave, I’ll go.”
The shadow moved towards him slowly with black menace.
“I never even touched him,” he sobbed.
The thick length of rope slipped effortlessly over his head and the massive man tightened the noose roughly. Suddenly, he was being dragged forward with immense strength; his feet slipped on the hardwood flooring as he staggered. The man pulled him through the doorway and out onto the landing. Realizing what was happening, Henry began to struggle, but he was a feather caught in a hurricane. He was pulled to the thick oak banister that ran the length of the open landing. The bear pulled him in close and his feet were off the ground. He kicked backwards, scraping his heel uselessly down the bear’s leg. He was held in one massive and powerful arm whilst the other end of the rope was wrapped around the banister. All at once he was hoisted up and over the rail; he was held out suspended in mid air and looked back into the soulless smiling eyes of his death. Then he was falling. The sharp snap did not break his neck completely and he was left to ponder the natural order of justice as he slowly choked and his world faded.
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The barbeque was flowing along with the wine. As was customary, the evening was warm and the company was pleasant. Michael turned the steaks several times pointlessly, as was the want of men when cooking over an open flame. The smells drifted on the gentle breeze as did the occasional bout of laughter.
Emily sat with Sarah-Jane on the wooden garden furniture. The seating was comfortable and the conversation likewise. Sarah-Jane drank a little too much and a little too quickly. Emily watched with pleasure as her young friend’s confidence grew and swelled before her eyes. She knew that the main source of SJ’s happiness was standing with Michael, griddling seasoned meats with beer fuelled expertise. Dr Samuel Creed held a chilled bottle in one hand and, Emily guessed, a very soft spot for a certain young teacher in the other.
“So have you, you know, yet?” Emily asked curiously.
Sarah-Jane blushed deeply, but for once she didn’t drop her eyes from Emily’s gaze. “Not quite,” she confessed with a whisper. “We’ve done, you know, other stuff, just not that, not yet.”
“Do you think he’s big all over?” Emily giggled.
“EM!” SJ shrieked unable to contain her explosive laughter. “I certainly hope so,” she whispered again, leaning in closer, her cheeks burning.
“What are you two laughing about?” Michael called from the grill, smiling.
“Oh you know, just girly stuff. Clothes and shoes,” Emily teased, smiling back poking her tongue out.
The evening had passed happily, despite Michael’s concerns over Sarah-Jane and the doctor’s fledgling relationship. He had expressed his concerns to Emily that they would all spend the evening sitting in awkward silence. His fears had been quickly laid to rest. The doctor was a comfortable companion. He didn’t garble away aimlessly and he didn’t look to dominate the conversation; he only spoke when he had something to say. They had quietly discussed Emily’s pregnancy. Michael knew that his anxieties were unfounded but they persisted all the same. His nagging fears crept around the corners of his mind in the small dark hours exclusively at first, but they soon grew tired of the unsociable hours and began making their presence felt during the bright day. Michael knew that until the day he died, he would carry the responsibility of Emily’s accident and their baby’s loss, no matter how much Emily protested. It wasn’t a case of not believing that she had wanted to venture out on that fateful winter evening. It just simply didn’t matter. His actions - or lack, thereof - had directly contributed to Emily being struck by the car that had changed their lives. Unbeknownst to Emily, Michael had held several informal appointments with Dr Creed, the purpose being to talk through his guilty conscience. Michael had slowly come to accept that his guilt was perhaps not quite as fulsome and complete as he had once believed, but it would always exist and he would have to make peace with that.
Michael was drooling over the BBQ’s melting meat when Thom Bray’s face appeared around the house. Michael immediately raised a hand in welcome, but stopped when he saw the boy’s face. Despite their conversations and Thom’s obvious brightness and maturity, he was still really a child. Michael saw the child’s worried face, illuminated with fear and something else; shame, embarrassment - he couldn’t quite tell.
“Thom!” Emily yelled an enthusiastic greeting as she spotted him, her words carrying across the large garden. “Come in! Come in! You hungry?”
Michael saw a reticence on the young man’s face. He handed the tongs to Creed. “Take over for a minute, doc; use your steady surgeon's hands.”
“Perhaps I should have told you before, Mike, I actually flunked medical school,” he taunted. “I did get my vet’s license though.”
“Funny man,” Michael laughed. “I’ll remember that next time I have to write you a check.”
He left the party and headed over to the waiting boy. “Thom,” he said as he got closer. “Everything okay?” He could see from this distance that everything was most certainly not. “What is it, what’s happened?” Thom’s trembling face threatened to collapse into tears and Michael felt a strong and not unpleasant paternal tug. “Here, come into the house.” He led Thom in through the patio doors and into the kitchen. The light was dimming inside but an instinct made him not turn on the lights. Whatever had happened, perhaps Thom would prefer a little dim lighting.
Thom ran through the afternoon’s events and Michael fought to control his rising temper. Thom spoke slowly and stutteringly. He told Michael that his mother was out at work for the day and wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours. Michael noticed several times that Thom’s thumb rose towards his mouth in an unconscious childhood mannerism.
Primal instincts run deep in man and Michael’s first thoughts were of retribution. He would hunt and he would kill. Violent thoughts were augmented every time that he looked into the deeply scared and embarrassed face of a skinny fourteen year old boy. He was saved, however, by a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked into the knowing face of his wife and her gaze was steady and her eyes were clear. Reason returned and sane rationale took hold. Storming castles with pitchforks and lit torches would benefit nobody at this point - least of all Thom.
“Tell me from the beginning, Thom,” she instructed rather than asked, in an authoritative voice borne from years of teaching and experience of children.
After telling the story for a second time, Michael watched as Emily’s manner calmed and settled Thom. His voice grew stronger and more assured and Michael knew that in the boy’s place, he would already be thanking his lucky stars that he had gotten off this lightly. Thom had suffered an almighty scare; the thought of what might have happened without the intervention of the fortuitous phone call was truly horrifying. Just who had been on the other end of the line that had scared the teacher back to his senses was a matter for consideration, but their priority now had to be Thom and Mr. Stark.
Sarah-Jane appeared in the kitchen behind them. Michael turned to see her face filled with sadness seemingly directed at Thom.
“I’ve called the sheriff’s office and told them about what happened,” she said gently. “They’re going to pick up Stark now and someone will be by for Thom.”
Michael and Thom shared a private look; the last thing that either of them wanted was for the big sheriff to come rolling in again, as Quinn’s motives
were still a cause for concern.
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Deputies Kurt Stillson and Tommy Ross pulled up to Stark’s house and found the teacher’s car was still in the driveway. They exited the squad car quickly and carefully; neither man was armed, as was the way in Eden.
Kurt placed a hand on Stark’s car bonnet, a maneuver that he had seen on television countless times; he was pleased to feel that the engine was still warm. “He hasn’t been back long,” Kurt said with authority. He led the way to the front door. Tommy moved behind him with a smile.
“You see that on TV?” Tommy whispered as they reached the door.
“No,” Kurt bristled. “Standard police work.”
“Yeah, right,” Tommy laughed.
Kurt took a pair of disposable gloves out of his back pocket and began struggling to pull them on.
“What are you doing?” Tommy giggled.
“Fingerprints,” Kurt hissed, annoyed.
“Whose exactly? Stark lives here alone and you’re opening the door.”
Kurt gave up the job of trying to pull the tricky gloves on and his mood darkened. For the first time since his move here, he had envisioned a real crime and a real arrest, hopefully with resistance. Tommy was spoiling his daydream with boring reality.
Kurt pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. “Mr. Stark,” he called out loudly. “Stark!”
The front door opened into a large open plan lounge area. The bay windows let in plenty of natural light and Kurt was admiring the tasteful decoration when Tommy elbowed him painfully in the ribs.
“What?” He turned to his partner. Tommy’s attention was located upwards; Kurt followed his eye line. Swinging from the landing banister was the teacher in question. Stark’s face was swollen and puffy, and his eyes had rolled back in his head. The noose-ended rope swayed gently under the soft breeze of the air conditioning and Kurt moved closer to the body. Stark’s tongue lolled grotesquely from his open mouth and the closer Kurt got to the body, the more his nose wrinkled in disgust at the voided odour emanating from the dead man. Despite his initial terror, Kurt found himself morbidly fascinated by the corpse.
