Sunken Graves, Alan Lee [all ebook reader .txt] 📗

Hathaway. His beard.”

“I…” She paused. On unsteady ground. The trapdoor threatening. “What’d he tell you?”

“That he’s not pressing charges. And he doesn’t wish for you to be disciplined by the school…yet. But he asked me to convey that he no longer feels you should be on the holiday party planning committee. And from now on, your parent teacher conferences with him should be supervised.”

“You have the recording? Play it for me.”

Gordon pressed a finger onto the screen of his phone and immediately the room was filled with the brassy sound.

Hathaway’s voice. “Mr. Lynch, where are we going?”

Lynch’s voice. “I’m taking you home, Daisy.”

In the car, after Bloom, turning onto 10th. Hathaway sat down before she fell.

“This street has shadows.”

“So it does.”

“Let’s park.”

Through the recording, Hathaway heard the Jaguar’s engine rev down. She started to sweat.

“Park?” said Lynch.

“You know. Park. With you and me in the backseat.” Her own voice, coaxing Peter Lynch into sex.

“Right now. In the backseat.”

“Why not?”

“Daisy…”

Her breath caught. The recording was doctored! He’d called her a whore then, or a slut, or something, and it was gone from the file. Lynch had spliced fragments together.

Hathaway tasted bile.

“Could be fun. Just a few minutes?” she was saying.

“In the backseat.”

“Yes.”

“Not exactly romantic, Daisy.” Movement. Car doors. Hathaway closed her eyes, pictured herself rooting in her purse. She felt Gordon watching her face. “Looking for a condom? …So nervous.”

More noises. Him grunting. Hathaway immediately understood he’d driven around in his Jaguar after fleeing the scene and made those noises with the intention of splicing them in later. Sexual sounds.

Hathaway’s voice, out of context, “Please. Yes.”

“Yes Daisy….ouch. Stop, Daisy.” Him shouting in pain. “That hurt.”

The audio stopped there like a gunshot.

Gordon said, “Mr. Lynch told me that’s when you ripped out his beard.”

Hathaway went to the trashcan and dry heaved. Her stomach tried to void itself but was already empty. Again and again. She placed her hands on the trashcan rim and that was all that held her up. Coughing.

When she stopped she was shaking and sweaty.

Gordon cracked a can of Sprite and set it on her desk; he’d hurried to the vending machine while her head was in the trash can. He was shaken and sweaty too.

“Ms. Hathaway, should I call the nurse?”

She tried to grip the Sprite but couldn’t.

“No thank you.”

“What about Mr. Jennings? He was a medic.”

Some illogical, irrational, girly part of her mind rebelled against the thought of Daniel seeing her like this.

“I’ll live.” She sank into her chair and held the Sprite with both hands. The chill revived her, focused her.

“Was it the audio that upset you, Ms. Hathaway?”

Using both hands, she raised the can to her lips and drank. Refreshing. Perfect. Her stomach unclenched. “This Sprite is delicious. Thank you.”

They sat quietly for a full minute. Hathaway willing the tremors to subside and sipping Sprite and wondering what to do about the audio, wondering if rumors of her being a slut for Lynch were already circulating. Gordon silently scrutinized her, bearing the countenance of a man listening to warning bells.

“Ms. Hathaway, our official meeting is over. I said what I need to, as the dean. So I will leave the moment you ask me to, because now this is unofficial. And I will confess, that audio shocks me.”

If Hathaway could’ve laughed, she would have. “Me too.”

“It’s genuine, I assume.”

She didn’t answer. She closed her eyes and gave consideration to crying.

He said, “Ms. Hathaway?”

“You wouldn’t believe me, Mr. Gordon.”

“You know, Daniel Jennings said something very similar.”

“He did?” Eyes snapped open. “When?”

“Two weeks ago, approximately. When his truck was vandalized. He said he knew who did it but couldn’t tell me.” When Hathaway didn’t respond, he continued, “I know this is not my business. But are you still engaged?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

“Was Mr. Lynch telling the truth? Did you go on a date with him last night?”

“I did.”

“Is the audio genuine?”

Hathaway was unsure how to proceed.

Gordon had sprung the trapdoor and she’d fallen. Her violent reaction, however, had startled him. Now, pathetic and vulnerable, she wondered how far she could trust the dean. Not with all of it, because that would be turning the spotlight onto her cohorts too.

She said, “Much of it is genuine. But it’s out of order. He spliced and deleted important sections.”

Gordon leaned back in his chair. “What did he delete?”

“I asked him to stop several times. I said I changed my mind and wanted to walk. He deleted that. I ripped out his beard when he refused.”

“He attacked you? In the backseat?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a weighty accusation, Ms. Hathaway.”

“And an honest one.”

“Did you call the police?”

Hathaway didn’t reply. Didn’t know how to reply. So she sipped her soda and wished she’d never come to Roanoke to teach.

Gordon said, “If the recording was doctored, an audio analysis will show it. But I don’t know where that would leave me.”

“Nor me.”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, I believe you, Ms. Hathaway. What would you like me to do?”

Mackenzie August’s words leapt into her mind.

Give me a day. Let me talk to a cop I know and an attorney. See what they say.

There’s a stupid way to do this. Let’s not do it that way.

“I don’t know,” said Hathaway. “Honestly. But I’ll get back to you.”

“Mr. Jennings said that too.” Gordon pursed his lips thoughtfully, fingering the phone. “In the meantime, I think I’ll have this audio file examined by our tech guy. If it’s obviously been spliced together—”

“Mr. Gordon, that file… I said things last night that I prefer no one hear. Ever. Please don’t—”

“Of course, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He sighed and raked his hair with his fingers. “The situation has me turned around. I apologize. Perhaps I can open the file with Garage Band and personally look at the sound closely.”

“Or you can take my word for it.”

A sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid this is a trust-but-verify issue. If it’s your word against his, it behooves me to know who is being dishonest about the audio.”

If it’s my word against the man who pays your salary,