by P. Wish
Jane’s footsteps startled him. He turned. Jane moved the flashlight, illuminating his face. Oliver held his palm over his face to block the bright light.
“Who is that?” he asked, straining to get a glimpse of her.
“What are you doing here?” Jane asked, deflecting the flashlight.
“Jane?” he said. She moved closer.
“Oliver?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said in a groggy voice.
“Me too,” Jane said, stifling a yawn.
Oliver smiled. “Have you tried counting sheep?”
“I failed miserably,” Jane said.
“It never works, does it?”
Jane nodded. “You have trouble sleeping too?”
“I can’t remember the last time I slept.”
The clouds moved away, revealing the silvery moonlight. Jane saw Oliver’s sunken eyes and dry skin. He turned to the ground and pulled out his phone from his pocket. Jane turned her flashlight towards it. The clean, white edge of the phone reflected the light. It looked brand-new.
“A new phone?” Jane asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I wanted to get one.”
“Your first?”
“Second.”
“The breeze is relaxing,” Jane said. “You come here every night?”
“Once in a while,” he said.
“Have you been to the chapel here?” Jane asked. His eyes followed hers.
“I go there on Sundays. I play the church organ there,” he said. “I used to sing in the choir when I was a student here.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by sometime to see you perform,” Jane said.
“Do you miss living in London?” Oliver asked.
“No. Not anymore,” Jane said. “There’s nothing for me there anymore.”
“They say when you get bored of London, you’re bored of life.”
“Then I must be bored of life,” Jane said, a heaviness accompanying her voice. She paused. “The fresh country air and wide open spaces are a nice change.”
Oliver smiled.
“I should head back. I have an eight o’clock lesson tomorrow,” he said.
“I think I’ll head back and try to get some sleep too,” Jane said. “It’s a long day tomorrow.”
Jane walked back with him to the dormitory. Oliver opened the door. Jane stepped in. She began to ascend the stairs.
April 12, 2002
At 8:00 a.m., Jane began walking to the school’s main building. Three days of sunshine vanished, leaving behind a dull grey sky. The constant drizzle condensed on the newly sprouted flowers and grass. Holding a flimsy umbrella up, Jane made her way down the stone path. Students walked around her, some in plastic raincoats and others with umbrellas.
Jane walked through the main building’s corridors with the wet umbrella encased in a plastic bag. Jane’s footsteps echoed in the quiet corridor. She heard a deep voice in Mrs. Wolverhampton’s office and stopped for a moment before continuing to the door. The sound grew louder as she neared Mrs. Wolverhampton’s room. She pressed her ear against the door. The tenor voice spoke again. Gary Myers. Before she knew it, the pressure her body exerted on the door pushed it open. Detective Myers turned. Mrs. Wolverhampton was surprised.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said, coughing. “Uh…I’ll—”
“Come in,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. Jane stood near the door, waiting for Detective Myers to finish his conversation. Her eyes darted to the principal, who looked weaker since their last meeting. Her eyes were red. Her distress became more pronounced when she bent down to pull something out of the drawer. The chiming sound of keys filled the air.
“Here you go,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said, handing the detective a set of keys, which Jane’s eyes followed. Detective Myers stood up. Meeting her gaze for a second, he turned.
“That reminds me, the postmortem report is out,” Detective Myers said, looking at Jane but talking to Mrs. Wolverhampton. His smoldering gaze met her eyes. They hadn’t spoken since the day he’d found her in Mr. Greene’s room. Mrs. Wolverhampton began clicking her fingers. “He…well, I will be investigating this case. He died from asphyxiation caused by strangulation. A clear case of murder.”
“Oh god….” Mrs. Wolverhampton’s face blanched. “Do you have any other information?”
“He was pushed into the lake after his death. His body was only slightly moved, as the marks on the soil at the edge of the lake indicate. I am wondering who could’ve done this.”
“I can’t imagine anyone doing something so inhumane….that too to Mr. Greene,” Mrs. Wolverhampton closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. “It is all too much to take in.”
“Take you time,” Detective Myers said.
“I’m sorry detective. It is painful to hear that he was killed in such a gruesome manner.”
“I agree,” Jane said, more to make him aware of her presence that anything else. “When did he die, specifically?”
Gary Myers looked up at her, their eyes meeting.
“I thought that might help. We’ll be able to say if we noticed anything strange during that time.”
“The time of death was more than three weeks ago. March 20th, to be exact. Isn’t that when the Easter break started?” Detective Myers asked.
Mrs. Wolverhampton’s expression transitioned from shock to a smooth, calmness within a second. “Y-yes…it was,” she said.
“Are you all right?” Jane asked, noticing her obvious anxiety.
“I just need some water,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. Jane handed her the bottle of water that was on her desk. “Thank you.”
When Mrs. Wolverhampton appeared calmer, Detective Myers went on, “I appreciate your cooperation in difficult times like this.”
“It’s the least I can do, detective.”
“I’ll look forward to your continued cooperation, then.”
“Yes.”
“Did anything strange happen during Easter?”
“I don’t know….”
“Was Mr. Greene or somebody else acting out of character?”
“I didn’t notice. Most students go, visit their family during the Easter break. Many of the teachers also travel. I don’t think many people were here during the 20th.”
“That makes it all the more difficult,” Detective Myers said. “As I said, we have blocked access to Mr. Greene’s room and I’d appreciate if we could also take a look at his office.”
“Sure, did you already have the keys?”
“I do. Entry to both these rooms is prohibited until the investigation is done.”
“I understand. I’ll let the staff know.”
“Thank you. The sooner the investigation is done, the better it is for all of us. With the school’s reputation….” He trailed off.
“I agree.” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. Detective Myers rose.
“The police have made arrangements for the funeral to take place at the cemetery on Cranbrook Road tomorrow at eight a.m. Mr. Greene’s brother, Brian will be flying over from Chicago for the funeral. I wanted to let you know.”
“I’ll be there,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Many of the other teachers might want to go,” Jane said.
“I think we should all go,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. “We all need to pay him out last respects.”
Jane nodded.
“You are welcome to come and pay your last respects,” Detective Myers said. Mrs. Wolverhampton nodded. “Well, then, I will get going.”
Mrs. Wolverhampton stood up. Detective Myers turned around. “That reminds me, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Do you think a ghost could’ve killed Mr. Greene?”
For a moment, Mrs. Wolverhampton was taken aback. An awkward chuckle broke the silence.
“A ghost? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said, her cat eyes enlarging. “Surely you don’t believe in ghosts, Detective?”
Jane sucked in her breath.
“It’s a coincidence, if anything,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said, coughing after the sentence.
“What can you tell me more about him?”
“Robert?” She turned her face away. “I don’t know what to say….”
“There are many similarities between his death and Mr. Greene’s. Wouldn’t you say so?” Detective Myers asked.
Mrs. Wolverhampton didn’t say anything.
“Is that why you’re asking?”
“That tale is popular in the school.”
“I’d rather not talk about it. It was a tragic event.”
“I’m sorry to bring it up,” Detective Myers said.
“No. I was the one that promised to cooperate with the investigation.” Mrs. Wolverhampton said.
Detective Myers sat back down. “How did he drown?”
“I don’t know how to answer that,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. “The detective said it was suicide.”
“He threw himself into the lake? But, why a lake? The lake is only ten feet deep. Why would he choose to die that way?”
“He couldn’t swim.” Mrs. Wolverhampton said.
“Couldn’t he have drowned accidentally?”
“I don’t know. We never will,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. “The detective who came here said it looked like a suicide.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was diagnosed with depression. The detective found out that he’d been seeing the counsellor. She hoped it would get better over time but it didn’t.”
“So you think he…”
Mrs. Wolverhampton nodded. “I was crushed when I learnt the truth. He was a dear student with a bright future. I thought that we’d failed to guide him,” There was a flicker of emotion in her eyes. “Those were difficult years.”
“I appreciate your talking to me about this,” Detective Myers said. “I’m sure it isn’t easy.”
“It’s not but…..five years have passed. We’ve all managed to move on from that unfortunate event.”
“Did you know about his….depression?”
“No. We only found out after he drowned.”
“And, was there a particular reason for his affliction?”
The momentary silence revealed the sound of Jane’s irregular breathing.
“I wouldn’t know. The therapist said that it is common for students to develop such symptoms during adolescence. The transition to adulthood is always difficult. Haven’t we all been through it?”
“That’s true.” Jane said, her voice, tight.
“I see. What kind of student was Robert Brown?”
“A good student. I never had a problem with his grades.”
“You knew him personally?”
“I was his English teacher.”
“And, you say he was very talented?” Detective Myers asked, his voice flat, to make her feel at ease.
“He came here on a merit scholarship. He was very gifted.”
“How would you describe his personality,” Detective Myers asked. “From your interactions?”
“Well…he was rather shy, but he loved to write. I taught him English and it was a pleasure to read his work.” Mrs. Wolverhampton’s lifeless eyes lit up for a second.
“What kind of things did he write?”
“Short stories, poems, narratives, diary entries…all kinds of things. Whatever the class assignment for the day was, really.”
“And his work was good.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said, overcoming the signs of strain that were etched on her face. “It was a pleasure to read what he wrote.”
“What made them so special, if I may ask?” Detective Myers said.
“He had a way with words. When I read his work, I felt like I was glimpsing into his heart.”
“Hmmmm….”
“He wrote from the heart. His words laid bare his deepest emotions.”
“Must’ve been very….umm….stimulating….” Detective Myers said, scribbling down what she had just said. A silent moment passed.
“Did he have any friends?”
“I didn’t know much about his friend circle but…from that I observed didn’t mix much with others. He spent most of his time in the library studying. He was very dedicated.”
“So, he spent most of his free time in the library? That sounds odd for a boy of his age.”
“Doesn’t it?” Mrs. Wolverhampton said, forcing a cracked smile. “I’m sure he must’ve had other hobbies. I don’t know….”
“What about writing? Did he write?”
“Oh yes, he did. He liked to write during his free time. He had solitary hobbies.”
“Solitary hobbies, huh?” Detective Myers said. “In other words, his personality was similar to Mr. Greene’s?” He was trying to spot a pattern here.
“I wouldn’t say that. They are very different people.”
“Mr. Greene preferred to keep himself to himself too.”
“I don’t think that’s the same thing,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said.
“How so?”
“Robert was creative. Aren’t all artists reclusive to some extent?”
“If you put it that way.” Detective Myers glanced at the clock.
The phone rang. Mrs. Wolverhampton sighed, then answered the phone. Another anxious voice burst through the speakers. Jane and Gary exchanged glances. Mrs. Wolverhampton hung up.
“Parents,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. “Any more questions, Detective?”
“I’m done for now. The progress has been very slow, but hopefully things will move faster now that we have the funeral as planned. I hope to see you at the funeral tomorrow, then.”
“Thank you for dropping by,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said.
“I hope to see you all at the funeral tomorrow,” he said. “I would also like to warn you that we will be questioning the teachers and administrative staff so I’d appreciate your cooperation.”
“I’ll let them know,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said.
Detective Myers left. Mrs. Wolverhampton’s eyes turned to Jane. Jane had forgotten why she came.
“Uh…I wanted to enquire about lesson plans….” Jane said. She had no idea what she was talking about. “Did the previous teacher leave one with you, by any chance?”
“I remember he said something about lesson plans but I don’t remember what. It must be here somewhere,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. She pulled the drawer open and dug through the stack of papers. A sheet fell on the floor. Jane swooped it up. She turned the sheet and the name hit her.
Robert Brown.
The words were written in bold print on the header.
The image of a young boy with a fragile bone structure filled Jane’s vision. A passport-size photo was stuck next to his name. He wore the school uniform with a frown. His muddy brown eyes looked at the camera, expressionless. Words followed the picture. There was all kinds of information on that piece of paper. His grades, birth information, academic history and age were summarized.
“Jane.” Mrs. Wolverhampton’s voice was tense. She was staring at Jane, who handed the paper back to Mrs. Wolverhampton and flashed a crooked smile. “What did you want to speak to me about?”
“Uh…I think the window in my room is jammed,” she said. An excuse.
“Didn’t Mr. McEwan fix it?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe you should remind him.”
“I think I will. I haven’t seen much of him.”
“That building is getting old,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. “You need to put that on the system. I’ll ask Mr. McEwan to take a look if I see him around.”
“Thank you. Sorry to bother you with a minor issue.”
“No problem. We were all new here at some point of time.”
Jane turn
ed to leave.
“How is your first week at St. Anne’s?” Mrs. Wolverhampton asked.
“Enlightening,” Jane said. “That reminds me, I met Oliver a few days ago. Do you know him? He said he was a student here a few years ago.”
“I do, of course. He was one of our most brilliant students,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. Her eyes drifted away. “He went on to study English at Cambridge,” she said. Her tone was flat.
“Wow. That’s incredible!”
“It is a big achievement,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said, serious. “I was surprised when he came in for an interview last year. Of course, I was happy to have him, but…I never thought he’d become a teacher. I’m glad he changed his mind.” She glanced at the clock. “Look at the time. I must get back to work.”
Jane walked out of the room and closed the door. She walked into the restroom and stood before the mirror. Her thoughts rewound to the sheet that had fallen from Mrs. Wolverhampton’s drawer. Had she been looking at Robert Brown’s profile? Her fingers curved over the edge of the ceramic washbasin. A sharp sound jerked her senses. She turned. The door was open. Warm air swooshed in. Jane waited for somebody to enter, but nobody came. A few seconds later, the door began to move.
The door inched to the frame, then closed shut. Jane breathed. Was the ghost of Robert Brown real? She smiled and shook her head. Her clammy hands moved away from the washbasin. She opened the tap, and the running water met her cold fingertips. Steam from the hot water rose and settled on the mirror.
The last time she’d spent so much time in front of the bathroom mirror was the day she’d resigned. She remembered standing before the mirror and staring into it until her reflection became spots of light. In her hand she clutched a blank white envelope. A faint foul smell emanated from the bathroom cubicles. Jane inhaled deeply. The envelope clutched in her shaky hand vibrated. She steadied her right hand using her left one. She breathed again, brushing away the doubts that filled the corners of her mind. She walked out of the bathroom, her heart thudding violently.
The bright tube lights on the ceiling illuminated the rosewood table behind which Mark sat, his droopy grey moustache lingering at the ends of his eternally frowning mouth. Dressed in a brown shirt, he was busy typing. Jane knocked on the door and walked in. Mark’s dark eyes turned to her. Jane inched to the table, the blank envelope shaking in her hand. She placed the envelope on the edge of the table and met her supervisor’s quizzical gaze.
