The Professor

by Alexandria Clarke

  “You all right there, young lady?” He was an older gentleman, not a rookie like Wes, and he spoke to me in a firm, level voice.

  My voice was hoarse. “I’ll live.”

  “Was that your boyfriend?”

  I shook my head. “No. He just attacked me on the street.”

  “I see. I’m quite sorry you’re shaken up, but I have to ask you to come inside so that we can get a statement from you.”

  I nodded. It was only to be expected. The officer offered me a hand and helped me to my feet. We stepped over the gouges in the gravel that served as the only remaining evidence of my scuffle with the Raptors. As I followed the officer into the station, massaging the welts at my throat, I realized with a jolt that the locket had gone missing from its place around my neck.

  21

  “Lauren. Lauren!”

  I thundered down the stairs to the basement of Floorboard Lit in a frenzy. Lauren had returned to her place behind the computer, a pair of bulky studio headphones swallowing her head. She whisked the headphones off, and they settled around her neck as she whirled around to face me.

  “What the hell happened?” she demanded. “I was listening through your microphone the entire time. Flynn wasn’t there?”

  “No!” I paced back and forth, massaging my forehead. My head throbbed, probably as a result of Donovan depriving me of air.

  “Oh, my God, your neck.”

  My hands flew to my throat. One glance in the rearview mirror of Lauren’s expensive car on the drive back to Floorboard Lit had afforded me a lovely view of the pattern of purple-and-pink bruises that now marred my skin.

  “Never mind that,” I said. “I lost the locket.”

  Lauren’s shoulders dropped. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m not joking.”

  “How?”

  “Flynn didn’t show, as you’ve already gathered.” I continued pacing. It was barely five steps from one end of the intimate basement to the other. I was a rogue ping-pong ball being batted around by drunken competitors. “Davenport and one of his knuckle-headed cronies pulled up in an SUV instead. I talked to Flynn over the phone. I’m pretty sure Wes is still alive, but for how long?” With the locket missing from around my neck, I felt impossibly light. “Donovan must have taken the locket from me before he was arrested. He—”

  “Whoa, take a step back,” ordered Lauren, waving her hands to stop me from talking. “Donovan was arrested?”

  I nodded. “We chose that space for a reason, right? I knew where the station was. I figured if I lured Donovan and Wickes there and let them catch me, the cops would come out. I was right. They caught Donovan with his hands around my neck and arrested him for assault and battery.”

  “So what happened? How did you get out of there?”

  “They asked me a couple questions, but I just pretended not to know Donovan. I mean, who are they going to believe? My story or his?”

  “Yours, I hope. What happened to Donovan?”

  “He’s still there. The cops told me that he wouldn’t be released until someone posted bail. I assume he’ll call Flynn to get him out.” I sank into the armchair by Lauren’s desk and folded in on myself, cradling my head in my hands. “What the hell are we going to do? We don’t have the locket. We still have no idea where the Raptors are keeping Wes. And we’re out of time. The police didn’t catch Wickes. He probably went right back to Flynn and told her exactly what happened. For all I know, Flynn’s already killed Wes.”

  “Don’t think like that,” said Lauren, leaning away from her desk to give me a comforting pat on the back. “We just have to come up with another plan.”

  “I feel like we keep hitting dead ends,” I mumbled into my palms. “All day long, we’ve been too late or off track. I just want Wes back. Why did I have to get dragged into all of this insanity? What were my parents even thinking when they got involved with BRS?”

  “They were thinking what we all thought when the Raptors first came calling,” said Lauren, her voice low and soothing. “When an elite society wants you for their own, you feel special. It’s hard to let that go, especially if you weren’t previously valued much as the person you were before. The Raptors are family. Before my aunt came back to Waverly, every one of the Raptors was loyal to one another. They had each other’s backs, no matter what.”

  “Wait, when did Flynn get the job at Waverly?”

  “Several years before I got there.”

  “Then how would you know what the Raptors were like before?”

  Lauren kicked her feet up on the desk and stretched her arms above her head. “Don’t forget that the Lockwoods are one of the original families that started the Raptors. My father taught me from a young age about the society. I have two older siblings who were both Raptors. I’m the first person to admit that the society was never particularly reputable, but we didn’t consider ourselves downright evil. When Flynn came in, she started manipulating some of the younger Raptors into eating up her bullshit. She believed that the integrity of the society was being compromised by Waverly’s rules.”

  “Oh, but her own personal integrity wasn’t compromised by murder?” I asked in disbelief.

  Lauren arched an eyebrow. “From what my father has told me, my aunt was always intensely competitive. They went to Waverly together, and she tried to oust him from the society multiple times. Of course, you know my father. He’s charismatic and intelligent, and his ability to remain calm while staring into the face of chaos has saved him from my aunt’s wrath multiple times.”

  “No offense, but I still can’t see Orson Lockwood as the good guy.”

  “No offense taken,” said Lauren. “I know you’ve suffered at the hands of the society, and my father had something to do with that. I can’t fault you for blaming my family.”

  Overhead, the creak of floorboards interrupted our conversation. I glanced skyward, putting a finger to my lips to hush Lauren.

  “Did you lock the back door?” whispered Lauren.

  Unconsciously, my fists clenched in anxiety, my fingernails biting into the palms of my hands. I shook my head.

  Lauren unfurled my fingers. “They won’t be able to find us down here. My uncle is the only person who knows about the basement.”

  As if to prove her wrong, the footsteps halted directly above our heads. For a moment, there was only silence, then the unmistakable sound of the hidden trapdoor opening reached my ears. As the footsteps descended, I stood and drew Wes’s pistol from where it was still tucked in the back of my jeans. I planted my feet shoulder width apart, aiming for the bottom of the stairs. When a tall, broad-shouldered figure reached the last step and pivoted toward us, and I recognized who it was, I allowed myself one moment of complete shock before raising the pistol to eye level.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.

  At the warehouse, Flynn watched as Wes lunged slowly from side to side, stretching out his legs with his arms still firmly secured behind his back. Wes glanced up, aware of Flynn’s eyes on him.

  “Can I help you?” he asked politely.

  Flynn smirked. “I was just thinking how much of a shame it will be to dispose of you,” she said. “It’s terrible to let a body like that go to waste.”

  Wes straightened immediately, nauseated by Flynn’s words. “Look, I don’t know what kind of creepy mother-son relationships you have going on with all of your college boy toys, but don’t you dare try to bring me into it.”

  “I would never,” declared Flynn, setting a hand over her heart as if outraged that Wes would even suggest it.

  Wes glared at her. It was no wonder she found such ease in wooing Waverly’s young men into following her directions without question. She was a stunning, intelligent woman who had a tactful air of confidence when she was at her best, and it occurred to Wes that he certainly would never want to experience her at her worst.

  The door to the warehouse slid open, and Wickes burst in, panting like a dog, his
flushed cheeks as red and inflamed as an open wound.

  Flynn stood up from her chair. “What is it? Where’s the girl? Did you get the locket?”

  Wickes shook his head vigorously, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. “It was a trick… Costello… she led us to a police station. Davenport… he got arrested.”

  The look on Flynn’s face could have turned men to stone had she possessed the godlike ability. “What do you mean he was arrested?”

  “I told you,” puffed Wickes. “Costello tricked us. Took off running, and when we followed, she let us catch her in the parking lot behind a police station. They caught Davenport with his hands around Costello’s neck.”

  “And the girl?”

  Wickes shrugged his enormous shoulders. “No idea. I took off. Didn’t want to be arrested.”

  “You left?” Flynn asked incredulously. “You incompetent—”

  “What was I supposed to do?” demanded Wickes. He finally regained control of his breathing. He straightened, and though he towered over Flynn in height, she seemed to sneer down at him. “Get locked away with Davenport? No, thanks.”

  Flynn smacked Wickes across the face. Stunned, he backed into the metal trunk, tripped over it, and fell to the floor. Flynn advanced on him and planted one high-heeled boot in the middle of his chest. Wes took a step toward them, wondering if he should make a move. Wickes was a jackass, no doubt, but Flynn was a murderer, and Wes had seen enough dead bodies to last him a long time.

  “You absolute idiot,” Flynn chided Wickes. “Where is the locket?”

  “Davenport has it.”

  “So he did get it?”

  “Not exactly,” gasped Wickes. He grasped Flynn’s ankle, trying to dislodge her boot from his chest, but she held true, digging the heel into Wickes’s sternum. “He swallowed it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He got it off Costello,” Wickes choked out. “But then the cops grabbed him. I saw him pop it into his mouth while they were trying to get ahold of him.”

  Flynn raised her foot off of Wickes, who rubbed at the sore spot on his chest before sitting up. “Did the cops see your face, Wickes?” asked Flynn. Wickes nodded. “Then call Brooks. I need him. Officer McAllen!” Flynn strode over to Wes. “I assume you are aware of the fact that we gave your beloved Nicole the option to leave the Waverly area by midnight tonight in order to save your life. How do you feel about knowing that she blatantly disregarded the offer in favor of a fruitless attempt to bring down the Raptors? Has she no concern for your well-being?”

  Wes remained impassive. He knew Flynn was trying to get a rise out of him. She fed on the negative emotions of others, and he refused to expend his energy to benefit her own. “I’m sure Nicole did what she thought was right.”

  “What is right, really?” asked Flynn, but she clearly meant for the question to be rhetorical. “You may find yourself challenging the moral definition of the word, Weston. I have a job for you.”

  A short time later, Wes found himself riding in the passenger seat of the same black SUV that the Raptors had used to transport him to the warehouse, except this time, Wes was conscious. Beforehand, Flynn and Wickes had allowed Wes to clean himself up. In the bathroom of the warehouse, Wes mopped the dried blood off of his face and did his best to set his broken nose on his own. Then he cleaned the lump on the back of his head with a damp paper towel, rinsed his face of sweat, and tried to tame his dirty hair. When he emerged, he looked nearly as pristine as a protector of the law was meant to, save for his swollen nose and the collection of muted bloodstains on the collar of his police uniform. Thankfully, the fabric was dark enough to obscure the true nature of the stains, and he could explain away the broken nose if necessary.

  Beside him, in the driver’s seat, sat Ashton Brooks, another one of Flynn’s cronies. He had arrived at the warehouse dressed in an expensive designer suit, complete with cuff links and a pocket square. Wes thought he looked like a dandy, but Flynn seemed satisfied. Brooks was a senior at Waverly, but his firm jaw and calm demeanor exercised an aura of maturity. If Wes hadn’t known any better, he would have mistaken Brooks for a young thirty-year-old.

  “Don’t you dare think about making a run for it, McAllen,” said Brooks. His eyes remained on the dark, foggy road in front of him, but Wes felt the full impact of his words. “If we come back from this trip empty-handed, we’re both dead, and I don’t intend on disappointing the Morrigan anymore this evening.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice,” replied Wes. He shook his right hand, which had been secured to the door of the SUV with his own handcuffs, in exhibition.

  The SUV bounced into the parking lot of the police station. Wes leaned his head against the window, noticing that the gravel by the back door of the station had been disturbed, revealing the dirt underneath. Not long ago, Nicole had been in the very same location. It was the closest they had been to finding each other since the Raptors had taken Wes in, but Wes still felt so far away from Nicole. He hoped that she had found a safe place to regroup.

  “You remember what to do, right?” asked Brooks as he put the SUV in park and leaned over Wes to unlock his handcuffs. Wes nodded, rubbing his sore wrist. Brooks allowed him to return the handcuffs to his utility belt. “Good,” said Brooks. “Let’s go. Don’t fuck this up.”

  Together, the pair emerged from the SUV and made their way into the station. Wes squinted as the bright fluorescent lights reminded him of his head injury. Self-conscious, he ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to cover the lump on the back of his head.

  A stocky brunette manned the front desk, her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail. She brushed it over her shoulder as Wes and Brooks approached her, revealing the last name Sawyer embroidered on the front of her uniform.

  “What can I do for you, boys?” she asked. “You certainly don’t belong to this district, Officer.”

  Wes flashed his badge. “Wes McAllen, Waverly P.D. I believe you’re holding someone that my division has been on the lookout for.”

  “Name?”

  “Donovan Davenport.”

  Sawyer busied herself at the desktop computer, her fingers typing efficiently at the keyboard. “Yeah, we got him. Picked him up about an hour ago for assault and battery. No priors though. This his legal representation?”

  She inclined her head toward Brooks, who smiled at her with only the left side of his mouth as if he couldn’t be bothered to employ all of his facial muscles. “Jonathan Meyers,” he said without a hint of remorse at the introduction of his fake identity. “We’re here to escort Mr. Davenport back to our jurisdiction.”

  “I’m afraid there’s quite a bit of paperwork involved with that,” replied Sawyer. She rolled her chair across the floor to a filing cabinet and began rifling through one of the drawers.

  “You’ll find that Chief Daryl Wilson of the Waverly P.D. already faxed over the necessary documents,” said Wes, surprising himself. It was uncomfortably easy to execute the steps of Flynn’s plan. Wes quelled the feelings of guilt rising in his gut. If he wanted Nicole back, he had to play the Raptors’ games.

  Sawyer rolled back to the desk and lifted the papers from the fax machine. “He sure did. That makes things way simpler. I wish every office was as efficient as you guys. Davenport’s in one of our holding cells. Here’s the key. I’ll buzz you back.”

  Wes accepted the key from Sawyer, and a door to the right of the front desk opened automatically as she hit a nearby button, revealing a long hallway with many doors.

  “Last door on the left,” said Sawyer with a nod. “I’ll sort out the rest.”

  Brooks stepped toward the door, but Wes held him back. “Who else is on duty today?”

  “It’s just Officer Cameron and me desking tonight,” replied Sawyer. She gestured vaguely down the hallway. “He’s probably making coffee in the break room. Everyone else headed out on patrol shortly after Davenport was apprehended.”

  We
s nodded before leading Brooks away from the front desk. As they continued down the hallway, Wes glanced into each room with an open door, storing away the information for later. As they passed the break room, Wes caught sight of Sawyer’s partner, Officer Cameron. He dipped his head in acknowledgement before following Brooks to the end of the hallway.

  The last door on the left led to a long row of holding cells. Only one was occupied. Davenport lay on the floor, his back to Wes and Brooks and the toes of his slippered feet tucked beneath the sturdy edge of the metal cot as he worked through a series of abdominal crunches.

  Wes rapped on the bars with his baton. “Davenport.”

  Davenport tipped his head back, staring at the two men upside down. When he saw Brooks, he flipped over and stood. “Brooks! Man, thank the Morrigan. Get me the fuck out of here.”

  Brooks held his hand out to Wes. “Give me the key, McAllen.”

  Wes handed it over, his stomach turning as he went over the remaining parts of Flynn’s plan in his mind. This wouldn’t be pretty. Brooks turned the key in the lock, slid the cell door open, and slipped inside, gesturing for Wes to follow. With a glance at the security camera trained on Davenport, Wes stepped inside.

  Without warning, Brooks landed a punch to Davenport’s gut. He doubled over, groaning. “What the hell, man?”

  Brooks seized Davenport by the collar of the gray T-shirt the station had provided him, hauling him to his feet. “Did you swallow the locket?”