5. Entomophobia （a fear of insects. Don’t say I never taught you anything）

Early morning. Her car is the first in the parking lot. She enjoys having the school mostly to herself. Archie, the head custodian, is here. He's the one who unlocks the doors and turns off the alarms, but she rarely sees him. He's off doing his own beginning-of-day rituals.

A petite Latina in her late fifties—who doesn't look a day over thirty-two—she wears a dress with sensible heels and a warm cardigan sweater. Her classroom temperature can swing twenty degrees during the school day. Old building, temperamental HVAC unit. Her shoulder-length hair is kept tidy in a bun.

She walks down the dark, quiet halls, thinking about what she needs to get done before the few summer session students begin arriving. She has some copies to make, far fewer than during the regular school year. She's been teaching long enough to remember what it was like before every student pulled out their laptops when they sat down. She's transitioned most of her curriculum to a digital format, but she still has some sheets she likes them to keep in their binders for quick reference when doing their homework. New unit, new sheet. She'll get that done first.

Even though most of what she teaches is on the projector, she still prefers posting key pieces of information, including due dates, on the white board. That needs to be updated too. Then she'll start slogging through the grading, by far the worst part of teaching as far as she's concerned.

Flicking on her classroom lights, she sees hundreds of dark forms scurry under desks and into dark corners. Fear overwhelms her. She'd scream if she could move. When a cockroach darts directly at her, she shakes off the paralysis and runs back down the hall, calling for Archie. The image goes dark and then…

Same day, same outfit. She's walking to her car, feeling around in her bag for her keys. She finds them, presses the button on her key fob, reaches for the door, and then snatches her hand back like she's touched an open flame. The paralysis again. Her door handle is covered in webbing and fly carcasses; a huge spider stands on the dead flies, watching her.

Heart racing, throat closing, she can't scream. A colleague calls goodbye, breaking the stasis. She shouts and the other teacher turns, hurrying over. The image goes dark and then…

Another early morning at school, the halls are darker than usual as a freak summer storm rages outside, causing washouts. The parking lot is still mostly empty. She and her family live close to the academy and so she rarely needs to concern herself with traffic and weather issues.

Yesterday was horrible. The headmaster brought in an exterminator while she met with her classes in the library. It's fine now, she keeps telling herself. Fine. She turns down her hall and wonders why Archie hasn't turned on the overhead lights yet. Yes, it's early, but it's also so dark. She's a grown woman, a grandmother for goodness' sake, and yet she's now afraid of the dark. It's embarrassing.

She's close to her door when she hears footsteps echo in the empty hall.

"Archie?"

The footsteps slow to a stop.

She can't see anyone. "Archie?" she calls louder.

Nothing. "Hello?"

A high-pitched falsetto mocks, "Hello?"

Spooked, she walks faster and so do the steps behind her. When she hears them running, pounding down the dark hall, she sprints. Her hand trembles as she tries to get the key in the lock. Footsteps race closer. She gets the key in, unlocks the door, dives in her classroom, and then slams the door shut, snapping the lock back in place a moment before fists hammer it. She steps back. Waiting.

The false voice whispers her name over and over. Frozen, she cries silently. The overhead lights in the hall turn on, light appearing under the door. The shadow appears to rock back and forth before it disappears, the footsteps moving away. The image goes dark and then…

After work, still shaken by the strange things happening on campus, she's at a country club, working at a table near the entrance, checking in guests. The school does this every year. It's a fundraiser with a silent auction. Dinner is a thousand dollars per plate. There is a dance floor and a jazz trio. They used to have students serve as waiters, which everyone enjoyed. Parents loved having their children wait on them. Students loved the big tips that ostensibly went to their clubs on campus, though she knew most stayed in the students' pockets at the end of the evening. The only ones who didn't like this practice were the police, who had issues with under-age kids serving alcohol.

She checks her watch. The headmaster doesn't allow the faculty to leave until after eleven. Most of the parents are lovely people. Some of them, though… A man, the father of one of her Government students, is trying to sneak in an extra guest. He contends there are empty chairs. No need for them to go to waste. And he promises he and his guest will bid on at least three high-ticket items.

It's exhausting, she thinks. They all know this is his mistress. Just buy her a ticket instead of all this dickering back and forth. She holds her ground. The event is sold out. She couldn't possibly give away a seat that's reserved and paid for. He stomps off in search of the headmaster, who will undoubtedly fold.

Dinner is complete. The dancing is in full swing. The table no longer needs two people, so she and her partner take turns getting some time away. They've shared this duty for years and have their rhythm down. Sitting for so long is difficult for Magdalena, so she always takes the first break. She usually walks around the pond a few times to work out the stiffness, hits the rest room, and then is back in time for her partner's break.

It feels good to walk away from the noise and forced cheer. She's looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow. She smiles, imagining a do-nothing weekend. It won't happen. She'll end up grading, but it's nice to imagine, especially as she's nearing the end of such a miserable couple of days.

The far side of the pond—no doubt a visual clue for golfers—grows a lovely patch of black sage. She enjoys rounding the pond and getting hit with the minty smell this type of sage produces.

She's learned over the years which areas are often too wet to walk through. She's ruined more than one pair of dress shoes accidentally sinking into a spot of mud. This year she's wearing nice but sturdy shoes, ones that can take a good cleaning if she misjudges the ground in the dark. The parents, after all, don't expect, don't even want, the teachers to be dressed up as they are. They might respect the teachers—might— but they're still viewed in the servant category. She learned that the hard way years ago.

As she's passing behind the tall sage, she hears that high falsetto voice that had chased her in the hall. It whispers her name. Panicked, frozen, out of sight of the marquee, her feet sink into sopping grass. She's covered in goose bumps and her breathing becomes shallow, unsure if the voice is in front of her or behind. She hears footsteps squelching in the wet grass and then that horrible high voice telling her to run.

Breaking through the fear, she surges forward, but one of her shoes is stuck. She pulls her foot out, is scrambling across a wet slope with one shoe, when she hears breathing right behind her. Terrified, she opens her mouth to scream but feels horrible pain in the back of her head. The vision goes dark and stays that way.

My eyes fluttered open, my head in horrible pain. I slumped to the side, but Declan kept one arm around my waist and the other over my shoulder to keep me mostly upright. He'd been careful to make sure he wasn't touching my skin. How had I been so lucky to find someone willing to do whatever it took to ease my pain?

I patted the arm across my chest with my gloved hand. He immediately moved it but kept the one around my waist until I was steady enough to stand. I put my glove back on and leaned against his shoulder.

"Are you ready, Ms. Corey?" Detective Osso rolled the drawer back in and then took out his little notebook and pen.

"Yeah. She was killed by a hit to the back of her head. Which is why mine is killing me."

"My wife always makes sure I have aspirin in the car. Would you like me to get you some tablets?" he asked.

I shook my head and then regretted it. "It'll fade, usually before the pills kick in. Even so, I have a bottle in my backpack too. I'll be okay."

Osso nodded. "Can you tell us what you saw?"

Running it all through for them, I realized I'd been wrong. "When you asked me to come in and read your victim, I had an immediate jolt that the cases were connected, that this woman's death was tied to Pearl's. I agreed in spite of your ridiculous guilting skills—that shit stopped working on me when I was like five." I rolled my eyes and regretted it at once. Not the childishness, but the additional pain it triggered.

"I thought knowing who killed Magdalena would help us identify Pearl's killer, but I was wrong. These are two different killers. This guy wanted to menace her, to make her jump at shadows and change her routines. The thing is, though, he had to—"

"Know her routines in the first place." Osso finished my sentence.

"Exactly." I wrapped one of my hands around Declan's wrist and felt him relax behind me. "How would he know? She used to arrive long before students started showing up for the day, before the rest of the faculty. He knew her car, but then he also knew her habit of walking around the pond at this once-a-year fundraiser."

I started to shake my head again and then remembered. "He didn't just want to kill her. He wanted to terrorize her first."

"The cockroaches," Declan said. "He got in before she got to work to release the cockroaches. Are there records somewhere of people buying those things?"

Hernández shook her head. "Pet stores sell them for feeding to reptiles."

I felt Declan's hmm reverberate through my back. It made me feel unreasonably warm and comforted.

"They could have been put in her room the night before," Osso said.

"After the night custodian but before the alarms and locks," I added.

Hernández and Osso nodded, thinking.

"What do you know about Archie or the night custodians? The killer could be someone always in the background, someone people stop noticing." It didn't feel like that, but it was a possibility. "Honestly, I felt anger, vengeance, a need to scare her as he'd been scared. Maybe see if she'd ever reported someone. Teachers are mandatory reporters. Maybe she'd called CPS on someone's parents. Or on another teacher."

Osso nodded, still lost in thought. "We know how to investigate, Ms. Corey."

I felt Declan tense.

"Then what am I doing here?" It was always the same. Desperate for my help when they needed it and then, Shut up and go away, freak girl.

Hernández smacked Osso's arm. His usual annoyed look darkened. I could see him replaying the conversation in his head. His gaze snapped to me.

"Sorry. You're right. You've given us avenues to pursue and that's what I'll tell her family. Thank you for your assistance."

"Uh huh." I stood. Declan kept his hands on my hips until I seemed steady. I asked Hernández, "You said you notified Pearl's mom, right?"

The detective nodded. "I went out to tell her this afternoon. I was able to get her to call someone to sit with her." She checked her notes. "An Elizabeth."

I nodded, relieved. "My aunt Elizabeth is a very kind woman. She'll be a comfort."

"Let's go get you something to eat," Declan said, shouldering my backpack.

"Yeah, let's go," I said.