Page 13 of The Devil Within

UNKNOWN NUMBER: YOU.

I close my eyes and take another deep breath. The phone vibrates in my hand, signaling another message coming in. When I look down I see that the unknown number has attached a media message. Staring back at me from my screen is me. He sent me a picture of myself standing outside my door earlier this evening. It’s very clear now—whoever this is, they’ve definitely been stalking me.

EIGHT

Olivia

People I Don’t Like by UPSAHL

Istare at my phone for what feels like the millionth time today, willing it to go off. I go through everything in my head one last time. I haven’t heard from my best friend, Celeste, in weeks. I’ve been to her house but no one appears to be home. She won’t return my calls or texts, they’re just left on read. I talked to her the weekend before Halloween, and everything seemed fine. But now it’s like she’s vanished into thin air. On top of that, I’ve had a masked man following me and strange cryptic text messages coming from an unknown number.Everything is so out of control.

And, if I’m really honest with myself, the way I’m feeling is not how someone should feel if they hadn’t heard from a friend for a few weeks. The way I feel about Celeste is complicated. If I was a normal, happy woman, without all this shitty baggage, I would’ve made her mine a long time ago. I know she thinks we just fool around occasionally, but the way I feel about her is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. She’s so scared and soft; I just want to take all of her pain away. But I can’t put her in Erika’s line of fire. If she even knew I felt a fraction of what I do for Celeste, there would be hell to pay. So I’d put us in the friends with benefits category but now with her missing, all the feelings I’ve buried deep down are bubbling to the surface.

I‘ve barely slept lately, too freaked out about what it all means.Does my stalker have Celeste? What does he want with me?I have no idea what to do or who to turn to.

So, that leaves me here. Fucking confused and hurt. I’ve been trying to decide if I should leave it alone, or pry because she’s my best friend and she might need my help, even if she doesn’t want it. I decided on the latter, which is why I’m sitting in front of a fucking high school, debating about going in to make sure Celeste has shown up to work. I can’t fathom how she tolerates being a teacher. My time in high school was a haze. I jumped from party to party, substance to substance, desperately trying to figure myself out. I was confused about who I was, and while I was popular enough, internally I was a mess. Once I graduated, I got the hell out of there and never looked back. Even the thought of entering a completely different high school in a different town, miles away, as a grown fucking adult, has my anxiety sky rocketing.

“For Celeste,” I tell myself as I swing the door open to my old, blue pickup truck and hop down to the ground.

It’s a cool but dry day. I don’t remember the last time we had asunny day but at least the rain has taken a short break. I yank on the cuffs of my light blue sweater pulling them over my hands to stop myself from digging my nails into my palms. I tried to look put together in order to come here today. I pulled back my hot pink curls and did minimal make up. I also picked an outfit that covered up as much of my tattooed skin as possible.

The building in front of me is large, white, and imposing. It looms over the grass and trees surrounding the walkway up to the main entrance. The glass double doors are outlined in red paint and locked when I try to enter. I look around, confused and concerned. Aren’t public schools supposed to be open to the public? A small speaker box to the left of the door suddenly flashes red and an annoyed, nasally voice emanates from it.

“Hello ma’am. May I help you?”

Ma’am? Seriously? I’m not that damn old. And since when do high schools have such top notch security systems?

I push the button next to the speaker and awkwardly duck my head back and forth, trying to figure out how close I need to be to this little speaker thing. “Um, hi. I’m here to check on my friend.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but we do not let visitors into the school without a prearranged appointment and visitor pass.”

My annoyance is simmering but I try to keep my tone even and calm.

“No, I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood. I’m a friend of one of the teachers here and she hasn’t returned my calls for a few weeks, so I just wanted to check and make sure she’s been to work and everything’s okay.”

There’s a long pause. So long that I almost push the button again to make sure the lady is still there. As I’m reaching out my hand again, the speaker box suddenly crackles but this time a man is speaking.

“What’s your friend’s name?” He sounds serious and slightlyconcerned. Something about the tone of his voice makes me nervous.

“Celeste Briggs.”

The light on the speaker box suddenly turns green and I hear the locks on the doors disengage. Taking it as a sign to enter, I pull the fire engine red handle and am hit by a blast of warm air as I enter the school. The front area is large and open with clouded light streaming in through the windows ahead. A middle aged man in a blue shirt, plaid tie, and brown slacks stands right inside the main doors. He’s clearly waiting for me.

As I approach, he outstretches his hand for me to shake and introduces himself, “Hello I’m Erik Andersen, the principal here. Will you please join me in my office and we can discuss this?”

I nod in agreement before following him through another set of locked glass doors which lead into what I assume is the main office. His brown loafers squeak against the linoleum floors as he leads me through. He nods to the woman at the front desk who looks me up and down, appraising me.Judgmental bitch. Following him further through the open area, we land at a small office with a few high windows, a cluttered desk, and a few chairs. It’s a mess which tells me he’s probably not the most conscientious of individuals. He sits in the faded office chair behind the desk and gestures for me to sit in one of the small wooden ones across from him. The chair is hard and uncomfortable—uninviting.

He pulls out a notepad and file folder then takes a deep breath before addressing me. “So, ma’am, what did you say your name was?”

This ma’am shit is really starting to get on my nerves, but my fear and interest have peaked; I’m desperate to see what he has to say. He wouldn’t call me in here if everything was fine, would he? My stomach rolls uncomfortably as I realize that he probably thinks I’m crazy. I mean I am covered in tattoos and piercings,with hot pink hair, sitting in the principal’s office and asking about my long lost BFF. Totally normal Tuesday, right?

“I didn’t. But it’s Olivia Lennox. I’m a friend of Celeste’s.”

He writes something down on the pad of paper and nods in agreement. “And you said you haven’t been able to reach her?”

“No,” I reply, shifting in my seat.

Something about this is off. Why the hell is this guy interrogating me? Why won’t he just tell me anything?

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