*Mature*
When 27-year-old Willow McKinney is attacked in the parking lot of the elementary school she teaches at, her whole world comes crashing down. People she ran away from find their way back into her life. Things beyond the normal world, she wa...
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Willow stared at the name flashing on her phone screen. Her uneasy stomach jumped into her throat. It was, under no circumstance, a good thing when Sammy called.
I can't deal with this right now. She thought, directing her attention back to the joyous children on the playground. When would they learn she was done with that life? When would they finally understand she wasn't meant to be apart of their world?
"Okay, little ones, time to go inside!" She hollered.
As the energetic kids from her third-grade class formed a proper line, she discovered a suspicious man leaning awkwardly on a tree. He was peering over his copper-tinted sunglasses with prying eyes, stalking her every movement through the fence.
Maintaining her sights on the unknown fellow, she rushed her oblivious students into the building. Something about him just wasn't right. Merely looking at him caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. The perverse way he hung on her every movement gave her goosebumps.
The rest of the hectic day, she tried telling herself she was letting her past play mind games. Only, she couldn't get that nagging feeling to switch off.
"Willow, you have been such an asset to Fable Elementary. The children took to you so well." Mrs. Erickson praised Willow, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I would almost call it magic the way they listen to you."
"I wouldn't go as far as magic, but I've always had a unique way with the small ones," Willow responded politely, winding a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Well, call it what you'd like. It's been a blessing to us all!"
What a day! She sighed, watching the teacher she had been chatting with pull away. It was her turn to go home to her quiet, single bedroom apartment where her silky-soft cat, Mocha, was waiting for her return.
Heading to the car, she dug in the yellow purse hanging off her shoulder for keys. Willow was never the most organized. Her desk was typically covered with weeks of lesson plans and ungraded papers. The clothes she wore stayed wrinkled. Finding a match to her shoe in the mornings always made her late for work.
After many melodramatic moans, and dumping the contents of her bag onto the hood, she found them. When she was situated in the seat, she looked at the phone in her hand to see she had fifteen missed calls from Sammy. Maybe, I should call her back.
That troublesome feeling she couldn't kick was instantly thrown into overdrive. Before she could hit the call button, Sammy's picture popped onto the glowing screen.
"Yes, Samantha?" She answered between clenched teeth. She knew something was amiss, but she was still annoyed.
"Oh, thank the goddess!" Sammy yelled. "Where in the burning hell have you been, Willy?"
