Life Lessons

As the elevator ground its reluctant way upward, Tony gave himself a mental pat on the back for the result of his students’ book drive. They’d collected over two hundred books for the children’s library project they were sponsoring. Most of those had already been brought down and stowed in his car by helpful— in other words, forcibly drafted— members of his last English class of the day. He’d been about to drive away when he remembered one more box stowed away in the classroom closet. He’d almost convinced himself to leave it there till Monday, but he wanted to get this project done. The stupid ankle hadn’t crippled him. He could handle one damned box.

The third-floor indicator chimed. As the doors began to open, Tony stepped forward impatiently and was caught unprepared when a big man stumbled backward onto the elevator. The man’s elbow thumped Tony’s chest and drove him against the wall.

“Damn it, Westin! Watch where you’re going!” he snapped, recognizing the wide shoulders and trademark tweed. He grabbed for the side rail as his weight landed on his sore ankle. Ouch! Damnit! “Let me get off first.”

The big man grunted and lurched against him again, the back of his shoulder whacking Tony’s chin. Is he drunk? Or just obnoxious? Tony shoved Westin off irritably and reached out to block the doors as they began to close, but Westin’s reaction to his shove was a slow, sliding collapse down the wall of the elevator to the floor. As Tony watched in dismay, Westin rolled towards him, face sheet white, and mumbled something. He coughed, and blood, shockingly bright in the fluorescent elevator light, sprayed and bubbled down his chin. He coughed once more, wet and muffled, then lay ominously still.

Oh, Jesus! What the hell…

Tony dropped to his knees beside the man, reaching for him, imagining a heart attack or stroke or pneumonia or… but then his eyes and brain caught up with each other. The handle of a knife protruded from Westin’s blood-covered chest.

Tony’s pulse pounded in his ears. Shit, shit, shit! Westin wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. Tony realized the pounding wasn’t just his heart; running footsteps echoed down the hall. For an instant longer he knelt, frozen in place, as the elevator doors closed on Westin’s trailing feet, dinged their displeasure, and sprang open again. By the time he lunged forward and stuck his head out of the elevator, the hallway was empty. The north stairwell door was swinging shut.

I could run after whoever it was. I should try to catch them.

Instead Tony reached for Westin’s wrist, then his neck, feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there. The man’s shirtfront and jacket were soaked with blood, liquid and red, still trickling out around that blade and pooling by Tony’s knees on the elevator floor. The smell of urine and bowels loosening filled the elevator. Tony gagged and lunged out the doors, reaching back in to pull the emergency button and block the obscene squeeze and release on Westin’s feet.

Phone. Nine-one-one.

He reached without much hope for his cell phone. Sure enough— no service. The whole school was riddled with dead zones. That did have the benefit of keeping the students off their phones, except this time it has no fucking benefit at all. The classrooms would all be locked at this hour. He had no master key, only his own. Tony hovered one more moment, torn between Westin’s body, the stairwell, and his room way off down the corridor, with its landline.

No brainer, you stupid git, he told himself impatiently, you can’t help Brian Westin, you’re not going to catch the guy on the stairs, so call for some help.

He hobbled for his room, at the far end of a hallway that’d never seemed so long. His lock resisted the key when he jammed it in. Then there was his desk and his phone and he could finally dial nine-one-one.

“What’s your emergency?”

Amazing how good someone else’s live voice sounded right now. “He’s dead!” Tony blurted. Idiot! “I mean, one of the teachers has been stabbed, here at Rooseman.”