RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,180
urge to run head-on for the exit. This always happens. I’m terrified the corridor will never end. That I’ll find myself striving toward it forever, reaching out to push the chipped pale blue painted door open, but it’s always just out of reach. Or when I get there, it’s locked, and no matter how hard I push, rattle it, or plead with it to open, I’m stuck inside this hellhole of a building for the rest of time.
I do reach the door, though. When I push on it, palms pressed flat against the wood, it inches back quickly, and a jolt of relief makes my body feel momentarily numb. Outside, the late autumnal air smells like freedom. I can taste it. On the other side of the emptied-out parking lot, my old Nova is sitting there, waiting for me to climb inside, start the engine, and get the hell out of here, but—
I can hear voices.
Principal Darhower’s deep baritone voice has been a daily staple of my life for the past four years; it’s easily recognizable. I don’t know the woman’s voice, though—firm and authoritative—nor the male voice, thick with a southern accent, that speaks after her.
“We understand this isn’t an ideal situation. For you or your faculty. If it were up to me, the boy'd already be in for a couple of years over in Swanson County, but the judge ruled that he was still classed as a minor.”
“What about juvenile detention?” Principal Darhower says, his tone tight with tension.
I creep back from the exit, allowing the portal to my freedom to fall closed. I’m silent as a church mouse as I tiptoe along the hallway to my left. No one notices me as I peer around the corner, into the hallway that branches off toward Darhower’s office. There, Darhower’s ramrod straight in his trademark stance, arms folded across his chest, head canted to one side, the stark strip lighting overhead bouncing off the small bald patch at the back of his skull that he’s always so diligently trying to hide. Opposite him, a thin, tall woman in a grey pantsuit is leafing through a stack of papers, frowning as she tries to find something. The man next to her is wearing a uniform. The ‘Grays Harbor County Sheriff’s Department’ badge on the sleeve of his dark green bomber jacket tells me everything I need to know about him.
The deputy sighs, removing his hat and scrubbing the back of his hand against his forehead. He looks stressed. “Juvie’s not an option in this particular case. The facility in Wellson Falls has been shut down. We’d have to transfer him out of state if we really wanted to pursue the charges, and the paperwork alone is just…” He trails off, and Principal Darhower heaves a sigh of his own.
“I don’t need to tell you how disruptive something like this is to our students. The school year might have only just started, but our seniors are already buckling down and prepping for college. We have plenty of our own bad apples. Another troublemaker stalking the halls of Raleigh is only going to make life harder for the good kids.”
“Jim, we know, believe me.” The woman in the grey pantsuit seems to have found what she was looking for. She holds out a green file to Darhower, and I take a look at her face properly for the first time. Mid to late thirties. Dark hair. Dark eyes. I suppose she’s quite pretty. There’s a sad, tiredness to her that makes her look like a kicked puppy, though. I can picture her opening a bottle of wine when she gets home at night, telling herself she deserves a glass after the day she’s had, and then before she knows it, she’s polished off the entire bottle. She’s a social worker, no doubt about it.
She called Darhower by his first name, which means she’s dealt with him before. Darhower grimaces as he takes the file from her, briefly opening it and glancing at the first page, then closing it quickly, as if he can’t face its contents. “I guess I don’t really have a say in the matter then,” Darhower says. “He starts on Monday.”
The social worker and the sheriff’s deputy trade a glance that looks relieved even from where I’m standing. All three of them shift as if some unspoken command has been issued to them, and they head toward the door that leads to the principal’s office. That’s when I realize