The school gym was buzzing like a beehive. It was electric with the sound of a hundred young voices, loud music, and a palpable sense of euphoria. A homemade disco ball spun slowly from the rafters, throwing jagged reflections across the happy faces of the graduates. The air was thick with a mix of cheap cologne, floral perfume, and the dizzying scent of freedom.
The school, which had been their home and their prison for years, was saying goodbye. Sarah was at the heart of it. She was laughing, dancing with her best friend Lily to a Top 40 hit, her ivory dress fluttering with every turn like a butterfly’s wings.
She felt the eyes on her—admiring, a little envious—and it felt good. Tonight, she wasn’t just Sarah Miller, the quiet straight-A student from the front row. Tonight, she was the queen of the ball, and the whole world seemed to be laid out at her feet.
“Sarah, you’re killing it tonight!” Lily shouted over the music. “Look at the guys. Half the class is staring!”
Sarah just laughed. She wasn’t looking for attention. She just felt good. Good that the endless tests were over, and that her dream was finally within reach, clear as the summer horizon.
The music shifted to a slow song. The gym filled with the sound of shuffling feet and nervous whispers. Mike Collins, a tall, lanky boy who had been trying to carry her books all year, walked up to her. She smiled politely and accepted the dance. They swayed awkwardly in the center of the room, and Sarah closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the moment.
That’s when they arrived. They didn’t just walk in; they made an entrance. The gym doors swung open, and Vance Taylor, Ian Sterling, and Paul Thompson stepped inside. The music didn’t stop, but a visible chill ran through the room. Conversations near the door died down. People turned to look.
Their presence changed the atmosphere, injecting something foreign and dangerous into the celebration. They weren’t dressed like the others. While most boys wore off-the-rack suits from the mall, these three wore designer jeans and expensive button-downs. Vance smelled of imported cologne—the scent of a life no one else in the room could afford.
They didn’t mingle. They leaned against the wall, forming their own center of gravity, watching the dancers with bored, predatory eyes. Vance pulled out a pack of Marlboros—a bold move inside the gym—and lit up, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. None of the teachers nearby moved to stop him. Everyone knew who his father was.
“Boring,” Ian Sterling muttered, scanning the room with contempt. “Total hick town party.”
“Wait for it. We might find some entertainment,” Vance smirked.
Then his eyes locked onto something. He spotted a flash of ivory in the middle of the floor—a girl with her eyes closed, dancing with some nerd. He didn’t recognize her at first. Miller. The honors student. Always quiet, always invisible. But tonight?
Tonight she was different. The gym lights caught her hair and the soft curve of her shoulders. There was something pure about her that both irritated and drew him in. It was a beauty that didn’t know its own power. The most desirable kind of prey.
“Who’s the wallflower?” he asked, though he knew exactly who she was.
“Sarah Miller,” Paul answered. “The brainiac. Heard she’s going to nursing school.”
Vance smiled, his eyes never leaving Sarah. He crushed his cigarette against the wall, leaving an ugly black mark on the fresh paint.
“She’s mine,” he said shortly.
It wasn’t a question. It was a sentence. Sarah, as if sensing the heavy, calculating gaze, opened her eyes and turned her head. For a split second, their eyes met across the gym. She saw him—arrogant, cold—and his stare made her skin crawl. A shiver ran down her spine.
She didn’t hear his words, but she felt the threat. To hide her discomfort, she turned back to Mike and said something. The song ended. She thanked Mike and hurried back to her friends, trying not to look toward the wall. But it was too late. The hunter had chosen his mark. For the rest of the night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that three pairs of cold, evaluating eyes were tracking her every move. The party went on, but for her, the air had turned sour.
The clock on the wall ticked. Loudly, insistently, measuring out seconds that turned into minutes, and minutes that turned into a heavy, anxious eternity. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Every beat echoed in Ellen’s head. Midnight passed, then 1:00 AM. The apartment, so recently full of laughter, now felt hollow. The apple pie she’d taken out of the oven sat cold on the table, its scent now faint and sad. Two mugs sat ready for tea.
Ellen sat at the kitchen table in the dark, staring at the window, seeing only her own tired reflection. At first, she tried to be rational.
“It’s graduation,” she told herself. “She’s with her friends, having fun. You only get one youth.”
But as time stretched on and the familiar sound of heels on the stairs didn’t come, a cold knot began to tighten in her stomach. She stood up, paced the room, and straightened a photo of Sarah as a first-grader. She sat back down.
“Maybe they went to drop someone off?” she thought. But the thought didn’t help. Sarah was responsible. She always called if she was going to be late. And while not everyone had a cell phone back then, Sarah would have found a payphone.
2:00 AM. The silence in the house became oppressive. Ellen couldn’t sit still. She paced the small apartment, from the hallway to the kitchen and back, stopping at the window to stare into the empty, dimly lit street. Every car that passed made her heart leap with a hope that crashed into disappointment. Anxiety turned into terror—the raw, irrational fear of a mother.
Then came the knock. It wasn’t Sarah’s light tap. It was sharp, demanding, official. It pierced the silence like a knife. Ellen jumped, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her legs felt like lead as she walked to the door and looked through the peephole. A police officer stood there, along with her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, who was clutching an old robe around her. Ellen’s hands shook so hard she struggled with the lock.
“Ellen Miller?” the young officer asked, his voice tired and flat.
“Yes. Did something happen?”
Comments are closed.