She heard a noise as she returned to her office, thinking perhaps that the girls had finished their practice early. But it was Carlton who turned to stare at her from inside her office. He was unkempt, his hair and his beard at least several days long, his clothes stained and looking like he’d slept in them.
At her gasp, he grabbed her arm as she started to back away. “Come right in, Amanda. Tell me where you put my things.” His breath was fetid, his eyes squinting as he pulled her into the office and closed the door behind them.
“What are you doing here? Get away from me!” Her heart skittered into her throat. “Let me go!” her voice rising. She reached for the phone to call 9-1-1, but he jerked her arm away.
“You’re not calling anyone. I want my things. Give me my box and I’ll leave.”
“How—how— ” Her breath came fast, as she tried to pull away from him, Marcus’ news about what the man had done to the other little girl echoing in her brain. She felt as if she were having an out-of-body experience, seeing herself in the room with this monster, terrified of him, horror-stricken that he had come back. He had shut the door. How was she going to get away from him? But the image she saw of herself appeared calm. Inside she was quaking. She opened her mouth to scream.
His grimy hand closed around her throat. As he pulled her back against his chest, out of the corner of her eye she saw something glinting in the light on the edge of the desk. He brought the knife closer to her face, his voice tight. “Don’t you scream, Amanda. I hate screaming. It hurts my ears. I’ll slice you into silence if you try.” His voice took on deadly seriousness. She stiffened. “Besides, I’m not going to be here long. I just want my things. And no one can hear you. Nobody is around today.”
“How do you know that?” she choked out the words when he relaxed his fingers that had been squeezing her neck.
“I checked the other offices before I came in. And I read in the newspaper about all those faculty gigs off campus this weekend. Wasn’t that convenient?Not even old Jim—who’s always here in the evenings. You’d think with kids he’d want to be at home, or maybe that’s why he stays in the office so late. Too much noise at home, too many distractions.” He chuckled. “So why are you here—instead of with Cecelia, pretty Cecelia, sweet, soft Cecelia—”
Ian’s gone? Am I the only one here now? Oh God. She reached up and pulled his hand off her neck, surprised that he didn’t object. The way he was talking about Cecelia—it was creepy and she hated him for what it implied. What might he do if she couldn’t get away from him before the girls arrived? She couldn’t let her mind go there. She had to get him out of the office, but how?
Carlton pushed her into the chair behind the desk. He pulled the other chair in front of the door, effectively blocking her from getting out of the office.
“Now, if you’ll just be quiet and sit still while I get my things, I’ll be on my way. After all, this is my office and I have a right to be here.” He moved the knife in a slow circle in front of her face. “But if you make a sound, you’ll regret it.”
She gulped, unable to take her eyes off his face. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair before he leaned closer and opened the center drawer. His hand rummaged around in the desk.
“You must have moved it—my stuff,” he grumbled.
“I thought you left town, Carlton. I don’t know what you’re looking for.” Her voice came out like a squeak as she sought to stay calm, to figure out how to escape. Why did I rearrange the office today? What had felt so cozy hours before now felt like a prison. But if he moved to the other side of the room, near the file cabinets, she might be able to push the chair out of the way and open the door.
“Maybe what you’re looking for is in the filing cabinet. Why don’t you go ahead and check there,” she suggested.
His cheek was twitching, something she knew happened when he was nervous. He laughed under his breath. “I know what you want, Amanda. And I’m too smart for that.” He pulled her to her feet and shoved her in the direction of the file cabinet. “No. You check for me. You open the drawers. After all, you know what’s in there.”
She opened the top drawer. “There’s nothing in here but my papers, for my classes—from last quarter.”
“What do you mean? Those top drawers are mine.” His voice had taken on a whining quality, or was it fear?
He stood so close to her, one hand on her shoulder. She could feel his breath sliding past her neck, a hot cigarette-laden odor that made her want to gag. If only she could escape.