I Wrote This While You Slept - 7. Chapter 7

Dalton

“Dear Luke,

What a strange thing to be calling you Luke! I’ve known you by Mr. Hearst for three years now, so this feels really weird. But in a good way, so personal and intimate. There’s no formal separation between us anymore. No student and teacher divide holding us apart. There’s just Luke and Noelle. Our names go nicely together, don’t you think? Sort of musical and whimsical and cute. I have a confession, please don’t judge. The other day I wrote my first name with your last name inside the cover of a book. Noelle Hearst. And then my full name inside of my notebook, Noelle Victoria Hearst. Doesn’t it just sound perfect? It’s straight out of a fairytale almost. You’re my Prince Charming and I’m the Princess you saved from this wretched miserable school and dull existence. Princess Noelle Victoria Hearst. So much better than my current name, Noelle Miller. How boring! Maybe (just maybe, don’t freak out!) once I get my diploma, and once you get a divorce of course, I’ll be able to have your last name. That’d be nice, don’t you think?

I like you. (As if you couldn’t tell, ha!) I like you so, so, so much that the butterflies in my stomach when I’m around you are almost painful. I like you in a lay down on train tracks for you type of like. Henry’s obsession with India type of like! You are just…the bestest! Is that a word? Probably not. You’ll most likely cringe reading this letter, but I just wanted you to know all this and obviously I can’t tell you to your face. Ahhh, how embarrassing would that be! I’m getting red at just the thought of it.

Luke. Ahh… Luke, Luke, Luke. I love your name. I say it before I go to sleep. Luke. Like a little bedtime story to comfort me and keep me warm. I give you fun secret nicknames in my head too. Lukey. Lukes. LuLu (you won’t like this one). My Luke. I know, I know, I sound crazy! I guess that’s what happens when you really, really, really like someone the way that I like you.

Anyways, I have to go to practice! I can’t wait until school is over and it will be just the two of us.

Noelle and Luke; Luke and Noelle.

Forever Yours,

Noelle Victoria Miller

(Soon to be—hopefully—Noelle Victoria Hearst)

Ps. I wrote this while you slept. You have the cutest snore.”

Professor Hearst sat on the bench in front of the Principal’s office, reminding Dalton and India of a student who had misbehaved and was waiting to hear his punishment. His hands were bound at the front with silver handcuffs, but the cops were kind enough to put his jacket over them so that when they walked him out eventually, it would look as if they were simply going for a walk together. They didn’t want to traumatize the students any further by doing an entire perp walk in the middle of lunch. He looked as if all life had drained out of him.

For a brief moment he glanced over at his shoulder, puzzled, almost as if he was checking whether someone had laid their head against it. But then he shook his head and looked away. Finally, the officers escorted him out of the building.

Dalton walked India over to Henry’s room, where Curtis and Sophie were waiting to meet them. He had explained everything that happened, because India was too busy sobbing. When Henry found out that India had been sleeping with Professor Hearst, he looked angry at first, but after a while he walked over and hugged her, and she melted into his arms. Sophie looked relieved that the whole mess was finally over with. And Curtis just shook his head in disbelief.

A few days later the students all attended Mass in Mrs. Miller’s name. The atmosphere at school was somber. By and large, it felt like their true leader was gone, and nobody felt safe with Principal Archie Jones at the mast without Professor Hearst holding him up.

Surprisingly, the Principal decided to sit next to Dalton during the service. After a while he whispered, "I still can't believe that he did those things." Dalton guessed it was because he was the one that brought him the final piece of information, that made him want to confide his thoughts in him. He nodded solemnly and pondered to himself how amazing it was that humans were able to conceal so many secrets from others.

Him, for example. He never meant for Professor Hearst to be arrested for his crime—or two, to be exact. That was not the original intention. He wanted to punish him, yes, but not like this. Seeing him get dragged off in handcuffs didn't provide him with any type of glee. He would have enjoyed the speculation and rumors eating Professor Hearst alive for the next few years. His reputation never quite recovering from the blow. But he didn't want him gone from school and out of his reach forever.

But it had to happen that way because the Professor had no interest in him, he was too busy with the girls. At first, he only knew about Noelle. He knew because he found the stupid letter when he broke into his office one day and searched through his drawers. But when he saw the way India had rejected Henry, and her sudden interest in what Professor Hearst had to say about the accident, he quickly realized that she too had been mesmerized by his charms.

Let's go back to the beginning. What is it about teenage girls and their obsession with older men? It was so pedestrian, so predictable. And in that regard, Noelle was no different. She had a crush on Professor Hearst, and he clearly enjoyed her advances. Dalton kept up with their secret meetings, which brought on his depression. But everything between the girl and the teacher changed when she gave him her stupid letter. He sobered up to the fact that she was an obsessed girl who expected him to leave his wife, which he had no intention of doing.

The night of her death she went to his room at night to beg him not to leave her. He scolded her, told her she needed to stop. Dalton approached her in the hallway, where she sat alone, crying her eyes out. Together, they snuck into the chapel and drank the Communion wine. Then he gave her a pill, told her it would take the pain away. He was so tired of her stupid crush, and so tired of Professor Hearst overlooking him just so he could have his fun with a delusional teenage girl. Mrs. Miller had been quite close in her reconstruction. On their way back he saw the candlesnuffer, and in a moment of rage he grabbed it and hit her on the head.

Unfortunately for him, Mrs. Miller wasn't as dim in her alcoholic stupor as he had hoped. Minutes before she died, she confronted him. He was at the top of that staircase; it had become almost a meditation center for him. Counting down the steps, reliving her fall. It calmed him down.

"Why were you at church so early that day?" A voice asked from behind. Mrs. Miller sounded shockingly sober. He didn't have to ask her to explain, he knew exactly what she was referring to.

"I was there for morning Mass," Dalton replied, turning around, and trying to sound as innocent as possible.

"Don't lie to me boy. It was too early. The altar boy Curtis, yes, but what exactly were you doing there?"

"I don't understand," he floundered, but it was fake and they both knew.

"I think you understand perfectly," she replied, getting in his face. And strangely, he couldn't help but smile. You have to understand, there is something comforting about being discovered and truly seen for who you are. It's the most intimate and exhilarating experience in the course of a human lifetime: to really be seen by someone. And now, she was seeing him. Not the persona he put on. Not the smart and polite student she assumed him to be. She was seeing the inside of him. He noticed a hint of fear in her eyes. Yes, she really saw him.

"You. It was you," she said, barely above a whisper.

He didn't plan on framing Professor Hearst, he wanted to do just enough to make him a suspect. There was no student who went over and told the principal Archie Jones about Noelle coming over to the Professor’s room that night, it was Dalton. He left an anonymous note to raise suspicion. When he went over to the Professor’s office that day, Hearst didn't lend him the burgundy book. He already had it. All his days spent at the office talking about his depression gave him the perfect opportunity. At some point in time the Professor had to use the bathroom, and that's when he grabbed the book. He never lent those precious things to anyone. Except Noelle. Dalton penciled in the cloverleaf himself, as a cherry on top. A subtle clue. He could have just gave them the letter, but strangely he had become quite attached to it, and didn’t want it leaving his possession. He reread it every morning, feeling righteous in why he had to end Noelle’s life. She would have never given Professor Hearst up. She would have never left him alone.

He also took the spare key to the office and replaced it with another key. Right after Mrs. Miller forced him to kill her, he transferred the candle snuffer—which had been safely stored in his closet up until then—to under the famous blue sofa.

He had executed his plan to perfection, and wiped his hands clean off the crimes. But unfortunately, he lost Professor Hearst in the process. It was a tough lesson to learn. Every death leaves a trail. He had to sacrifice a lot to cover his.

Father John continued on with the sermon and for once, he had every ear in the room listening intently. “You're welcome,” Dalton thought to himself. The raging demon inside him was satiated. For now.

The End