It's good to be back, guys. Again, I am so incessantly sorry for taking over three friggin' years to get this done. These last few years have been really hard for me. I won't bore you with the details but I have been working long and hard for these past weeks to get this finished for you guys. I owe you… big time.

I can't thank you guys enough for your understanding and your follows and support. It means the world to me… Thank you for sticking by me. I really hope you aren't disappointed. Updates will work just like they did for The Patroller and the Thief. I'll post once a week until it's finished. Please review and let me know what you think! I'm so excited to hear from you all.

Also, just a disclaimer: the photo cover credit goes to docolucci of deviantart. I stumbled across it on google while trying to figure out what I should have as a cover and I loved this. Go check them out if you want. Their stuff is pretty legit.

Without further ado, I present to you… Aftermath.

xXxXx

Prologue

xXxXx

Ingrid shot out of bed as the recurring nightmare woke her once more, stumbling to the floor as she bolted from under the blankets. She stared down at her right hand at the fresh red scar beaming across her pale palm, which was throbbing along with the rapid beat of her heart. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of her face and she wiped it away with a trembling hand. She stared at the bed in front of her as if she averted her eyes, it would turn into some sort of monster. The red digits on her clock next to her bed read 2:43; only forty-five minutes after she had glanced at it before she finally falling asleep.

Her knees started to buckle and she let gravity take her to the ground as he held her stomach, silently willing the churning to cease.

Take it easy, Third.

She put a hand to her forehead as her pulse started to return to normal. She struggled to catch her breath, pushing the traumatized images from her nightmares to the back of her mind.

You can't keep doing this, Ingrid.

She placed her hands on her knees and began to anxiously rub her thighs with shaking hands as the memory of the night when she was at his mercy played back frame by frame behind her eyes. She remembered his rough, calloused hands and the way he lustfully spoke to her and every word that still haunted her.

"…the last thing I want is for you to feel like you can't come and talk to me."

Her partner's voice rang inside of her head as she rocked nervously back and forth, quietly debating whether she should tell him what was happening to her.

Maybe.

No way! Ingrid's subconscious refused. What's he going to do? Say something profound to make it all miraculously go away? Worse comes to worse, you'll need professional help. Not some insightful speech.

Ingrid sighed and ran a shaky hand through her tangled, sweat-dampened hair. Her heart pounded with the mere thought of revealing to her best friend that she thought she was going insane.

"Ingrid, you know I'm here for you."

"I know," Ingrid muttered, standing to her feet and walking unsteadily towards the door, suddenly desperate for a shower.

But you can't help me, she thought.

Why burden him with something he can't fix?

xXxXx

Chapter One – Louder than Words

xXxXx

Cornelius Fillmore walked up the second floor stairs of X High School on Monday morning with a gas station coffee in one hand, a chemistry folder in the other, and a confident stride in his step.

The sixteen-year-old Safety Patrol officer was one of the best on the Force; he was an expert undercover operative. His cool demeanor hid the fact that he had a churning, unsteady feeling in his gut that made his strong heart turn anxious and his mind alert with activity. He was paranoid – sometimes to the extreme, he would admit that – but he trusted his instincts more than anything else. They never steered him wrong, not even during his darkest days.

Fillmore's attentive eyes fell on a boy in a black hoodie taking refuge in a dark corner down the hall. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes were glued to the smartphone in his hand. As if on cue, he seemed to notice that he was being watched – he looked up and met the patroller's eyes, shoved the phone in his pocket, and walked briskly in the opposite direction.

Fillmore's stomach lurched, but before he could act on the gut feeling, his eyes caught someone else. A girl in a thin black sweater, black skinny jeans, and sleek, black combat boots was staring at the vending machine in front of her. Her hand was propped at the top of the machine and she was oblivious to the officer watching her from across the hall.

The ache in Fillmore's stomach worsened as he stared at her. He wasn't sure why but something about the girl seemed off to him. He approached her and stood beside her and for a moment he could have sworn he saw her muttering to herself.

"Ingrid?"

His partner jumped, her hand falling from the machine and her head snapping towards him.

"Fillmore!" she exclaimed, failing to hide the shock from her emerald eyes and the faint blush creeping towards her pale cheeks.

"Good morning to you too," he greeted with his signature half smile, ignoring the uneasiness in his gut at his partner's jumpiness. Ingrid was normally so attentive; he could hardly ever sneak up on her. "You know, you don't have to use your Jedi-mind powers to get food from the machine. You can just punch in the numbers and it'll give you what you want."

Ingrid smirked and reached down into the machine to pull out a nutrition bar. "Too late," she said, holding it up. "Already did." Fillmore's brain kicked into overdrive.

"And I missed it?" Fillmore asked, feigning shock. He noticed the subtle bags under her eyes which dulled their usually vibrant green color. "Dawg! I miss all the good stuff, don't I?"

Ingrid rolled her eyes as she picked up her black satchel and slung it over her shoulder. "Oh please, like something could ever get past you and that big head of yours."

"Feisty this morning, aren't we?"

"Don't push your luck, belt."

The tone of her voice was a little more monotonous than usual; it was raspy, tired and burdened. But Fillmore grinned as they turned and walked in sync towards the Safety Patrol headquarters down the hall.

"But that's why you keep me around, isn't it?" he asked.

"No," she denied, glancing up at him with a sly smirk. "I just can't seem to get rid of you."

He grinned at her snarkiness; a genuine glimpse of his real partner. She might have been off, but she was still in there somewhere. "Ouch, Third. Thanks."

She shrugged. "Don't mention it."

Fillmore chuckled as they approached the headquarters while he developed a plan in his head. Maybe Ingrid is just tired or something; she's had a long couple of weeks, Fillmore's conscience told him.

But his gut told him otherwise.

Fillmore reached in front of Ingrid toward the door handle and placed a hand on her back. She flinched as his hand made contact and her eyes flickered with panic, but only for a moment. The moment passed and all visible sign of insecurity fled with it as he opened the door and stepped aside for Ingrid. Although, her body was rigid as she continued through the door with a mumbled "thank you" as if Fillmore didn't notice.

But he did.

xXxXx

Ingrid sat down at her desk and tried to act natural by digging into the trail mix nutrition bar as her stomach growled with hunger and anticipation. She would have loved to believe Fillmore hadn't noticed her anxious behavior in the hallway, but she knew that he was smarter than that. She also knew that no one should ever underestimate someone like Fillmore; he had always been extremely attentive when it came to people and most especially those he cared about. He silently studied people and picked up on every detail, big and small. It was what made him such a great detective.

In a nutshell, he always knew when people were hiding something, no matter the lengths they went to hide it or how good they were at doing it. (As much as he would hate her if she said it out loud, she knew he could make an excellent psychologist someday if for some godforsaken reason being a detective didn't pan out.)

Fillmore sat down in his desk next to her, pulled open his middle left hand drawer and set his folder inside.

"So what's with the morning snack?" he asked her, leaning back in his swivel chair and spun his chair back and forth with his feet. He grabbed the foam basketball from his desk and began tossing it back and forth in his hands as he waited patiently for her answer.

Okay Third, just like you rehearsed. "I had a late start this morning," she started, "and consequently had to miss breakfast."

Fillmore raised his eyebrows and momentarily stopping spinning in place. "Ingrid Third had a late start?" he asked in disbelief.

She let out a sheepish and slightly uncharacteristic giggle as she expertly hid the blush rising to her cheeks. "Yeah, I know. But every so often, the power lines decide to stop working in the middle of the night and shut off alarm clocks."

She actually spent the entire night tossing and turning and trying to avoid the nightmares. She didn't remember turning off her alarm clock to get up, but by the time her father came to get her out of bed, it was 7:29 – just over an hour after she was supposed to get up. According to her watch, she was out of the house and flying towards the school approximately seven-point-three minutes later.

"And you're telling me your internal alarm clock took the morning off too?" he joked.

She shrugged, "Hey, it happens."

Fillmore chuckled as his desk phone rang and he sat up to answer it with his elbows on the table. "Fillmore." Ingrid bit into her bar and started up her computer. Saved.

Get yourself together, Ingrid, she started to think to herself. You should have just screamed, "Hey, something's wrong with me, save me."

I just can't control it, she argued to herself. Everything's been freaking me out: the coffee pot beeping this morning, Dad knocking on my door to wake me up.

This can't go on, Ingrid.

"Ingrid?"

Ingrid looked over at her partner, spiraling back down to a dismal Earth. He had hung up the phone and was looking at her with a concerned expression in his dark eyes.

"What?" she asked.

He nodded towards the snack bar in her hand. "You were staring at that bar like it was gonna choke you or something."

She looked back down at the half-eaten bar in her hand for a brief moment before she shook her head in a futile attempt to clear her mind. "Wow, I must be really tired."

"Or really hungry," he quipped, which caused Ingrid to smile. "Are you okay?"

A split second debate in Ingrid's head spit out her excuse. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said and tried to keep her cool. "Why-"

The door to Vallejo's office swung open to reveal the man himself. "Fillmore! Third!" They both turned their heads toward the Commissioner with raised eyebrows.

"What's up?" Fillmore asked.

Vallejo only jerked his head towards his office in response. "Get in here."

Silence enveloped the squad room at the grave tone of their boss and all eyes fell on the duo. Fillmore and Ingrid shared a quick look of curiosity before Ingrid set her breakfast down, her stomach growling in protest, and they both rose from their chairs. They walked over to the segregated room with all of the eyes in the room following them.

Vallejo noticed this – he sent a stern glare towards all in the room and shouted, "What are you staring at? Get back to work!"

The chatter in the room resumed as Fillmore and Ingrid entered the office and Vallejo shut the door behind them. "Take a seat, guys."

"What's up, Vallejo?" Ingrid asked as she sat down in one of the leather chairs and Fillmore sat down in the identical chair to her left. Vallejo sighed and ran a hand over his face. There was a tense pause that hung in the air before he spoke.

"The teachers have been receiving strange calls," he began cryptically. "The voice is different each time, but we have evidence that the voice is digitally altered, so we think each call is from the same guy."

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

"The board issued taps on the phones to try and get to the bottom of the issue and some of the calls were recorded," Vallejo replied as he sat down on the edge of his desk and shoved his hands in his pockets. "We had Tehama scan them and she figured out that whoever it is, they've been using a voice modifier. Maybe from an app on an iPhone or a Droid of some kind."

Fillmore backtracked when he heard Tehama being mentioned. "Okay, back up. So how many people know about this?"

"At this moment," Vallejo started, crossing his arms, "just the Board, us three, and Tehama. We're trying to keep this quiet because some of the stuff he's saying is creeping out some of the teachers and we're not sure how the student body would react." At this point, Vallejo seemed to be getting nervous. He began to slowly pace at the front of his desk while looking down at the ground. "The thing is we don't know for sure what message this guy is trying to get across and if we should consider him a threat to the school or not."

The serious nature of their comrade's tone was setting off a dozen alarms in Ingrid's head. "A threat? What's the guy saying?"

Vallejo paused.

"Mrs. Evans, the AP English teacher, recognized some of the stuff the perp was saying. According to her, he's using references to Shakespeare's material and it's some pretty cryptic stuff." Fillmore instantly looked over at Ingrid with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, but Ingrid spoke before he could make a snarky comment.

"Don't you dare give me that look, Fillmore," she quipped as she half-heartedly glared at the wall across from her. Vallejo raised an eyebrow.

"Am I missing something here?"

Fillmore made a showy hand-gesture towards Ingrid and said, "You're staring at the Shakespeare expert right here, baby." Ingrid only rolled her eyes.

"Just because I like Shakespeare doesn't mean I'm an expert."

"You're right," he admitted, "but having photographic memory and an entire shelf in your bedroom devoted to his plays and poems just might."

A ghost of a smirk on Vallejo's face eased some of the tension that had been building in the room ever since the partners entered. "Nice."

On the inside, Ingrid was thrilled that they weren't noticing her anxious behavior and instead were poking fun at her strange interests. But on the outside, she put on a show of phony annoyance both Vallejo and Fillmore saw straight through. They knew she took pride in her literature.

"Well, since you're an expert, maybe you could help us shed some light on all this," Vallejo told her, getting back down to the real business.

"What's he saying?"

Vallejo reached behind him and grabbed a tape recorder and held it in front of him. He pressed the play button and the tape started to play. Mr. Goodfairer, X High's most popular history teacher, answered the telephone.

"Mr. Goodfairer."

A monotonous, gravelly voice responded to him. "All good people, you that thus far have come to pity me-"

"Who is this?" Mr. Goodfairer interrupted.

The caller didn't stop speaking, just rose his voice to be heard over the man interrupting him, "-hear what I say and then go home and lose me."

"I just might," the teacher commented, expertly masking his nerves with humor. "Mind if I go ahead and lose you now?"

The perp ignored his witty interruption and continued on with his message, speaking louder now. "I have this day received a traitor's judgment and by that name must die."

Then the perp hung up.

"Any ideas?" Vallejo asked, pausing the tape and looking back at Ingrid who had a finger against her temple. She searched her photographic memory for the line.

"That's a quote from Henry VIII."

Fillmore smirked. "Isn't that your favorite one?"

Ingrid rolled her eyes and continued, leaving Fillmore chuckling next to her, "Buckingham was on trial because he was suspected and wrongly accused of conspiring to kill King Henry," Ingrid explained, looking back up at her comrades.

Fillmore raised his eyebrows. "You're not telling me you actually understand that stuff, are you?" he asked in utter shock.

"If you understand the format of the Old English language it's actually not that hard. Words then don't mean the same things as they do now," she explained to him as both of the boys gawked at her. "Of course, anyone who takes the time to read enough of the material doesn't have to be an expert to get the main idea of a passage. They can take the theme and the dialogue and come to their own conclusions."

Vallejo crossed his arms, sent her a stern yet comical look and said, "And for those of us who don't take the time?"

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "Buckingham says to anyone who cares to listen to him even though they'll probably just leave and forget about him and what he had to say. He was being wrongly accused and was being executed for it."

Vallejo shrugged. "That's all you needed to say. This next one's the most recent one; it took place about seven o'clock this morning."

The tape started again, with Mrs. Cornwallis, one of X's woodwork teachers, answering the phone.

"Hello?"

The voice that answered was different than the first call. It was edited to sound extremely high pitched.

"Yet see, when these so noble benefits shall prove not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt, they turn to vicious form, then times more ugly than ever they were fair."

"Who is this?"

"This man so complete, who was enrolled 'mongst wonders – and when we, almost with ravished list'ning, could not find his hour of speech a minute."

"What?"

"He, my lady, hath into monstrous habits, put the graces that once were his, and is become as black as if besmeared in hell."

Vallejo stopped the tape and looked back at Ingrid. "Thoughts?"

Ingrid nodded. "Henry VIII, act one, scene two. The king is telling Katherine that he agrees that Buckingham is out of favor, but that he also knows that powerful positions lead to corruption."

Fillmore chipped in, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "So how are those quotes related?"

Ingrid shrugged and shook her head as she tried to make the connection, but she couldn't quite focus long enough to connect the dots. "I don't think they are, really. They're both from Henry VIII, both about Buckingham…" She paused and tried to find any more connections between the monologues.

Vallejo raised his eyebrows in slight disappointment he couldn't hide. "That all you got, Third?"

Ingrid shrugged and rubbed her face with her hands and rested her elbows on her knees as her brain scrambled with facts and speculations and she fought off the flashbacks that threatened to distract her. Come on Ingrid, wake up!

The whole time, Fillmore had been wary of Ingrid's behavior from the corner of his eye. As Ingrid and Vallejo exchanged information, Fillmore had only caught the main ideas of their conversations as he watched her. She was distracted and edgy. Jumpy and dazed. There was something big on her mind, but he couldn't think for the life of him what it was.

"Well," Ingrid straightened up and looked back at Fillmore, "they're both about Buckingham. He was a guy in high power being framed for something he didn't do. We're probably looking for a guy who's been accused of something but doesn't consider himself guilty of the crime. Has a grudge against the teachers, maybe?" she speculated and returned her gaze to Vallejo. "Are there any others?" she asked, but her boss shook his head.

"Those two were the only ones that have been recorded, but the teachers said it's been going on for a while." Vallejo crossed his arms and leaned against the front of his desk. "They were rare and spotty at first, but the windows between each call kept shrinking. When one teacher brought it up, everyone else opened up. They narrowed it down themselves that the first one happened about seven weeks ago."

Fillmore finally chipped in. "And which teacher was that?"

Vallejo reached behind him and grabbed an abnormally large manila file, looked through it and found his answer. "Ms. Childs, the French teacher in the east wing."

Fillmore and Ingrid shared a serious look as they both thought the same thing.

"I think we should pay Ms. Childs a visit," Ingrid said with a smirk.

Fillmore sent her the same smile and they stood in sync, moving to leave.

"Not so fast, Fillmore," Vallejo said, stopping both of the patrollers in their tracks. Fillmore raised an eyebrow.

"Something else, man?"

Vallejo nodded back towards the chair Fillmore had been sitting in. "I wanna talk to you for a second."

After a pause, Fillmore looked over at his partner.

"Go ahead Ingrid," Fillmore reassured her with a nod. "I'll meet you outside."

"All right."

Ingrid turned around and walked out of the office with a nod and shut the door quietly behind her.

Fillmore turned back to Vallejo who was making his way over to the shades.

"What's up, Vallejo?"

Vallejo remained silent. With a lone finger, he pulled down a slat in the window shades to peer out into the squad room. Fillmore eyed him curiously while his nerves slowly began to build in the center of his gut.

Vallejo scanned the squad room, past the evidence locker Anza was exiting, past Tehama at her desk who was trying to get O'Farrell's camera out of her face, and his eyes finally stopped on Ingrid, who was now sitting at her desk finishing her meager breakfast.

"How's everything going, Fillmore?" he finally asked, letting go of the slat and turning to face his comrade.

Fillmore raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Vallejo walked over to his desk and leaned against it, shoving his hands in his pockets. "How are you?"

Fillmore shot him a confused look, but Vallejo gave him a sincere, inquisitive stare which prompted Fillmore to ask, "What do you mean?"

Vallejo shrugged, his dark brown eyes encouraging Fillmore to respond. "How's life treating you?"

Fillmore crossed his arms as he furrowed his eyebrows, but humored him by answering, "I can't really complain much. Why?"

Vallejo nodded, looking down at his red and white striped sneakers. "Good, I'm glad to hear that." His eyes darted back and forth to each shoe as he tried to determine what to say next. A slight pause fell on the two friends before Vallejo looked back up at Fillmore.

Fillmore couldn't have missed the glint of worry in Vallejo's eyes when he said, "So how's Ingrid holding up?"

So Vallejo noticed, too.

Fillmore nodded – a signal to Vallejo that he understood his message – and took a deep breath. "She hasn't said anything to make me think otherwise."

"Well, you know better than anyone that actions speak louder than words, Fillmore."

"Oh, I've noticed."

Vallejo sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Can you do me a favor, Fillmore?"

Fillmore nodded. "Anything."

Vallejo looked back up at him with an anxious look hiding in his tired brown eyes. "Keep a real close eye on her."

Fillmore headed for the door and said before opening it, "Already ahead of you, Vallejo." He shut the door behind him and his sights instantly fell onto his partner who had just finished her snack bar and was throwing away the wrapper into the trash can.

Oh Ingrid, he thought as he started to approach her. I wish you would just tell me what's wrong.

xXxXx

"I just can't think of a connection, Ingrid," Fillmore said, swiping his Safety Patrol ID in front of the "maintenance only" elevator's barcode scanner. It then beeped and the light on the top turned green and Fillmore then pressed the down button. He and Ingrid just left Ms. Childs' room on the third floor of the west wing. She had nothing new to say that the reports didn't already include: Shakespeare poetry, manipulated voice, lasted less than a minute to avoid being traced. Nothing new, nothing helpful.

Fillmore looked back down at his partner, who had her hands in her pockets and was staring down at her feet, deep in thought.

"Maybe we're looking at it wrong," she finally replied as the elevator opened. The duo stepped inside and Fillmore pressed the second floor button, shooting his partner a quizzical look.

"What do you mean?"

She looked up at him. As the day had gone on and the two focused on the case at hand, he saw some light return to Ingrid's tired green eyes. Moments passed where he noticed her start to slip again, but she had always been good at dropping everything in her personal life to focus on a case; those moments never lasted long.

Nothing worried him more.

"We've been trying to profile the caller the whole time, right?" she asked as the elevator doors shut, closing them in as it descended.

Fillmore nodded. "Go on."

"Maybe we shouldn't be focusing so much on the caller so much as we should be his targets," she pointed out, crossing her arms and looking back down at her shoes in thought. "But what do the teachers who've been targeted have in common?"

"Dawg," Fillmore said, putting a hand on his chin. He looked back down at her. "Subject, maybe?"

Ingrid cocked an eyebrow and looked up at Fillmore humorously. "History, woodwork, and French?" The lift came to a halt.

The boy shrugged and plastered a faint smirk on his face as the aluminum doors opened. "Well, we could be looking for a common student," he defended, letting Ingrid step out first and they made their way back towards the HQ. "Maybe a student with a past grudge?"

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "You don't think a seasoned delinquent would really make a rookie mistake like that, do you?"

"Probably not, but it's a start," he replied. He started saying something else when Ingrid heard someone talking around the corner. She held up a hand and stopped in her tracks while Fillmore fell silent beside her. A boy's hushed voice wandered down the hall towards them.

"The patrol's picked up on us already. What do you want me to do, man?" he asked. The perp's sneakers squeaked as he paced the hallway, the sound echoing lightly through the corridors. Fillmore and Ingrid shared a look of confusion before Fillmore signaled towards the voice. Ingrid nodded and pointed towards the staircase behind them. "What do you mean stick with the plan?" Fillmore nodded and quietly walked towards the stairs, aiming to go around and corner the boy. Ingrid walked quietly and slowly towards the corner of the hallway, backing up against the wall.

"What plan?" the boy continued. "I don't even know what the plan is!"

Ingrid rested against the wall for another brief moment, trying to figure out what her plan of action should be.

"And what if they catch me? What the hell am I supposed to do then?"

Ingrid turned the corner and crossed her arms. "Cooperate."

The perp had his back to her and his face covered with a black hooded jacket, but his face didn't need to be seen to reveal the panic in his shoulders.

"Do I even need to say freeze?" Ingrid asked, but the boy ran off in the other direction.

Why do they always run? She thought, inwardly groaning as she bolted after the suspect.

The perp flew towards the corner with the patroller hot on his heels. He ran into a trash can, almost knocking it over, and sprinted farther away down the hallway, turning the corner and disappearing from sight.

Damn, he's fast, she thought. But so am I. She ran around the corner but something abruptly launched into her stomach, knocking her back a couple of feet. She cried out, gasping for air and clutching her stomach, as the perp came out from the shadows again and faced her.

He lunged for her, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her to the ground, pinning her with two hands to the chest. She didn't cry out; she wouldn't dare let him feel the satisfaction of causing her pain. She balled her right hand into a fist and launched it at his face. He shouted as her fist hit his cheekbone.

His moment's pause gave Ingrid the advantage. With a grunt of effort, she pushed him off her and rolled him over on his stomach and got on top of him.

"You're making a mistake," he mumbled into the tiled floor as she grabbed a pair of zip tie handcuffs from her back pocket, ignoring the throbbing in her knuckles.

"Says the kid skipping class, using a phone during school hours, and running from a patrol officer," she chided, slipping the cuffs over his wrists and tightening them. She felt around his pockets for the phone he was using, but it wasn't there. She stood up and turned him over on his back, straddling him and holding the struggling teen down by his shoulders.

"Speaking of that, where is that phone, huh?" she asked, removed his hood and revealed his long dark brown hair and slightly freckled face. But while his tone was fierce and angry, his icy blue eyes were darting around them nervously.

She grabbed his face with one hand and made him face her. "Hey, focus, kid." The boy glared at her, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in irritation as she asked him again. "What did you do with the phone?"

He licked his chapped lips nervously, but said sternly, "You're the belt, you find it."

"I don't really think you're in a position to be giving orders," Ingrid told him, shooting him a fiery glare.

He seemed to relax as he thought for a moment and looked down at her body. "I don't know," he started, smiling sadistically up at her. "I kind of like the position I'm in."

It took her a moment to realize what he was insinuating.

"Just relax."

"Wade, stop!"

"You protect yourself by any means necessary."

Ingrid grabbed the boy by the collar of his dark hoodie and, with strength she didn't realize she had, she lifted him up and slammed him down on the ground. The boy cried out as his head bounced off of the tile floor.

"You want to say that again?" she asked, raising her voice as her anxiety returned, overwhelmed by her photographic memory.

"Whoa, Ingrid!"

Fillmore ran up from behind her and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back. She cried out from the pain in her stomach, but the pain brought her back. Fillmore had let go of her and was staring at her incredulously.

"Ingrid, what're you doing, girl?" he asked, looking back at the boy writhing on the ground.

"Just relax."

Ingrid shook her head, running her hands through her jet black hair and then over her face to wipe away the tears threatening to fall. Fillmore looked back at her. "What's gotten into you?"

The boy on the ground started to sit up. "That chick is crazy, dude!"

Fillmore turned around and walked briskly towards the boy, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him up to his feet. He threw him up against the lockers and growled, "I think you need to watch what you say very carefully, punk."

Ingrid had put a hand on her temple, desperately trying to stop the rewind happening in her head. She looked down the hallway and when her eyes caught the trash can sitting out in the open, her mind snapped.

The boy ran into a trash can, almost knocking it over, and sprinted farther away down the hallway.

She slapped herself in the side of her head. "Idiot."

Fillmore turned around. "Huh?"

Ingrid walked quickly down the hallway towards the trash can, her gut throbbing with each step she took, and peered into the trash can.

A cell phone.

xXxXx

Thanks so much for reading! I wanted to request that if you do have anything you think I need to re-look at, please let me know. Constructive criticism is always accepted! This has been my first time writing in a very long time so I am pretty rusty. Let me know how I'm doing!

I hope you enjoyed! See you next week!