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“Well, enjoy yourself.” Mr. Coleman steps back, dropping his arm from feeling up the blanket. “If I don’t see you again, have a wonderful holiday.”
“Bye.” Not waiting, I hurry away, hoping Maisy is already waiting at the tree display when I get there.
I came out today to get my mind off all of this, but it followed me here anyway. Maybe I should tell her we can come back again another day.
When I make it to the tree display, I circle it twice. She isn’t there yet. I check my phone and curse under my breath. The battery is on 1%.
“Seriously? Unbelievable.”
Pawing through my bag, I don’t find the charger, remembering I left it in the car. I chew my lip. If I hurry, I can grab it and make it back here. The coffee shop has outlets I can use. I shoot Maisy a text before my phone dies to let her know to meet me at the coffee shop instead, then leave the cheery holiday festival behind to return to the parking area.
The late afternoon sun cuts across the street as it falls closer to the ridge line in the distance. I have to charge my phone before it gets dark, or Maisy and I might miss each other.
My plan goes up in smoke when I reach my car. Mr. Coleman is parked a few spots away, and the sophomore girl from before is with him. They climb into his car.
“Oh no.”
If Mr. Coleman is Henry, I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.
I squeeze my bag against my side, feeling the heavy file stuffed in it. Making a decision, I unlock my car and slide in. Something in me can’t leave the girl alone. I’d never forgive myself for abandoning someone potentially in danger if I could do something to help.
As Mr. Coleman pulls out, I follow in my car, hoping he doesn’t spot me tailing him in the rearview. The whole way, my fingers tap on the wheel and I scrape my teeth over my lip until it’s tender and raw.
“It’ll be fine,” I repeat over and over.
Thirty-Five
Thea
The drive isn’t long. Mr. Coleman pulls off onto a residential road not far from downtown. There are a handful of houses on the short dead end street, a patch of woods beyond that. Most are decorated for the holidays with lights and lawn ornaments, but Mr. Coleman’s car pulls into the driveway of the one house on the block without festive trimmings.
Feeling too conspicuous, I park my car a few houses away, scooting low in my seat so I go unnoticed. I hold my breath as they get out of the car, prepared to dart across the street to save my lookalike. Mr. Coleman gestures with one hand as he talks, the other tucked in his coat pocket. My heart shoots into my throat as the girl beams and follows him inside.
“No! Don’t go inside! Shit.” My knee bounces as my worry rises.
I can’t just walk up to his door. He already caught me following him once today. What can I do?
Rubbing my forehead, I finally reach for the folder in my bag. My hands shake as I open it, fully ready to believe Connor.
The name on the records has me releasing a choked sound—Harold Knight Coleman. Henry’s email was henry.k.c. The initials are the same. I frantically flip through the photos and copies of reports in the file as my breathing turns shallow. With shaking hands I lift a photo of myself, one I remember emailing to Henry when I was fifteen.
“Oh my god. No.”
I didn’t want it to be true, because thinking about it already hurts. The overwhelm crashes back into me and I squeeze the edges of the folder until the pages crinkle. God, I sat in his classroom when he had my photos, knew who I was.
A strangled sob escapes me.
The next photo in the file is a row of gold heart-shaped necklaces against dark velvet, each with a name card. One of them has my name on it, just like Connor said. Shit.
I can’t run from the agonizing truth any longer.
Mr. Coleman was the monster all along. The one who kept me from growing out of my insecurities, making them fester with his manipulation and abuse. He is Henry, my abuser.
And now he has another young teenage girl in his house.
My chest feels tight.
Connor was right. I wish I hadn’t hidden behind denial and listened to him.
