Chapter 39 Sutton
SUTTON
My arms are bound together behind my back, but they’ve purposely left my legs undone. If I could move them, even just a little bit, maybe I could maneuver myself off this platform, and—
A numbing sensation ripples through me when I try to lift a knee. Pressure is applied to my waist, bearing down as I struggle to open my eyes.
“Oops!” someone giggles, the distinct outline of a hand keeping me blind to the world around me. “Sorry, sweetie, but I’m not sure you want to see this.”
Distantly, I hear someone else chanting about the power of three. Cheers erupt, filling the air, and a strange sensation works over me—something that’s supposed to be pleasure but only feels hollow, as it’s pulled from my body like a thread.
Hands claw at my chest, and I realize I’m beneath someone. I try to buck them off, but it doesn’t work, and then I’m too dizzy, too overwhelmed by everything, to care anymore.
My body shuts down, searching inward for a kernel of peace. Sanity. Something to take me out of this nightmare.
I can’t stop the biological reactions, but I can control where my mind goes.
Green eyes flash in my mind, striking a chord of panic in my chest.
Bellamy.
Where is she?
“She’s not with us,” the person above me whispers, licking my ear as they speak. “But don’t worry. None of that will matter soon anyway. All you have to do is focus on me.”
A scream echoes around us, filling me with more unease. I recognize that scream—I’ve been hearing it since we exited Mother’s womb together.
It’s the last thing I hear before darkness takes me again.
The last sound I hear of Bellamy’s forever.
“—wondering if you think we should go with a modern twist on the costume design or keep it traditional?”
Blinking away the sickening memories that have just recently begun unraveling more fully in my mind, I focus on the two students standing at the front of the auditorium. They have a three-part poster board held between them with color swatches, style guides, and sample costume sets pasted on.
It’s only the third rehearsal, but since we have mere weeks to put on the show, everything moves at lightning speed, including the questions.
“Well?” the redhead asks, pointing at the poster. “Which one?”
“Which will cost the least?”
They exchange a look. The brunette shrugs. “Letting students wear what they already own probably, but isn’t that kind of tacky?”
“Our budget is small,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
Onstage, Cassio approaches Bianca, and a tinge of jealousy pricks at my fingertips when Atticus Lowell get a bit too close to Elle for my liking.
“So we have to make do with what we can. What’s more important for this play specifically do you think—costume or set? ”
The redhead hums, tapping her chin. “Costume,” she says.
“Set,” the brunette insists at the same time.
I laugh, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. “Wonderful. You ladies think it over and make your decision. We can lean more heavily on whatever we have left from the years prior, and maybe—”
As I speak, a quick snapping sound cuts through the air, and suddenly a light apparatus from above comes crashing onto the stage.
Fear leaps into my throat as the few students up there dive out of the way; Atticus snatches Elle, dragging her just out from the path of destruction as the lights explode on impact.
Everyone in the auditorium is silent, their attention on the malfunctioning equipment.
Mine is on Elle. Her eyes find mine above the wreckage, and something violent curdles in my gut—a cocktail of relief and utter terror.
My throat closes, barring access to oxygen. I reach up absently, trying to claw my way free, but my fingers don’t seem to work. Horror keeps them at bay as it mounts within me.
That would have killed her.
It takes me a moment to collect myself and remember I’m the teacher and director. This is something I should be handling for them.
Getting to my feet, I hear the crunch of glass as I move onto the stage. “Is everyone okay? No injuries?”
There’s only one voice I really give a shit about, but I manage to feign concern nonetheless. Hands on my hips, I tilt my head up to where the lighting rig was a few minutes ago; now the air is unbalanced, a hole sitting in the center.
“I’ll call the custodial staff to do a thorough check on all the equipment,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “This has never happened, so I’m confident the issue will be easily resolved. Probably just a faulty wire or pipe.”
“What about ghosts?” someone snickers.
“Or the Curators?” someone else chimes in. “Didn’t they cause a bunch of problems last semester?”
“Don’t let Fury Hill’s propensity for paranoia poison your minds too.” Clapping, I wave my hands toward the doors. “Go now so I can get this cleaned up. I’ll see you next week.”
Whispers abound as the students gather their things, the hush of their exit as unwelcome as the silence that comes after it.
I stare at the shattered glass and broken wires, my mind spinning like a rogue wheel, incapable of stopping. My hands tremble, unease spooling around them tight like thread, cinching until I can’t focus on anything else—
“Professor?”
One student remains, hovering near the stage stairs.
Forcing a swallow, I turn my head slightly. Look into her hazel eyes. A strange wave of calmness settles over me, though the panic still exists right beneath the surface, like a fire temporarily extinguished.
“Yes?” I choke out.
“Are you okay?”
The calmness is like a beacon, bright and airy, drawing me to it. But I feel stuck in place—bound by the sensation of utter dread. One that’s lived in me for much longer than I think I noticed.
“No,” I tell her softly, shaking my head. “No, I’m not okay.”