Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club Page 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

  The sight of several police cars and an ambulance with flashing lights outside Inner City Junior High School the next morning made Miss Fairbanks slow down as she approached. Something bad was obviously going on, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what it was. Had another student died? Had a teacher been attacked, and been left lying in a pool of his own blood? Miss Fairbanks shook her head, trying to erase the images that came to her mind. She took a deep breath in an attempt to maintain her composure. Last night's letter had been bad enough, and now this. She had been able to throw the letter away in the garbage, but such a simple action would not work here, to right whatever wrong had been committed.

  As Miss Fairbanks reached the outer foyer of the school she felt profoundly uneasy. Her heart sank further when she noticed Principal Clyde talking grimly with a group of police officers, while curious students milled around them. Naturally, with the police there, the kids weren't acting up nearly as much as they usually did. But at the same time, most of them didn't seem interested in going to class, and for once it didn't look like Principal Clyde was going to make them. Indeed, it was suddenly obvious that no one was being allowed through the doors to the inside of the building at all.

  Principal Clyde suddenly looked up and saw her. To her surprise he then cried out, "There she is!" Miss Fairbanks shrank back, startled. Why was he pointing her out? This was not good at all.

  Principal Clyde quickly darted over to her, trailed by all the policemen. "He's holed himself up in your room, Miss Fairbanks!" cried Principal Clyde in a strained voice. "He's got a gun, and he says he'll use it on anyone who comes close! He hasn't pulled the trigger yet, Thank heavens, and he hasn't taken any hostages. But we're afraid he'll start blasting if someone gets close!"

  Miss Fairbanks looked at him in total confusion, her heart beating rapidly in fear. She had no idea what he was talking about. Yet a horrified part of her mind guessed what--or rather who--he might be referring to.

  "I told you not to waste your time getting close to him," said Principal Clyde, wagging his finger in her face. "It only leads to trouble when you start being friendly with these loser students. He's probably holed up in your room because that's where you and he and some others were meeting last night, in what the whole school is now calling the 'loser's club--'"

  Miss Fairbanks suddenly dropped her bag and took off at a dead run. She yanked the school door open and darted inside. Her chest felt frozen, and horror gripped her heart. How could this be happening? Not now! Not with one of her new friends!

  "Wait!" called Principal Clyde behind her, and one of the policemen. "He's got a gun! Do you want to get shot?" She could hear them running after her.

  She ignored them as she raced down the hall. Rounding a corner she saw that her classroom door was open, and two officers with guns drawn were standing well back from it on either side, keeping carefully out of view of the occupant of the room. They looked at her with startled eyes as she pelted toward them. The sight of a frail little woman running directly toward certain death was too astounding for them to even comprehend at first.

  "Wait!" cried one of the officers as Miss Fairbanks rushed past him. He reached wildly for her arm, trying to stop her. He missed. Before he could try again, Miss Fairbanks burst into the room. And the sight that met her eyes made her heart nearly break.

  Brent Llewelyn was standing in the middle of the room. He did indeed have a gun--a very sizeable one--which he was pointing shakily at her. His hair was tousled and his eyes were wild and crazed, while flecks of foam dripped from his mouth.

  "Don't come any closer!" he screeched in a bizarre voice. "I'll shoot!"

  Miss Fairbanks just looked back at him while her eyes started to well up with tears. "Oh, Brent ..." she said at last. "Oh, Brent!" He continued to point the gun at her, his eyes insane and raging. She knew he might pull the trigger any second, perhaps even by accident. But the fear and hurt that was also in his eyes were so powerful, she simply couldn't move.

  Suddenly he started to go blurry. Miss Fairbanks stumbled toward a student desk to sit down, banging her leg painfully against a chair as she did so. With a feeling of mounting panic she knew she was about to have another of her attacks--the ones where she completely lost control. Usually they happened only at night, triggered by the horror of her dreams reliving the events of twenty years ago. But once in a great while they happened during her waking hours as well, when something unexpected and very bad occurred. And she knew there was nothing she could do now to stop what was coming.

  She raised her hands to her eyes and began to sob. "Oh, Brent! Oh, Brent! Oh, Brent ..." Her tears started to come thick and fast, sploshing on the desk and smearing the mascara on her face. "Oh, Brent! Oh, Brent! Oh, Brent!" Her hands were shaking wildly.

  "He killed her!" screeched Brent suddenly in an agonized voice. "The fool killed her! He got drunk and saw her slinking out of my room. She wasn't going to hurt him, or do anything bad! She was just looking for another toilet roll, or something to play with! But he got some clothesline and put it around her neck and--"

  "NO!" pleaded Miss Fairbanks in a voice so thick with emotion that Brent was startled into silence. She raised her hands in the air as if trying to fend off punches directed at her face. "Please don't tell me! Please don't! I can't bear it! Oh, Brent, oh, Brent! First the letter, now this! It's all happening again! It's all happening again!"

  For a moment the only sound in the room were the wracking sobs of frail Miss Lydia Fairbanks, as she cried uncontrollably at the desk she had fallen into. Her wretchedness was so complete that she sank from the desk to the floor, showering the ugly concrete with her salty tears. Suddenly she moaned. "Oh, why did it have to happen? Why? Why did I do it? I wish it had been me instead. Oh, how I wish it had been me! Why couldn't it have been me?"

  Brent just stared at her completely confused. What on earth was she talking about? What she was saying didn't make any sense. Was she really this upset about the death of a cat she had never seen?

  Suddenly Brent noticed that his own eyes were starting to blur. Seeing his teacher wracked with such misery reached something deep in his heart that he had never realized was there. Slowly he lowered the gun, then dropped it with a clatter. Miss Fairbanks raised her head and looked around, trying to see through the blur of her tears. Brent was standing in front of her with slumped shoulders, staring at the floor. His own tears were gathering like pools of pure water at the corners of his eyes. "Isabel," he croaked in a rasping voice. "My Isabel. My little cat ..."

  Then he also sank to the floor and began to sob. And that is how the officers found them as they entered the room, guns aimed at Brent's head. Fortunately they didn't fire, although the gun he had dropped on the floor was within his reach. But he was clearly not paying any attention to it as he sobbed his heart out on the floor, his heart breaking. One of the officers stepped quickly forward and kicked the gun spinning out of the way. Then they quickly lifted Brent up between them and handcuffed his hands behind his back, just as Principal Clyde and more officers arrived at the door.

  "I'm sorry," wailed Brent as he was marched past Miss Fairbanks. His face was streaked with tears, and more were joining them every second. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, Miss Fairbanks. I would never hurt you! I'm sorry!"

  She looked up at him through her tears, her lips quivering uncontrollably and tried unsuccessfully to smile. Tears were still gushing from her eyes. "I know," she said softly in answer. "I know."

  And then he was gone. Principal Clyde and the officers looked around uncomfortably, not sure what to do with themselves, while Miss Fairbanks shakily tried to compose herself, and to stop crying. She was not successful. Her wracking sobs had weakened her so much she wasn't sure she could rise off the floor. There was a moment of awkward silence, broken only by Miss Fairbanks' continual, soft blubbering. Then Principal Clyde said quietly, "I believe I'll call off school for today." In another moment she heard the door to her room gently
close.

  Looking up through blurry eyes, she saw that everyone had gone and she had been left alone. She once more attempted a weak smile, and again was unsuccessful as her mouth continued to twitch and spasm and new salty tears sprayed themselves on the floor around her. This was the way it always was. It was the way it always ended. Every time she was triggered like this, every time she had the horrible nightmare, she would always end up this way, sobbing with every ounce of her strength and completely unable to regain control.

  After all the emotion, the sobbing and the guns and violence that she had caused, she was always left completely alone, crying uncontrollably to herself. Just as it had been twenty years ago ...