Author's Note: Wow! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it so much.

"Well I don't know what I'm looking for
But I know that I just wanna look some more" - Brendan Benson, What I'm Looking For

If you would have asked John all that time ago why he decided that he wanted to become a teacher, he would have quite earnestly proclaimed "To make a difference."

From anyone else in the world, it would only sound as if an adult had been reading off a script meant to encourage children that they could go anywhere or be anything, when in reality they were nothing but words. But if you were to ever stand face-to-face with John Smith and listen to the passion in his voice and see the sparkling in his brown eyes, that's all it would take to be convinced that he meant every utterance from his lips.

Even when he was but a young boy, he would tell anyone who took the time to listen that he was going to change the world someday. So quiet and timid throughout his life, you would never guess that he had so much going on inside that mind of his. Yet he expressed so much hope for the future once you prodded it out of him that you wanted to believe everything he said. He was always so innocent, but always kept aware of the horrors of the world around him; determined from the very beginning that life could always be better, and that he could make it so if only he never allowed himself to lose faith.

Now, as a thirty-five year old schoolteacher, instructing boys not only on the history that came before them but the lessons of war itself, John wonders when he lost track of all those marvelous dreams of his. Was it simply a delusion of childhood fantasy, withering away as he grew older as so many dreams seemed to do in time? Could it possibly be the way his father, amazing man that he was but so stern in his beliefs, would constantly dissuade him from what he believed was nonsense, not out of spite but in trying to shape him for the future? He could never truly place the origins back to any specific moment in time; however the thoughts still plagued him over and over.

Especially recently.

Leaning heavily onto his desk, having dismissed his students only moments before, he took what he believed was a much needed breathe. Teaching teenaged boys wasn't half tiring, after all. Although, John knew that his drooping eyes and tired body had little to do with teaching. Attempting to rub the sleep out of his exhausted eyes, John contemplated on the more exact reason of his exhaustion. His dreams.

The night previous had been what he could only describe as utter chaos, if not in reality then certainly in the depths of his subconscious. Though his dreams were certainly fantastic in nature, drawing them out had always been sort of a fanciful notion. Simply something to pass the time and pretend for a few stolen moments that there were unimaginable things among him. Only now, this time, it was as if his mind couldn't even quite comprehend the sheer size of his imaginings. The colors so much more vivid; the creatures so much more real; everything was in Technicolor, overwhelming and surrounding him and nothing, none of it, no matter how hard he'd driven his brain to just remember, nothing could penetrate the resistance he got in the form of a splitting headache that hadn't gone away since he'd woken. It had shaken him, literally, from the inside out. As his eyes had struggled to readjust to the waking world, he realized just how deeply the shivers had wracked his body. It had taken him a few moments and a series of deep breathes until he was finally able to get enough of a handle on himself to still his limbs and calm his mind.

Absently rubbing his temples as he'd been doing the whole day thus far, John tried to shake himself from his thoughts as reminiscing about them only served to worsen his aching head. Perhaps his thoughts would be better served for something that didn't make him want to lay in bed in completed darkness, but did cause for some serious investigation. Something like the mysterious disappearances one of their well respected staff.

When word rang out that the English professor, Mr. James Pryce had never returned to class only three mornings ago, it was safe to say that the entire school was in a bit of a panic. Not only could no one conclude his whereabouts, but after being seen the evening before, seeming to be taking a stroll before retiring, not one person had reported seeing him after he ventured past the gaggles of people in town and into - suspiciously, many thought - the woods. Even that information only came from an elderly gentleman who claims to only have seen Pryce from the corner of his eye, a moment before he was out of sight.

Gossip raged like wildfire throughout the school, primarily among the students as could only be expected. In the last couple of days it had been impossible to walk the halls without hearing whispers about the possible whereabouts of their missing professor. When preparing to lecture his classes he'd have to interrupt the latest rumor that had found it's way to all of the students and teachers. It was quite the scandal in town, as well. The incident was currently being investigated by local authorities, yet he couldn't quite shake off the feeling that something was somehow amiss. Aside from the missing teacher, of course. As hot a topic as it had become in the short time since it had taken place, even now, only a couple of days later, it was as if the search was already deemed hopeless. As if for some reason, it was being downplayed.

This made John a slight bit suspicious. However, the very sudden appearance of another man by the name of Victor Kennedy is what made him positively anxious.

Exactly a day later, the mysterious appearance of the elusive professor that had claimed to have come to replace Pryce had situated himself where his predecessor had been. Not to mention putting him in unease from the first time he had greeted the man upon arrival. As if the fact that he had arrived at the school at such a time of scandal wasn't suspicious enough, Kennedy himself was downright unnerving.

He was a rather large man, his presence unable to go ignored. His hair had obviously been graying for some time now, all but a few wisps of color showing through the silver strands on his head as well as the goatee he had grown. He always wore a black suit as far as he had seen in the couple of days since he'd come, and that somehow seemed to add to the arrogance that rolled off the professor in waves every time he passed by or sparred a glance. And then there was that hat he always wore.

John shook his head at himself. It was a little silly, he must admit, finding Kennedy's appearance as troubling as he did. Yet, it wasn't really about something as trivial as the clothing he chose. No, as he thought before, the very presence of him put John on guard. He was pompous, that was no question to anyone who had approached him. If someone were to call John secluded, then they quite obviously hadn't met the new teacher. If at anytime forced to socialize, the new professor was prone to leaving a rather backhanded remark before he made some excuse or other to leave. Other than actually teaching the students - and thanks to a remark made by one of his more shy, but rather bright students named Timothy Latimer, he got the impression that the man still had a very self-important attitude in class - no one truly had the experience of finding out just who this Victor Kennedy was, other than that he was a replacement.

Not to mention the look he always had. It was clear in his eyes for anyone who dared to look, and John had most certainly been searching his gaze. Something was there. Something he didn't trust. Something that told him that he was not to be trusted.

Which brought John back to his earlier assessment. He had come to the Farringham school merely a day after the English professor had gone missing. Now, John had no delusions that he was anything of a detective or anything like that. He did, however, consider himself to be somewhat competent. So it was more than a bit difficult to believe Victor's story. According to the man himself, he'd just happened to be in town to visit his old friend from his own days in school; apparently he and James had gone back a long way, and so when news got out about the incident, Kennedy - who also happened to have history as a teacher himself - was immediately ready to step in.

John Smith was a very…personal person. He didn't have an overabundance of friends - not from lack of personality, but from his proneness to being alone. Still, he had, upon being at Farringham, somewhat befriended James Pryce while he'd been at the school. While he didn't have the knowledge that comes from being a close personal friend, John had taken to the overenthusiastic man immediately. He had been the type of person that you simply could not not be friends with once you met him. He'd rather reminded John of one of his own friends from his time in school as a boy, always cracking jokes when others wouldn't, making people smile when it was obvious that they could have cried moments before. He was such a character, someone who thoroughly enjoyed life.

The thoughts brought John back to reality for a moment, and he took a second to remember that James very well could be in more danger than he cared to think about. Still, it served to bring light to his original point as well.

There was no way on God's green earth that someone like James Pryce could ever have been close to a man like Victor Kennedy.

It just didn't add up. Hence why John was so very, very on guard when it came to recent events.

He heaved a sigh at his inner ramblings. Maybe it was all just in his head. Maybe the amazing things he's witnessed in his world of dreams was making him look just that little bit closer when in reality there was nothing amiss aside from the fact that he looked far too much into things. Somehow, that thought seemed a lot less likely. Which is ridiculous, really, when he didn't even have any real evidence that could explain his theory; that was mostly what kept him from attempting to explain any of it to any of colleagues.

Another sigh.

"I should really just lie down," he muttered to himself. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't realized that he'd still been in the empty classroom for at least five minutes.

Cursing so softly no one could hear even if they were in proximity, John once again rubbed his tired eyes for a moment before making his way out of the classroom. Once he stepped outside and felt the cool wind, he languidly leaned slightly against the doorway, taking a deep breathe of the fresh air into his lungs and allowing his eyes to drift close. It was just what he needed for the moment, just enough to temporarily clear his mind of his troubles and simply enjoy being.

"I see the boys have been tiring you again, Mr. Smith."

His eyes snapped open immediately, the voice shocking him out of his trance. Turning toward the sound, his face lifted into a smile.

"Matron Redfern!" he exclaimed, a flush appearing on his cheeks at being caught daydreaming.

"Hello, John," the nurse chuckled lightly in a voice he recognized after seeing her face. "I thought I asked you to call me Joan?"

Her tone was light with amusement, and now there was definitely a red tint on his face. It was an old argument between them now; well, as old as it could be with him only having been teaching at the school for a small time. They had taken a certain liking to each other when he'd arrived, and had been friends ever since. She often told him that he needn't bother with titles when around her - and he had said the same - but he still often found himself slipping into old habits brought on by the manners his mother had forced on him as a child.

"Indeed, you did," John replied, straightening himself as she came a bit closer. She had a coat wrapped tightly around herself in the face of the cold weather, and he become aware of the small chills running up his arms.

Joan's smile widened, and it was a bit infectious as he found himself following her lead.

"As I mentioned, though; you do look awfully exhausted."

"I suppose I do, yes," he grimaced, bringing a hand to rub the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. It was a habit he'd had since he was a teenager. His mother used to tease him saying that she always knew when he was in trouble by the way he'd explain things, unconsciously getting a certain look on his face as he eventually rubbed his neck.

When she didn't appear pleased at his answer he continued. "I will admit it wasn't all the fault of the boys. Though they are quite a handful."

"Aren't they just?"

He laughed gently. "Quite," he replied. "I suppose I've just had a rather rough night."

"Oh?" Concern laced her words and her features. "Are you feeling all right? You aren't feeling ill, are you?"

He quickly interrupted her worries. "No, no, no! I'm feeling quite all right. I've only had trouble getting to sleep. I'm sure it's nothing serious."

Joan didn't appear utterly convinced, but she was indeed a nurse and John didn't appear to have any ailments other than the tiredness he'd been exuding.

"All right," she accepted skeptically. "But if there are any signs of illness you had better inform me immediately."

"Of course, Nurse Redfern- Joan!" he amended quickly at her disapproving look.

"Nevertheless," she started again, "you should still be sure to get some rest. Can't have you falling asleep in the midst of a lecture, can we?" She joked with mirth in her blue eyes.

It wasn't necessarily that he wanted to lie to Joan. Technically, he'd been truthful; he really hadn't been feeling ill. But he just didn't feel ready to speak to anyone personally about his dreams quite yet. There were personal, private to him. Something he thinks he might share one day to the right person.

He certainly liked Joan Redfern, that was true. They got along incredibly well despite his shyness, and they had grown into quite good friends. He can see, sometimes when they have conversations, a certain look that catches in her eyes. It's always smothered by a bit of uncertainty, as if she's not quite sure that she wants him to have seen in at all. He wonders sometimes if he should do the proper thing; ask her if he could court her, try to have a real relationship and settle down as he should be doing at his age.

He just can't help but think that when he does get married, deciding to spend the rest of his life with someone, that he should be a lot more certain about his feelings toward them. He should know, without a doubt, that he loves her. He wonders if he could ever really feel that way towards Joan.

They continued their conversation idly, John careful to keep their topics light because of his previous thoughts. A myriad of small things came up, from the weather - which led John to have to insist again that he was perfectly fine - to how their days had been, before they departed.

Walking the rest of the way to his quarters, he thought once more about the disappearance of his friend. Maybe there wasn't anything to think about, and he was only wasting time lingering on possibilities. But maybe he wasn't. Then and there, he decided that that was enough.

And if he heard the sounds of time and space and eternity from a distance, he wouldn't know that it meant his life was never going to be the same again, anyway.

Random Quote Time!

"I can resist everything except temptation." - Oscar Wilde