Again, there was nothing but silence in response.
Squinting his wrinkled eyes knowingly, he stopped himself from taking another step. Without removing his eyes from the dark, he reached his hand around behind him until he felt the hot plastic of the lamp, turning it quickly to shoot out a beam into the shadows.
Nothing. Nothing but the desks and chairs and one knapsack that had been left after everyone else had gone, slumped against the back wall lazily. Its strap hung out over the side, swaying back and forth gently in a breeze that Miles couldn’t feel but obviously was there, making it touch the metal leg of the chair.
Miles chuckled to himself, turning away from the rest of the room when the lights came on.
“Christ,” he jumped, bringing one hand to his chest. “Don’t do that.”
“Sorry,” Principal Shnieder said gravely, visibly annoyed by the reaction. He was a short man with almost no hair and a large, red nose that Miles had always attributed to years of alcohol abuse, something that had been confirmed at last year’s Christmas party when he’d gotten so plastered on Southern Comfort that he’d passed out in the host’s front yard cradling a lawn gnome. “Didn’t realize there was anyone else here.”
“Me neither,” Miles admitted, returning to his chair and trying to settle in.
“Grading papers?” Shnieder asked, stepping inside and leaning his head up a little to see what the other man was up to.
“No, not grading,” he mumbled, waving Shnieder away with a flick of his hand. “Looking through some old papers.”
“Why? Do we suspect the seniors are selling their old papers again?”
“No, no. Nothing like that,” Miles frowned, finally picking up Sara’s report again. “I wanted to find a good example of each student’s work. Maybe put it with their flowers at the memorial O’Toole has planned. You know, then the parents could look at what their child had achieved, maybe bring back a good memory or two.”
Shnieder opened his mouth to retort, then eyed the large pile of papers just to the side of Miles’ elbow. “I think that’s a lovely idea,” he said finally, giving his friend a curt nod.
He nodded in return, not even looking up.
“I’m going home. Be sure to lock up when you’re done.”
This time he did not even respond, his pupils darting over each word of the report.
- tak -tapptapp- tak -
He looked up at the bag again, staring it down for a long moment as he waited for it to make the sound again. Wanted to see it make the sound, just to quell the paranoid itch in the back of his mind. After a moment, the sway of the strap slowed... and then stopped.
He stared at it one moment longer, then started shoving papers into his briefcase one by one.
There was no reason he couldn’t do this at home.
The house was quiet and empty, even though it didn’t feel like it.
It never felt empty anymore, not as far as he was concerned. There was always the sound of skittering or a creaking pipe that wouldn’t have been audible to anyone else in the house but was nearly deafening to him. He was never really sure if the sounds were even real or if they were all in his head, especially around this time in the evening, with his eyelids already getting heavy. He’d been sleeping more lately, and he wasn’t sure if it was because his body didn’t rest when the Womb ran around at night... or if the Womb was simply fighting for more of their timeshare.
Xander closed the door and slid off his sneakers and jacket, letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor before walking past the archway leading into the kitchen. There was a plate on the counter top between the fridge and the stove with a piece of paper stuck to it with scotch tape. On it was a few hunks of garlic bread and leftover chicken, the barbecue sauce on it forming a small, sticky stain in the center of the plate.
His mouth watered at the scent of it, even as he turned and looked around to make sure nobody else was home. There was an ashtray on the table that smelt like it hadn’t been fed a fresh butt in hours, meaning that wherever his parents had gotten to, it wasn’t close by.
Smiling, he scooped up the plate and the note attached and sat at the table in the dark of evening and started to pick at his chicken, able to see his plate less and less with every passing moment as the sun ducked down below the tree line.
Chewing the rubbery but flavorful strips of breast meat, he picked up the note between his sauce-covered fingers and brought it close to his face so that he could read it in the low-light:
Alex,
Your father and I have gone down to the hospital to visit the Kennessy’s. They mentioned that you went there too, maybe see you there. If not eat the chicken and the bread, more in the fridge if you want it. Take off foil before heating. We’ll probably be out late so go to bed at a decent hour, you have class tomorrow.
-Love, Mom:)
xxx ooo
He allowed himself a smile, shaking his head at the note as he laid it down on the table next to his plate. She was the only person in the world who still called him Alex.
After a moment, he ripped a chunk off of the garlic bread and popped it into his mouth, the smile fading from his lips. The room was dark now, except for the sad blue glow of twilight that touched everything with a lover’s gentleness. He lay the chicken back down onto the flower-patterned plate as he started to feel
