by P. Wish
“Are you all right?”
“It’s getting warm in here,” Jane said.
At 9:00 p.m., Jane made her way back to the dormitory. She was exhausted after a day of back-to-back classes, lesson planning, reviewing coursework and supervising students in the dining hall. She limped into the teachers’ dorm and ascended the stairs. A year of no physical exercise had reduced her endurance. By the time she got to the third floor, she was panting. Jane stepped into the corridor and took a few steps towards her room. As she approached her room, she noticed light emanating from the room next to hers. It was Mr. Greene’s.
Her heart sped up. She noticed the yellow ‘do not cross’ tapes were loose and hanging low. Gary had done a terrible job of putting them up. As she walked closer to the room, she saw that it was open. Through the narrow opening in the door, she checked out the room.
The lights were on. The window was closed. Compared to her messy room filled with scattered papers, remnants of cardboard boxes, bubble wrap and soiled dishes, this one was squeaky clean. Books were arranged alphabetically on the bookshelf, Jane noticed. Not only were they alphabetical, but they were also proportionate. Books of similar height were grouped in the top shelves while the taller books took the lower shelf. A neatly piled stack of graded papers was piled high on a plastic tray. Pencils, pens, erasers and rulers stood straight in a pencil stand. A thin film of dust had collected on the desk—most likely because Mr. Greene hadn’t been there to clean it.
Jane pushed the door open. It opened with a creaky sound. She looked inside. There was nobody. Gary must’ve forgotten to lock up. She moved in closer to get a full view of the room. Her eyes moved to the shoe rack next to the open wardrobe. Jane took a step closer to the room. Shoes were arranged in pairs, according to frequency of usage. The light fell on them, highlighting how clean and polished they were.
Coats hung enveloped in coat covers in the wardrobe. Neatly folded trousers lay on the narrow wooden shelves, grouped by color. The colors went from light to dark. Ironed shirts hung alongside the coats. The open drawer revealed a collection of ties. They too were arranged by color. Jane took another step forward. She gazed at the floor. The light green carpet was spotless. It spread across the apartment, shooting out into the bedroom.
The sound of rustling rattled her. She had stepped on the police tape, squishing it. Her heartbeat escalated. Should she go in? She knew it was a crime to tamper with crime scene evidence when she clearly wasn’t supposed to.
Curiosity got the best of her. She stepped in. The paper on the desk caught her eye. It was Mr. Greene’s resume. Next to it, lay a photo, which resembled the one on his driver’ license. She took a closer look. Herbert Greene had roughly equal number of brown and grey hair on his head. He had a bony build with gaunt eyes. He wore spectacles, which meant he had some kind of visual impairment. The awkward smile on his face along with the starched white shirt didn’t make him look particularly friendly.
Jane’s eyes turned to the laundry bag lying near the washing machine. Even the dirty laundry in the laundry bag had been folded and separated by size.
She bent down and picked a shirt up. Cotton, no brand name. She picked up a pair of trousers next. Most of his trousers were dull, boring shades like grey, brown and blue, but none of them were black. They had labels she didn’t recognize either. Considering he was a teacher, Mr. Greene appeared to be a man of modest means, but he was a neat freak. His clothes weren’t branded but they were well maintained.
The bed proved her point. The white sheet was creaseless. Two fluffy white pillows were arranged horizontally over the bed. The duvet with a matching white cover was drawn over the bed.
Jane moved back to the main room. Her eyes fell on the first sheet that lay on the pile of graded papers. The name was Aaron Adams. Alphabetical, again. This man must be OCD. On it, Mr. Greene had written a grade and marked the incorrect answers. His handwriting was tiny and proportionate. He wrote in a smooth, flowing cursive hand. The table lamp cast a glow on the large white computer that sat on the table. All teachers had one in their room. Her shadow fell over it. The computer was switched off.
Next, she opened the cupboard by the table. At first, she noticed how cluttered it was. The cupboard was more of a store. Broken pens, photo frames, an old bag, a toy and a few books lay in it. Jane cleared the clutter to reveal a book that stood behind it. Sliding her hands behind her woolen sleeve, she picked it up using her cardigan. The book had a brown leather cover, like a diary. It wasn’t dusty, unlike the other things in the cupboard. Someone must’ve put it in there. She turned the diary over and examined it. The pages had begun to yellow at the sides, indicating that the diary was old. She opened the diary and began reading the first page.
What does it feel like to long for what you can never have?
What does it feel like to have a body but not a soul?
What does it feel like to suffocate in your own body?
It feels like Robert Brown.
“Jane.” The sudden voice startled her. She dropped the book and it crashed on the carpeted floor. Detective Myers stood at the door, blocking the light. His sharp eyes held her as his shoes glided across the floor. Jane backed off. “Tampering with evidence is considered a crime.” His gaze moved to the book that she was holding. “Where did you find that?”
Jane stood next to the table, wordless. Gary moved in and picked up the book.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know.”
Gary Myers flipped the pages. His eyes widened at some point, then returned to their normal size.
“I’ll take that,” he said, sealing it in a plastic bag. “Where exactly did you find this?”
“Inside the cupboard. Second shelf. It was behind the rest of the things.”
Gary moved closer to the cupboard. “Hmmmm…I didn’t notice this one.”
“I almost didn’t either. It blends with the walls,” Jane said.
“So, what do you think?”
“Huh?”
“What do you think about this case?”
“Gary, I retired,” Jane said.
“That’s what you insist.” He said with a sigh.
“What is that?” Jane asked, pointing to a small drawer under the wardrobe. Gary approached the drawer and opened it. Jane moved in closer.
“Looks like a medicine drawer,” he said. The medicines were neatly arranged in rows. The Band-Aids and ointments were kept in a small tray. One of the bottles of pills had fallen and knocked the others over. It must’ve been the last one he’d used before his death. Gary picked the bottle out and turned it over. Black letters were printed the surface of the white paper: Prozac 20mg.
A familiar tension clutched her heart. She had seen it before. A year and a half ago, to be exact. Her mind raced back to the image of Charlie’s room. The orange glow of the night lamp filled her mind. The edges of the ivory wallpaper curled, exposing the plaster. A sheet of paper basked in the light of the night lamp on the table. The window was open. Cold October air rushed in through the narrow opening. Jane remembered every word written on that piece of paper in his scrawly handwriting.
I’m sorry. I had to do this. Goodbye.
The fateful word was etched into the reel of her memory. Jane had sunk to the floor, her knees buckling. Ben rushed out of the room, dialing the ambulance on his way out. His voice echoed in the empty apartment. Jane’s fingers dug into the creased bedsheets. She opened the third drawer and there it was—Prozac. The black letters stood out against the white label. The words blurred before her eyes. The bottle dangled between the books and the edge of the wooden drawer. She dropped it back into the desk and sat on the carpet to breathe.
Since when had Charlie been taking them? Was he medically supervised? She knew nothing about this. Her breathing grew uneven. Ben looked at her, expecting her to say something, but her larynx was weighed down by a heavy stone of emotions.
“Jane.” Gary’s deep voice interrupted her recol
lection. She blinked, startled by the sudden sound. Gary examined her with a queer expression. “Are you all right?”
“Ummmm…I should leave,” Jane said quickly. The walls were hazy before her eyes. She touched the walls, trying to get a sense of direction. She rubbed her eyes. “I’m sleepy.”
“What happened? Did you remember something?” Detective Myers asked. His tone was calm, but Jane didn’t move. She took a moment to compose herself. The image of the deserted room slowly crystallized before her eyes until its edges were sharp and clear. She took another deep breath.
“I’m tired, that’s all,” she added with a weak smile. “Good night.” She took a step towards the door.
“This will be your last warning, then,” Detective Myers said. There was a severity in his tone. “I know we are old friends but I’ll get into trouble if I let you poke around the crime scene.”
“I know,” Jane said in a low voice. “Thanks for letting it go. But why are you investigating a drowning?”
He raised his eyebrow.
“You’re the detective so I guess I’ll leave you to it.” Jane said. She turned.
“Jane…”
“What?”
“Good night.”
“That’s right,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Good night.”
April 10, 2002
At 6:15 a.m. on Wednesday morning, after a night of tossing and turning, Jane awoke to the sound of a ringing alarm clock. Panic, guilt and anxiety circled around her heart. It was another one of those nights—the sleepless nights she spent thinking about Charlie.
The first rays of the morning sun pierced through the darkness. She stretched and got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. She saw her red eyes and the dark circles underneath them. Insomnia had become a part of her life since Charlie’s death. The nights she could sleep peacefully were few and far between. Everything reminded her of him, especially of his absence. When she woke up in the morning and saw an empty room, all she heard was the faint sound of the alarm from Charlie’s room, the clanking of the dishes; because he helped her with the dishes on mornings and the sound of footsteps. They had been the steady rhythm of her life. But now, her internal clock was broken. She shouldn’t have gone into Mr. Greene’s room last night. It was a mistake. She splashed some cold water on her face, awakening her sleepy face.
After brushing her teeth, Jane made her way to the kitchen and made herself some coffee. Coffee was her drug of choice. Staring into space, she reminded herself that she needed to get more sleeping pills. Her eyes hit the stack of papers that lay on the desk, waiting to be graded. She sat down to grade the papers with a mug of coffee.
By 7:45 a.m., Jane made her way to the dining hall. On the way, she saw a shadow flicker in the corridor.
“Are you sure this was on the twentieth?” he asked.
“Yes. I remember because I was supposed to leave for Paris—”
“Why were you going to Paris?”
“It was a family trip, but…I ended up canceling my plans at the airport.”
“Why did you cancel?” he asked.
“My daughter called at the last moment and—well, that’s that. You know how unpredictable teenagers are.”
“So you got a call at the airport, then canceled the trip?”
“On the train, actually. I took the next one back.”
“And you came back after you canceled your trip?”
“I did,” Mrs. Maeda said. Her soft voice shook.
“And what did you see when you came back?”
“I’m not sure, but I thought I heard somebody that night. A door closing, perhaps.”
“What time was it?”
“Past midnight.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“I couldn’t see clearly…but…” Mrs. Maeda scratched her head.
“Yes?”
“I saw a trail of water on the carpet.”
“Did you follow the trail?”
“It disappeared into the bathroom on the ground floor.”
“The common bathroom?”
“Ummmm…”
“Was there another trail?”
“I didn’t notice. I was very sleepy. Not to mention, irritated. I went to my room and slept.”
Detective Myers wrote it down.
“Can I leave?” Mrs. Maeda asked. “I need to get dressed for my class this morning.”
“Yes. Thank you,” he said and left the building.
Jane continued her journey to the dining hall. Her red eyes absorbed the quiet dining hall, which was gearing up for the busy day. Chef Kalra waved at her from behind the counter. She was the only teacher in the dining hall that morning. She piled her plate with food and sat near the coffee machine. While the coffee machine was making her some coffee, she slid two slices of bread into the toaster.
“You’re early today,” Chef Kalra said.
“I couldn’t get much sleep. I had a few papers to grade,” Jane said. She pulled the steaming cup of coffee from under the coffee machine.
“Getting busy, huh?” he asked, turning his eyes to the bread that was toasting in the toaster. Jane nodded.
Someone called out from the kitchen, and Chef Kalra bowed and walked away. Jane turned to her table. She sat down and sipped some coffee before returning to the toaster, retrieving her toast and heading back to the table.
Two girls stood near the fresh fruit counter and another boy was busy heaping cereal into his bowl. She saw Chef Kalra’s apron disappear into the kitchen. Jane ate her breakfast, her mind returning to Mr. Greene’s room. The image of the room changed to one of Gary’s intense gaze. She’d never told Gary why she’d left. Maybe she should. That way, she could let go of some of the guilt.
When Jane returned to her seat, she saw somebody sitting before her. A young man with hazel eyes and spiky dark blond hair sat before her. He spooned some cereal into his mouth. Jane noted that he wore a thin white shirt and a formal blue blazer—not the school uniform. He must be one of the teachers. He looked very young. He must still be in his twenties. In his left hand, he held a copy of Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, which he was reading. The young man had a lean, athletic physique. Jane pulled her chair out, attracting his attention, and sat down, meeting his gaze.
“Good morning,” she said unenthusiastically.
The young man put his spoon back into the bowl of cereal and looked up at her. He swallowed the cereal and drank some water. He extended his hand. Jane shook it. They were cold. His spare hand closed the book and pushed it away.
“Hi, I’m Jane, the new biology teacher,” Jane said. “I started yesterday.”
The stranger surveyed her for a moment before putting his book down. His eyes moved to the cord that surrounded Jane’s neck. At the end of it dangled a teacher ID card. He breathed. His lips curved into a smile.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Oliver. Oliver Sharpe. I teach English,” he said. The first thing Jane noticed about his face was how sleep-deprived he was. His dark circles rivaled hers. His eyes twitched involuntarily. Despite the temperate climate, sweat lined his forehead. He had rushed to the dining hall.
“Where did you rush here from?” Jane asked.
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing…I thought you’d been traveling.”
“How did you know?”
“It was a guess,” Jane said.
“I came back from Southampton today morning. It was a tiring journey.”
“You’re from Southampton?”
He nodded before draining his cup.
“Excuse me.” He went to get himself another cup of coffee. Caffeine addict. Jane looked at his plate, which was filled with bread, hash browns, eggs, pancakes and bacon.
He returned to the table with another cup as Jane finished hers. His irises were dark brown. Bushy eyebrows framed his rough-cut features that lent his face a certain manliness. “I’m sorry, I need all the coffee I can get. I’m addicted to it.”
“Me too,” Jane sa
id, holding up her empty cup of coffee. He smiled.
“So, are you liking it here?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s very peaceful.”
“You came from London?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it boring to live here?”
“It’s a welcome change. I’m getting old and the city’s too much for me sometimes,” Jane said. “How long have you been here?” She bit her tongue, reminding herself to stop questioning people.
“It hasn’t been that long, to be honest. I graduated from university last year and started teaching here.”
“Have you gotten used to it?”
“I was a student here not too long ago,” he said. “St. Anne’s is like home to me.”
He gazed out the window. The clouds had parted to reveal a sunny day. The skies were blue, and colorful flowers bloomed on the green grass. Jane’s eyes moved back to him.
She leaned closer and cleared her throat. When a group of students had passed, she spoke. “I hate to ruin your morning, but did you hear about Mr. Greene?” she hissed. Oliver’s eyes widened. He drank some water.
Oliver was quiet for a moment. He picked his cup up and began drinking coffee, then put it down and looked at Jane.
“I heard.” He said. His face blanched. His eyes moved from one corner of the table to another. He took a deep breath.
“Have you met the detective yet?”
“Not yet.”
“He’s been asking questions,” Jane said.
“It must be overwhelming for you,” Oliver said. “You just joined.”
“Oh no….I’ve been busy with classes.”
“You’re taking it well.”
“You knew Mr. Greene?”
“Not personally, but I’ve seen him around,” Oliver said. “He’s been here for a few years, and we’ve spoken a few times. It’s shocking to discover one of your colleagues passed away. How is Mrs. Wolverhampton doing?”
“To be honest, she’s as pale as a ghost,” Jane said. Oliver looked startled by her honesty. His expression warmed up.
“I’m not surprised,” Oliver said. “She must be worried about the school’s reputation.”
“Parents have been calling the school, enquiring whether he was murdered.”
