BZZZZZZZZT. I groan as my alarm clock goes off. It seriously can't be morning already…? Sighing, I blindly extend my arm in order to turn it off, and get a much-needed extra five minutes of sleep; only to discover that it's not on my dresser. My eyes fly open. Andrea!
I lurch up into a sitting position, and glare at my roommate, who is currently standing across the room and grinning evilly; my alarm clock clutched in her outstretched palm. She laughs, turns the buzzer off, and chucks it across the room to me. I fumble as I attempt to catch it, and end up dropping the clock on the ground. Yep. My reflexes are still as horrible as ever.
"That. Wasn't. Nice." I say between my teeth while I pick the offending clock up and haphazardly throw it on the dresser. Andrea, who is now in the process of making tea, merely shrugs.
"I wasn't about to let you make us both late to class again. Williams near about had a fit on Tuesday when we came in half an hour past the bell, and I'm not about to let my grade in that class suffer because your planning skills are too poor to enable you to complete your homework before 3 in the bloody morning. Now get your arse moving, Mariel, or I swear, I'm dragging you out the door to class in nothing but your dressing gown." Her words sound serious, but I know she's just joking. Well, half-joking. She really would make me go to class in my pajamas to spare her being late. That's just how Andrea is.
After a quick shower, I dress in jeans and an old black hoodie, which in a previous life, may have been my brother's old soccer uniform. Fashion is not exactly my most developed talent. Andrea and I then dash out the door. I glance at my watch. Great. Five minutes to sprint across the school green. Good thing I've started running again.
We explode into the classroom right as the bell rings, and sink into our seats. I glance around. No sign of Prof. Williams. Well, that's a first. I can't remember a single time since school started that he hasn't been in his classroom a good half-hour before class started. The class whispers amongst themselves, unsure of what to make of this unprecedented occurrence.
During this interlude, Andrea passes over a juice box and something vaguely reminiscent of a granola bar. I roll my eyes at her.
"What?" she exclaims. "Someone's got to make sure that you eat! You're thin enough already, not without you skipping meals in order to work on schoolwork!" I sigh as I unwrap the silver encasement to the snack.
"Well, some of us have got a scholarship to uphold! And I'll be well and truly screwed if that gets taken away because of a poor grade. In another couple of weeks, if I don't get a job, I'll be flat broke." Now it's Andrea's turn to roll her eyes.
"Pleaase!" she drawls in her Northern accent. "Your marks are higher than this whole class' combined. There's no possible way that they would revoke it. It's time you took a break and started having some fun. Yu do remember what that is? Fun?" she teases, elbowing me in the side. I'm about to turn to her and make a snarky reply, when Prof. Williams walks in the room. The entire class goes dead silent and waits for an explanation.
But none is given. The middle-aged professor just pushes his glasses up on his nose, straightens his tie, and instructs us to take out our textbooks and open to page 478. He then proceeds to give a lecture on medieval art forms. I zone out on the lesson, as I have already read up on this subject a week in advance.
Normally, I would be taking notes, but the sugar rush from the juice Andrea gave to me, along with a general lack of sleep has caused my attention to wander. As I dreamily stare at the empty whiteboard, I notice something strange about Williams. His manner of dress has been seriously disrupted today. He's one of those professors who believe that wearing a suit on a daily basis is a must, and that walking out of the door in anything less classy than a Westwood is basically a cardinal sin. But today, he looks more ready to hang out at a pub with his mates rather than to have tea with the Queen.
His tie is off centered, shirt rumpled, distinct five 'o clock shadow around his chin, shadows under his eyes… he looks positively hung over, and if I'm not much mistaken, those are jeans that he's sporting. The teacher's hair is messy, and he's talking with a nervous, agitated air, as if he's anticipating something. He even stutters in the middle of his lecture. And…whoa. Is that a coffee stain on his shirt? What is going on? Williams is obviously under some sort of enormous stress.
I look around the room, certain that I can't be the only one who's noticing these things. But every other student in the classroom is bent over his or her notebook, scribbling furiously as each one attempts to transcribe Williams' lecture on ancient etchings and so on from the Middle Ages. I shake my head, unbelieving of my fellow classmates, when suddenly, there's a loud knock at the door.
Williams breaks off in the middle of a sentence, twitching spasmodically and tells some kid in the back row to get the door. The student rises, and opens the door to let in a middle aged man in a suit, with grey hair and a police badge. He's flanked by two other police officers, and behind them are standing two men in plainclothes, one very tall and the other very short. I take no notice of those two; however, as the entire class is attempting to make out the conversation between the head officer and our professor, who, at this point is sweating buckets and looks likely to have a nervous breakdown.
"… going to have to take you in for some questions, you see… standard protocol… dreadfully sorry" the grey haired officer is saying, as Williams continues to twitch. But then, suddenly, the tall plainclothes man cuts into the dialogue with a deep bass voice.
"Oh, Lestrade. When will you learn? You're going to get nowhere by mollycoddling the felon." He then turns a steely blue gaze onto Williams, who has suddenly stopped shaking and stands with a strange sort of sneer on his face. "You are Mark Williams, more commonly known in the criminal underworld as Eric Greenhalgh, where you head a ring of art forgers that has infiltrated galleries across Europe with more than two hundred of your counterfeit paintings in the last five years. You also have quite a large standing in the illegal drugs industry, but seeing as that certain accusation is based more on circumstantial evidence than the previous one, you are currently only being arrested solely on account of the first charge. Unfortunately."
The entire room stares transfixed at this creature, who has just stated this seemingly impossible story as if were base fact in less than twenty seconds, and with such overwhelming confidence. Nobody moves for a second that seems like an eternity, when spontaneously, Williams jerks back from the group of men, and suddenly, I'm wishing that I hadn't picked such a close spot to the door.
My brain seems to stop, and I am unable to comprehend what is going on. I see what is happening as if from a different vantage point: Williams holding a scrawny girl by her black curly ponytail, pressing a gun to her head. And then suddenly, I'm back in the real world, hyperventilating and trying to twist away from this madman that professes to be my teacher.
"If any one of you makes a single move, then she dies!" he yells, and the entire room goes quiet. Williams' voice has mysteriously changed from a practiced Cambridge accent to almost a cockney drawl, and this change is perhaps even more shocking then the gun jammed against my right temple. "I'll do it, I really will! Just ask 'im right there, since 'e seems to already know so much about me!" he says, pointing at the tall, blue eyed man with his free hand.
As the "teacher" says these words, he yanks me back across the classroom, making me stumble due to my clumsiness (amplified to an extreme in this stressful moment), and then hauls me roughly back up. He reaches at the door that leads to his office in the back of the classroom, opens it, and pushes me inside, following quickly. The last thing I see before the door slams shut and it is locked, is Andrea's terrified face, staring right at me.
As soon as the door locks, Williams pushes me to the ground and harshly instructs me to stay there if I want to stay alive. He starts going through his desk drawers and frantically yanks out a few papers, muttering and swearing to himself the entire time. The classroom behind the door is erupting in chaos, and I can hear the officer, Lestrade, I think that man called him, barking orders out at people.
Williams then straightens up, and says "Right." He tears the window open and grabs me by the hair, making me cry out in pain. The ex-professor drags me over to the window, shoves the papers in his pocket, and gestures with the gun outside to the fire escape. The meaning is all too clear. I'm going to be forced to act as his human shield against whoever may be outside. I look at the 4 floor drop, consider my lack of coordination, and think, with a touch of sarcasm that doesn't match up with the direness of the situation, I knew there was a reason I couldn't stand Williams.