His Broken Angel's Dying Secret

A harsh beam of white light sliced through the dusk, hitting Bishop's bloodied face.

"Nobody move!" a furious voice shouted.

Vice Principal Alistair Prynne marched around the corner of the shed, holding a heavy black flashlight. He was breathing heavily, his face red with anger.

Bishop reacted instantly.

He stepped sideways, using his broad shoulders to completely block Claire from Prynne's line of sight.

"Get out of here," Bishop whispered harshly over his shoulder. "Run."

Claire didn't move. She knew Prynne had been looking for an excuse to expel Bishop all year. If she ran, Bishop was finished.

Prynne stopped a few feet away. He shined the light directly into Bishop's eyes and smiled a nasty, triumphant smile.

"Fighting again, Dalton?" Prynne sneered. "I caught you red-handed. The school board is going to love this."

Bishop's jaw tightened. He stood up straighter, preparing to take the full blame. "I was just-"

A small, freezing cold hand grabbed the back of Bishop's leather jacket and pulled hard.

Claire stepped out from behind him.

She widened her eyes and let her bottom lip tremble, perfectly faking absolute terror.

Prynne's mouth dropped open. He lowered the flashlight. "Miss Hansen? What are you doing out here?"

"It was an accident, Mr. Prynne," Claire said. She forced a tear to well up in her eye. "Bishop wasn't fighting."

Bishop slowly turned his head. He stared at her, completely stunned.

Claire pointed a shaking finger at the rusted metal pipe lying in the dirt.

"I was trying to take a shortcut," Claire lied smoothly. "I tripped over that pipe. I almost fell into that pile of rusted metal."

She took a deep breath. "Bishop was walking by. He grabbed me to stop me from falling, but he lost his balance and hit his face on the brick wall."

To sell the lie, Claire carefully pulled up the left sleeve of her oversized sweater just enough to expose the inside of her wrist, deliberately keeping the fabric gathered over the telltale needle mark in the center of her vein. She exposed the edge of the massive, dark purple bruise that covered her pale skin. It was the fresh hematoma from the chemotherapy IV she had received hours ago. She silently prayed that Prynne, a privileged administrator who rarely looked closely at anything, wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a medical hematoma and a blunt-force injury.

"He saved me from getting hurt worse," Claire whispered.

Prynne stared at the ugly, dark bruise on the honor student's wrist. He looked at her pale, sickly face. He believed every word.

Prynne frowned and looked at Bishop. "Is this true, Dalton?"

Bishop's eyes were glued to the purple bruise on Claire's wrist.

His chest stopped moving. His eyes darkened with a sudden, intense emotion. He swallowed hard.

"Yeah," Bishop grunted.

Prynne sighed, clearly disappointed he couldn't expel Bishop today. "Fine. But stay out of this area, both of you."

Prynne turned and walked away, his flashlight beam bouncing off the grass.

The second Prynne was out of sight, Bishop moved.

He reached out and grabbed Claire's left wrist. His grip was tight, almost painful.

Claire gasped.

Bishop pulled her arm up, forcing her to look at the dark purple bruise.

"What the hell is this?" Bishop demanded. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. "You didn't get this from falling."

Claire's heart hammered against her ribs. She tried to yank her arm back, but his grip was like iron.

"I bruise easily," Claire said, her voice shaking slightly. "Let me go."

Bishop stepped closer. He backed her up until her shoulders hit the chain-link fence. He towered over her.

"Why did you lie for me?" he asked, his eyes searching her face for the truth.

Claire looked up into his dark, angry eyes.

"Because you're a good person," she said softly.

Bishop flinched. He looked at her like she had just slapped him.

A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped his lips. The anger in his eyes turned into something cold and broken.

He dropped her wrist. He took a large step back, putting distance between them.

"Stay away from me, Claire," Bishop said coldly. "Don't play these games with me."

He turned and walked away into the dark, his shoulders tense and rigid.

Claire watched him go. Her legs finally gave out.

She slid down the chain-link fence and sat in the dirt, gasping for air.

She looked at the needle mark hidden in the center of the bruise. Her secret was safe for another day.