Chapter 4
David sprinted down the long, linoleum-lined hallway, his boots pounding a frantic rhythm against the floor. He didn't slow down as he reached Room 204, shoving the wooden door open so hard it slammed against the interior wall with a deafening crash. He expected to find his daughter cowering in a corner, broken and bleeding. Instead, the classroom was completely empty.
The heavy scent of ozone and freshly cut hair hung heavily in the air. On the floor by the teacher's desk lay a massive pile of long, brown hair—Clara’s hair—scattered like discarded debris. But Clara herself was nowhere to be found.
David stumbled into the room, his chest heaving as he scanned every inch of the space. The windows were locked from the inside. The chalkboard was wiped completely clean, save for a single set of numbers scrawled in chalk in the bottom right corner: 44.2198, -88.4121.
Coordinates. GPS coordinates pointing somewhere deep within the Blackwood forest behind the school grounds.
"Clara!" David screamed again, his voice cracking with absolute desperation. He rushed over to the teacher's desk, throwing open the drawers one by one. Inside the bottom drawer, he found a battered leather notebook bearing the official Saint Jude Academy crest. He flipped it open. Page after page detailed psychological profiles of the students whose parents posed a threat to the town's secretive administration. And right at the top of the current page was his own name, written in red ink with a bold checkmark beside it: Target neutralized via psychological leverage.
A sudden, metallic click echoed behind him. David whipped around, dropping the notebook.
Mrs. Albright stood in the doorway, her light pink blouse now stained with dark smudges, a cold, predatory smile playing on her lips. She no longer held the scissors. Instead, she held a heavy iron fireplace poker, dragging the tip slowly along the doorframe.
"You're trespassing, Mr. Miller," Mrs. Albright said softly, her voice smooth and devoid of any panic. "And you're entirely too late to save her."
David lunged forward, grabbing the teacher by the collar of her blouse and slamming her against the chalkboard.
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"Where is my daughter?!" he roared, his face inches from hers.
Mrs. Albright didn't even flinch; she simply laughed, a dry, rattling sound, and tilted her head toward the open window as a distant, muffled scream echoed from the woods.
