Lighter

Middle School - Scituate, Massachusetts - Hotline

The second period ended, and Hannah hurried through the halls to the teacher's break area. If she were lucky, she would have time to eat a yogurt and make a quick phone call to the police hotline. The police were trying to catch whoever was killing H.F.A.C. graduates.

Hannah wanted to help by letting the police know she knew the three victims and that she was in the same dormitory with them back in the day.

When Hannah entered the tiny room, there were three other teachers. Hannah walked into a discussion about the school system's recent decision not to allow students to have digital devices. The enforcement of this rule starts in October, giving parents enough time to understand what was about to happen to the kids at school. All the teachers were for this unchartered territory, but Ilya MacDonald, an art teacher, was not.

The back and forth in the teacher's lounge was pretty funny.

"They will be going through a withdrawal."

"They will learn more, but we must engage with them."

"Some parents will not be happy; I can hear them whining already."

The county school commissioner had already issued her mandate: "If the parent thinks their child must have a cell phone, their child should go to a school that allows them."

"We are responsible for providing the child with an education, and we offer education."

Hannah sat in a corner and dialed the hotline number.

She encountered a recording asking her to please hold, stating her wait time would be less than five minutes.

This would be cutting it close, Hannah thought.

She dove into a Greek yogurt and began to think about the three victims. Hannah recalled them all.

Casey was a force. She was on the same floor in the dormitory as Hannah. The two were friends around campus and even went to a few bars several times. Hannah recalled Casey was personable, funny, and very rough. She did not hold back from what was in her mind, and her lack of filter could be a problem, but there was a lot to like about her. They shared a few classes, and there was no doubt ​Casey was organized and brilliant. 

Hannah thought some more and realized that relationship issues like those of other girls did not weigh down Casey. Most nights, when other girls were comparing clothes and getting ready to go out, Casey was in a common area eating popcorn and watching sitcoms. 

The on-hold recording came on and said, "Two more minutes."

Hannah looked at her watch, finished her yogurt, and hung up.

Being late did not set an excellent example for the students. H.F.A.C. teachers were taught never to be late.

On The Road - Western Massachusetts

We met with six educators today who were on the list provided by Abernathy College. Many of the women we spoke with were similar. Everyone we encountered had a strong love for the profession and an enormous dedication to turning out good students year after year. It was nice to see.

All the teachers we spoke with today remembered one or more of the victims, or they knew someone who knew them.

We got stories about shared road trips, bar hops, and dorm parties.

Nobody could come up with anecdotes about possible enemies or why someone would kill the three women.

Eve is excellent at charting encounters and marking associations.

"Hey, Allston, have you ever thought about being a teacher? You get better than bankers hours, and you get every freaking holiday off and the summer."

"She went on, "Some of these relationships are interesting, and we are getting a strong response to our email form." 

"I'll go through all those when we return after lunch."

Scituate, Massachusetts - Weldon Road - Near Hannah's Home

Dennis had scouted, and now he had the urge again. He would dance with Hannah tonight and play her the song that was playing on the night he asked her to dance. It was so long ago, but Dennis remembered every second and had for over thirty years.

He remembered each girl from that night, remembered their names all these years, and researched them with the same care he applied to oil exploration. This was his year of action, getting even, getting rid of the hurt, and feeling good about himself again.

He was surprised at how good he felt after killing Shauna Vasillios. She was his first. The look on her face in her kitchen when she was dizzy on the floor, whimpering about getting punched in the head as he set up the tape player and explained to her, "This song was playing the night I bought you a drink, and I asked you to dance." "You looked at your girlfriends and me, then you laughed." "Do you remember Shauna?"

Shauna began to piss on the floor as she lay there, bruised and afraid.  She started thinking about finding a way out. She remembered the night.

"We were stupid drunk girls trying to be funny, and I'm sorry." "If I weren't with the herd, I would have danced with you, but we were being silly." "That's all it was, nothing toward you." "I'm sorry she said again. I did not mean to hurt your feelings." "Please let me go now."

Dennis was powerful. When he pulled her up off the floor, she seemed light. He put his gloved hands around her throat and squeezed hard. "When I am done killing you, we are going to dance."  Killing her this way was not as easy as he thought it would be, and it took some time for her to die. She kicked, bruising him, but he held and constricted. She was gone.

He held her up as the song from a late-eighties British band played on the cassette. 

Dennis waltzed her lifeless body around the kitchen island at least six times, dragging her feet along the floor as the song finished.

When he got to his truck, he felt a release, a lightness. He was unburdened by a big problem he carried for a long time.