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She dashed up to the gallery, following him.
"Police!" she shouted. "Stop where you are!"
She saw Adamson turn and look behind him, and she saw his eyes widen in fear as he saw her.
With a cry of desperation, he shoved aside one student who was walking toward the stairs. Shouting in surprise, the young man sprawled backward against the railing.
Adamson ran for the double doors at the end of the gallery.
He swerved to the left, darting across the arched corridor and into the library.
"No! Don't you dare go in there!" May shouted, powering after him, terrified once again that someone would end up in a hostage situation.
The librarian was at her desk. At the sound of running footsteps, she leapt to her feet, her mouth opening in a cry of protest, but it was too late.
"Stay out of this, please, ma'am. This could be dangerous," May yelled as she raced in.
The librarian ducked down, looking horrified and afraid as May chased Adamson through the quiet, carpeted room.
There were a couple of people reading, but they all looked up, then ducked their heads down again when they realized what was happening.
Adamson ran through the library, knocking over chairs and weaving between the desks. With an athletic leap, he jumped straight over a desk, knocking over a laptop computer, which clattered on the floor.
Darting around the desk, May followed in hot pursuit.
There was a fire door at the back which he wrenched open. Hurtling out, he raced down the corridor, past two closed doors. He pulled open the third door and bolted inside.
Who was there? Were they safe?
Anxiety flared in May as she pounded along the corridor and, with her head down, sprinted for the door, hoping she would reach it before he had the chance to slam it in her face. She tried to keep calm, even though she was very aware that Adamson was a desperate man.
She skidded to a stop as she reached it, and barged her shoulder into the partly closed door, seeing at the last moment that there was a sign on it:Coach Adamson: Private Office.
May skidded inside, gasping, taking in the room.
It was a small room, with a sunny window at the back.
There was a desk with two chairs and a computer, a small sofa, and a large filing cabinet.
Coach Adamson was standing on the far side of the room, near the open cabinet.
He had a wild expression in his blue eyes, and a gun in his hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
May's heart jumped all the way into her throat as she saw the long barrel and black muzzle of that gun, gripped tightly in Coach Adamson's hand.
But it wasn't aimed at her.
The muscular coach had the gun pointed at his own head, his finger tight on the trigger.
There wasn't time for her to draw her own weapon. In the mad chase to catch up with him she hadn't grabbed it out of the holster. Now she couldn't. Moving her hand toward the grip of her gun would be an extremely unwise move. Because he was watching her hand. And her gun.
She knew she had to defuse the situation, but that was easier said than done. She stopped just inside the door, and even though she was gasping from the chase, she tried to slow her movements right down, making no sudden motion with her hands or arms.
"Coach Adamson, no," she said, keeping her voice steady and calm, even though she wanted to be sick with fear. "Please, don't do anything reckless now."
She couldn’t face the thought of having him shoot himself in front of her. It would be extremely traumatic, not only for her, but for the whole school and the community.
