Page 68 of The Headmistress

Magdalene looked at her, eyes going wide and then turning a particular shade of cold blue, amber becoming obscured by pain and anger. Yes, Sam thought. Hadn’t they laughed at this before? Hadn’t they joked about how the cat—who despite growing up in a crowded school, or maybe because of that, was still quasi feral—refused to allow anyone near him after being smothered with affection as a kitten? How the cat worshipped Magdalene and had understood that she loved certain people, and how he accepted those people as ‘his’. How there were only two such people at whose surprise entrances he never growled at anymore, because they wereMagdalene’sand by extensionhis?

Sam watched as Magdalene closed her eyes and let her head drop to her chest slowly. As she gracefully sat back in her chair, she finally looked at Joanne and Orla who were standing like sentinels by the door.

“Ladies, will you give us the room, please? Oh, and Professor Fenway? If you would contact Sheriff Green, I’d really appreciate it.”

When the door closed behind them, the silence was deafening. How could Sam have been so blind as to not see the clues before? The biggest gossip at school? The most loyal friend? The one who was always there? First at the scene of every incident? The one who had worshipped at Magdalene’s altar for years. Hadn’t Sam occasionally wondered about this kind of loyalty? About what inspired this level of blind devotion? Magdalene would laugh it off, saying they were like sisters. That they knew each other. And yet, after all these years, it turned out that George Leroy was a complete stranger to her.

24

Of Wolves & Obssessions

In the quiet of the office, loud breathing could be heard, and it took Sam a couple of long moments to realize she was the one almost panting. Magdalene sat silently, her hands still balled on the desk, eyes ice-cold and looking straight at George. Sam might as well not have been in the room. She felt superfluous but was determined—no matter how unpleasant the upcoming exchange would be—to stay until Sheriff Green arrived.

George was not looking at anyone in particular, her eyes shifting restlessly from one object to the next, to the next, as if seeking purchase and not finding it. Sam could actually sympathise with the feeling. Everything was falling apart, and nothing would ever be the same. She thought if it were anyone but Magdalene, she might even feel sorry for George. But itwasMagdalene, and all Sam felt was rage and an overwhelming need to know why.

The silence stretched, filling the moments, first with an uncomfortable sort of disquietude, then slowly transitioning into downright untenable tension. Time felt viscous, like slime, slithering all over the floor as Sam’s breathing was the only sound permeating the room. And then, just as she was about to say something undoubtedly stupid and out of place, George’s quiet voice broke the greasy detente.

“I could never outmaneuver you with silence, Maggie. You use it so masterfully. At times like a shield. Other times—like now—as a sword. And I could never win these games against you. I sure do enjoy playing though. I really do.”

Sam was afraid to move, eyes darting from one woman to another. One a picture of anger in repose, the other one of fear and regret in motion.

“Maggie, say something.” George kept wringing her hands, fingers trembling, before suddenly moving towards Magdalene, as did Sam, instinctively stepping between the two women.

George laughed then, the broken sound ringing hollow in the small office.

“You are such a guard dog, Sammy.” Her name was almost spat, and Sam felt the urge to wipe her face, but giving George the satisfaction seemed to be the wrong thing to do, and so she just stood there silently.

“Maggie, call off your dog. It’s not like I’d do anything to you! You know I’d never hurt you.” George’s voice cracked again, and the phrase sounded more like a plea instead of whatever annoyance she meant to convey.

“Could’ve fooled me, George.” Sam felt the words in her bones. Her back teeth seemed to hurt from the sheer lack of any inflection in Magdalene’s tone, devoid of any emotion. The words were just empty, hollow. And before her, George seemed to feel it too, her face was pure agony now.

“Maggie… I never wanted to hurt you.” George’s throat worked as she repeated the wretched phrase that was so far from the truth. She licked her lips, but Sam could tell her mouth was dry and that nothing would help her at the moment.

“Could’ve fooled me, George.” The same words, same lack of any emotion behind them.

“I’ve loved you for years, Maggie. Twenty years is too long a time to love someone and for that someone to never know. To never care.”

And now Sam knew the dam had broken and that her earlier need to know the reasons why would be satisfied. Except looking at the pitiful woman in front of her, Sam suddenly wanted nothing more than to leave this room, and to not be exposed to the story that was about to unfold.

But Magdalene remained motionless, still not looking at either her or George, and Sam knew she couldn’t leave, couldn’t bear to abandon her lover to whatever was coming. She had already lived through enough experiences alone, the least Sam could do was to be here for her when she was about to hear the truth behind what she went through.

“You walked through the door at Rodante twenty years ago, and nothing about me was ever the same, Maggie. You were everything I’d ever wanted. I ended the sorry excuse of a relationship I was wallowing in the very next day. I knew that, from that moment on, there would be nobody else for me. Nobody.”

George paced back and forth before finally sitting down and lowering her head onto her palms, eyes drinking Magdalene in with a sick sort of adulation.

“You were so… unattainable. Like a goddess. Nobody and nothing could touch you, and I felt like a mere mortal to be in your presence, to drink in your light. All those people were just basking in your light and never knew what kind of blessing was being bestowed upon them. I was the only one who saw…”

A sob escaped George, and if Sam could feel even more uncomfortable, she would. Yet Magdalene still sat completely motionless, jaw set, eyes cold. But Sam could have sworn there was something akin to pity in them now.

“I was the only one who knew, and you never even looked at me. Never noticed me. I became your secretary when you were promoted to Faculty Chair, and moved on with you when you became Deputy Headmistress. I would have followed you to the ends of the Earth. Do you even care? Do you?” The outburst was so unexpected that Sam flinched, yet Magdalene just looked on. Silent, apathetic.

“You never realized, did you? You never knew that I loved you beyond words, beyond reason. You chose all the wrong people. All these men who could never in a million years appreciate you, appreciate your true worth, worship you like you are meant to be worshipped.”

George dropped her face into her palms for a second but raised it back up quickly, as if she was afraid to miss even a moment of looking at Magdalene’s features.

“We were so close at Rodante, you and I. We spent our time together, we laughed, we had our lunches together, you shared your life with me… and then you fucked Timothy! I wanted to die, I wanted to kill. You were mine, and then you married that worthless man-whore.”

“You were my friend, George.” As Magdalene finally broke her silence, her voice was low, sadness permeating it, and Sam’s heart broke all over again. This was sad indeed, and creepy, and horrible. This obsession must have grown like a sickness in George’s heart. Sam could see where this was going all too clearly now. Still, George spoke on, seemingly not hearing Magdalene’s quiet whisper.

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