Whisper Down the Lane, Clay Chapman [best short books to read txt] 📗

the window. Just on the other side of the curtain was…what, exactly? More teachers? More of these bad people?

That’s what his mother believed. Did he believe it, too?

All the bad people from his testimony were closing in. Mom heard them, she said.

Right now. Outside. Trying to get in.

Was Miss Kinderman outside? Was she one of them? Had she been helping them all along? Perhaps this was part of her plan. First, she would replace his mother. Swap bodies with her. Then she’d have Sean all to herself. She could do whatever she wanted with him.

Sean slid across the couch until he could reach the curtain with his fingers. He slowly lifted his hand. Pinched the fabric. He peered outside and didn’t see anyone.

The street was empty.

Nobody was there.

Mom seized Sean by the wrist, wrenching his hand back from the curtain. “Don’t,” she yelled, trying to keep her voice low but failing. “Don’t let them see you!” She yanked him into the center of the living room. On one knee, she leaned into his face and whispered, “Listen to me, Sean. Listen. I need you to be brave for me, okay? I have to get the car out of the garage. But as soon as I start the engine, they’ll know we’re trying to run.”

Even when she couldn’t focus on him, jumping at every stray sound, Sean gave his mother his undivided attention. Whatever game she was playing, it felt safer to play along.

“I need you to hide in the back seat, okay?” she said. “Don’t make a sound.”

How could he tell her none of this was real? How could he make her believe him now? If he told her The Truth, what would she say? Would she believe it? Believe him?

“Once we’re out of the house, there’s no coming back. Never again.”

“But what about—”

“Ssh.” She brought her finger up—but instead of pressing it to her own lips, she forced it against his. He felt her index finger settle into the divot of his upper lip. “They’re listening!”

This was wrong. He knew that. This felt all wrong. But he couldn’t stop it. Stop her.

“I’m going to protect you this time,” she said. “I promise. We’re going somewhere where they’ll never, ever find you. Never again.” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him so tight, it almost hurt. Her breath was warm against the side of his face, the heat of her exhales seeping into his ear. “Don’t let them see you.”

For the first time in all of Sean’s life, he was suddenly afraid. Truly afraid.

Afraid of his mother.

“Let’s go, baby.” She kissed his temple. “My brave boy.”

DAMNED IF YOU DON’T

 RICHARD: 2013

Condrey welcomes students back with a sunny-sounding announcement over the intercom. Her voice reverberates through each classroom, swearing everything is all right.

Nothing to fear here, kiddies…

Most parents have kept their kids at home today, even if school has reopened. That makes it easy for me to slip through the cafeteria loading dock. I just have to wait until first period starts before entering the hall, hiding until the bell rings.

The door to my classroom is sealed with police tape. I tear it away like a child unwrapping a Christmas gift. I close the door behind me before flipping on the lights.

When my eyes settle on the mess, I feel my knees soften. My body finds the floor, slowly lowering itself until my legs fold into a heap. Criss-cross applesauce. A sound escapes my mouth, rooted deep in my chest, a moan rising up from my lungs, but I can’t recognize it.

The Museum of Modern Masterpieces is gone.

The pictures have been torn down, scattered across the floor. Only their ripped corners remain taped to the wall.

My classroom was supposed to be a safe space. Now there’s nowhere else to run.

Kinderman won.

I have no choice but to call her. There’s nothing left. I have no one else to talk to. I can imagine her waiting for me to call, knowing this moment is coming.

Full circle.

I reach up to the light switch and flip it off, sitting in the dark. I don’t want to see my room, what the police have done. They’ve desecrated this space.

Kinderman picks up on the fourth ring. “Hello?” I recognize her voice. It doesn’t sound like the woman who’s been calling me, doesn’t sound like my mother at all. “Who is this?”

“It’s—” Not Richard. “Sean.”

“…Sean?” It’s a question not born out of concern but confusion. She has no idea who I am. It hasn’t hit her yet. The memory of me. She’s still in the dark.

“Sean Crenshaw.” When she doesn’t respond, I say, “You tried to replace my mother.”

“How did you get this number?” Whatever congenial warmth she once offered evaporates through the receiver.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I didn’t mean to shout, but something about the tone of her voice, the confusion and contempt, makes me furious. “I trusted you. My mother trusted you. You made me say these things. You made me see them. Believe in them…”

“Sean, I don’t know what you—”

“Stop trying to be my mother!”

“I’m sorry, Sean. There’s nothing I can do for you.” She’s choosing her words carefully, speaking in an even tone. “Everything I did was to protect the children. To protect you.”

“You’re lying.”

“Nobody else was willing to listen. To let you all tell your side of the story. I listened. I listened to all the children. We were doing good work. We were protecting you. All of you.”

“Then why hasn’t it stopped?” My voice rises again. “Why is it happening again?”

“Now?” She’s pretending. Pretending not to understand.

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I believed you, Sean. Trusted you. But you lied to me. To all of us.” Kinderman’s voice rises. “I had to close my practice because of you. I lost everything! And all I did was give you a voice. I helped you tell your side of the story when nobody else was willing to listen.”

I refuse to believe her. I can’t. She’s lying.