Teacher's Pet

by Andrew Neiderman

  “I just wanted us to settle down for a few moments. We don’t want him to think we have any regrets about it,” he added, directing his attention mostly at Sheila. Gary closed and opened his eyes to indicate understanding.

  “I’ll be all right,” Sheila said. “I’m just not going to be as bubbly as Gary is.”

  “I’m not bubbly. That’s a dumb thing to say.”

  “Forget it,” Johnny said quickly. He straightened his posture to emulate Mr. Lucy’s and brought his head up in the same fashion. “We’ll never need our unity more than we need it now. This isn’t the time for petty bickering.”

  “Johnny’s right,” Sandy said.

  “Just tell her to lay off me.”

  “I’m not doing anything to you. All I said was…”

  “Stop!” Johnny commanded. “I’m going to call Mr. Lucy now. He should hear only good things from us.”

  Everyone else was obediently quiet as Johnny went to the wall phone and dialed Mr. Lucy’s number. He looked back at them after the second ring. They sat at attention, waiting. Finally, Mr. Lucy picked up the receiver.

  “It’s me,” Johnny said. “We’re at Sandy’s house having tea. It’s all over.”

  “And how did it go?” Mr. Lucy asked.

  “Smoothly, just as planned. There were one or two things we didn’t think of, but we covered them.”

  “Like what?”

  “We just can’t leave the body under the floor of the storage building. Gary and I are going back there tomorrow night to bury it in the ground under the floor.”

  “Good.”

  “We forgot about Slattery’s car. It’s still on Chestnut.”

  “So what? That doesn’t tie anything to you.”

  “That’s what I told everyone,” Johnny said, and smiled at them. Gary’s eyes lightened and Sandy relaxed. Only Sheila remained stiff.

  “Is everyone all right?”

  “Almost,” Johnny said.

  “Sheila?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’ll be OK. We’ll all be together tomorrow night.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Tell everyone…that I’m grateful. Tell them…they’re the best friends I’ve ever had,” Mr. Lucy said. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he added quickly and hung up.

  Johnny couldn’t release his grip on the receiver. He wished he could hold those words forever in his ear and replay them whenever he wanted. He couldn’t keep the tears from filling his eyes. Finally, he forced himself to swallow and hung up the phone.

  “What is it?” Sandy asked. She saw his reaction and how emotional he was. Gary stopped smiling and leaned forward. Even Sheila forgot her fear and turned to him with great interest. “What did he say?”

  “He said I should tell you he’s grateful.”

  “Really?” Gary said.

  Johnny looked up at him, and from the expression on his face they knew he had more.

  “Then he said to tell you we’re the best friends he’s ever had.”

  For a long moment, no one could speak. The words closed everyone’s throat and brought tears to everyone’s eyes. Sheila even felt a little guilty for how she had behaved. Sandy got up and went to his side.

  “I’m glad we did it,” she said.

  “So am I,” Gary said, getting up and coming over to them. His moment of emotion had already hardened into determination and confidence.

  They all turned to Sheila. She started to rise.

  “I’m glad, too,” she said.

  And then they all embraced…the four of them reaching around each other’s shoulders and waists, pulling their bodies tightly against one another as though they could combine the best of each of them to form an entirely new entity—Mr. Lucy’s Wonder Child.

  Now they were able to face another day.

  15

  When Barton Lorner returned home from work late in the afternoon, he first thought that Ellen wasn’t there. He called to her as soon as he entered the house, but there was no response. There were no sounds coming from the kitchen, so after he took off his jacket and dropped the paper on the table in the living room, he went directly upstairs. He discovered she wasn’t anywhere on the upper floor.

  He went back downstairs and called for her again, and again there was no response. Curious now, because her car was in the driveway, he went into the kitchen expecting to find a note under the magnet on the refrigerator door. There was nothing there and there was no sign of her preparation of dinner. He went on into her exercise room and there he found her.

  She was on her knees by the window, peering out over the sill, staring intently at the tutor’s house. For a few moments, Bart was unable to do anything but look at Ellen. She was dressed only in a bra and panties. Her hair was disheveled and she had a twisted and wild expression on her face. He was actually frightened by her demeanor.

  Of course what amazed him was that she hadn’t responded to his calls, nor had she apparently heard his entrance into the house. She looked as though she had been in that position by that window for hours. He thought that if he spoke, she would jump out of her skin, so he took a deep, loud breath, hoping that would be enough.

  It wasn’t. She either didn’t hear or see him or did but didn’t want to break her concentration. He grew annoyed and went further into the room.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, in as calm and soft a tone he could. Contrary to what he expected, she turned to him very slowly. It was eerie because it was as though she thought he had been standing there for hours; as though she thought he were part of whatever it was she was doing.

  Her twisted expression became a wry smile. It gave him the chills and he actually backed away. Then, without saying a word, she went back to staring out the window. He observed her for a moment and walked over to her.

  “I asked you what you were doing, Ellen. What is this?”

  “Get back,” she said. “I don’t want him to see you in the window.”

  “Well, what is going on?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  “What are you talking about? Why are you dressed like this?”

  “I went up to change when I thought about it,” she said, “and then I came down to watch.”

  “Thought about what? Watch what?”

  “He’s doing something strange; he’s got to be.”

  “Why? Why do you keep suggesting something like that? What do you know?”

  “I sense it,” she said. All the while she continued to look out the window.

  “Did he say something to you? Did he do something to you?”

  “No,” she said quickly. Then she looked up at Bart as though she just realized it was he who was standing there. He saw the expression on her face soften.

  Feeling compassionate now, he reached out and guided her to her feet. She fell against him and he embraced her, feeling the great trembling in her body.

  “Ellen,” he said, “what is it, honey? Tell me.”

  She pressed her face into the curve of his neck and he felt the warm tears beginning. Without further delay, he led her out of the room. She kept herself against him as they moved through the kitchen and to the stairway.

  “You’ve got to talk,” he said. “You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong or I can’t help you,” he added. She only moaned as he started them up the stairs. He took her to the bedroom and helped her get under the covers. Almost immediately, she closed her eyes. “Ellen?” There was no response.

  He looked about helplessly, hoping for a clue that would lead him to some understanding of what was happening. The clothes she had worn during the day were draped over the chair by the vanity table and her pocketbook was on the table. He saw a prescription next to it.

  “You went to the doctor?” he asked, but she looked as though she was already fast asleep. He went to the table and read the prescription. “What the hell is this?” He turned back and waited a moment and then he rushed out of the room
and went downstairs to the phone in the kitchen. He dialed the doctor’s office and fortunately caught Dr. Bloom just before he was leaving his office for the day.

  “Yes, Bart?”

  “Doc, I got problems here.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I came home from work and found Ellen…found her quite distraught. Before I could get anything out of her that made any sense, she practically passed out on me.”

  “Passed out?”

  “Well, more like fell into a deep sleep. Did you give her some kind of sedative?”

  “No, not for months. She might still have some of those I prescribed. Was she very lethargic? Does she have any fever?”

  “No, no fever. Yeah, she was drained of all her strength.” The doctor was silent for a long moment. “You saw her today, right?”

  “Yes, did she talk about it?”

  “No. She was out of it before I could ask her anything.”

  “Well, do you have any idea if she took any of those sedatives and, if so, how many?”

  “I have no idea, Doc. She’s really acting strange. I’m worried.”

  “See if you can wake her. If you’re having trouble, get her to the emergency room. Call my office before you leave and the answering service will reach me.”

  “All right,” Bart said. “Thanks.” The telephone receiver felt as light as a feather. He dropped it into its cradle and stood there staring at the wall. Then he moved slowly out of the kitchen toward the stairway. He picked up speed as he ascended, hoping Ellen would be awake when he returned to the bedroom, but her eyes were closed and she apparently had not moved an inch.

  He went to the side of the bed and shook her shoulder. Her eyelids didn’t even flutter.

  “Ellen, wake up. Ellen.” He lifted her into a sitting position and still she did not respond. He slapped her face gently and then a little more sharply. He dropped her back to the pillow and went into the bathroom to soak a washcloth in cold water, which he brought back and spread over her forehead. Still, there was no real response. “Christ,” he said. “Ellen, damn it.”

  He thought for a moment and then dialed the doctor again. The answering service responded.

  “Please tell the doctor that Barton Lorner is bringing his wife to the hospital emergency room.”

  “Right away, sir,” the operator said.

  He went to the closet and took out her light blue wool robe. After he got her into it and tied it firmly, he tried to get her into a standing position, but she was so limp and loose, he had trouble balancing her. When he started to lift her, he realized he was going to have a great deal of trouble getting her down the stairs and into the car. He was afraid he would drop her and compound the problem. The best way to handle this was to call for the volunteer ambulance squad, but he hated the thought of all that delay.

  Almost on cue, like the deus ex machina of Greek tragedy, the doorbell rang. Whoever it was had come at the right time. He lowered her to the bed again and rushed down the stairs. When he opened the door, Adam Lucy smiled in at him.

  “I found I had this old business English workbook,” Adam began.

  “Forget that, forget that. Help me, hurry,” Bart said.

  “What is it?”

  “Upstairs, quickly.” He turned and ran up the flight with Adam Lucy right behind him. “I think she took too many sedatives,” Bart said when Adam stopped in the bedroom doorway. “We’ve got to get her in the car and to the hospital.”

  “Sure.”

  Bart went to take her under the arms, but Adam moved before him and simply scooped her into his. For a split second, Bart didn’t know how to react. She was like a child in his arms; there wasn’t the slightest suggestion of difficulty or struggle.

  I could have done that too, Bart thought.

  “Go ahead, lead the way. I’ve got her.”

  Bart started out. When he got to the stairs, he wanted to take hold of her, too, but it was too awkward and really unnecessary. The only significant contribution he could make was to open the front door and open the car door.

  Adam placed her gently on the backseat and then looked at Bart.

  “I’ll ride in the back with her,” he said. “Go on, start it up.”

  “Thanks,” Bart said. He got in quickly and gunned the engine. Then he backed out abruptly.

  After he shifted into drive and shot off down the avenue, he checked things out by looking into the rearview mirror. Adam Lucy had Ellen securely in his arms. She looked comfortable and protected. It was only after he picked up speed on the straightaway that led to the hospital that he remembered what Ellen had been doing when he first found her.

  The combination of fear and confusion was overwhelming. He felt like a man who had lost control of the events of his life. Even the car was taking him along in a predetermined direction. He could do nothing but wait for the outcome to be revealed.

  The search for Richard Slattery reached epic proportions for the small community. His car had been found quickly and all of the local police plus a half dozen deputies from the sheriff’s department were brought into the effort as the day progressed. They questioned everyone on Chestnut, but no one living there had heard or seen a thing. The Slatterys became more and more frantic.

  At the start of the afternoon session in school, Detective Herman Crawson from the township police force set up headquarters in the principal’s office. Bill Carman spent most of his time moving from the faculty room to the superintendent’s office and back up to his outer office while the investigation continued. A constant stream of students were called in, with Richard Slattery’s closest friends questioned the longest.

  Herman Crawson was a twenty-two-year veteran of the police force. He had a dry sense of humor and a facade of indifference in his approach that often caused alleged criminals to drop their defenses. At fifty-three, he was at least twenty pounds too heavy, with a rapidly receding hairline and a continual gray-black five o’clock shadow over his soft cheeks and round jaw. A town resident all his mature life, he knew of the Slatterys, and he appreciated the pressure put on him to resolve the problem.

  Normally, he would have made the usual first assumption about the missing boy: He had a fight with his parents and ran off in a tantrum. But the consistency with which every adult and just about all of the students he had spoken to testified to the boy’s good character sounded a discordant note that his years of experience amplified. By two o’clock that afternoon, he was worried. Something was definitely not right.

  Of Mr. Lucy’s four, only Sandy was called to speak to Crawson, and only because one of Richard Slattery’s friends said Richard had bragged about the progress he was making with her. But Mr. Lucy had prepared her for this, so she wasn’t unduly concerned, nor was Johnny or Gary. Sheila was as nervous as ever.

  Mr. Lucy had warned her that although they had taken some pains to keep her rendezvous with Slattery quiet, they had to assume some leakage. She was ready with the answers. First, she took on the proper attitude.

  Big-eyed and excited, eager to help, curious and a little frightened, she looked anxious to be questioned by Crawson. He sat back behind Bill Carman’s desk and folded his hands over his paunch. The girl was attractive; he could understand why Richard Slattery would be proud of his romantic progress.

  “You know why I asked you to come down?” he began when she took the seat he had placed in front of Carman’s desk.

  “Oh sure. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  Crawson nodded and turned the chair so that he wasn’t looking directly at her. He seemed to be fighting boredom. Sandy relaxed and crossed her legs.

  “You were seeing Richard Slattery?” he asked as though he had just read the question off the wall.

  “Seeing?”

  “You know…boyfriend, girlfriend?”

  “Oh.” She smiled. “Well, not really, not yet. He came over my house a couple of times.”

  “Did he come over last night?”

  “No.”

>   Crawson turned to face her. For a moment he simply stared at her. He often found that people who lied after they were asked a question couldn’t face him down immediately afterward. This girl continued to look eager and excited. Christ, he thought, is everything a show to these kids? Damn the television world.

  “Was he supposed to?”

  “It wasn’t definite. He was going to call.”

  “And he didn’t call?”

  “No. What do you think happened?” she asked.

  He almost smiled. “That’s what I’m here to find out. Did he tell you about anyone else he might see or anyplace he might go?”

  She thought for a moment and then shook her head. He turned around in the chair again and looked at the wall. He said nothing for almost a half a minute, but she didn’t fidget or change expression.

  “Ever mention any enemies?”

  “Enemies? No. There was one boy he didn’t like.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “He said he was a poor class leader.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Paul Hope.”

  “Hope, huh. Does Hope know what he thinks of him?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “We didn’t really talk that much about other kids.”

  “Oh?” He looked at her again. If he were going with her, he thought, he wouldn’t talk that much about other boys either. “Do you mind telling me what you think of him?”

  “Mind? No, I don’t mind. I liked him. He was a lot more interesting than most of the boys around here. I could have an intelligent conversation with him and he wasn’t out for only one thing, if you know what I mean?”

  “I think so,” he said dryly. “Do you have any idea where he might be?” he asked, snapping out of his reverie.

  “No, sir.”

  “He never mentioned running off or anything?”

  “Oh no.”

  “What time was he supposed to call you?”

  “Any time after six.”

  “Did you try to call him?”

  “No. I thought if he wanted to see me, he’d call.”