#Wattys2015 The Ghost of James Fitzpatrick

Chapter 38

Zwicki sat in his office watching Josh go through the files on his floor. The boy sat on his knees pulling files out of the old medal drawer and checking dates, occasionally throwing a question the Principal's way, but the Principal was having great difficulty concentrating, and it was obvious. He had the boy's sister on his mind. He looked at the boy's eyes and noticed they were nearly identical to Sarah's. He noticed the boy's dark blonde hair and the way it swirled at his neck just behind his ear. He noticed his fair skin and thought of Sarah's and he pictured his own hands, with tufts of shimmering blonde hair at his knuckles and saw them wrapped around her delicate throat and it brought him great satisfaction.

He had not killed another since the night he shoved that arrogant, self-righteous, James Fitzpatrick from The Bridge, but he had thought of that night over and over again. He would like to say he thought of it with regret, but the truth was, it wasn't. That shove was the ultimate marriage of power and pleasure. It had privately changed the course of his life. It had crystallized his capabilities, and although others did not know what he was capable of doing, he did, and he had often fantasized about doing it again.

He had not planned on killing Fitz that night, the opportunity had presented itself perfectly, but this would be different. It would require planning. He would have to think it out. There were necessary steps to take, and one at a time they would bring his hands closer to her skinny, pasty neck.

Josh slammed the file drawer and smiled at Mr. Zwicki, who was abruptly jostled from his delicious, macabre daydream.

"Done with those, Mr. Zwicki," Josh said looking at the tall pile of discarded files on the floor. "Wow, I guess I didn't know what I was getting myself into Mr. Zwicki," he said smiling.

Zwicki smirked at the irony of the boy's comment.

"Son, you have no idea," he replied.

******

Zwicki reached for Sarah's folder again which was on a stack on the corner of his desk, and flipped it open. He pulled the little orange card from the paper clip, read it, then tucked it into his shirt pocket. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair.

"It's time to head back to school Josh. See Mrs. Bonick to arrange for a senior to escort you back," said Zwicki.

Josh looked at the mess he had made.

"But sir, I haven't finished..."

Zwicki pulled on his coat and winked at Josh. "No worries, buddy. We'll finish up tomorrow or Monday," he said and quickly made his way out into Arden High's main hall.

Josh looked out the open door to Mrs. Bonick. They both shrugged their shoulders.

The only sound in the main hall was the soft footfall of his Dockers loafers on the slate blue linoleum floor. It pleased John Zwicki to be able to intimidate Sarah Netherby at will. She was a presumptuous little twit who would easily be scared into submission. As he walked down the main hall, he surmised it would be easy to contain this fire.

He hadn't a clue why Sarah Netherby had it out for him, because the scenario playing out in his mind was so preposterous, so outrageous and unlikely, that there is no possible way there was any meat on the bones of her story.

She had absolutely no proof of the deed he carried out in secret over 35 years ago, it was not possible, and yet she believed she had discovered something, but the "what" and the "how" were as elusive to him as Bigfoot.

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