Chapter 3: The Attack

Thursday morning, I woke up to my alarm ringing at 5:30 a.m. and knew I had to get up. The memory of my nightmare was lingering but I chose not to dwell on it too much. I made coffee, then fixed myself breakfast and lunch, took a shower, dressed, and went to work. By the start of my first class, the nightmare had become a distant memory and my focus was on the kids who would be spending their time in my class to sign yearbooks, chat with their friends, and wait until the official end of the day. I had snacks for each class that I would pull out for the kids every period and played music from my iPod while I continued to work on entering the last of my final grades into my grade-book and finish the report cards.

Occasionally, a student would ask me to sign their yearbook or hand me a card. At the end of each class, a few would give me a hug or wish me a great summer, before they would leave my room and go skipping down the halls to their next class. These distractions were a welcome treat and before long, the final bell rang and cheers from my class and the entire school erupted. Of course, it didn't come without its share of tears from a few of my girls, but this was normal. Soon, I was alone in my room, eating my lunch, and finishing my report cards. I wanted this part done as quickly as possible so I could print my reports, finish packing, and get my vacation started.

Friday started normally, except for a similar nightmare that interrupted my sleep again. The only difference was instead of Fleck picking up by my arms, like before, he grabbed me by my throat before he tried to rape me. I had a quick cup of coffee, dressed in jeans and a school t-shirt and headed off to work. There was a mandatory staff meeting at 8:00 a.m. Afterward, came the checkout visits and the principal's one-on-one meeting. It usually consisted of him telling us what a great job we did and letting us know what we should teaching next year. Sometimes he can tell us what room we should get unless something changes at the last minute, which it rarely does.

My room was ready to shut down as I had finished the day before. All I needed to do was turn in my various reports, load my car with the last of my boxes, and turn in my room key. It was an hour before my appointment with the principal was scheduled, and my checkout was scheduled for shortly after so I decided to make my report run. I locked my classroom and proceeded to visit the necessary people to deliver my various reports. I felt like I was carrying a ream of paper with the printing of my grade-books, my attendance, and my final report cards. To me, it was crazy how much paper we had to go through at this time of the year, but at least I didn't have to file them, let alone store them.

I spent time visiting with everyone, talking about plans for the summer break and such so I could be in the area when my meeting would start with my principal. Mr. Almanzor, my principal, is a jovial Hispanic man with dark eyes, black hair and a mustache standing about 5'7", with a bit of a barrel chest, he always seems to be smiling, even when it seems things weren't going so well. He stepped out of his office and his face seemed to light up when he saw me talking to his secretary.

"Ms. Perry!" he exclaimed. "Always good to see you. Come on in."

I bid her a quick farewell as I entered his office. Our meeting went as knew it would, except that he told me I'd be teaching eighth grade English next year, and if there was enough of demand, he'd let me teach an advanced class, and a literature elective class. This was a dream come true for me, but I wasn't sure if enough kids wanted such classes. Yet, just getting the offer was wonderful news and I left his office feeling like my vacation was getting off to a wonderful start. I walked back to my room so I could finish my checkout, load my car, and go home. I unlocked the door, walked into my room and there, standing by my desk, was Agent Fleck and Agent Wyman.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

"Ms. Perry," said Agent Fleck, "always a pleasure."

"How did you get in here? I know I locked the door."

"We have our ways, ma'am," said Agent Wyman.

"Well, I don't have time for you two and your questions. I'm in the final phases of checking out."

"Yes, we know," said Fleck.

Their knowing wasn't much of a surprise as much as it just annoyed the shit out of me. "What do you want now?"

"The same thing we wanted before, Ms. Perry, the truth," hissed Fleck.

"I already told you the truth the last time you two were here."

"Then tell us why did Mr. Stone come visit you at your home, by your car after we met with you?" asked Wyman.

'Shit! How did they know about that?' Now I knew that feeling of being watched that day wasn't just my imagination. I knew they must have followed me. "I don't know you're talking about," I lied.

Fleck shook his head and walked toward me. "Oh Ms. Perry. Why do you continue to lie to me?"

"Why do you continue to bother me?" I asked.

When he stood in front of me, he slapped me so hard I thought my teeth would fly out of my head. "I haven't even begun to bother you yet, Ms. Perry," he hissed as the pain in my cheek radiated heat. "Now, I'm going to give you one more chance to tell me the truth before I really hurt you."

Now, normally I'm a firm believer in non-violence and turning the other cheek. I tell my kids all the time it's better to walk away than to fight, but this guy had really pissed me off. I took a deep breath and punched him in the face so hard it caused him to spin around and grab one of the nearby desks. Wyman started to rush over but Fleck motioned him to stop. Slowly, he stood up, glaring down at me and rubbing his jaw.

"You're going to regret that bitch!" he growled.

The door of my room flew open and Dean Wilson walked in laughing. A moment later, she stopped and looked over the situation. "Is there a problem Ms. Perry?"

Dean Wilson is a woman that even I'm afraid of, and that's saying something. It's not because she a short, stocky, dark-skinned black woman, who is barely taller than I am, it's the no nonsense air of her presence when she enters a room. Her presence always commands respect and attention. She's a former Army drill sergeant and used her GI Bill to help pay for college. She earned her bachelor's degree in History, and her master's in administration.

"No ma'am," I said smiling, partly because I couldn't have been happier to see her, and partly because I knew I was no longer alone with these jerks. "These gentlemen were just leaving, weren't you?"

"We'll be back Ms. Perry," said Fleck. I heard the quiet rage in his voice.

They both stepped past her and left my room. I took a breath and smiled. "You're timing couldn't have been better."

"Who were those men?" asked Dean Wilson. I could hear the concern in her voice.

"Just two idiots that don't seem to understand the word 'no.' They're gone now so let's get our business taken care of," I said with a smile.

Dean Wilson was known for her "white glove" standards and that was exactly what I got. Luckily, the kids had done a great job cleaning my room, there were only a few areas I need to touch up before she signed me off and wished me a good summer. I carried the last of my boxes to my car and checked my room for missed items several more times. Even though I knew I had everything taken care of, I always feel the need to double and triple check. I locked my room for the last time this school year, turned in my key, said my goodbyes, and drove home.

When I arrived, I unloaded my car. I store my supplies in my storage garage for the summer. I had become accustomed since I became a teacher, and even though it was a bit of a hassle, it gave me a bit of comfort knowing that my supplies were safe for the summer thanks in part, to this ritual. Teachers are wonderful people, but in this age of tight budgets, a box of pens or copy paper is like raw meat to a pack of starving dogs. They would clean me out in a matter of seconds and not think twice about it. It's not that they're bad people, they're willing to fight for what their students may potentially need in the upcoming years.

I checked the clock, found it was time for the staff party, and drove to the restaurant. We had tacos, tamales, burritos, chips and salsa, and much more. I enjoyed a couple of frozen strawberry margaritas and chatted with my friends and fellow teachers. As the evening wore on, there was karaoke, dancing, and lots of drinking. As we had done in the past, the single teachers closed the restaurant and the bar before we headed home. The drive was uneventful and quiet. Even though I was concerned that I had too many margaritas and knew I'd lose more than just my great insurance rate if I were to be pulled over. I wasn't drunk, but I was sure I was over the legal limit. Please, don't misunderstand, I don't usually drink and drive, but the restaurant is close to my apartment, and I didn't want to have to rescue my car the next morning.

As I headed into my apartment, and shut the door behind me, I felt a presence in my apartment that shouldn't be there. Nervously, I flipped on the light but I saw nothing out of place. I grabbed my cell phone and started to dial 911 as I began to look around. Everything seemed to be in place, but still, that uncomfortable feeling that I wasn't alone lingered. Flashes of my nightmares began to replay in my mind and it wasn't helping. I walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on to heat the water to boil, a cup of tea sounded good, then resumed my search.

When I reached my bedroom, I knew something was wrong. The floorboard where my floor safe sat was out of place by a fraction of an inch. My heart sunk, and I was sure I knew who had been here, Wyman and Fleck. I carefully checked, and saw the safe had been opened. I was debating about calling the police to report the break-in when my cell phone pinged alerting me I had a text message from a blocked number. I looked and it said DO NOT CALL THE POLICE. UR NOT ALONE.

I walked back to my kitchen and decided a cup of coffee instead of tea would help me feel less drunk, and less scared. I was so glad my secret Santa had given me a French press this past Christmas, it was perfect for those times when I wanted a fresh cup of coffee quick. The kettle whistled and after I added my cinnamon vanilla creamer and took a sip, I saw a movement in the shadows. I paused for a moment, then stepped up to my kitchen island, waited, and took a few more sips of coffee. Agent Wyman finally stepped out of the shadows to where I could see him and stood in front of me. He was still in the exact same suit I had seen him in since I'd first met him; right down to the damn sunglasses, and it was the middle of the night.