It was pitch black. It was so dark that I couldn't tell if my eyes were opened or closed.

There was something sealing my lips together and my wrists were sore, tightly bound together by a rope. I was sitting in a plastic chair, like the type in the classrooms, but that was the only clue as to where I was. My feet were tied to the chair legs. I could feel the coolness of the metal along my calves.

I tried to yell, but it sounded like just a frantic hum. There was no use. I was all alone. Or I thought so, until I heard a hum back.

I attempted to scream again, but no such thing left my body. It was held in by whatever was on my mouth. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't walk, couldn't talk, couldn't see anything. I had to wonder if I was dead. No, there was no way death could feel like this.

A dim lightbulb flickered on right above me, allowing me to see a radius of around ten feet from me in all directions. Directly in front of me sat another girl bound to another plastic chair, a piece of duct tape sealing their lips, a few strands of curly, dark hair stuck in the tape. Her eyes were wide of fear at the sight of me. Marisol.

My eyes began to burn, the familiar sting of tears making an appearance. I breathed in deeply through my nose in an effort to calm myself down, but it didn't work very much. My chest shook violently as my eyes kept tearing up, but not a single drop fell. Unlike Marisol, who was bawling her eyes out.

The floor under me was concrete and stained with dark colors. I tried to flail my feet and hit the concrete to make noise, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference. The only other person here with me was in the exact same situation I was in. Marisol couldn't help me, just like I couldn't help her.

"Hello, girls."

We both looked over to where the voice came from, but all we saw was darkness. When all the lights came on, Marisol and I both tried to scream.

"I take it you know," Rosterford said, walking perfectly without his cane. He probably didn't need it. "Meaning you can't be here to tell anyone else."
Marisol was shaking so hard that her chair was making a vibrating sound. I just glared at Rosterford, my eyes stone-cold and wishing death upon him.

He walked up to me and ripped the duct tape off of my mouth with one powerful yank. I opened my mouth to scream, but he slapped me across the face, silencing me. Blood from my lips trickled into my mouth, tasting like copper.

"Kayleigh Stockholm," he said, bending down so he could look me eye-to-eye. The right side of his lips curled up into a smirk. "You're the new girl. How'd you get caught up in all of this?"
I chose not to justify his question with a reply. Instead, I just stared at him.

He soon got bored with me, so he ripped off Marisol's duct tape with the same force he used on mine. Marisol whined like a sad puppy and her whole body shook even more. She licked her bloody lips and spat on Rosterford's face, a fine mist of her blood and saliva spattered onto his cheeks. Not a second later, he slapped Marisol as hard as he possibly could. The entire left side of her face turned bright red.

"You girls are here," he began, walking away from the two of us to a pile of boxes and leaned against it, "because you can't keep your noses in your own business." He waited for one of us to say something, and when we didn't, he said, "You two are awfully quiet for currently being toe-to-toe with death. You're weak. Ivy and Vivienne each put up much more of a struggle than the two of you combined."
Rosterford moved both of our chairs so we were now side-by-side, facing him. Marisol's eyes were completely closed. This felt more like a nightmare than reality.

A voice called Rosterford's name. I could tell that it was Mrs. Peterson. A metal door behind him cracked open and he turned around to converse with her. He was way too close to hear anything we'd say if Marisol and I spoke, but Marisol mouthed to me, "Stall him. Get him to talk about everything." She flashed me her cell phone from behind her back. It was on silent and the screen displayed the numbers 911. Marisol was wearing yoga pants, so Rosterford must not have thought to check the flap on the top of Marisol's yoga pants for her cell phone. I was wearing jeans and I could tell that my phone was no longer in my pocket.
I nodded slightly as we waited for him to finish talking. Instead of Mrs. Peterson turning back to the metal door and leaving, she stood beside him and handed him a bag. He reached inside of it and pulled out two washcloths in a plastic bag, making a big show of letting us know he had them. Rosterford took the bag from her and approached us again, his enthusiasm making him seem twenty years younger.

"You aren't making this fun," he said to us, shaking his head in sarcastic disappointment. "Maybe if I go find Lindsay, Carlisle, and Aspen, they'll liven up the party."

You don't start dying until you let yourself.

I was not going to let Marisol and I die.
"Don't you dare," I growled. "This is between us, not them."

"She speaks," he teased, looking straight at me.

"How did we get here?" I asked, flaring my nostrils as I always did when I was furious.

He smiled and placed the bag on the floor. "Great story, actually. The two of you weren't careful enough. Mrs. Peterson here placed sedatives in your drinks at the teachers' lounge. You willingly drank your own poison."

"Where are we?"

Every time I asked a question, Rosterford seemed more and more happy. Good for him, I had lots of questions that needed answers.

"I'm sure you know about Beaumont Academy's secret tunnels. We're in one, right now."

"Which one? I don't recognize this one and I've been through all the ones Vivienne mapped out," I lied. Rosterford wouldn't know the truth.

"It was literally right within reach. It connects from your dorm room to Mrs. Peterson's classroom. It's the only one Vivienne never had the key for. My personal favorite tunnel."

"So it connects Room 204 to the English classroom," I stated loudly, so the dispatcher would be able to hear. "Through a secret door?"

"Indeed," he replied. "In Marisol's closet, you can pull up the carpet and there's a secret door, right there."

"The closet on the right side," I clarified. "Smart. Marisol and I had no idea. So, onto the next thing. What are you going to do to us? I'd just like to know my exact cause of death."

Mrs. Peterson stayed there, completely still and silent, as Headmaster Rosterford took out the washcloths and showed them to us. "Knock you out with chloroform. Actually, knock you out isn't the right phrase. It's going to kill you. And then, we'll be able to make it look like you hung yourselves, and the police will be baffled, yet again, how there are strong traces of chloroform in your systems, yet you obviously killed yourselves."

"That's what you did with Vivienne and Ivy, isn't it?"

"Exactly what I did with them."

"Tell me about them. Why did you kill them?"

"Why are you so curious?" He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously.

"Just that," I said, leaning back in my chair so it was more comfortable for my arms and legs. "I'm curious." I was trying to play this off, acting confident, but I had never been more scared in my entire life. Thank God for elementary school acting classes.

"I can't say that I don't admire that. Who would you like to know about first?"

"Let's be chronological. Vivienne."

"That bitch." Rosterford sighed and dropped the washcloths back into the bag. "I was hoping you'd want to start with Ivy. Vivienne was a terrible person. You know how people say that there's a little good in everyone?" I nodded. "Well, those people had never met Vivienne. She was overall evil, but I fell in love with her."

"You were her teacher," I said in disgust. "It wasn't your place to fall in love with her."

"You can't control who you fall in love with," he hissed at me. "It just happens. I fell in love with Vivienne while I was married. We slept together one day, and she threatened to tell my wife if I didn't pay her a hefty sum of money. I killed her with chloroform and made it look like a suicide." He smiled, as if he was proud of himself. "Ivy found out, so I killed her, too."

"You're a sick, old man," I said to him. "A real piece of shit."

"Music to my ears. Keep it coming."

"You're pathetic, Rosterford. Real pathetic. You think that you can just kill students to keep yourself safe, when you're really just digging your own grave. It's disgusting."

"That's all you've got?"

"Go to hell!" I screamed. "Go to hell, you low-life bastard!"

He grinned widely and began to laugh. "Nothing warms my heart more than hearing you say that."
I tried to calm down as I felt the blood pounding in my ears. I still had more questions.

"Tell me something. How'd you know that we knew?"

"Like I said, the tunnel is connected to your dorm room. Everything that you guys said, I could hear."

That explained everything. Even how he thought that the file was in Carlisle's room, so he ransacked it for it. But, it was gone. He never found it. I wondered if Aspen, Carlisle, and Lindsay found the pages about him, yet. The police should be here by now. Where were they?

"So, you know that there are people who truly care about us," I said. "There are people who will bawl their eyes out at our funerals. Because of you."

"So?" He shrugged, showing absolutely no mercy. "People cried at Ivy and Vivienne's funerals. I witnessed both of them. And did I ever care one bit? Not at all."

I almost forgot Marisol was right beside me until I heard her whine. Apparently Rosterford heard her too, because he said, "Welcome to our conversation lovely, Marisol. Have anything to add?"

"Like Kayleigh said. Go to hell."

I tried to conceal a smile. Seeing Marisol actually angry was a rarity.

"I'm sure I'll go soon," he said. "And I'll see Vivienne, Ivy, and you two there. But first—"

The sound of sirens cut him off. It was almost over.

"Did you hear that?" Mrs. Peterson said, her first time speaking up since she arrived in the tunnel. "They're coming."

"Shit," Rosterford said to himself, digging through his bag. He pulled out a large gun and cocked it. "How the hell do they know?"

Marisol's face flushed, but fortunately, no one but I noticed.

"I don't know," Mrs. Peterson answered. "If you're going to kill them, kill them now." She pointed a long, stiff finger at Marisol and I.

"I'm going to kill them, but I can't right now. I have to chloroform them and then hang them. It'll take longer than the amount of time we've got."

"Why can't you just shoot them?"

"Because I can't."

"But why?"

"Because I can't!" he shrieked.

Everyone else at Beaumont had no idea what was happening.

The metal door began shaking, people pounding on it heavily. "Police! Open the door immediately!"

"No!" Rosterford yelled back, stepping away from the door and focusing his gun on it, ready to shoot anyone who would dare step foot into the tunnel.

"Open the door!" Mrs. Peterson yelled to Rosterford. "You're just going to get in more trouble!"

She pushed him aside and stepped towards it. When she reached out to open it, a single bullet soared through the air and pierced her spine. She slumped against the metal door, streaking it with her blood.

My jaw dropped to my lap. To be perfectly honest, I thought Rosterford was bluffing with that gun.

"Anyone who steps foot into this room will get shot!" he screamed as law enforcement continued to pound on the door.

"He doesn't have enough bullets," Marisol whispered to me. I could barely hear her over all the pounding and screaming.

Finally, the door flew off it's hinges. The moment that it did, a bullet flew out of Rosterford's gun and headed straight toward a woman detective dressed in nice clothes. She held a shield in front of her and the bullet ricocheted off of it, landing harmlessly on the floor. Rosterford squeezed off a few more rounds until another detective shot him back, a bullet getting buried in Rosterford's shoulder. He yelped in pain and dropped the gun, clutching his wound as blood oozed out between his fingers. The woman with the shield threw it to the side and got on top of Rosterford, pushing both of his bloody hands behind his back, and handcuffed him.

"Arthur Rosterford," she said, glancing over to where a few officers were standing over Mrs. Peterson's dead body, "you are under arrest for three counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder." She pulled him up to his feet by his arms and he shrieked in pain. "What ever you do or say can and will be used as evidence against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand?"

Paramedics showed up at the doorway, some flocking to Mrs. Peterson's body and some to fix up Rosterford's bullet wound.

The detective who shot Rosterford came up to Marisol and I, a knife in hand. He brushed his long, dark hair away from his face and sliced all the ropes that held me hostage. After Marisol and I were free, I grabbed her and forced her into a tight hug, both of us now in hysterics.

"We're okay, Kayleigh," Marisol said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me. "We're alive."

"Everything's alright," I replied as we gripped each other tightly, making it hard for one another to breathe.

Rosterford weakly whispered, "Yes," to the detective. She handed him off to the paramedics and came over where we were.

"Girls," the detective who cut us out of the ropes said, "you two need to come to the police station so we can get your statements."

We let go of each other, each of us still trembling, and faced the two detectives that stood there.

"When?" I asked.

"Right now." He motioned for us to follow him to the door, but when he saw how bad both of us were shaken up, he turned back around to talk to us. "You're safe now."
At the sound of that, Marisol and I both started crying even harder. The male detective and female detective both pulled us into a group hug to calm us down. As I realized that there were two people, right here, who risked their lives to protect ours, I knew I was completely safe. I was alright. Rosterford would never be able to hurt me.

Icouldn't stop thanking the two of them on the way to the police station.