Black Academy

Chapter 21 - Part 1

Stupid pyjamas. Shouldn't these be too small for her? They were baggy and misshapen and faded; she remembered them well. She tugged out the shapeless hem and scowled down at the Bratz pictures all over the fabric. Wasn't she too old for these? The corridor was in darkness. But a shadow moved, thin and malevolent as a crow. A chick-click of heels. Claire Densmore, checking to see if the children were OK. Because if they were, something must be done . . . She grinned. No hurry. No fear. Cupping her hands against the landing window, Elizabeth peered down into the scruffy yard.

One of the bins was upended, rubbish disgorged over the cracked concrete. That must have been what had awoken her. A scrawny fox rooted around in the debris, but as if feeling her gaze, it froze and stared back at her, one forepaw still raised. She smiled at it. The fox turned back to the spilled bin, and she turned back to the stalking shadow. It had paused outside Jenna's door, pressing an ear to the thin wood to drink in the girl's homesick sobs. How old was Jenna? Nine. Same age Elizabeth had been when Claire started destroying her from the inside out. Tutting silently, she shook her head and followed. How had the woman got this far? Right to the door of Jenna's room? Oh, yes. Because she'd let her. Poor, poor Claire. A rat in a trap, she was. 

Now what to do? A threat to go to the authorities? Phone Jake and demand he listen? Or simply raise hell and the whole house? Nah. Claire had placed a hand on Jenna's door, had started to turn the handle, but she stopped at a sound. Turned. Stared. Hello, Claire. The woman's smile of sadistic anticipation died, and she shrank away as Elizabeth walked towards her. Elizabeth was only eleven years old but the woman was terrified of her! She laughed. If this was a memory there was something wrong with it - she'd never dared confront Claire when she was eleven. But who cared? This was delicious. The woman cowered, whimpering.