Teacher Beware (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Book 1)

by Charlotte Raine

  Her camera is still on the field. If anyone looks at the footage, they'll see me.

  Fuck.

  I run onto the field, hoping everyone is too distracted by Lexi to notice me. I grab the camera and run forward to keep my momentum. I decide to keep heading to the school. If I go back to the woods, I'm bound to leave tracks, which will lead the police straight to me. No one will be in the school and I'll be able to hide until the investigation is over.

  ~~~~~

  Sam, 2014

  ONE OF THE PARENTS—Mrs. Hall or Mrs. Hill, I can't remember—opens the back of her minivan when she sees me running with Lexi.

  "Put her down here," she says. "We need to see where she was shot."

  It's Mrs. Hill. A nurse.

  I try to gently lay Lexi in the back of the van, but she seems to be in too much shock to feel any pain. Or worse, her spine was hit. She grabs my arm as I set her down.

  "The shooter…" Her breathing is labored as her eyelids begin to close. "The camera. I saw…"

  Her eyes close and her head lolls back. Her hand goes slack and drops away from my arm.

  "Lexi!" I yell. "Lexi, stay awake!"

  I shift her body slightly to find the bullet hole that is an inch away from her spine on the left. It seems like the bullet could have hit the pancreas, which isn't a vital organ, but I can't take any risks. I take a scarf from around her neck, and press it against the wound.

  "We need to get her to the hospital," Mrs. Hill says. "Do you want me to stay in back with her or do you want to?"

  "I'll stay in back," I say. I've known Lexi since she was a baby. She's the daughter of my best friend. As I situate myself in the back of the van, the police officer who was trailing Grace, Officer Rooney, runs up to me.

  "What happened?" he asks. "I heard gunshots. Was somebody hurt?"

  "Why aren't you with Grace?" I demand. The officer looks at me, wide-eyed.

  "I heard gunshots," he repeats. "I thought I was needed here."

  I look toward the school.

  Grace or Lexi? I glance down at Lexi, whose face is chalk white.

  "The shooter was in the woods. Go find Grace," I tell Rooney. "Make sure she's okay. I have to take care of Lexi."

  The officer seems distracted, but he nods. He takes off his walkie-talkie off his belt and begins to tell the station what happened, his eyes scanning the woods. I don't hear anymore as Mrs. Hill closes the minivan's trunk door.

  ~~~~~

  Grace, 2014

  I PIN FAKE autumn leaves from the corners of the cafeteria entrance. I step down from the ladder and admire my work. Middle school wasn't fun for me—it involved acne and braces—but there is an enormous amount of hope and optimism in the pre-teen years. Everything starts to go downhill in high school.

  I hear footsteps rushing down the hallway. I take a step out to see what's happening—to see if a student has come early or if someone needs help. Somebody collides straight into me and we both fall to the floor.

  My head, spine, and elbows crash against the linoleum. My brain feels like it ricochets inside my skull. There are flashes of black and then I'm staring up at the fluorescent lights of Waycroft High School.

  As I struggle to sit up, I see Francis Tate.

  No, it's not Tate, but the feral look of desperation and reckless abandon is the same. With sweat rolling down his neck and his hair in disarray, it takes me a moment to recognize Deke Cochrane. His eyes darken as he recognizes me as well.

  "You," he spits out. "This is your fault. I've wasted all this time trying to shoot you when I should have taken care of you with my bare hands."

  He lunges for me. I scramble onto my feet, but he only knocks me back down. I grab for his wrists as he tries to wrap his fingers around my throat.

  "Why Deke?" I'm not as strong as him and his hands are almost around my neck. "I don't even know you. Why would you try to kill me? Why would you kill anyone?"

  "Survival of the fittest," he sneers. His fingers tighten around my throat. My grip on his wrists won't last long if I keep losing oxygen. I scratch at his face. He lifts one hand off my neck and hits me with the back of his hand. There's another flash of black before he puts his hands on my throat again.

  The complete helplessness of the moment brings me back to my family's farm, trapped in my kitchen with Francis Tate. I had tried to be kind and polite to keep him from attacking me and failed. This time I knew I didn't have that option. I didn't even want that option anymore. Survival of the fittest.

  I thrust my fist straight into his throat. His hands instantly move to his own neck and I push him off me. As I try to run, he grabs my ankle. I kick his face as hard as I can with my other foot. I feel a bone break and his hands clutch at his new injury.

  I don't have time to see what I did to him. I run down the hallway.

  ~~~~~

  Sam, 2014

  LEXI IS STILL UNCONSCIOUS, but I can hear police sirens. The lights from the sirens flash through the windows and I see an ambulance pass by us. The minivan stops. My body jerks against the back of the passenger seats, but I keep Lexi steady. Her cell phone—barely tucked into her jeans pocket—is vibrating and I can see Dad flashing on the screen.

  I'd never be able to look John in face again if Lexi dies. I don't think I'd be able to look at my own reflection again.

  The trunk door opens. Two paramedics stand outside of the car with a gurney. I slide my arms under Lexi and set her onto the gurney. As they get her into the ambulance, I take out my cell phone before I remember that Grace doesn't have her phone. I turn to the police officer who pulled over Mrs. Hill.

  "Can you get ahold of Officer Rooney?" I ask him. "He was at the school and I told him to check on Grace Ellery."

  The officer nods and removes his walkie-talkie from his belt.

  "Thirty-three, 10-20?" the officer asks into the walkie-talkie. The ambulance drives away. Mrs. Hill steps out of her car to see what's going on. The officer presses the talk button on his walkie-talkie again. "Thirty-three, 10-20?"

  "What does that mean?" I ask the officer.

  "I'm just asking where his location is," the officer says. "Using short form is just quicker and it makes it hard for other people around to understand what's going on. You don't want to see what happens to the public when they hear an officer ask another officer if they're in over their head."

  We both stare at his walkie-talkie.

  "Thirty-three, what's your exact location?" the officer asks.

  I shake my head. Something is wrong. I walk over to Mrs. Hill.

  "Can I take your van?" I ask. She nods, her hand wrapped around the cross on her neck.

  "Do you think something is wrong?" she asks.

  I ignore her, jump into the driver seat, and slam the door shut. As a doctor and as a human, I'm always too late to save the person who expected me to save them. I can't be late this time.

  ~~~~~

  Grace, 2014

  RUNNING AWAY FROM DEKE was instinct, but now I'm as far away from the exit of the school as possible. I'm sure there's another exit, but I've only been in here a few times. I hear Deke's footsteps approaching faster. I run through the first door I approach, and see pots and pans dangling from stainless steel hooks. The kitchen.

  The lights flicker on. They must be motion-activated. I dash behind the stoves and crouch down. I listen to Deke's footsteps as they step onto the concrete tiles.

  "Miss Ellery," he croons. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

  I try to slow my breathing and think of a prayer, but my mind is blank. There is no way I could hide from him for much longer. I'm trapped.

  And the kids are coming soon.

  The thought of middle school children encountering Deke makes my only choice clear. I can't run. I can't be afraid. I have to fight. I have to protect those who can't protect themselves.

  I stand up. Deke—his nose swollen with blood leaking from it—is less than a foot away from me on the other side of the stove. And holding
a butcher knife.

  Every muscle, every bone, every cell in my body locks up. The sides of the knife reflect the steel inside the question, but all I can notice is the fact that I'm in front of it.

  "Put it down," I mumble, my lips feeling numb.

  "I don't think so," he says. He smiles as my fear becomes more and more evident. "Do you know what it's like to gut a deer? You cut from the sternum to the crotch—just one long slash down its middle. The smell is horrendous, but then you begin to take out the guts. The smell gets worse, but there is a sense of…victory. Then you cut the diaphragm and blood pours out like a motherfucker. Then you take out the vital organs and it is something else to hold a heart in your hands—and know that you stopped it from beating…"

  I feel bile rising up in my throat. "Why are you telling me this?" I choke out.

  "Because I want you to understand," he says. "I eat every part of the deer I can. My family always has. It's survival. And every kill I've ever made was for survival. These strangers come into Murray and these commercial businesses invade the town. They run small businesses into bankruptcy and the rest of the town lets them. I bet that you buy everything from some big brand business. Do you know my grandfather, my father, and my brother all fought in wars for your freedom? And how do you repay them? By spitting in their faces. But your freedom isn't free. It was paid with the price of my family's lives. And now I'm going to take it away from you."

  He slashes the knife at me. I stumble back into a steel counter—just like I had at my family barn.

  He slashes at me again. I lurch back. My cheek burns as I feel the skin sliced open. The trickle of blood on my skin feels hotter than I remember the sensation of bleeding being.

  I wipe the blood off. When he tries to slice at me again, I hurl myself into him as hard as I can. We stumble onto the floor and I hear the knife clatter somewhere nearby. I scramble to find the knife, but Deke grabs me, and shoves me against the corner of the cabinet. I feel the edge dig into my back.

  "How did you think this was going to end?" he asks. "Did you really think that you could outdo me?"

  I lick my bottom lip, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue.

  "No," I say. "But I thought I could save you."

  "I don't need to be saved!" he shouts, his spit hitting my face. "I am not the one who is going to die!"

  "Maybe," I say. My hand, searching on the floor, wraps around the handle of the butcher knife. I thrust it into his abdomen as hard as I can.

  His scream is loud and harsh, like a wounded bear, as he collapses onto his side. As he rolls onto his back, his scream fades into a whimper, and then he's silent.

  His eyes remain open, but I know he's dead. The fluorescent lights reflect off his gray eyes, but nothing is illuminated.

  ~~~~~

  Sam, 2014

  I PARK THE CAR in front of the school. I almost run straight into the school when I notice a foot sticking out from under the huge bush beside the door. I push aside the foliage to see Officer Rooney—his eyes blank. I lean in closer to see a bullet wound in his chest. For the first time, I notice a shotgun lying next to his body as well. He wasn't carrying a shotgun before, so it must belong to the shooter. He either ditched it because he didn't think he would need it, or his gun jammed. At least there's a higher chance now that he's unarmed.

  I take out my cell phone and dial 9-1-1.

  "Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?"

  "Somebody shot a police officer at Waycroft High," I tell her. "There's a woman inside the school and I'm not sure where the shooter is. Please hurry."

  I set the phone down, so that the operator can trace the call.

  When I step into Waycroft High, I realize for the first time how cold schools are. Not just the temperature, but its gray, hard, angular surfaces. It's a prison except instead of iron bars, there's a threat of having a career as a fast-food cashier for the rest of your life if you don't comply.

  Grace had told me she would be working in the cafeteria when I dropped her off. I run down the hall. Every step I take is faster than the last. The shooter could be carrying a second gun, and he's been determined to kill Grace for over a week. If she's dead…I will understand what takotsubo cardiomyopathy, also known as broken-heart syndrome feels like. The anterior wall of my heart will die, and then I will follow into death's embrace.

  But I still have so much that I want to do with Grace, so she can't be dead.

  When I reach the cafeteria, there's a single chair tipped over and fake silk leaves dangling from the doorframe. I glance around and notice some droplets of blood to the left of the door. I can't find any more blood in the cafeteria, so I look out into the hallway. I find more blood, tiny droplets, and follow them to another door. I swing the door open and see Grace in the middle of the kitchen.

  There is blood on her blouse and she's staring down at the floor. I rush up to her, touching her arm before she even seems to notice me. I glance down at what she was staring at. Deke Cochrane is on the floor, eyes wide open, and blood soaking through his shirt. His whole body is limp and in all of my memories of seeing him in town—it is the first time I've seen him without the tension that has always seemed to crackle under his skin.

  "Are you okay?" I whisper, even though there isn't a need to be quiet. She nods. For the first time, I notice a butcher knife dangling from the tip of her fingers. I brush my fingertips against her wrist and lower my hand until I have the knife's handle. I take it from her and set it on the counter. I turn back to her. I brush some of blood off her cheek. She focuses on me again.

  "I had to," she tells me. "He was going to kill me. I had to kill him."

  "I know," I tell her. She leans into me and I wrap my arms around her. Our chests are pressed against each other and our hearts beat to the same rhythm.

  The heart brings life to the body and I cannot deny what direction it leads me to.

  ~~~~~

  Grace and I walk through the corridors of the Murray Hospital. It's nearly midnight and the hospital seems almost too quiet. But I don't feel the need to talk, stumble over words when there's nothing left to say, because there is a feeling of contentment that flows from Grace to me through our hands, which are clasped together. We have blood on us—Grace's, Deacon's, Lexi's—but it serves as a reminder that we're still alive.

  We stop right before we reach Lexi's room.

  "So…" I say. "How do you like Murray so far?"

  She laughs. She has a small dimple when she's happy. She seems relaxed for the first time since I met her.

  "It is…interesting," she says. "I've met some people I'll never forget."

  "Well." I kiss her lips and she smiles even wider. "I know at least one of Murray's residents who wants to get to know you even better."

  "Mmm," she says. "We should go to your house. The hotel always makes me feel like I'm a guest in my own room."

  "Technically, you are a guest," I say.

  "Technically," she says, pinching my side. I laugh. "You don't have to get to know me at all."

  I put my hands on her waist and kiss her again. Her eyes flicker over my shoulder as something or someone catches her eye.

  "Kevin?" she asks. I turn around to see an overweight man with a receding hairline and a brown canvas Carhartt jacket.

  "Hey," Kevin says, smiling and walking over to us. There's something moving under the breast of his jacket. "It's…Grace, right?"

  She nods, eyeing the moving jacket as well. Suddenly, a German shepherd puppy peeks out.

  "Why…do you have a dog here?" I ask, as Grace gasps and a huge smile lights up her face.

  "One of my kids got hurt trying to do parkour," he says. "I heard he's being a bit rude to the staff here, so I thought I'd bribe him with Tracker here."

  "You have kids?" Grace says. "I've never seen any kid at your house."

  He laughs. "Oh, I don't mean my kids as in literally mine. I'm the superintendent at Waycroft schools—the elementary, middle, and high schools. I
also work at the after-school programs at the middle school, so I'm close to the kids. Or at least I think I am. They could hate me for all I know."

  "Oh," she says. I wait for her to ask him to help her keep her job, but she doesn't say anything. He gestures to her blouse that still has blood on it. "What happened? You weren't shot at again, were you?"

  "No…" she says. "He tried to stab me."

  Kevin raises an eyebrow. "You don't have a boring life, do you?"

  "Well…I live in a hotel and I'm likely going to be fired from my job because there's a dead body in their kitchen, so I suppose it will be boring now," she says.

  "Where do you work?" he asks.

  She blushes. "Waycroft High. I'm a substitute teacher."

  He smiles. "Well, I'll talk to some people. I can tell that you're a good person and we need those kinds of people on our team."

  "I'd really appreciate that."

  The German shepherd peeks its head out of his coat again. One of the nurses notices.

  "Mr. Deats," she scolds. "We've told you that you can't bring animals into the hospital."

  He claps his hand on Grace's shoulder. "I have to go. I'll see you later…hopefully not because you were hurt." He walks away, his white coat billowing behind him.

  Grace turns to me. "He's the neighbor that I ran to when I was being shot at."

  "He's nice."

  "He is," she agrees. She gives me a quick kiss.

  "Do you want to work at Waycroft High still?" I ask.

  "I don't know," she says. "I think I do."

  "Really?" I ask. "After being attacked by two students?"

  She nods. "It reminds me of what's at stake. These kids feel unheard, uncared for, unimportant…I was young before, so I ran away from teaching when I thought I failed. But now…I still want to help kids. I feel like if I had sat down with Deke and talked to him about his feelings, we could have come up with a different plan than he had come up with."