Dead Reckoning - Charlaine Harris [68]
While they were all bonding, I drifted back to Miss O’Fallon’s door.
The young woman was smiling at two children who were wandering around her brightly decorated classroom. One set of parents was staying right beside their little one. Maybe they were picking up on the vibe, or maybe they were just protective.
I drifted close to Miss O’Fallon, and I opened my mouth to speak. I would have said, “You keep those fantasies to yourself. Don’t even think of such things when you’re in the same room with kids.” But I had a second thought. She knew I’d come with Hunter. Would he become a target for her evil imagination if I threatened her? I couldn’t be around to protect him. I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t think of a way to take her out of the equation. She hadn’t yet done anything wrong in the eyes of the law or morality . . . yet. So what if she imagined taping children’s mouths shut? She hadn’t done it. Haven’t all of us fantasized about awful things we haven’t done? she asked herself, because the answer made her feel that she was still . . . okay. She didn’t know I could hear her.
Was I any better than Miss O’Fallon? That awful question ran through my mind more quickly than it takes to write the sentences. I thought, Yeah, I’m not as scary because I’m not in charge of kids. The people I want to hurt are adults and they’re killers themselves. That didn’t make me any better—but it made O’Fallon a lot worse.
I’d been staring at her long enough to spook her. “Did you want to ask something about the curriculum?” she asked finally, a little edge to her voice.
“Why did you become a teacher?” I asked.
“I thought it would be a wonderful thing to teach little ones the first things they needed to know to get along in the world,” she said, as if she’d pressed the button on a recording. She meant, I had a teacher who tortured me when no one was looking, and I like the small and helpless.
“Hmmm,” I murmured. The other visitors left the room, and we were alone.
“You need therapy,” I said, quietly and quickly. “If you act on what you see in your head, you’ll hate yourself. And you’ll ruin the lives of other people just the same way yours was ruined. Don’t let her win. Get help.”
She gaped at me. “I don’t know . . . What on earth . . .”
“I’m so serious,” I said, answering her next unspoken question. “I’m so serious.”
“I’ll do it,” she said, as if the words were ripped from her mouth. “I swear, I’ll do it.”
“You’d be better off,” I said. I gave her some more eye-to-eye. Then I left the Puppy Room.
Maybe I’d frightened her enough, or jolted her enough, that she’d actually do what she’d promised. If not, well, I’d have to think of another tactic.
“My job here is done, Grasshopper,” I said to myself, earning a nervous look from a very young father. I smiled at him, and after a bit of hesitation, he smiled back. I rejoined Remy and Hunter, and we completed our kindergarten tour without any further incident. Hunter gave me a questioning look, a very anxious look, and I nodded. I took care of her, I said, and I prayed that was true.
It was really too early for supper, but Remy suggested we go to Dairy Queen and treat Hunter to some ice cream, and I agreed. Hunter was half-anxious, half-excited after the school expedition. I tried calming him with a little head-to-head conversation. Can you take me to school the first day, Aunt Sookie? he asked, and I had to steel myself to answer.
No, Hunter, that’s your daddy’s job, I told him. But when that day comes, you call me when you get home and tell me all about it, okay?
Hunter gave me a big-eyed soulful look. But I’m scared.
I gave him Skeptical. You may be nervous, but everyone else will feel the same way. This is your chance to make friends, so remember to keep your mouth closed until you’ve gotten everything straight in your head.
Or they won’t like me?
No! I said, wanting to be absolutely clear. They won’t understand you. There’s a big difference.
You like me?
“You little rascal,