Page 123 of Retribution

“Okay so my name is Felicity Smart, I’m twenty-six, I’ve been involved in ballet since I was seven, I attended Dallas School of Ballet instead of going to college and I have competed in the international ballet competitions since I was fourteen, collecting twenty-four placement awards, four of which have been first place. I have toured around the states with the Oregon State Corps de Ballet for the past two years and I’m wanting a change of direction, into the teaching world.”

I sit back, my hand hasn’t pressed the ink to the paper since I’ve been listening in amazement.

“I have a bunch of references I could–”

“The job is yours if you want it.”

She looks at me with wide eyes, “Are you sure? I mean yes of course I want it, it would be an honor to work with you.” Her voice is breathless as she latches and then unlatches her hands.

“When can you start?” I ask.

I’m astounded at her achievements; they coincide similar to my own apart from I stepped out of the game a little earlier to begin my school.

I take photos of her ID, her social security number and get her to provide her contact information, arranging for her to come in tomorrow and we will run through the different grade classes and the usual routine of the day: Pilates, warm-up, dance routines and the upcoming performances we have.

I’m confident she’ll thrive, I can see the fire behind her eyes that I used to have, the drive to succeed.

* * *

I can’t see Reed’s car; I don’t think he is home again.

He’s been attending his AA meetings and the extra sessions since last week and it’s been rough on him. We’ve bickered and argued like a real married couple, fighting over whose turn it was to mow the lawn, who forgot to cancel the newspaper subscription, who left the ice out of the freezer, which one of us needs to do the grocery shopping. All fairly common issues, but with Reed currently in a state of detox, he’s been extra tense.

I grab the mail from the mailbox and bring it inside, hauling a brown paper bag filled with groceries inside. I set them on the counter top and make my way back to the entrance of the house to close the door. I unpack the groceries, popping away the milk and eggs and the rest of the vegetables.

The sound of a door slamming startles me.

“Reed?” I call out.

Silence.

My heart thrums against my chest and my senses heighten.

“Reed, is that you?” I call out again, frozen to the spot.

I look around for any potential weapons to protect myself from a serial killer.

Pulling out a knife from the knife block, I slowly edge my way to the exit of the kitchen when a shadow crosses the hallway.

I jump out and nearly fall flat on my ass in shock.

“Jesus Christ, Indie! What do you plan on doing with that?” Lola leaps back in surprise.

I put my hand on my chest and use my other hand to steady myself against the wall, the knife clattering to the floor. I’m busy trying to steady my breathing whilst Lola looks around.

“Why are you so paranoid? Enough so to grab a knife and stupidly confront me with it!” She folds her arms across her chest, dropping the gift bag she was holding onto the floor.

“You didn’t answer when I called out.” I breathe, still trying to gather myself.

“Are you okay?” she questions, taking a step towards me as if I’m a fragile bird with a broken wing.

I flinch, unsure what the hell my mind is thinking right now, all I know is that I am so tense right now, my ribs would be at risk from taking a breath in too harshly.

“I’m fine.” I say unconvincingly.

She pulls me in for a hug and at first, I feel the instinct to push her off but then the familiar smell of her melts away my angst.

“You’re shaking!” She worries.

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