Story code: ST-000810
Part 2: The Witch Hunt
“Not a word, Kevin,” Grace commanded, her voice dropping to a harsh, maternal whisper that brooked no argument. “You are the victim here. Do not apologize for what they did to you.”
Kevin’s mouth snapped shut. He looked like a cornered animal, his chest heaving under his meticulously ironed polo shirt. He shrank back against the doorframe, wrapping his arms around himself even tighter, his eyes wide and pleading.
Grace didn’t have time to decipher his traumatized silence. The phone on the granite counter clicked.
“Superintendent Miller’s office, this is Diane,” a tinny voice chimed from the speaker.
“Diane, it’s Grace Sterling. Put Richard on the line. Now.”
“Oh, Mrs. Sterling! I’m afraid Dr. Miller is in a budget committee meeting until-”
“Interrupt him,” Grace snapped. “Tell him the family that funded the new synthetic turf for the athletic field is about to call the local news affiliates. I will wait.”
Silence fell over the kitchen. Kevin swallowed hard, the sound audible in the tense room. He took another half-step forward, reaching out a trembling hand as if to touch the sealed Ziploc bag. Grace swatted his hand away.
“Don’t,” she whispered fiercely. “You don’t have to carry this burden anymore.”
A click, and then the superintendent’s flustered voice filled the room. “Grace! To what do I owe the pleasure? Is everything alright with the turf installation?”
“Richard, I am looking at a piece of psychological contraband that a member of your staff deliberately smuggled into my son’s AP Biology materials,” Grace said, her voice a glacier of controlled fury. “It is a graphic manual on teen suicide and depression. A targeted attempt to groom a high-achieving student into emotional fragility.”
“Good god,” Miller breathed, the budget meeting instantly forgotten. “Are you certain? Which staff member?”
“Your new media center specialist. The woman with the combat boots. I want her removed from the building. I will be at the high school in fifteen minutes, Richard. You will meet me in the library, or my next call is to the school board president.”
She disconnected the call before he could mount a defense. She grabbed her keys from the ceramic bowl and turned to Kevin. He was perfectly still, his face ashen, looking at her with a terror so profound it made her heart break.
“Go upstairs,” she told him, softening her tone. “Drink some electrolytes. Rest your brain. Mommy is going to take care of the monsters.”
“Mom,” Kevin choked out, a single, agonizing syllable.
“Shh.” She kissed his cold forehead. “I’ve got this.”
The drive to the high school was a blur of righteous indignation. Gripping the leather steering wheel of her white Audi SUV, Grace mentally drafted the email she would blast to the entire Parent Teacher Association. She would not let this stand. She was protecting her Ivy-bound investment. She was protecting her blood.
She parked in the visitor lot, grabbed the Ziploc bag, and marched through the double doors. The receptionist didn’t even try to stop her as she bypassed the main office and headed straight for the media center.
The library was a sprawling room that Grace despised. It was filled with modular beanbag chairs and colorful displays promoting emotional wellness-all the soft, progressive nonsense that was ruining education. At the circulation desk stood the culprit. Ms. Higgins. She was currently helping a freshman scan a barcode, her brightly colored floral dress clashing terribly with her heavy black boots.
Grace approached the desk and slapped the plastic bag down. The loud smack echoed across the quiet room. A dozen students looked up from their laptops.
“Mrs. Sterling,” Ms. Higgins said, her smile faltering as she took in Grace’s furious expression. “Can I help you?”
“You can pack your things,” Grace said loudly, ensuring the students in the nearest study carrels could hear. “I found this hidden in my son’s biology binder.”
Ms. Higgins stared at the bag, squinting at the dark, gothic cover of the graphic novel. “I… I don’t recognize that book. We don’t have that title in our system.”
“Do not lie to me!” Grace’s voice cracked like a whip. “You saw a pure, focused, brilliant boy, and you decided to infect his mind with this depressing garbage. You are a predator.”
The librarian took a step back, her hands rising defensively. “Excuse me? I have never spoken to Kevin outside of his scheduled study hall. I certainly didn’t give him-”
“Grace! Grace, please!”
Principal Evans came jogging down the library aisle, followed closely by a red-faced Superintendent Miller. Evans was sweating profusely, his tie loosened. He looked from Grace, to the bagged book, to the horrified librarian.
“Let’s step into my office, Grace,” Principal Evans pleaded, his hands raised in a calming gesture. “Let’s deconstruct this in a safe space.”
“The safe space has been compromised,” Grace declared, pointing a perfectly manicured nail at Ms. Higgins. “This woman is distributing psychological contraband to minors. I demand she be placed on administrative leave immediately, pending a full audit of this facility. If you refuse, I will have the PTA pull all funding for the spring gala, and I will personally fund a lawsuit against this district.”
Principal Evans blanched. He looked at Superintendent Miller, who gave a grim, imperceptible nod. The Sterling family’s influence was simply too massive.
“Ms. Higgins,” Evans said, his voice shaking. “I’m going to need you to hand over your keys and step into the conference room while we figure this out.”
“What? You can’t be serious!” The librarian’s eyes filled with tears of humiliation as the entire room of students watched her. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Your keys. Now,” Miller snapped, abandoning his usual diplomatic tone in the face of Grace’s wrath.
As the weeping librarian was escorted away, Grace felt a surge of triumphant adrenaline. She had neutralized the threat. She had protected her son.
Her phone vibrated in her designer purse. She pulled it out. There were four missed calls from Kevin, and a new text message that had just arrived.
*Mom, please stop. Nobody gave it to me. I bought it online. I need help.*
Grace stared at the glowing screen. She read the words, but her brain instantly rewrote them to fit her reality. Look at the damage they had done to him. He was experiencing a trauma bond, trying to protect the very system that had poisoned him. He was so broken by their indoctrination that he was actually claiming ownership of the disease.
She deleted the text message without replying.
*I need help.*
He certainly did. And she wasn’t going to stop until every single staff member who had made him feel this way was gone. She slid the phone back into her purse and turned her cold gaze toward the high school’s counseling offices.