The Judas Door

The next morning, the sun rose over the mountains, bathing St. Jude’s in a deceptive golden light. To an outsider, it looked like a bastion of tradition and excellence. To Sophie, it looked like a mausoleum.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't keep the secret. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mark’s body crumpling onto the cobblestones. She saw Enzo leaning over the railing, wiping his hands on a handkerchief.

She needed help. She needed authority.

She skipped first period and went straight to the administration wing. The corridors were lined with portraits of stern men in robes—Headmasters of centuries past.

Headmaster Miller’s office was at the end of the hall. He was a nervous, balding man who always smelled of peppermint and sweat.

Sophie knocked.

"Come in," Miller’s voice wavered.

Sophie slipped inside and closed the heavy oak door. The office was opulent, filled with leather furniture and smelling of lemon polish. Miller looked up from his desk, his glasses slipping down his nose.

"Miss Wren?" he asked, surprised. "Shouldn't you be in History?"

"I need to talk to you," Sophie said, rushing forward. "It's about Mark."

Miller stiffened. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Sophie, the police have already concluded their investigation. It was a terrible tragedy, but—"

"It wasn't suicide," Sophie blurted out. The words tumbled over each other. "I saw it. I was there. Enzo Valenti pushed him."

The name hung in the air like smoke.

Miller went very still. He looked at Sophie, his eyes wide and watery. He didn't look angry. He looked terrified.

"You saw... Mr. Valenti?" Miller asked softly.

"Yes. I heard them arguing. Mark was crying. Enzo... he didn't even hesitate. He just shoved him." Sophie gripped the edge of the Headmaster’s desk. "You have to call the police. You have to tell them. I'll testify. I can't stay here with him. You have to put me in protection."

She was begging now, her "weakness" manifesting as a frantic need for someone else to fix it. Someone bigger. Someone with power.

Miller stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he picked up the receiver of his landline phone.

"Thank God," Sophie breathed, sinking into one of the leather chairs. "Thank you."

Miller dialed a number. It was a short number. Not 911.

He held the phone to his ear, his hand trembling. He looked at Sophie with an expression of profound pity and resignation.

"Mr. Valenti?" Miller said into the phone.

Sophie froze. The blood drained from her face, leaving her dizzy.

"She's here," Miller said, his voice cracking. "She saw everything. She... she wants to go to the police."

There was a pause. Miller nodded. "Yes. I understand. I'll make sure the door is secure."

He hung up.

Sophie scrambled out of the chair, backing away. "What did you do?"

"I have a family, Sophie," Miller whispered, shame coloring his cheeks red. "I have two daughters. I can't... I can't go against the Valentis. No one can."

Sophie turned and ran to the door. She grabbed the brass handle and twisted.

Locked.

The electronic lock had engaged from the desk.

"Let me out!" she screamed, pounding on the wood. "Let me out!"

"I'm sorry," Miller said, turning his chair away so he wouldn't have to look at her. "He's already in the building."