Chapter 5 - Abigail

Desperate to find the Mystery Paper, Abby uses her particular practiced skill set to explore her middle school after hours.

Chapter 5 - Abigail

           

             Blood no longer pulsed through Abigail’s veins. Instead, a surging current of electricity crackled under her skin as she broke into Mr. Richardson’s classroom. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and nearly incomprehensible how strong the impulse sang within her brain. A door to another world had physically manifested itself before Abby, just as the map had came into her possession early that day. It was a sign. It was an invitation. It was a command from the universe that Abby had to obey: steal back the passport to the other world and leave earth behind.

 

Once, when Abigail was seven, her half-sister and friends had locked themselves within Joan’s bedroom. They were in high school, freshman, too mature to associate with Abby: that was Joan’s justification. Of course their excuse wasn’t enough of a deterrent Abby from using a tension wrench and Bobbie Pin on the keyhole. It was a practiced skill. After all the nights her father had fallen asleep while watching Midnight Run, a handful of scenes burrowed into Abby’s brain. One scene in particular turned into a rather useful craft.

 

So it was that Abby slowly pushed in the door to Mr. Richardson’s room. She held her breath half expecting an alarm to sound, sirens to wail, and ravenous guard dogs to descend and defend their middle school campus. Nothing. There was only a dark and empty classroom.

Breathing rapidly in and out of her nose, Abigail felt her way through the rows of chairs toward her professor’s desk. It was a wholly unremarkable desk, same as the chairs. Factory made furniture to reflect a factory made education. It wasn’t made to be beautiful, or unique, or inspire: just get it off the assembly line and into the world like all the others. Abby stopped, shuddering at the realization of how expansive her irritation with this world had become that even the nature of its furniture felt like bathing in steel wool.

Regaining her focus, Abigail pushed her anger aside. Furniture would be the least of her concern once she regained the Mystery Paper. Stepping behind the desk, Abby traced her fingertips over the keyholes of the desk drawers. She worked the locks one by one using her wrench and file. Each drawer popped open, spilling out a myriad of graded and ungraded papers. She used the moonlight streaming in from the windows to examine each document. Two drawers, three drawers, four; the Mystery Paper remained undiscovered.

Abigail tiptoed across the grey carpet to the metal filing cabinet in the corner of the room. Each and every drawer was cracked open. Nothing. She scanned the barren classroom for any other conceivable place to hide a document. Even the garbage had been emptied.

Had her professor taken it home with him? Had he simply thrown it away? No, the document of her salvation must still exist somewhere on this campus. Abigail became aware of the rhythmic ticking of the analog clock on the wall. It was nearly half past eleven. With a thirty minutes jog from North Lake to her school and who knows how she’d been rifling through the drawers, what if the door had vanished? Anxiety’s shroud was descending upon rational though. That current of electric wonderment coursing through Abby’s veins began to be polluted by doubt and the probability of failure. No, not failure: entrapment.

Abigail had been presented with a way out of her cage and there still remained a sliver of hope left. Abby swiftly made her way out of the classroom and into the main campus corridor. Under her breath, Abigail mumbled Professor Richardson’s words; “…If any more of you come across these lewd drawings, please give them to either a teacher or the principal.”

For all Abby knew, there could be a whole stack of Mystery Papers piled on Principal Degas’ desk. She’d take them all if she could. If Abigail were going to journey into another world, she’d be sure no one from this earth would follow. That was her ideal escape. It wasn’t about leaving the furniture behind. Nor did any particular geographical locale repulse her. Abby had never traveled to France; the lights of Paris, the artist’s allies of Nice, the shimmering coast of Marseille were all beautiful. Her true misgivings stemmed from people.

Geography couldn’t be held accountable for polluting the beauty of Paris with cigarette smoke. A forest couldn’t condemn a wonderfully Mysterious Paper and dismiss it as porn. Trees couldn’t fall in love with one another or just as quickly toss those bonds aside. Abby’s silent condemnation was never aimed at the earth it self, but those that populated her.

Pushing aside her disgust, Abigail’s nimble fingers withdrew her tools from their holster. With swift dexterity the pins within the lock were popped and the door swung in with easy. No alarm. No guards. No dogs. What hope was there for people who don’t bother to guard their institutions of knowledge? Even knowledge sloppily constructed upon an assembling like this place had a right to be protected.

Abby waived the thought out of her mind. She had to focus.

            Within the main building, each step upon the linoleum floor compromised Abby’s mission with an acute squeak. Each squeak seemed so deafening that for the remaining twenty steps, Abby removed her shoes. Through her thin socks, Abby could feel the cold, waxed composite floor against her toes. Step by step. Hand outstretched, Abby picked her way through the office door into another vacant room.

            SNAP!

            Click! The southern most hallway doors had opened.

            Abby flung her body into the office and leaned her back against the door. Someone else was in the hallway. A steady series of squeaks made their way closer towards the office. Crawling on her hands and knees, Abigail took shelter behind the desk. Whoever had entered the hall may not bother to check the principal’s office if they can’t see anyone through the windows.

Abby twisted herself through the chair legs and contorted her body to fit under the desk. Footsteps drew closer, followed by a single utterance of, “Interesting.”

Abigail bit into her hand to keep from screaming; “My shoes!” How could she have been so careless not to grab them? From under the desk, Abby watched a spot light trace the carpet of the principal’s office. This was it. She’d be found out.

From the other side of the door, an older voice shook out, “Hello in there?”

Abby could hear keys rattle and slide into the lock. After she’d heard the third attempt with the keys, Abby knew it was only a matter of moments before they’d take her. She wouldn’t leave empty handed. Pushing back the chair, Abby franticly fumbled with her lock picks.

There was a clatter of metal falling upon the floor. The guard was startled. Momentarily blinded by the flashlight aimed into her eyes, Abby kept working the desk locks. Knocking on the glass window speed up Abby’s heart rate by factor of ten. No more steady controlled breaths. Abigail was only seconds away from hyperventilating.

Bursting into the room, an elderly man cried out, “Hands above your head, now!” Abby continued to rummage through the desk as the elder security guard hesitantly encroached on her position. Light from his flashlight shook as the guard watched the frantic girl in horror. He had not prepared himself to come upon a ravenous, five-foot-three, twelve year old feral raccoon. The guard’s quivering voice could barely rise above the sound of drawers being ripped from their tracks, and papers thrown in the air; “Young lady, p-please, you need to stop.”

She wouldn’t.

Abby didn’t know how to quit.