Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

“I’m good, Dad. Fruit will be fine.”

I picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it, wincing as the sourness hit my taste buds and the juice ran down my chin. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and then I headed for the patio doors that led out to the garden. In the distance, I could see the conifers swaying in the breeze, and I felt a tug of curiosity, willing me to go down there. I needed to know how he’d got in. Did he scale the fence? Or was there some other more perverse way that he moved around? Like a demon in the dust, appearing and disappearing on the gasp of his victim’s breath.

I left my parents to their hushed conversation and made my way outside. The morning was fresh, and when I stepped down onto the grass, I took a deep breath in to try and fill my lungs with the goodness of the day and suffocate the bad.

I wandered down to the bottom where my night-time reaper had stood. When I got there, I noticed a small collection of cigarette butts on the ground. Fucker couldn’t even pick up his shit. He’d left it all there like a sick calling card.

I pushed my way through the trees to get to the high fencing that ran around the perimeter of our property. I couldn’t see any signs of forced entry. The fencing panels were all intact, and apart from some disturbed ground right by them, you wouldn’t have known anyone had been here. He’d obviously scaled the fence to get in, and it crossed my mind to get Dad to install barbed wire at the top, but in a twisted way, I didn’t want to. I wanted him to get comfortable coming here. When you’re comfortable, you let your guard down. An unguarded, vulnerable Mathers was a weakened one. One I could manipulate and destroy, with a little help from my friends.

I left the devil’s hiding place and made my way back up to the house. I wasn’t going to tell my mum and dad about our unwelcome visitor. They had enough on their plates, and I needed to digest everything and form a plan myself. I couldn’t do that if they were scared out of their minds about our crazy murdering stalker. I needed space to think and clarity of mind. But that wasn’t the easiest thing to get. Not after Brodie’s death. My mind was like a thick fog weighing me down. That’s why I knew going to work would be good for me. I needed some degree of normality to my day.

I pulled into the carpark of Sandland Primary School just after eight-thirty. The children were starting to filter into the building already and parents were dotted around the playground, chatting and doing a really shitty job of managing their offspring as they climbed on every surface they could find. I guessed being on the school premises meant a lot of parents switched off, seeing it as our job to police their little hellions. I saw Izzy, one of the teachers, standing at the door, and when she saw my car, her eyes went wide.

I grabbed my bags and made my way through the playground towards the building, feeling like I was encased in a bubble. The sounds around me were distorted and I couldn’t quite focus on anything other than the ground ahead of me.

A few of the younger girls ran over to hug me and then didn’t come up for air as they prattled on about their pets, games, T.V. shows, and anything else they thought I needed to hear about. I gave them the appropriate amount of oohs and ahhs to keep them happy and make it look like I was paying attention. I wasn’t. But they didn’t need to know that.

I’d always loved my job as a teaching assistant. Every day spent with the kids made me smile. I liked to think I made a difference in their lives, even if I wasn’t their main teacher. I got all the fun parts without the stress. I was the one who’d take them out of class and spend quality time with them, helping them achieve the goals they wouldn’t reach if they were left to fend for themselves in an overcrowded classroom.

“Harper, what are you doing here?” Izzy asked in an exasperated tone as she held the door open for me and ushered the over-enthusiastic girls away to play. “We can manage just fine. You need to be at home. Concentrate on you and your family. We’ll still be here when you’re ready to come back. School isn’t going anywhere.”

I understood what she was trying to say, but my mind was already

made up.

“But I’m ready now. I want to be here, Izz. The kids will help take my mind off things and I know we have a ton of stuff to do. We’re short staffed on a good day.”

Izzy nodded, but the way she bit her lip told me she didn’t agree. She wanted to argue but didn’t want to upset me either.

“How are you?”

I hated that question just as much as I hated people saying how sorry they were. It was a weak response to a catastrophically awful thing that’d happened in my life. Sorry was something you said when you bumped into someone or forgot something trivial. When people said it in regard to Brodie’s death it set my teeth on edge, but I was getting better at not biting back.

“I’m okay,” I answered, keeping the statutory ‘fine’ for the next person who asked.

“I really don’t believe that, but I’ll let it slide.” Izzy gave me a smile filled with pity and then relented. “Well, I’m happy to see you. I have been worried. But I’m not giving you Tommy and Scott today. Those two have been shockingly bad this week. You can work with Stevie, and Abigail could do with some help with her phonics.”

“Izz, I can take my usual groups. You don’t have to mollycoddle me.”

She sighed but let it go. I wasn’t there to be treated differently. I already got that at home. I just wanted a day to be Miss Yates, business as usual.

However, my day got progressively worse from there on in. It was one of those days where I was pulled from pillar to post; dealing with sick children, classroom problems and not having a minute to come up for air. In the last lesson before lunchtime, I was taking a small group in the library area, and I could feel myself starting to struggle.

“I hate reading. I’m not gonna do anything you say.” Tommy was pushing his luck and refusing to even open the book we were working on. Usually I’d have some strategy I could call on to deal with him, but my well had run dry. I had nothing.

“Open your book and sit down, Tommy. If you don’t, I’ll send you to the head teacher.”

I was shaking, trying to keep the rest of the group on task as Tommy swung the chair around dangerously close to the others and smirked at me. I took deep breaths, but it did no good. His outburst just made my anger escalate.

“My mum said your brother was a thug and he deserved to die. I hate you,” he spat back, throwing the chair across the library, narrowly missing Alice who sat close by, and making her cower and silently start to cry.

“I hate you too,” I said without thinking, and as soon as it was out, I knew I’d lost control.

Instantly, Tommy started screeching. “You’re the worst teacher in this school. I hope you die like your brother.”

He flung his arm across the bookshelves, emptying them of the books, and then picked them up to throw them at me.

“GET OUT!” I shouted, grasping the edge of the table with my fists and shaking with anger. I gasped for breath, struggling to fill my lungs, dizzy and lightheaded from the effort it took to breathe.