Page 110 of The Silent Note

He moves toward me.

I step back on instinct and hold up a hand like I’m addressing a rabid animal in the wild. “Stay there.”

He freezes.

Despite my reservations, it becomes abundantly clear that Hall did not call me here to hurt me. He’s sweating profusely, his hair pasted flat against his head and his shirt stained with dirt.

Gone is the cocky high school student who swaggered down the hallways of Redwood Prep and informed me that if Zane Cross could have me, then so could he. In his place is a rich boy stripped of his arrogance. A shriveling mess of designer jeans and choppy turmoil.

“Thank you for coming. I know you didn’t have to. I know… with everything—but I had no one else to call. You’re the only one who can help me. The only one who can stop them.”

Moving in close, I pat his back. “Theodore, slow down. Tell me what’s going on.”

The wind shifts directions and I catch a whiff of a putrid scent. Glancing down, I see a wet stain on Theodore’s pants. Did he… urinate himself?

Alarmed, I meet his scared, trembling eyes.

“Someone’s watching me, Miss Jamieson. Stalking me.” As if uttering the words reminded him of his plight, his entire body caves inward and he gives the park a worried, suspicious sweep. “They’re everywhere.”

That’s… not normal.

“Theodore, answer me truthfully,” I say.

He bobs his head.

“Are you on drugs?”

“No!” He sounds offended. “I’m telling the truth.”

“I don’t think it’s crack. Maybe it’s some kind of pill?”

“Is there someone we can call? Your parents?—”

“They’re on a business trip. They have bad reception.”

“A guardian then. They need to come and take you home?—"

Theodore suddenly flings himself at my feet and it’s so sudden and dramatic that I screech.

“I can’t go home. Please.” He prostrates before me. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just make them stop.”

My mind is whirring with a million thoughts. I can’t make sense of what’s going on. Behind me, I hear joggers slowing down to watch the spectacle. Murmurs rise up, and I can only guess what this looks like.

Me. In my Redwood Prep teacher’s uniform.

Hall, a clearly distraught teenager, begging for mercy.

I crouch beside him and nudge his shoulder. “Theodore, get up.”

He grabs my ankle, continuing to beg.

I shake him off, huffing in frustration. My initial rise of disgust and fear is quelled when he looks up and tears are running down his face.

Sloane shudders beside me.“This guy is seriously off his meds.”

I would have a right to judge if I wasn’t currently seeing the ghost of my best friend.

I have more than a bit of sympathy for anyone under mental duress.

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