by Jane Charles
Is that how he injured his knee the second time? I’d ask but he sure as hell isn’t about to tell me anything.
The kid, Isaac Peters, ended up in the hospital in a coma.
Is that the same Isaac who showed up in class today?
No, couldn’t be.
Could it?
That would certainly explain Gabe’s surprise, but not the way everyone else reacted.
What am I missing?
Gabe – 22
I’d come to Sullivan’s to relax and order dinner to take home. After today, I’m not in the mood to cook and then clean up. Besides, it might be the last time I get a chance to eat out for a while. Unfortunately, any relaxation I hoped to find by talking to Shamus, who owns the place and always bartending, was destroyed the minute I see Ellen sitting at the back corner table. Her laptop is open and she’s listening to something. A look of disgusts crosses her face and she pushes the plate with her half eaten burger across the table.
She leans forward, as if reading something interesting. She’s probably trying to dig up more dirt on Baxter. She won’t find any. Of that I’m confident.
As much as I should avoid her, I find myself walking toward her anyway. This is a mistake. Probably a huge one, but I can’t help myself. I’m only doing this because I want to find out what she’s up to. It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m still attracted to her, despite everything.
Warning bells to stay away from her are going off in my head, but I keep walking because I’m fucking stupid. Besides, she has a lot more to answer for and now that I’ve done a little research, I have a few questions of my own. I just wasn’t thinking about them as I escorted her from the campus. I was too busy reeling from seeing Isaac in my classroom and the complications that would result.
She doesn’t look up right away when I stop at the side of her table and clicks on something. Maybe she’s playing a game. After a second she stills and slowly looks up. Her eyes go wide and she pulls the buds out of her ears. “Gabe?”
“Miss West.”
Frowns at me. “Would you like to sit?” She gestures to the empty place across the table then closes her laptop.
What is she trying to hide now?
“Why Baxter?” I’ve asked her before, but my gut tells me I’m not getting a straight answer.
“Why not?” She counters.
“I’ve read your blog.”
She grins at me. “What did you think?”
“You’re very thorough, I’ll give you that. But, I don’t get why you’re here. We’re nothing like any of the stories you report on.”
“If I don’t find anything, I won’t write an article. It’s as simple as that.”
“There’s nothing to find.”
“Then why not let me find that out for myself?” she counters.
The waitress stops by the table and puts a menu in front of me. I order a beer. I’m still not sure if whatever I order will be eaten here or taken home. I peruse the menu, even though I know it pretty well, and finally settle for cheesesteak and fries before closing it. “What were you watching on your laptop? Or reading?”
She bites her lip and looks away, her cheeks become a little pink. Maybe Ellen’s research isn’t all work related. Though, if it’s embarrassing enough to turn red, a public restaurant is probably not the best place to be viewing such sites.
“I was researching you.” she blurts out.
Well, that isn’t exactly as exciting as I’d imagined.
The waitress comes back and puts the beer on the table and I give her my order.
“Why me?”
“Well…um….”
“Don’t lie to me.” I should just get up and wait for my order at the bar.
“I’m not.” She snaps then takes a drink of her soda before running her hand across the top of her laptop. “I just saw the video.” She grimaces. “I can’t imagine that kind of pain.”
I don’t really care that she researched me. I did the same to her, even if I should have done it a hell of a lot sooner. Besides, that part of my life was more public than private anyway. I just hope she doesn’t uncover the story about what happened to Isaac. She was there when he showed up and if she’s half as intelligent as I think she is, she’ll put two and two together and it’s none of her business. I certainly don’t want her writing about it. The story is over and done. Or, it was until Isaac showed up today and might cause me to lose my job.
“Have you called your doctor yet?”
I glare at her. She lost any right to ask about me the moment she met with Scott and then lied to me about him.
“You need to have it checked out.”
Clearly, she doesn’t get that it isn’t any of her business. “I will when I’m ready.”
“What, when you can’t walk anymore?”
The waitress sets the plate in front of me. I’d feel rude eating in front of her, but she’s already eaten her meal. “Pretty much, yeah.” I dip my fry into the ketchup. I should have just left.
“There has got to be something they can do.”
“Sure there is. A knee replacement.”
“Why don’t you have one?” This time it is curiosity more than chastising me.
“I’m not sure it it’ll really help, though the docs say it will.” I take another drink. “I’m not ready for yet another surgery and rehab.”
“That must suck.”
I laugh, despite myself. She isn’t being all sympathetic, which I hate when people are, or giving me advice, like so many people try to do. “So, you going back to Baxter tomorrow or do you have all you need?” I need her out of town. I won’t be able to get my head back on straight until she’s gone and I can forget we ever met.
If I’ll ever forget.
Shit. I may be pissed, unable to trust her, but I still think she’s hot as hell, and could sleep with her again.
That’s fucking messed up!
Why does she have such a hold on me? I’ve not know her a week and those claws are in deep. I need distance.
So why the hell am I sitting her with her now?
“I think I wore out my welcome today,” she finally says.
That’s it, she’s done? Perfect! Now she can go back to New York and Scott, and I can get on with my life, which includes drafting a new resume and finding a new school to teach at.
“I’ll return in a few days, after I’ve done a little more research.”
Crap, what if I’m not employed any longer? She’ll want to know why and I won’t be able to tell her. It isn’t like I’d lose my job because of cutbacks or because I screwed up. “You’re wasting your time at Baxter. I’ve read your blog. You blast companies and people for the wrongs they’ve done. Baxter is just a great high school full of talented kids.”
She shrugs. “Maybe I want to change my focus, or expand, and write about good things too.”
I narrow my eyes on her. “What do you really expect to find by investigating Baxter?”
The smile slips and she stares into her Coke.
Ellen
Do I tell him? Come clean about what I heard? Would he even believe me?
If I do tell him, what if he tells everyone and I’m booted? At least with corporations I could ask the right employees the right questions and get answers. Of course, those were usually the disgruntled employees, which are always easy to find. That isn’t the case with Baxter. I didn’t meet one person who gave any indication that wanted to talk to me privately and away from listening ears. Everyone clammed up the moment they learned why I was there. That’s never happened to me before. Every place has a snitch or a leak. And, Baxter just seems too perfect to be true. If I could talk to the kids, I bet I’d get a different response.
I should have just asked Gabe more pointed questions when we were together. At least then I had a chance of learning something. Now he just hates me. So, why the hell did he sit down here?
I wish I could take back that fight, my slap, and just tell him why Scott f
ound me. God, it would feel so good to tell someone. But I can’t. So, I have to live with his hating me.
“This is your first year at Baxter, right?”
“Yep.”
“And you were only a substitute before?”
“Teaching jobs aren’t that easy to come by.”
“You’re twenty-six. Did you take your time getting through school?” Shit, that came out wrong, or at least offensive. “No biggie,” I quickly say. “Some of my friends were six year college students because they kept changing their majors.”
“You’re nosy.”
“I’m a reporter.”
He snorts.
“Come on, you’re good with the students. A natural teacher. I figure you graduated at what, twenty-three and you don’t start teaching until what, twenty-five?”
“Nope. The football injury delayed me a year. I didn’t get a job right away and subbed. The second injury, with the surgeries, kept me from looking again until last spring.”
That makes sense. Nobody is going to hire a teacher who was going to be gone more than he was there.
He takes a drink of his beer and leans forward. “Listen, you’re here to do a story on Baxter, not me.”
The waitress stops at the table and asks if I need anything else. I’m good so I request the check. “How did you know the new kid at the school today?”
His beer is half way to his lips, but Gabe freezes, glaring at me over the rim. “He was a kid at one of the schools I subbed at.”
“Which one?”
“That’s none of your business.”
This was going well, for about a second, so I might as well get down to the reason I came to this town to begin with. “Why? And, why did the others seem concerned or alarmed?”
“They were just surprised. I’m not from the area so they were probably shocked I knew the new student.”
He’s not telling me the truth. There was much more to their reaction than being surprised. Do I ask him if the Isaac in the class is the same one who was in the coma? Would have he give me a straight answer? “Why don’t you coach?”
“Why are you interviewing me?”
“Nobody else will talk to me.” That’s kind of depressing, especially since it’s the truth. I don’t exactly have that many real friends and the ones I do have are spread out over the country and Paige travels most of the time. It’s hard to make friends when the only people you spend any time with you’re investigating.
“Maybe if you weren’t poking around in their business.”
He’s got a point. “Okay, go ahead and poke around in mine.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I remember that last night in New York and Gabe most definitely doing some poking. Though, more like deep thrusts, filling me. My face grows warm and I hastily take a drink.
He relaxes back, studying me. “Okay, where are you from?”
“Nevada. I’ve told you that already. I’ve lived in New York since I moved here to go to school.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Then answer another question for me.”
“Sure,” I answer slowly, afraid he’s going to bring up Scott again.
“How come when I search for you, there’s no Ellen West, or the ones I found aren’t you. All I can find is your blog.” He holds up a hand. “No, I find pictures of Ellen West at Columbia, but nothing else. It’s as if Ellen West didn’t exist until she went to college.”
I swallow and then take a hasty drink again. Shit! I wasn’t anticipating this.
“I had it changed legally. I didn’t like my other last name.”
“So, what is it?” He’s staring at me, waiting.
“I don’t see that it matters.”
“You see, it does to me.” Gabe leans forward, his hands braced on the table. “Why should I, or anyone at Baxter, tell you a damn thing when I don’t even know who you really are?”
Gabe – 23
I sit back and wait for her to answer. Shock, fear and a whole array of emotions play across her face. I have no idea what she’s thinking but I’m not getting up until I have her answer.
That’s twice in one week the Baxter administration office has fucked up. First, by not vetting Isaac more thoroughly and discovering his connection to me and now letting this woman on campus without digging to find out who she really is.
There’s a separate administrative staff in charge of hiring, overseeing the school staff, and investigating everyone who wants to visit the campus, even if it’s just to see an art exhibit. The offices are in Poughkeepsie, which is the official address of Baxter. Few people, outside of those who live and work there, know where it really is, and that’s for the safety of the students. Now they’ve let this stranger in? Of course, residents of the community know where the school is, but that’s about it, and even if they don’t have facts, I’m sure they suspect something’s different about Baxter. Or, maybe they just assume that it’s a private high school where kids live and that’s it. I don’t really care, as long as they leave the school alone.
Had the administration vetted Isaac more thoroughly, I probably would have been terminated from my post when spring break started. They usually know a good month before a new student is coming in so everything can be prepared.
Ellen isn’t saying anything. She’s just looking at me, brown eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. She goes around investigating people. Has nobody ever turned the tables on her before now?
I stare into her eyes. “Mag would have never let you on campus if she’d known they didn’t give you a background check.”
“How do you know they didn’t?”
“Do they know your real name?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “No.”
I reach for my phone. I don’t care if they decide to fire me or not, Mag needs to know what I do. I doubt Ellen will be inside of Baxter again after tonight.
“Who are you calling?”
“Mag.”
“Why?”
“The school is very particular about who they let in and they sure as hell need more of a name. Mag’s not going to be happy.”
“Why Mag over anyone else? And, what the hell are they hiding?”
Did she really just ask me that question? “How thorough was your research before coming to Baxter?”
“As thorough as possible,” Ellen answers defensively, though she colors a bit.
I snort. Is she ever honest? “Did you research the family at all?”
She shrugs. “I know the family who built it still owns it, but they don’t really have anything to do with the school.”
I laugh. “Research again! Mag is a Baxter.”
Her eyes go wide. “She owns the school.”
“No, the Baxter Foundation owns the school. Mag is just more hands-on than the rest, though I’m sure you met a few relatives during your interviews to visit, if anyone bothered to even talk to you.”
Ellen bites the corner of her bottom lip as if she’s thinking. “Then maybe Mag can explain why it became a school ten years ago. I can’t seem to find the connection.”
“Mag isn’t going to tell you damn thing,” I practically yell. “Especially after she realizes you aren’t who you claim to me.”
She straightens. “I am Ellen West. That is my name. I haven’t deceived anyone.”
“Fine, tell me what name were you born with and then I’ll decide if Mag gets a call or not.”
“Westbrook.” She sets her glass on the table with a bit of force and stands. “Caroline Elizabeth Elaine Westbrook.”
“Two middle names? Really?”
She just glares at me and stomps out of restaurant.
This isn’t exactly how I anticipated the evening would go. Well, I wasn’t sure what would happen when I saw her back here, but I sure as hell didn’t anticipate her yelling and stomping out. I’m the one that was supposed to do that. She’s the liar, not me.
Ellen
I lean back against my closed apartment door and rest my head against it.
Why does it matter who I am? My blog should give them more than enough information to allow me to interview the staff and tour the school. My credentials, certificates, class standing and degrees, along with every investigation I’ve written is posted. It got me in the door. It’s not important who I was before and I don’t get what difference it makes to anyone but me now.
Shit! Now Gabe has my full, real name. Paige is the only one who knows, outside of those who worked on the case and my family. And, nobody else was to ever know. It isn’t safe.
What if Gabe tells someone?
What if he lets Krestyanov know where I am?
Shit, I never considered he might already know everything. What if he was hired to find me?
“Get a grip, Ellen,” I order myself
I found Gabe. He didn’t find me. I moved into the same apartment house where he already lived, not the other way around.
I’m getting about as paranoid as I was when it all started. I saw bad men around every corner, convinced I was being followed, and jumping at my own shadow.
I can’t go down that road again. I can’t!
I take a deep breath and blow it out. I am safe. Nobody knows who I am and Elizabeth is dead. She was buried the day I walked away from the courthouse.
Why the hell did I just resurrect her?
“Shit!” Going to the fridge, I take out a bottle of wine and pour myself a glass. My hands are shaking and that stupid, stupid anxiety is creeping in.
I will not let it get a hold of me.
I can control it.
I don’t need the meds.
I toss the wine in the sink. That’s the last thing I need right now and it certainly won’t help.
I need to focus and work.
That’s it!
Focus, work, and not think about my past, my family or the hot, former football player turned teacher. Work is what keeps me calm. And music. I switch on my iPod and classical music fills the air. My heart and pulse calm a little, but not enough.
I breathe deep, stretching to the ceiling and down to my toes, running through the warm-up ritual. Not only is it great exercise, but it’s one of my calming mechanisms.