Haunted Rayne

14 | The Legacy Gathering (part 3)

Beneath the dusty fall of yellow light, Pierce Harrington navigated the dim aisles of the office storage room. The scent of aged paper and musty cardboard hung heavily in the air. Pierce could not believe he'd let Lucas talk him into stealing from the Administration Office. There were a lot of things he would do for the group, but jeopardizing his position as Miss Portia Maxwell's administrative assistant had never been one of them.

Until now.

A security tape, dated October 28, 2007. That was Luke's request. Whatever this was, it was important to him, and Lucas had never asked him for anything before. He felt a mix of urgency and trepidation. With the Legacy Gathering monopolizing the faculty's attention, this was the perfect time to slip away unnoticed.

Pierce scanned the musty shelves, occasionally looking over his shoulder for any signs of unwanted guests. As he searched for the right cassette tape, he found himself re-scanning labels: September 1981, October 1981 . . . September 1981, October 1981 . . . These tapes were too old, relics from the eighties and nineties, but Pierce was distracted. His thoughts kept drifting back to Jackie and how upset she'd been after Cole refused to help her.

December 1981, January 1982 . . .

Jackie had seemed so worried about Bianca.

December 1981, January 1982 . . .

How could Cole be so indifferent? It was beyond personal disappointment; it was about the broader implications. Pierce had hoped for a different kind of loyalty, a different kind of support. Instead, he felt as though he was left alone to pick up the pieces. Maybe he should have offered to help her somehow.

March 1984, April 1984, May 1984 . . .

Instead, he had somehow found himself an errand boy for Lucas now.

Am I a doormat? he thought to himself.

March 1984, April 1984, May—

Pierce wasn't focused, and he was finally beginning to recognize this when he heard the loud thunk-thunk of something clattering to the floor two rows down. He leaned out of the aisle, carefully inspecting the dim hall.

One of the dangling yellow bulbs swayed in the distance. Pierce bit his lip. Why wasn't he paying better attention?

A cold displacement of air brushed his spine, and Pierce whirled around, expecting to see someone. There was nothing. In the corner of his left eye, a tall, dark shadow fluttered, and Pierce twirled in the other direction, his heartbeat hammering his ribcage as he raced to find the culprit.

Behind him, a hand fell on his shoulder.

Pierce leapt forward, away from the touch.

"Whatcha doin', poodle?"

It was Portia Maxwell.

Pierce exhaled deep and slow, only to have apprehension swell his breast once more. Busted. "I'm just . . . I, uh . . ."

Miss Maxwell chuckled. "Oh, you better be quicker than that, Harrington. Aren't you kids supposed to be light on your feet? Natural-born fibbers?"

Pierce scratched his neck. "I've . . . just always been curious about what's back here."

"Uh huh." Miss Maxwell snorted and began to shoo him out of the aisle and into the narrow hallway. "Well, there's nothing to see here, so skedaddle."

"Miss Maxwell," he insisted, trying to stop, "when, uh, when did we switch over to IP cameras?"

"Why?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest. "What are you up to?"

"N-nothing," he insisted. "Just curious."