Free Creepy Teacher: A Psychological Thriller by Mackie Malone Page A

first, his smile seemed one of complete embarrassment, rather than complete relief, but then it changed to complete relief, and he exhaled deeply and with satisfaction.
    And the whole time she watched his face.
    Until he turned his head and smiled now with full brightness of perfect teeth, and he leaned over toward her and whispered, his breath peach-mango, into the bubble of her glowing happiness, “You’ve got guts, Bailey.”
    And she said, “Yes, I know.”
    And she truly believed it.
    She truly believed now that she was courageous and brave…for doing that, if for nothing else.

Chapter 12

    S tuart Renly reveled in his ability to adapt. Perhaps his years of surveillance training—via the spider hole—had laid a solid foundation of skill on which to build upward and beyond. Sure, that could be part of it. Genius, he knew, was often only a product of rigorous study and application of knowledge. In simpleton terms, practice makes perfect. He had adapted easily from the spider hole in the NE wing lavatory at Freemont High, to a full-blown surveyor out in the field.
    Flexibility, he realized now, thinking about it, was vital to maintain as one aged.
    He was not so much crouched, as stretched like a bridge—in the famous yoga position called Downward Facing Dog—along the stone foundation of the barn, peeking around the corner and keeping his head low to the ground.
    Carla Cummings was performing fellatio on Jackson Saxton. She was giving her chicken neck a workout, while Jackson’s was tipped at a forty-five degree angle against the barn, eyes wide to the stars.
    So the rumor was true, Stuart decided.
    Rumors often are.
    Finding the Cady family farm had been child’s play for Stuart Renly.
    Parking up the road and reconnoitering through the dark along the edge of the tall corn, yet to be harvested, had likewise been easier than a game of hopscotch.
    It was dashing from the group of parked cars to behind the barn that challenged him physically. The single pole light towering over the vehicles cast a progressively diminishing yellow glow in a radius of roughly two hundred feet.
    A four hundred foot diameter, using simple geometry.
    Carla stopped, lifted her chin, and said to Jackson, “You’re going to do it, right?”
    His tone a groan of frustrated anticipation, Jackson answered, “Yes, Carla. I said I would.”
    “What’s your line again?” she wanted to confirm.
    “Bailey Howard is pregnant. She’s having an abortion next week,” Jackson said. “Keep going, Carla.”
    “Don’t cheat me,” she said, going down.
    What Carla was up to, Stuart Renly had no idea. But it was certainly untrue about Bailey Howard. It was nothing but slutty rumor mongering, he knew, since Carla Cummings was the purveyor of all things slutty.
    Case in point…
    She lifted off Jackson again, aiming his shaft to the left.
    Stuart retreated behind the corner in case Carla’s eyes followed the projectile of Jackson’s discharging weapon.
    Then Stuart stood up and waited patiently. He considered the sudden tingle in his own armament, deciding to let it be momentarily. It would be wiser to stay alert and on his toes, at least until Carla and Jackson sauntered back in to rejoin the party.
    The volume inside the barn could only be described as deafening. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be in the midst of that noise. Slashing sounds. Deep rumbling sounds. Screaming sounds. Eerie violins and cellos raking menacingly across horsehair strings. Teenagers and young ruffians had such little regard for the preciousness of the inner ear and drum.
    Live and learn, he liked to explain to the most ignorant students, the ones who never listened.
    And they certainly would learn over time, too, he knew.
    Though time taught harsh lessons to the ignorant.
    Carla Cummings was one, and perhaps Jackson Saxton, it seemed to Stuart now.
    “Wait here five minutes,” Carla told Jackson.
    “No problem,” he answered. “By the way,