Garrison High—a private school for highly privileged kids. One would think it was a college from its appearance. Its rules were to be strictly abided to. Its education standard was the highest.

Chris Hopper did her uttermost best to keep it that way—but for some strange reason, they employed her as one of their teachers yet they doubted her work as a teacher. It was true that she was hardly twenty-two but did she need a chaperon when she taught? On her way to class, she could already see Mrs. Blake at the back of the class waiting for her. Mrs. Blake was a teacher kids had hated, appointed by the board to oversee her lessons for her first year. Criticism flowed out of her like a rushing river. Chris would smile and continue her teaching telling herself her faith was being tested but inside she wished she could pick the woman up and chuck her out one of the classroom windows. The only complement she had ever paid her was, "I never knew a blonde, let alone a Bible-thumper, could be so smart. Of course Mrs. Fern was of even higher intelligence though, given she didn't believe in God and fairies." This had been said in front of her students.

Chris had gritted her teeth before painfully trying to give a gentle answer. "I don't believe in fairies, Mrs. Blake."

Mrs. Blake had smirked and chuckled. "But you do believe in God, don't you?"

"Yes," she had replied with all the confidence she wished she had—to somehow encourage the Christian kids in the class.

Mrs. Blake had clicked her tongue and in a sympathetic tone and said, "An even bigger threat to higher intelligence and proper reasoning, my dear."

Maybe she was struggling with proper reasoning already. What else would be an explanation of how she was feeling today? This morning on her way to the school, the strange yet familiar sense of foreboding settled over her. She just wished Mrs. Blake was her only problem today. The hair-raising chill in her and the churning feeling in her stomach and high alertness weren't new to her, but weren't welcome at all. She found herself looking over her shoulder as she went up the stairs to get to her class. How could she concentrate on teaching when she felt she was being watched? It was a good thing it was test day.

.........................................

This was nuts! Why would students be spying on her? Either way, she sighed in relief, entering her empty physics class and shutting the door behind her. She organized her desk. Then she doodled around the words "Test Today!" attempting to calm herself. Why hadn't the bell rung? She glanced up at the clock above the black board. Oh, she was fifteen minutes early. She'd gotten here to quicker than usual.

She went over to the window, looking for a distraction. Her chill was getting worse. Kids were slowly flowing out the bus. One waved up at her. She waved back. The door flung open behind her. She spun around. It was just Mrs. Blake. She frowned at Chris through her wire rimmed glasses. "Are you okay Miss Hopper? You look horribly pale."

Chris clasped her hands in front of her, fighting the jittering. "Oh, I'm okay, thank you," she said in a cheerful tone.

Mrs. Blake smiled sweetly as if in understanding, and added, "That's good. You'll have more reason to be. I'll be overseeing the test. You may be at the back today, my dear."

Chris gave her a tight-lipped smile. She picked up her bag from the shoulder of her desk and made her way to the back. Then something caught her eye outside. Those were not high school kids getting out of the bus. The bell rang. She felt dizzy when she made eye contact with one of the men pouring out of the vehicle. She sank onto her seat. She had no reason to be feeling this way. They were probably just maintenance people and nothing more. She pasted on a smile for the students in crisp navy and red uniform.

A bullet shattered the window, inches from where she sat, and created a hole on the other side of the room. Screams rose and chaos erupted. Chris shot up from her seat and glanced outside. No one was in sight. Students were pushing and shoving to get out of the room. A second shot fired. What was this? A bunch of criminals trying to get a few people dead?

"Students, get down!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, dropping to her knees. "Crawl out! One at a time!"

In all their panicked screaming, they were still following orders. Once out, the students started running in their own directions, some screaming hysterically.

They were out of the classroom. They should be a bit safe now, right? But why did she feel like she just walked into a trap? Her heart was racing. She needed to get out of here. Her pulse was hammering. She needed to calm down!

A man in black appeared down the hallway. Impulse screamed, "Run!" She obeyed.

He fired.

She heard the bullet whizz past her shoulder. Her heels made quick raps in the empty hallway. Where had all the students gone? That was the least of her worries now. She had to get out of the building. She went for the stairs. She made it halfway. She nearly ran into another man like the first but with a tattoo on his built arm. "Hey, she's here!"

She spun around and went all the way up. She just ran, without a plan at all. He was near enough, she could hear him breathing. Running was her pastime—but she scolded herself for wearing heels.

Then something came to her. With a liquid motion, she slipped off both her heels and ran on. She added more distance, turned around for a brief moment and hurled one at him. Her hurried aim had been perfect. He groaned, bending over in pain. But it wasn't over.

The building had three floors. She was on the second. She couldn't get to the first. If she could get to the third, maybe she could figure something out.

The thought was quickly terminated at the sight of two men coming down from the third floor. She saw the contented grins on their faces. They each pulled out a sidearm.

"Oh, Lord!" was all she could utter. This all felt like a bad dream. Why did these people want her at all costs? Why did they want her at all? But there was no time to guess the answer right then. She spun around and ran almost aimlessly down the hall once more. She heard their heavy footsteps coming from every direction. Some even appeared from the classrooms.

She felt near-tears. She was trapped! They were all around—yet they did not shoot. Like a mouse cornered, she turned around and around looking helplessly for an escape. "Oh, Lord, what do I do?" Then it caught her eye. The rest rooms! She darted into the ladies' room and locked the door behind her. Knowing that would probably not keep those guys out, she entered the room at the far end where the janitorial equipment was kept.

The room was tiny but surprisingly tidy. The mops, brooms, and buckets were in the open closet. Cleaning rags, chemicals were arranged neatly on one shelf and stocked up toilet paper and liquid hand soap refills on the other.

Back against the closed door, she shut her eyes in attempt to collect her thoughts. First, what was happening? Apparently she was the target. She couldn't make out why. These guys were determined to get her. But just how much was their determination?

"She's locked herself in."

"Then break the door down!"

That answered her question.

She had to figure a way out of here. But then again this could all be a dream. She'd be waking up any moment now. So what did she have to lose if she did the most absurd things? A wooden ladder leaned against the corner. It led to the roof. It was there for maintenance purposes.

She heard the sound of the door crashing to the ground.

She climbed up the ladder without second thoughts, with the niggling feeling someone might get in and pull her down by the leg. She slid the ceiling board aside that kept the place closed. She hauled herself up after wrapping her arms around a roofing joist. She heaved, creating a cloud of dust in her face. Once her whole body was out of the room below, she rolled onto a board placed there for easier navigation. If one stepped on the ceiling, it would crash down. She slid the board back into place. The place wasn't as dark as she had thought.

There in the silence of the inside of the roof lying on her back, she started thinking. What in the world was she doing? This all felt too real to be a dream. She could feel the rough feeling of the wooden board against her back. The warmth of the geyser and the taste of dust were too real. And why was she doing this? Just because of a strange queasy feeling, jitters, chills, and nervousness? "I need to see a psychiatrist," she whispered out loud to herself. "Or a nutritionist."

Someone had entered the room. She would go back down and just let the guys take her—but she was terribly afraid of heights.

Morning light streamed in through the skylight. Her only option was outlined for her. She minced her way to it on her stockinged feet. She slid it open and climbed out onto the red tiled roof. On her hands and knees, she realized the stupid thing she'd just done. Wasn't she afraid of heights? What the heck was she doing on here? Her heart was beating so hard she felt sick. She tried calming down. Her breaths seemed to only get more rapid. The breeze blowing her sweat- and -dust filled blonde hair seemed strong enough to blow her over to her death. "What have I done?"

Author's note: I don't own any of the pictures I use! X)