Where the Wild Things Go

Chapter Two - Sins Of Our Fathers

(Hope you enjoy! xoxo)

With the enticing promise of witnessing something way above anything she had ever experienced, Tamsin entered her classroom. It was one of those opera inspired designs meaning that the room had amplified seating which escalated up the wall a good distance up into the air. She knew it was designed to fit better with the acoustics, but she didn't get why someone would put that kind of money into a college classroom. The seats of each desk contained red velvet lining (another expense she couldn't quite wrap her mind around) and were spaced a good foot apart for what she figured was a nod of respect to those like herself who liked their own space. There were two aisles of steps that each lead up to the higher box desks, but she didn't head for those for the simple fact that she knew there weren't any left handed seats up there, and she needed a left handier for sure.

The left hand seating was to the left of the professor's desk, so she headed straight there. Among her, there were for other desks and all were occupied aside from her own. She found a bit odd that there were only five left handed people in this two hundred and some person class, but she figured the other left handlers just made do with what they had, or didn't want to sit in the front. Tamsin didn't understand that either, because she loved sitting in the front. If you asked her, there was no other better place than the front; she could hear the entire lecture and read the lecturers lips just to make sure she had all of the information that she needed for upcoming assignments and such. Most others didn't feel the same as Tamsin, but that didn't matter to her. She kept her eyes on the prize, always.

Her eyes found themselves staring at the chalkboard before her. Scrawled in an ugly yellow color of chalk were the word 'Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte' but she knew that already. Her essay was under her fingertips, the plastic of the portfolio folder brushing against her fingers like a cool, smooth flow of water. She wasn't feeling stressed about the lecture itself, but she was suddenly feeling very apprehensive at the thought of her plans for later. Was she crazy? She should have texted Kat right then and canceled plans, then proceed to go study in her dorm all evening like she did just about every evening. But she found herself staying still, her fingers going nowhere near where they needed to be to access the cell.

It was too late anyway, her subconscious scowled at her as the professor walked in. He was an older man, late sixties to early seventies. His hair was a snow white with a few streaks of grey in it. He wore a gold wedding band on his left hand that had definitely seen better days, she decided. His face was riddled with laugh lines and furrows, but it seemed to fit his darker demeanor as he sat a black briefcase down on the desk, along with a cup of coffee. Her stomach jumped at her then, painfully reminding her that she had skipped any intake of food in favor of not being late to class.

Suddenly she found herself wondering if this was the man who was running the secret fight club? She doubted it - he looked too old to be even carting around that briefcase he was dragging. She shook her head slowly and scolded herself quickly - this was why her mom had forbade her at a young age from watching any type of horror movie, or mystery because she always became paranoid. Her favorite game quickly became who the killer was and who the killer wasn't.

After a moment, silence settled over the room. The only sounds that could be heard where tale tail signs of laptops, zippers and and papers ruffling. The professor sighed a heavy sigh, one that Tamsin didn't thin belonged to a college professor, before he trekked over to the door and closed it. Tamsin hadn't noticed anything different about the room, or the students. It was hard to tell when a class had so many of them. She had noticed that most of them went up the amphitheater, though.

The professor then proceeded to hand out stacks of paper to each row, beginning with hers. As she received her own while simultaneously passing her essay up, she glanced down at the questions and blinked - a bit deeper than she had suspected, but still she remained impassive.