By: Zak Rosen '16
CHAPTER 2: A Torturous Teacher
The sound of a chainsaw wakes Sotiropolous up. Her hands are bound with sailing rope. The words of dark romantic poetry are scrawled on the walls, illuminated with the light of a single candle. Looking around, her eyes fall upon Ms. Sanders, wearing a cloak as black as night and brandishing a running chainsaw.
“A little birdy told me that you were studying space-time,” she chuckled.
“Sandra this isn’t what you want. Let me go. It doesn’t matter what you did, I can help you.”
“No talking except to answer my question. Now...” she absentmindedly waved around the spinning blade. “How have you been causing these space-time events? And why?”
Sotiropolous didn’t understand. She began to shake her head. “I’m not creating them. I’m studying them, for god’s sake. That’s why I went to Cirillo. To ask him what they were.”
Sanders paused for a moment. “Cirillo was just found in a coma-- poisoned. You’re lying.”
Sot shook her head furiously. “I didn’t do anything. I swear by the power of Doug Lagarde.” This was not a statement made lightly. Any untruthful oath taken in the name of Lagarde wreaks dire consequences on whoever makes it. “I’m afraid that it’s another power, someone intent on destroying the uneasy peace that has been established within the school. If the English and History departments go to war, it’s only a matter of time before everyone follows suit.”
Sot saw the wheels begin to turn inside the English teachers mind. Her eyes squinted and she looked at Sotiropolous. With a great heave, she held the chainsaw high and brought it downwards. Sotiropolous looked away, fearing it was the end. Instead, she felt the manacles on her wrists and feet fall away. Sanders didn’t even scratch her wrists. That woman could handle a chainsaw.
“Let’s go. We may not have a lot of time. My contacts in the mathematics department have noticed an exponential increase in the spatio-temporal activity. It might culminate soon, and we have to stop it. Do you have any idea who could be doing this?”
“No idea. But Cirillo did notice that the epicenter of the activity seemed to be located in sub-basement number 7. Where are we now?”
“In a secret antechamber off of a closet in Creeden. You’ll have to put on a blindfold before exiting. We can’t have you learning the secret haven of the English department.”
Sot agreed, but just as she was about to put on a blindfold given to her by Sanders, the two heard a strange hissing noise. The room, dim as it was, grew darker with a thick green fog. The miasma filled the two women’s lungs and they crashed onto the cold ground, unconscious.
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