Vicious Cycle

The clasp of the handcuffs echoed around the room. For a moment I kept my hands wrapped around them, unblinking and unmoving. Then I slowly pulled away. I took a step back and then another. Deacon’s brows crinkled. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring him, I grabbed my skirt off the chair and slid it on. When I went for the silky blue blouse with the ruffled front, Deacon asked, “Is this part of the game?”

Tears burned my eyes as I worked frantically to button the blouse. When I was finished, I glanced at him. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean? Alex, what the hell is going on?” His tone had turned from amusement to desperation.

“I have to do this, Deacon. It’s the right solution. Really it’s the only solution where you and Willow don’t get hurt.”

“You’re not making any sense.” He jerked at the handcuffs and winced. “Get me out of these.”

I turned away from him to start digging in my suitcase. At the very bottom, I slid aside the lining and stared down at Andy’s cut. With trembling fingers, I took it out. I rose from the floor and then turned back to Deacon. His eyes left mine and drifted down to my hands. With widened eyes, he demanded, “What the fuck are you doing with that?”

“I took it from the war prize closet.”

Deacon sucked in a breath so fast it sounded more like a hiss. “Alexandra, I want you to get me out of these handcuffs right fucking now!” When I gave a slight jerk of my head, he growled. “Don’t you even think for one minute you’re going to go alone!”

“There was something else I left out about my meeting with Sigel—something I didn’t even tell Rev or Bishop.” I drew in a deep breath. “Sigel caused the accident that killed my parents.”

Deacon stared at me in disbelief. “What? How?”

I glanced down at the cut before telling him about how my parents’ love of children had caused their deaths. When I finished, I dared to meet his eyes again. “Besides you and Willow, I now have a stake in this I never imagined. A chance for justice in my parents’ murders.”

“Alexandra, you cannot take a man like Sigel down. You are walking to your death, you stupid, stubborn woman!” Deacon shouted.

Dropping the cut on the chair, I bent down and picked a silk scarf out of the pile of clothes I had tossed out of the suitcase. It was one I had worn to teach in many times. Tonight it would serve another purpose. When I started over to Deacon, he momentarily appeared relieved. He thought I had finally come to my senses. Instead, my trembling hands took the scarf and gagged him. He bucked and fought against me, but somehow I got it tied.

Tears dripped down my cheeks when I finally allowed myself to look at him. “I’m so sorry, but I had to do this. I did it for you, and I did it for us.”

He stared at me with eyes that burned with rage and venom. I didn’t even want to imagine what he would have done to me in that moment if he had gotten free. I had to turn away from him as fast as I could. I couldn’t bear to have him looking at me that way during what might be the last minutes I had with him.

Instead of allowing myself to break down, I swiped the tears from my eyes. I grabbed the cut and shoved it down in my messenger bag. In a moment of vanity, I grabbed my makeup bag as well, so I could repair the damage of my tears. Once I slung the messenger bag over my shoulder, I headed to the door. With my hand hovering over the doorknob, I willed myself not to look back. Instead, I said, “I love you.”

Then I walked out the door.

As soon as I arrived at the school, I was herded into the cafeteria for a presentation by the principal. Facing the massive crowd, I found myself sandwiched between my fellow kindergarten teachers. My legs shook with nerves as I tried to focus on what was being said. In the end, I couldn’t tell you one word my principal spoke. Instead, I kept scanning the parents’ faces, searching for Sigel or anyone from his club. I hated that he had chosen the school for us to do our business. It wasn’t just about the one clean part of my world, my school, getting sullied. It was more about the fact that I feared people getting hurt regardless of Sigel’s promise.

At seven thirty, we were dismissed to our classrooms, where for the next hour we would meet with parents. On the walk to my room, teachers chattered around me, but I couldn’t join in. Instead, I tried focusing on keeping the frayed and tattered strands of my sanity from coming completely undone.

When I got inside my classroom, I thankfully found relief. With parents to greet and students to talk with, my worries about Sigel were forgotten. I was able to genuinely and enthusiastically talk about each student’s progress and graciously take the compliments from their parents on how I was doing teaching their child.

The sound of my principal’s voice on the intercom made me jump. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now eight thirty. We would ask that you wrap up your questions and conversations and make your way to the exits. Thank you again for attending Buffington Elementary’s Parents Night.’”

I walked the last remaining set of parents to my classroom door. Just as I waved good-bye, my cell phone rang. I glanced warily at it over my shoulder, then hurried to grab it. “Hello?” I questioned breathlessly.

“Come down the D hall—the wing of the school that hasn’t been finished. Go to the last bathroom on the hallway. I’ll be waiting.”

When the call ended, I took a deep breath. I went over to my bag and took out the cut. After I laid it on the desk, I reached inside for the knife. I slid it into one of the inside pockets of the cut, one that I could keep my hand on at all times. With a determined step, I walked out my classroom door. As the herd of parents and children streamed through the main lobby, I eased my way through them, feeling a little like a salmon swimming upstream.

While people came out of the B and C hallways, the double doors to the D hall were empty. Because of overcrowding, the school had been forced to open early, before the last wing was completed. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw no one was watching me as I stood before the closed doors. I pushed them open and stepped into the darkened hallway.

The only light to guide my way came from the emergency signs. My heels echoed along the silent hallway. The snap and pop on the tile reminded me of gunshots. I counted down the first and second bathrooms. When I reached the third door, I faltered. I couldn’t seem to bring my feet forward or my hand to push open the door. Fear clutched me in a viselike grip. Closing my eyes, I prayed for strength and for courage. Of course, the irony in praying with regards to plans to kill someone was not lost on me.