Page 18 of His Property

“I will.”

“All right, have a good break. Let’s get together for a girls’ night soon. We can grade together and take a shot every time a student misspells something.”

I chuckle and we start walking down the hall.

“I’m kidding,” she says. “There isn’t enough alcohol in the world.”

“They’re good kids, though,” I feel compelled to say.

“Some of them.” She looks at me and gives me a parting shoulder pat before heading into her classroom. “See ya, babe.”

“See ya.”

I start down the hall and try not to be bothered by Liz’s view of our students. I disagree with her entirely. I don’t believe there are bad kids. Only hurt kids. And kids who don’t give a shit about school enough to learn who Rosa Parks is. But not bad kids.

I shake it off and quicken my steps as I make my way through the building and burst through the door. I’ve forgotten to pay attention to my surroundings, so when I spot the black Mustang a few spaces down from my parked car, I’m horror-struck.

My spine stiffens, and I debate whether to go back inside and hide in my classroom. There are cameras, and you need a key card to get into the building, so surely I wouldn’t be followed. I glance around like Victor might be hiding in the bushes or something. My heart pounds, and I hug the papers and laptop to my chest.

This is what he wants. He wants me to be afraid. He wants me to know he’s watching.

The driver side door to the Mustang opens, and I plant my back against the school entrance, my eyes wide.

Mr. Peterson, a math teacher on my floor, steps out of the car and locks it before strolling across the parking lot.

“Hey Mae!” He waves from afar.

I’m still struck, but I let out a breath I’d been holding, wave back, and try to shake off the fear. Mr. Peterson continues toward me, and I force my legs to move.

When we get close, I force a smile. “Hey, James. New car?”

“Early Christmas gift from the wife.” He beams. “Nice, huh?”

“Very.” I nod. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Oh, I know it.”

Mr. Peterson throws a ‘have a nice break’ over his shoulder after we pass and continues his happy stroll. I hurry to my car, checking the back before climbing into the driver’s seat. A laugh bellows out of me, and I tilt my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I laugh at myself for being so paranoid.

But I still can’t shake the feeling someone’s watching me.

6

VICTOR

It’s three in the morning, and there’s only one light left on in the house.

Sort of a light. When I peek through the front window, I see it’s the TV flickering. I’ve been waiting for hours, but I’m still in no hurry. I’m enjoying this.

The woman’s full name is Audre Mavis Keller. That isn’t a misspelling. There’s no ‘y’ at the end of Audre, which I find a bit odd. She goes by “Mae”, and I’m glad because I like that a lot better. It suits her. Makes me think of a field of flowers or some dainty shit like that. Of course, I don’t really know the woman, so I can’t say for sure. I’ve been itching to dig into her deeper than her name but have refrained. I want to learn about her firsthand.

I drag myself away from the living room window and circle the house until I’m outside Mae’s bedroom. I’m giving up on the kid turning off the TV. I can’t see him on the couch, but I’m eighty percent sure he’s asleep. There hasn’t been any movement for two hours.

I peek through the slit in the curtain into Mae’s bedroom. One of those diffusers that changes colors illuminates the room.

She’s rolled over since the last time I checked in on her, and she’s all the way on the other side of the bed. Her head is faced away from me, and her dark, curly hair is up in a bun. One foot pokes out from beneath the comforter.

She’s a restless sleeper. I don’t know if that’s an all the time thing or if it’s only lately because she’s been afraid I’ll come back for her. The kid hasn’t left the house since Wednesday night, and Mae didn’t leave until this morning.

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