Janet

With the lock clicked into place, he draped a caution sign over the small window. We were plunged into a dim world that smelled of cleaning supplies. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might bruise my ribs.

“Arthur,” I whispered, the name feeling strange on my tongue. “We’re in the school closet. At noon.”

“I know where we are, Janet,” he grunted. He didn’t sound smooth or practiced; he sounded like a man who was just as surprised as I was, yet far more ...