Night School

Closing the door behind them, Carter took a cream-coloured cashmere throw off one of the leather chairs and pressed it into the base of the door. ‘I have no idea,’ he said.

Then with a click that seemed to echo in the quiet school, he turned on a small desk lamp. Standing beside the desk, the two of them looked around Isabelle’s office, taking in the tapestry of the unicorn on one wall, the thick Oriental rugs, the shelves crowded with books and magazines, and the many neatly filled mahogany cupboards. An empty teacup with the Cimmeria seal sat on the desk amid stacks of papers. The air smelled faintly of Isabelle’s distinctive citrus perfume.

‘I feel like a criminal,’ Allie whispered, suddenly unsure.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ Carter said. ‘We’re here now. Let’s get this over with.’

She knew he was right. It was too late to turn back now.

‘Where do we start?’

Allie was mostly talking to herself, but Carter answered her immediately.

‘I’ll take the bookshelves. You start with the cupboards.’

For half an hour they worked in hurried silence. Carter started on the left side of the room and moved from shelf to shelf, looking for anything unusual. Allie sat on the floor, looking through the low cabinets.

The first cabinet held mostly maintenance records, phone records, receipts – nothing of interest. The second one held academic records, graded papers, and other bits of schoolwork from years past.

As soon as Allie opened the third cabinet, she knew she was on the right track.

‘Bingo,’ she whispered.

Carter looked up. ‘What is it?’

‘Student records.’

He stopped what he was doing and walked over. Looking for Ruth’s records, Allie started to flip through the Js. Then stopped.

‘It’s not here.’

He looked puzzled. ‘It has to be. Look again.’

‘Jansen,’ Allie muttered under her breath. ‘J-a-n-s-e-n. No. It’s not here.’

‘It could be in the wrong place or something,’ he said. ‘Start at the beginning.’

Impatiently, Allie flipped through the neatly labelled manila folders, passing familiar names, as well as many she’d never heard of, until she reached one that stopped her.

‘Found it?’ Carter asked.

‘No … It’s mine.’

Her fingertips rested on a thick file with her name written on the top in thick black ink.

‘Pull it.’

She could hear the tension in his voice.

‘Do you think?’ she asked.

‘Two things, remember?’ he said. ‘We’re looking for two things.’

With reluctance, she set her file aside and went through the rest of the records, lingering on the one labelled ‘Carter West’.

‘You want yours?’

Shaking his head, he said curtly, ‘I know what it says.’

‘OK.’ Allie flipped through the last few files. ‘Ruth’s file isn’t here.’

‘They must have pulled it.’ Carter walked over to Isabelle’s desk. ‘It could be in the desk – I’ll start looking. You look through your own file.’

Allie sat on the floor, staring at the blank expanse of the folder cover, her fingers poised to open it. Now that the moment had come, she was scared.

Do I really want to know the truth?

Above her, she could hear the sound of Carter shuffling through pages and opening drawers. He was moving quickly – she knew she didn’t have much time.

She opened the folder.

The first few pages were all the normal things: admission forms with no surprises, transcripts from her last two schools. Looking at her old grades, she winced and quickly flipped the page.

Then things got weirder. A copy of her birth certificate. Photos of her as a young child with her parents. A photo of her as a baby with a woman she didn’t recognise, laughing at the camera.

A letter addressed to Isabelle in her mother’s handwriting hurt her heart, and she held it up into the light to see it better. Then her breath caught. Words and phrases seemed to jump out at her.

‘We need your help, Izzy’ ‘… we don’t know what to do’ ‘Christopher could have been taken …’ ‘We don’t want to involve Lucinda but we think the time has come …’ ‘… danger …’

‘We need your help, Izzy?’ She calls her ‘Izzy’?

She turned the page. This one on thick, expensive paper contained a short note in elegant handwriting she did not recognise. It was dated July this year.

Isabelle.

Admit my granddaughter immediately under Protect

Protocol. I will be in touch.

Lucinda



For just a moment, Allie stopped breathing.

Why is that note in my file? Who is Lucinda?

Increasingly anxious, she turned the page. The next few pages were photocopies of old Cimmeria school records, but they were not her own.

They were her mother’s.

Her hands shaking, Allie flipped through them quickly, scanning each page and then turning it. Scanning and turning. Scanning and turning.

The last page was a note on yellowed card. She recognised the handwriting from the earlier note from Lucinda.

G.

So pleased to hear my daughter is doing well in Night

School. Blood will out, as they say. I’d appreciate weekly

updates on her progress from now on.

L.S.