Page 15 of Silent Trail

As Sheila pulled open one of the creaky drawers, a wave of nostalgia washed over her. It reminded her of when she used to sneak into her coach's office back in high school, searching for any hints about the upcoming kickboxing competitions. She had been something of a trouble-maker that way. Perhaps it had been her way of rebelling, since she never felt she could live up to the standard set by her sister.

"Any luck?" Finn asked, breaking her reverie.

"Nothing yet," she admitted, suppressing a sigh.

Her fingers traced the edges of the disorganized files, her brows furrowing in frustration. The principal's office was a mixture of old-school charm and modern touches, but it seemed that the filing system had been left in the past. How anyone was supposed to find what they were looking for in that sea of papers was beyond her.

"So," Finn said casually, "how are you liking police work?"

Sheila paused, considering his question. Her kickboxing career was probably over, since no trainer would want to risk her dying in the ring due to the brain injury she'd sustained in her last match, and she couldn't deny that the adrenaline rush from being involved in a real-life murder investigation had reignited a spark in her.

"I'm enjoying it," she said, her eyes flicking up to meet Finn's gaze. "But I'm keeping my options open. Why do you think I have what it takes to be a good police officer?" She said it playfully, as if it were a joke, but Finn seemed to take it seriously.

He studied her for a moment, his blue eyes thoughtful. "If you're anything like your sister, then definitely. She's one of the best cops I know. And you, Sheila, have the makings of an excellent police officer."

Sheila felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. Did he really believe that, or was he just trying to encourage her? And would anyone ever praise her for her own merits, without in some way comparing her to Natlaie?

Her fingers grazed over the worn edges of the files, her thoughts drifting to her sister. She hesitated for a moment, then glanced at Finn. "Speaking of Natalie, has she talked to you about what happened?"

Finn looked up from a file in his hands, confusion furrowing his brow. "What do you mean?"

"About the shooting," Sheila said, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. "Sometimes I feel like she blames me for it."

Finn was quiet for a few moments, the rustling of papers the only sound in the room. Eventually, he sighed. "I don't think Natalie knows what to make of what happened," he said. "She's a strong person, and she's used to being able to rely on herself. Having to rely on others is very difficult for her."

Sheila noticed that Finn hadn't exactly answered her question. Before she could ask a follow-up question, however, her gaze fell on a file with Kristen Lee's name scrawled across the tab. "Hey, look at this," she said, pulling it out and waving it at Finn.

Finn moved closer, and together they opened the file. Inside were several complaints lodged against Lee for bullying. One girl claimed Lee had spread nasty rumors about her after a failed attempt to join the volleyball team; another described how Lee had stolen her clothes from the locker room, forcing her to walk home in just her gym uniform.

"Seems like Kristen had a habit of picking on other girls, especially non-athletes," Finn said, his brow creasing as he read over the pages.

Sheila nodded, feeling a chill run down her spine. Having been a scrawny little girl when she first started kickboxing, she knew firsthand how difficult it could be to stand up against someone stronger or more skilled—especially when they abused their power. The thought of anyone suffering at the hands of a bully made her blood boil.

As she scanned the document, one particular complaint caught her eye. The words 'hazing incident' jumped from the page, and she felt a knot in her stomach. "Finn, look at this," she said, pointing to the paragraph.

"What does it say?" Finn asked, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in to read alongside her.

"Kristen Lee was involved in a hazing incident a few months ago," Sheila said. "She was one of the ringleaders in a group of volleyball players who took things too far with a freshman named Lila Hartlett. They forced her to run through an obstacle course they'd set up in the gym, but with a twist—they'd covered the floor with slippery oil."

"Doesn't sound so terrible," Finn said.

"Wait till you hear the rest. Apparently, Lila fell hard and broke her leg in three places. Kristen and the others were suspended for a week, but that's all the punishment they seemed to have received."

"Could Lila have wanted revenge on Kristen?" Finn asked. "The incident was several months ago, so maybe she's recovered from the injury by now."

Sheila chewed her lip thoughtfully, considering Finn's words. If Lila truly held resentment toward Kristen, she might not have been happy with the slap on the wrist Kristen had received.

She might have even decided to take matters into her own hands.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sheila said nothing as she walked alongside Finn Mercer down the hallway, heading toward the dorm hall where Lila Hartlett had recently come to live again after convalescing at home for several months. She was thinking about the nature of justice and how Lila must have felt knowing that Kristen Lee had essentially gotten a slap on the wrist for a hazing that had resulted in a broken leg for Lila.

I'd be angry, too, Sheila thought. It doesn't mean I'd stab Kristen to death and stuff her in her locker...but I'd want her to pay somehow.

The faint scent of disinfectant and stale pizza lingered in the air as they passed rows of closed doors, each one adorned with a whiteboard scribbled with messages and doodles. The flickering fluorescent lights above cast eerie shadows on the beige linoleum floor below their feet.

As they reached their destination, Sheila couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for her own college days, which now seemed a lifetime away. The door they stopped at was covered in various slogans and pictures—"Save the Earth" written in bold, colorful letters; a peace sign drawn with meticulous detail; and a quote from some obscure poet she couldn't quite place.

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