Chapter 4: Once a Teacher, Always Family

Because I was a heinous criminal, my handcuffs stayed on, and everyone at the station treated me with disgust.

Their eyes avoided mine, voices lowering whenever I passed. Even the vending machine seemed to hum in disapproval. Every hallway was an icy gauntlet.

No one wanted to help me shower—except Ms. Carter.

She stayed behind, and even volunteered to help wash me.

She seemed numb, her hands moving quickly as she scrubbed me clean from head to toe. Ms. Carter’s hands worked gently, the scent of cheap soap and bleach swirling between us.

Her touch was gentle but businesslike, as if she could erase what I’d done with soap and hot water. She kept her eyes averted, jaw clenched in silent determination.

Watching her, I sneered, forcing a smile:

"Teacher, still so nosy?"

My tone was sharp, but she didn’t flinch. Her silence was more eloquent than any lecture.

Ms. Carter said nothing, just kept quietly wiping me down.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, mingling with the suds. Her silence was both punishment and forgiveness, and it stung worse than any slap.

But a few female janitors nearby couldn’t stand it, glaring at me with open hatred:

Their voices echoed off the cinderblock walls, their contempt palpable. One crossed her arms, the other muttered under her breath, eyes narrowed.

"Ms. Carter, why bother with this ungrateful little monster? People like her never remember kindness. She could die a hundred times and it wouldn’t be enough!"

The words were sharp, spat like venom. I met their glares with a blank stare.

"Exactly, let her rot in her own filth!"

Their laughter was harsh, the sound bouncing around the tiled room.

I thought Ms. Carter would ignore their scorn, but to my surprise, she threw her towel to the floor.

Her always gentle face showed rare anger:

Her voice trembled, but her eyes flashed fire. She stood up straighter, daring anyone to challenge her.

"Has the case been closed?"

The words caught everyone off guard. Silence fell, thick and uneasy.

"What?"

One janitor blinked, thrown off by the question.

"I asked, has the case been closed?"

Ms. Carter’s tone was steady, each word a quiet challenge.

The women looked at each other, not understanding.

Their confusion was almost comical. I watched, half-amused, half-annoyed.

Ms. Carter continued:

"You work at a police station. Don’t you know the most basic rules? Even if my student is guilty, the law will judge her. It’s not your place to gossip."

Her words hung in the air, shaming them into silence. For once, nobody had a snappy comeback.

There was a brief silence, then mocking laughter, as if they were looking at a lunatic.

One of the janitors rolled her eyes, snorting loudly.

"What, I thought she was normal, but she’s just another idiot."

The insult bounced off Ms. Carter, who just kept her gaze steady.

"Forget it, don’t bother with her. She doesn’t appreciate your help anyway."

Their footsteps echoed as they stalked away, muttering curses under their breath.

"Just a busybody. Who ever heard of a teacher raising a student like that?"

Their words stung, but Ms. Carter never flinched. She only sighed, quietly gathering her things.

They rolled their eyes and left.

Their retreat felt like a small victory, though the room was colder for it.

I looked up at the back of Ms. Carter’s head, about to say something sarcastic.

But she quietly walked behind me, her slender fingers combing through my hair. The little floral hair tie she always wore on her wrist deftly twisted into my hair.

Her touch was gentle, practiced. I remembered her doing the same for me in fifth grade, after I’d come to school in tears, hair a tangled mess.

She ignored my attitude:

"Once a teacher, always family. That’s just how it is. Whether you acknowledge me or not, with things ending up like this, it’s my fault for not teaching you well."

Her voice was soft, threaded with sadness. I swallowed, throat tight, refusing to let the tears show.

There wasn’t much time left for my shower. She kept talking, all about trivial school matters—the smallest details.

She chatted about homework assignments, the Spring Fling dance, the time I’d stayed late to clean the blackboard. Her words washed over me, soothing and sharp all at once.

She even remembered how I’d saved a dying maple sapling in biology class.

The memory flickered through my mind: dirt under my nails, her proud smile as the tiny tree took root. My eyes burned. I turned away, blinking furiously.

So annoying.

But her voice lingered, stubborn as the Midwest wind.

"Emily, time’s up."

A police officer called from the door.

The words were abrupt, final. I straightened, squaring my shoulders for what came next.

She stopped combing my hair.

Her hands fell to her sides, fingers trembling.

Once again, I walked toward judgment, cold steel biting my wrists.

The cuffs clicked shut, familiar and merciless. The hallway stretched before me, lined with curious, accusing eyes.

"Emily."

Ms. Carter suddenly called after me:

Her voice cut through the din, clear and unyielding.

"I have one last thing to say."

I didn’t stop, thinking how annoying she was—here I was about to die, and she still wanted to nag.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the world blurring at the edges.

"Happy birthday."

My body stiffened.

The words were so soft, I almost missed them. My heart skipped a beat.

"Emily, I hope you have a happy eighteenth birthday."

That gentle voice, full of warmth and the weight of years, pierced straight through me like a blade.

The officer escorting me paused, glancing at me strangely.

His grip on my arm loosened, just a little. I bit my lip, hard.

"Such a good teacher—how did she end up with a student like you? Truly baffling."

He muttered the words, mostly to himself. I ignored him, focusing on the pain in my chest.

I ignored his muttering. Only when warm drops splattered onto the back of my hand did I realize I was crying.

The tears came fast, hot and silent, soaking into the cuffs. I clenched my fists, but it was no use.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the memories clawed their way in. I’d always thought I could outrun regret. Turns out, it was waiting for me at the finish line. And it wore Ms. Carter’s voice.

"Hey, officer."

I wiped away my tears and tugged at his sleeve.

My voice was shaky, but determined. The words tasted bitter.

"Take me to see Deputy Chief Reed. I’m ready to tell the truth."

The hallway buzzed with whispers as word spread. I kept my head high, refusing to let them see me break.

Many officers, hearing that the tough nut was finally cracking, gathered outside the door to watch.

They clustered near the glass, cellphones poised, eyes hungry for drama. For the first time, I felt exposed, vulnerable.

Even though only Marcus Reed and the note-taker sat before me, I knew countless eyes were watching through the surveillance monitors.

The weight of their attention was suffocating, but I forced myself to sit up straight, meet Reed’s gaze.

The note-taker muttered, dissatisfied:

"What hidden story could there be? She’s just a cold-blooded psychopath. I doubt she’ll say anything new."

He tapped his pen against his pad, the sound sharp, impatient. I ignored him, locking eyes with Marcus Reed.

Even so, he couldn’t help but glance at me, waiting.

A hush fell over the room. I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

I looked up and suddenly let out a few low chuckles.

My laughter echoed, surprising everyone—including me. The sound was strange, wild, not quite sane.

The laughter grew, turning wild, until tears rolled down my face.

I doubled over, shoulders shaking, tears streaming. No one dared interrupt.

Just when everyone thought I’d finally snapped—

I said something that left them all stunned.

My voice, when it came, was soft and steady, cutting through the thick air like a knife.