:1:
The mere sight of the day on the calendar would send any teen into an internalised panic. To varying degrees, of course, the mystical popular people would likely be filled with not so much dread but rather a sense of pompous entitlement because they managed to be born with that rare combination of genes that made people like them - while the rest of the population would be throwing themselves onto their beds and screaming into their pillows.
Clearly, Regan was one of the latter.
As she clutched the plush, white fabric to her face and tried her very best to purge the demons of anxiety and depression that had ensued following the fiasco that was last year - it occured to her that although this was her last year of school before her encroaching freedom, she was likely going to die. Exhaustion, stress, murder - it didn't matter. She was certain these were her last days - this would certainly be the last night for a long time she would be able get some sleep of a reasonable quality.
She stopped screaming, at least for the moment, and pulled the covers over herself with a huff. Regan nestled herself into the protective cocoon and fantasised about impossible scenarios where she wouldn't make a fool of herself as soon as she walked through the gates of the school.
The blaring beats of the radio seeped from the speakers of her alarm and into her dreams. She awoke with a start, eyes burning from sleep and jaw tightened from fright. She took a moment to gather herself, and eventually began flailing heavy handed over her side table till she found the button that'd shut that bloody thing up. She was sincerely contemplating returning to sleep but, from the resonating sounds of slamming doors and shouts from downstairs, she gleaned that perhaps it wasn't the best idea.
Begrudgingly, she left her bed. It was all a too familiar routine from that point on: throw her pajamas at the headboard of the bed in rage, pull her uniform from the back of the wardrobe, struggle to get the tie right and instead opting to just loosely attached it herself somehow, scramble to get whatever books she needed together, trot downstairs, avoid her screaming parents, force some food down and run out the door before she could get sucked into the domestic.
School was a few blocks away from her house, easily walkable. It was made much more pleasant, however, by complaining to herself about the physical strain of having to drag herself all the way to somewhere she didn't want to be, and drag herself all the way back again for another year. But started the arduous journey anyway - humming to herself. She was only a few paces down the lane when a car that'd been speeding up behind her with purpose came to a sudden stop just a few metres in front of her. She paid it no mind. It was probably just some hungover git that didn't like the party to stop on Saturday and kept going hard into Sunday - and was paying the consequences on this fine Monday morning. The black Mercedes remained stationary with a gentle hum as Regan lowered her head and sped up to walk past it.
"You're dragging yourself to Baker Street High then?" a loud, purposeful voice sounded from behind her. She paused mid-step and turned her head back. She never heard the window open, but the lack of tinted glass revealed a man. He was wearing large, dark shades, a bored expression on thin lips and slicked back hair.
"No." she said simply, and turned on her heel - rolling her eyes. It was like somehow, after an age, people seemed to forget the 'stranger danger' policy. She found it more relevant than ever at this age. Lascivious men were more of a risk to her now than they were while she was still eating her own snot and running around in light up shoes - what, with having tits and such. She shook her head at her own thoughts, people were very simple.
The car crawled along after her at walking speed. He'd lit a cigarette, and was letting it hand out the window next to her while he leaned his head back - the very image of nonchalance. "Then odd, you should be heading to fancy dress party at this hour of the morning as, what-" the nicotine stained hand reached up and lowered his shades, "a school girl." he droned. He had an disconcerting lilt, which sent a chill up Regan's spine.
She looked around subtly for anyone who'd think that a black car crawling after an uncomfortable looking school girl would be some cause for alarm. Unfortunately, she found nobody batted an eye. The terribly boring and average population of the lane had their faces buried in newspapers or in the glow of whatever thrilling memes were popping up on the internet - blissfully ignorant of her rapidly escalating fear. Regan paused at the crossing, pressing frantically at the button and praying to whatever deities would listen for that little walking man. The man stopped the car, turned off the ignition and stepped out. He fumbled to grasp both his cigarette and a shoulder bag as he stepped out of the car. The obnoxious little beep beep of the car as he locked it startled her. Regan decided she was done with waiting, prayed traffic would be kind to her and rapidly padded across the road.
A series of movers burst into her path, carrying all manner of couches, chairs, haberdashery and rubbish. She smiled painfully through half-heartedly polite iterations of 'sorry love' and 'we'll be out of the way in a minute'. The man with the cigarette, in the mean time, had waited patiently for traffic to slow and allow him to pass safely. He moseyed across the road, taking a long drag and smiling a wicked smile at her from around the fag. Regan tapped her foot impatiently as the furniture continued to pour out of the house. This was it. She wasn't even going to die from stress because this creep was surely going to kill her himself. All she could think to do with maintain her composure. If she didn't act scared, maybe it would quell her racing heart beat and quench the thrumming in her ears.
"Rude of you to run off like that." the man sighed, dropping his cigarette on the pavement and briskly stomping it out with perfectly polished shoes. She raised her eyebrows briefly - they looked expensive.
Regan looked her pursuer up and down. He was well dressed, she'd give him that. Perfectly tailored suit, impeccably groomed appearance - he was clearly on his way to somewhere important. Judging from the shoulder bag that was now comfortable draped across his body - she'd say something business like. "Nice suit." she said through gritted teeth.
He grinned, motioning dramatically at the suit, "Westwood." he boasted, before picking a small fibre of fluff off his suit.
There was a gap in the flow of furniture, and Regan quickly took the opportunity to slip through the stream and speed her way down the path. School was so close - if she could just make it before he caught up, she could get away. She looked back. He was pacing quickly down the street with as much purpose as she was, although she suspected it was of a distinctly different nature. She matched his speed in order to maintain the gap.
There it was. The tall, cast iron fence with the sinister spikes. The recently opened gates with the iron scroll in the rungs that read "Baker Street High School and Sixth Form". She ducked in the gates and assimilated herself quickly into a group of uniforms. The man stopped outside the gate, seemed to take in his surroundings as he stretched and rolled his head to meet her eye. He grinned, and strolled right through the gates. Regan began to back away. She spotted the gym teacher attempting to wrangle a football away from one of the younger students, and quickly made her way over to him.
"Uh, sir." she said quietly.
The teacher wrenched the football away from the young boy's death grip with a yank and set it on his hip. "Yes?"
She looked nervously back in the direction from which she had just come. He was nowhere to be seen. She sighed. "Nothing." she muttered, and made her way through the doors.
Regan dropped her things in her locker, finding at least some relief from the hustle and bustle of the halls in the confined space.
A hand on her hip made her practically jump out of her skin as she slammed the door of the locker and whipped around.
"Hey!.. hey!" the hand owner soothed.
Regan stood up straight and let her breath out - unaware that she'd been holding it. "Kate." she smiled. She was a welcome relief following the unreasonably tense goings on of the morning so far. The bubbly red head beamed back at her, before forcing her into a hug.
"I know you aren't the biggest fan of hugs, Regan, no need to remind me." she squeaked into her ear, obviously having noticed that Regan had gone completely and utterly stiff under the bear hug. "But I've missed you! I've hardly seen you all summer, since you'd rather hole yourself up in your room and write poetry or whatever than hang out with your best friend."
Regan regained her composure once the pressure was gone. "That's not true," she smirked, scooping her English books up off the floor and holding them to her chest, "We hung out, what... Once? Twice?"
"Once." Kate confirmed, "And that was only because I'd arrived unannounced and woken you up from your afternoon nap. Really, Regan, you need to get out more." Kate patted her cheek. "You're looking pale."
"Pale? I'll have you know, sickly is the new sexy." Regan winked. "English first, right, then free period?"
Kate nodded, and the pair were ushered along into the correct classroom by a sudden influx of chattering cheerful girls, brawling bawdy boys and at least a few people who looked like they were about to drop dead.
"...No." Regan breathed, stopping briefly in the doorway before being bumped inside by people for some god awful reason desperate to get inside when all she wanted to do was be outside at this point.
Languidly lounging in the chair where she expected to see Mrs. Robinson, was a disgusting, dark looking little creature with its legs propped up on the table. It stared back at her from under lowered eye lids as it bit into a bright green pear and smacked its lips.
"Regan?" Kate said quietly from her side.
Regan realised she'd been staring. In fact, not just her. The entire class was seated and quietly observing her staring at this unwelcome presence. How long, she couldn't say. In fact, she'd never felt anything quite like this in her life. It was a feeling of dread, petrification, uneasiness. She watched as the creature removed its legs from the table and stood up to gesture grandly at the blackboard.
It spoke. "As your classmate has no doubt been trying to somehow deduce, I am not Mrs. Robinson."
Snickers.
Kate pushed her into the remaining seat at the front of the class and ushered a small meek character out of the one next to it. Regan took her eyes off it long enough to read the white writing that it was pointing at.
JIM MORIARTY.
"Jim Moriarty." he said, rolling his tongue lazily as he articulated. "But you will address me, as Mr. Moriarty - as I'm sure you're all capable of figuring out."
Mr. Moriarty paused and looked back at Regan. "Except, maybe for you - what, with your staring at me like a brain dead goldfish."
Snickers. This time with more malice.
He glided over to her desk, expensive loafers slapping hollow sounds on the scuffed wooden floors. He sat back on the edge of his own desk, looking down at her. "Whats your name, girl?"
"... Regan." she said quietly.
"Regan!" he declared, leaving the desk, turning quickly on his heel and spreading his arms in a grand gesture - till his arms slapped back at his side and he turned back to face her. "And tell me, Regan. Why do you absoluuutely," he shook his head in time with his odd enunciations, "REEK, of cigarette smoke?"
She parted her lips in shock, trying to string together a retaliation that would have the proper impact, probably something along the lines of 'go fuck yourself you creepy git this is your bloody smoke'.
"Wait-" he held up a hand, leaving her mouth hanging open, as he chuckled to himself. "Of course being in your last year of school, you have some idea of the STRESS!" he shouted at the class, startling them. "That awaits you." he said softly. "However, I, unlike some of your other teachers - am well aware of so, it's my pleasure to inform you that I, can, be a lenient man." his eyes flicked to Regan's.
She could've sworn there was a glint in those dark orbs. Something that made her uncomfortable.
"And if you pay rapt attention in my class, you maaaaaaay find that some conventional assignments may not be assigned." Questioning murmurs spread from ear to ear in the class. Mr. Moriarty took his seat, and steepled his fingers together under his chin. "Now. I just can't wait to get to know you all. So you're all going to write your full names and three interesting facts about yourself down - and hand them up to me while I get my things in order."
Regan clenched her jaw and opened her notebook.
Regan Byron
1.
She tapped the end of her pencil on the paper, before biting the end of it in thought. She looked up from her paper, to find Jim Moriarty's intense gaze boring into her. The smallest smatterings of a smile lifting the edges of his lips. She didn't react, merely opting to return to her musings.
"Regan." he uttered barely audibly.
She looked up.
"You will see me after class."
Regan barely nodded, and concentrated on trying to shut down her vital functions with her mind rather than her work or Jim bloody Moriarty.