Free Instinct by Mattie Dunman Page A

him. His hand twitches, and I have a mental image of him wrapping that
hand around my throat.
    “Oh. Um. It’s
okay,” I roll my chair back just a bit. Jake notices and scowls.
    “I’m not going
to attack you. Just calm down,” he growls.
    Easy for him
to say.
    “Right. I
know,” I say, laughing awkwardly, like the idea of him throttling me and
dumping me in the river never crossed my mind. He bares his teeth in what he
fondly believes is a smile and then he rolls back over to his station. My
breath releases in a soundless sigh. We work quietly, if uneasily, for the next
hour. It helps that he is on the phone with advertisers most of the time, and
we carefully ignore one another, even though I track every move he makes.
    After a while,
I accept that he’s not going to kill me in the near future and I become
engrossed in my research.
    Without making
a conscious decision to do so, I click on an article dated October 20 th about Miranda’s unexpected death. I hold my gaze steady so that I can read the
truth before it fades away.
                            Local Girl Possibly Murdered or Committed
Suicide
    I couldn’t get a real answer out of anyone, but from what
the cops on the scene        said, it looks like the girl hit her head and
drowned. The back of her head is cut so deep her skull is visible. They said it
looks like a rock did it, but all they’ll let me print is that it was a drowning.
I’m pretty sure there was foul play, but I doubt they’ll find any evidence.
Looks like everything washed away. No one is saying much, but it seems like the
girl was emotionally disturbed.  Her friend is convinced she wouldn’t kill
herself. She thinks Miranda was murdered.
    I blink and
the words bleed into a new article, one that cleverly hides all the author’s
suspicions. A picture of Miranda, the same one pasted on her locker, is
juxtaposed next to a blurry shot of people in uniforms wading in the water
around a big stone tower of some sort, the rusty old train bridge hovering over
them like an iron cloud.
      Local High School
Student Found Drowned
    Authorities report that Miranda
Oglesby, a popular student at John Brown High School, was found dead yesterday morning
at the base of the old bridge supports above the fork of the rivers. Cause is
yet undetermined, but sources at the coroner’s office claim that accidental
drowning is likely. Ms. Oglesby was an only child, beloved of her parents and
friends, and was an honor roll student at the high school. Her parents were
unavailable for comment, but close friend Nicole Sharp was on the scene shortly
after the body was found and said “Miranda didn’t do this. She would never do
this on purpose.”
    My chair is wrenched
away from the computer and spun around so violently I nearly fall off. Jake’s
face is so close to mine I can smell the peppermint on his breath and feel the malice
vibrating from him like heat from a furnace. I shrink into my chair to try to
escape, but he plants both hands behind me on the desk, trapping me between his
arms. His eyes scorch me with barely contained rage as he moves forward
slightly, his knees pressing against mine. Terror floods through me and I stop
breathing. For a second I am reminded of the mind-numbing panic I felt in my
nightmare, and my entire body freezes up, immobile until he releases me.
    “I want to strangle
you.” 
    Jake’s voice
is unrecognizable in this low growl, like some primal beast warning its prey it
is about to be eaten. Whatever he is really saying is lost in the chilling
knowledge that deep down, my pain is on his mind.
    “You
understand? This is none of your business. She’s dead. She killed herself. End
of story.”
    I try to nod,
to say something, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and my arms
just tremble.
    His face
descends a touch, and his mouth is nearly brushing mine. Electricity flashes
through me and my lips part slightly as I draw an unsteady breath.