Chapter 2The Anchor Point

"You're still trying to scam me!"

Mr. Miller's father suddenly erupted, raising his hand to slap me across the face.

A younger guy in the row behind us quickly reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Whoa, pops, take it easy. Use your words, no need to get physical."

The old man’s wrist was pinned, but he was still trembling with rage, spitting curses at me under his breath.

Right at that moment, the Greyhound bus slowly pulled into the rural county transit center.

The second the pneumatic doors hissed open, I bolted off the bus like I was running for my life.

The group of older passengers got off right behind me.

I braced myself, fully expecting them to keep harassing me.

But then, something incredibly bizarre happened.

The moment their feet hit the pavement, the burning rage and intense emotion completely vanished from their faces.

Even Mr. Miller's father just casually glanced at me over his shoulder, his tone completely flat and unremarkable.

"It's getting late, miss. You should head home."

With that, they all dispersed, seamlessly blending into the bustling crowd outside the station.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, my brain completely short-circuiting.

What the hell just happened?

Why did their entire demeanor do a complete 180 the second they stepped off the bus?

I doubted myself for a fraction of a second, but quickly rationalized it.

They're probably just old and suffering from dementia. They probably realized they had the wrong guy and were too embarrassed to apologize.

Satisfied with that logic, I flagged down a passing taxi.

"Driver, Lincoln High, please."

"You got it!" The driver answered cheerfully, throwing the car into drive.

I sat in the back seat and casually asked:

"Hey, let me ask you something. Did Lincoln High... ever have a massive fire about ten years ago?"

The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror and chuckled.

"A fire? Nah! You're crazy, kid. Lincoln High is perfectly fine. It's been the top-ranked public school in the county for years. Never had a fire."

Hearing those words, the massive knot of anxiety in my chest completely dissolved.

I knew it! Those old people on the bus were just completely delusional!

The taxi soon pulled up in front of "El Camino Grill," right across the street from the high school.

I pushed the doors open. The private back room was packed with people, loud and chaotic.

"Maya! You finally made it! You're late, you owe us a round of shots!" Ben, the class president, spotted me immediately and started hyping up the room.

I walked over laughing, my eyes scanning the crowd. I quickly spotted a deeply familiar silhouette.

Mr. Miller was wearing a crisp button-down shirt and his signature wire-rimmed glasses. He was laughing and chatting with a group of my old classmates.

He looked a little heavier than he did in high school, but he looked fantastic.

Seeing me, he waved me over. "Maya's here! Come sit down!"

In that single moment, all the lingering anxiety and frustration from the bus ride completely evaporated.

During dinner, I told the table about the bizarre encounter on the bus as if it were a hilarious comedy sketch.

"...and this old guy claimed he was Mr. Miller's dad, and he swore up and down that Mr. Miller burned to death in a fire ten years ago!"

The entire table burst into roaring laughter.

"Maya, have you been watching too many sci-fi movies? Your imagination is wild."

"It was definitely a scammer! They were probably trying to extort money from you!"

Mr. Miller chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"My dad telling people I'm dead? That is a very dark joke."

The dinner was a massive, drunken success. All the strange clouds of doubt from the bus ride vanished into the laughter and the margaritas.

After we paid the bill, someone suggested we walk across the street and visit the old campus.

Mr. Miller smiled and led us through the front gates of Lincoln High.

The campus at night was peaceful and nostalgic.

We walked through the quad, passed the basketball courts where we used to sweat through gym class, and finally stopped right outside the door of Room 204—our old senior homeroom.

Everything was exactly as I remembered it.

As the night wound down, Ben suggested we make a new group chat to stay in touch.

I specifically walked over to Mr. Miller.

"Mr. Miller, let me get your number. Next time I'm back in town visiting my parents, I'll take you out to lunch."

"Sure thing." Mr. Miller smiled warmly, pulling out his phone. We exchanged numbers, and I saved his contact info.

The reunion ended perfectly. We all hugged goodbye, and I went home completely satisfied.

I spent the entire long weekend at my parents' house, soaking up the rare, peaceful downtime.

Three days later, I hauled a massive duffel bag stuffed with my mom's homemade jerky, baked goods, and local snacks back to the bus station for the ride back to the city.

The bus slowly pulled out of the terminal. I put my headphones on, ready to sleep through the ride.

But when I looked up, the smile completely froze on my face.

Sitting in the row directly in front of me were several deeply familiar silhouettes.

It was the exact same group of elderly people from three days ago—the ones who swore the school had burned down.

And right now, they were all slowly turning their heads in unison, locking their eyes onto me with a chilling, venomous glare.