Staying Alive. Debra Webb
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I simply needed the anonymity of leaving Christina Grant behind.”
When Atwood didn’t immediately launch into another question, Claire decided to save them both any further awkward moments. “My younger sister married a jerk,” she said, cutting right to the chase. “He made her life miserable. He was both mentally and physically abusive. During the final months of her pregnancy she came to live with me to get away from him.”
“She was afraid for her life as well as that of her unborn child,” Atwood said, clearly regurgitating what he’d read in her official police record.
Claire nodded. “One night he broke into my house. He had a gun. When he tried to kill my sister, I charged him. We struggled. The weapon discharged and he died.”
Atwood nodded. “That’s what the report said.” His gaze met hers. “Word for word.”
Something like doubt flickered in his eyes and Claire resisted the impulse to defend herself further. She had done what she had to do that night…she’d done it again today. God knew she hadn’t had any choice in either situation. As far as she was concerned that was good enough for her.
She couldn’t regret the actions that had saved the lives of innocent people.
“Is there anything else, Detective?” She stood. Her legs were still a little unsteady, but she wanted out of here. The sooner the better.
Atwood shook his head.
When Claire was about to walk away, he said, “Just so you know, Miss Grant…”
Reluctantly, she turned back to him. She didn’t want this to be a warning not to leave town. She’d weathered far too much gossip and suspicion six years ago. She shouldn’t have to tolerate it now, especially considering the reason for today’s events.
“You did the right thing,” Atwood allowed. “Then and now.”
The sincerity of his words was reflected in his eyes. All signs of doubt or suspicion were gone.
Any resentment or irritation she’d felt ebbed away. She nodded and resumed her retreat. She wanted to go home. She was completely exhausted. A long hot bath and sleep were the only two things on her agenda.
Darlene waited for her in the hall. “Are you okay?” She rushed up and hugged Claire. “God, I was so scared.”
Claire held on to her friend, thankful to be alive. “I can’t believe this happened.”
Darlene drew back and gave her a smile. “You did good, girlfriend. You saved those kids. Don’t let anybody tell you differently. I was out there.” She jerked her head toward the front of the building. “They didn’t know what the hell they were going to do to save you guys. No one thought there would be any survivors.”
Claire’s knees buckled this time. Her friend caught her. “Let’s get you home,” Darlene suggested. “I’ll get your car to you later.”
“I need my purse.”
Darlene banged on Claire’s classroom door and had one of the officers bring her purse out of the room. Her classroom was now a crime scene awaiting thorough forensics investigation. When her purse was in her hand, Claire wasn’t surprised to find that it had been thoroughly searched. But what came next was something else Claire should have seen coming but didn’t.
Reporters. Hundreds of them.
The police had cordoned off the school at the drop-off point, but beyond that there were literally hundreds of reporters. Dozens of television vans.
Claire lost count of how many teachers praised her for holding her own in an unwinnable situation. She tried to keep her smile in place but it wasn’t easy.
A couple of officers showed up and escorted Claire and Darlene through the crowd. It seemed as if half the community had come to observe the events. The children had all been picked up, but most of the teachers remained. Several were openly mourning the loss of their beloved principal.
Camera flashes seemed to punctuate the questions hurled at her. She ignored them all. She had nothing to say. Not to the media anyway.
Darlene opened the door of her racy red sports car for Claire and then hurried around to the driver’s side while the police kept the reporters at bay.
As they drove away, Claire stared at the school growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. Nothing would ever be the same there. Today’s horrendous events would forever leave a mark on the teachers as well as the students.
And for what?
She just didn’t get it.
Why couldn’t someone stop the terrorists, their senseless demands, their murder of innocent people?
She laid her head back against the headrest. Maybe because they were all like her, sitting back leaving it to someone else. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to watch the news and feel the same way again. Maybe that was the problem with the world today, everyone passed the buck, put the dirty work off on someone else. She would never again take for granted the efforts of her country to fight terrorism.
Firsthand experience was a ruthless teacher.
Her eyes closed in a futile attempt to erase the image of the man she had killed today. An image from the past abruptly superimposed itself over his.
She forced the painful pictures away. She would not regret what she had done. Both of those men deserved to die. She hated that she’d been the one forced to stop them, but it was done.
There was no going back.
“You want to stay at my place tonight?”
Claire cleared her head of the disturbing thoughts. “Thank you, but I think I’d feel better in my own bed.”
She closed her eyes again and focused on making her body relax. First that tight band of tension around her skull, then the aching tendons reaching down her neck. She let her shoulders slump downward. She was so tired. So exhausted.
Claire hadn’t realized she’d dozed off until the car stopped moving. She hadn’t exactly been asleep but she’d floated in that place between asleep and awake.
“You’re sure you’re okay, Claire?”
She faced her friend and produced a smile. “I’m okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Darlene shook her head. “No school tomorrow. Maybe not the next day.”
Of course there wouldn’t be any school. The investigation would need to continue. Her classroom would need repairs. And Mr. Allen. God, poor Mr. Allen. There would be arrangements for his memorial service.
“I’ll talk to you later then.” Claire opened her door but hesitated before getting out. “Thanks, Darlene. I don’t think I could have driven home after…”
Darlene placed her hand over Claire’s and squeezed. “I know. Call me if you need me, no matter the hour.”
Claire emerged from the car and waved as she watched her friend drive away. She felt a little numb. She hadn’t noticed that before. Maybe the reality of the last few hours was only now beginning to catch up with her.
Glancing down the block, first left then right, she was immensely glad no reporters had found out where she lived. She doubted that would last, but at least they weren’t here now.
She turned and faced her small bungalow. It wasn’t much. Just a one-bedroom, one-bathroom fixer-upper she’d spent the last five years transforming, but it was home and she loved it.
As she took her time advancing along the sidewalk, she focused on the details of her home. Anything to clear her head of the ugliness. She loved the Craftsman-style bay window that looked out over her front yard. She’d just planted lots of flowers last weekend. With April coming to a close the colorful, lush annuals were starting to bloom, the reds, yellows and purples brilliant against the pale