Miss bale lowered her head. She began to march slowly towards their desk, her hands still behind her back. It looked like she was on her way to a closed casket funeral. She had stopped with the notes. The only sound in the class was her stilettos clapping on the floor. The echoes they made were like a warning of an approaching catastrophe. An unavoidable destruction.
She stopped right in front of their desk. Sineas could feel her gaze upon him. He did not look up, however. All he could feel in that moment was the smell of her perfume. It would have been nauseating on anyone else, he thought, but on her, it was like a heavenly scent. But still, that did not stop him from feeling uneasy.She cleared her throat in authority. She placed her hands on the desk and lowered her head to his eye level.‘Funny enough to share with us?’ she said.He looked aside, eager to avoid her knife-like gaze. She was close enough to kiss him. Or close enough to chew him up
Previous Chapter
Related Chapters
Psych 28. The Beauty and the Shadows
‘Is someone out there?! I’ve…I seem to…I think I’ve been locked in,’ she was panting. She was trying to get hold of her breath. ‘Mr. Thompson! Mr. Thompson! The door!’ Her breathing was so heavy it echoed through the room. She leaned her back against the door. The room was pitch-black. She squinted hard to try and catch a glimpse of anything. Anything at all. The windows emitted very little light. Just a foggy glimmer. Her eyes could only make out the outlines of objects in the room. They continued to scour; past the windows, past the desk edges, the indistinct chair legs. Her eyes finally rested on a peculiar object in the far right corner of the room. She focused her eyes a little harder, the best she could. It looked like a shadow sitting on a desk. Her fear told her it was facing her direction. She tried the door again. ‘Mr….Mr. Thompson! The door..!’ Fear was choking the air out of her lungs, aided
Psych 29. No one Wants the Truth
Aunt Janice opened the door for Clarissa. ‘Clarissa! How good of you to make it!’ she greeted her rather spectacularly. She opened the door even wider for her and she stepped in. Aunt Janice was wearing a black sweater and blue jeans, a mini afro on her head. Clarissa on the other hand was wearing her white turtleneck sweater, jeans and pumps. Her hair, as always, had been pinned into a rabbit’s tail at the back of her head. Her hands were loosely clasped just in front of her waist. ‘Good morning, Miss Murphy, and please, call me Claire.’‘In that case, you can call me Janice.’She gave her a half nod, grinning broadly.‘You can take a seat in the kitchen. Sineas is still in the shower.’‘Thank you, Miss…Janice.’ Janice’s half stern look had corrected her just in time.A few minutes later, Janice had placed a bowl of peanut butter porridge in front of Clarissa.She th
Psych 30. Clean Slate
Several minutes later, Sineas stepped into the kitchen. His skin was glowing. He had slipped into a black t-shirt, a pair of black skinny jeans and black-and-white All-Star Chuck Taylors.‘Is Claire here yet?’ he asked his aunt as he patted his cheeks.She leaned her back against the sink and smiled at him. ‘No, not yet, my boy. Have a sit and I’ll fix you up some peanut butter porridge.’He smiled and sat down. He kept touching his hair nervously. He breathed into his hands and brought them to his nostrils. After a quick whiff, he made a satisfactory grin. He rubbed his hands gleefully as Aunt Janice placed a bowl of porridge and a spoon in front of him. He didn’t waste time and immediately began to drill it away. He was sitting in the same seat Clarissa had been sitting in. Aunt Janice sat across him. ‘Sin, my boy.’‘Yes?’ He continued ravaging the porridge.‘Sin…my boy,’
Psych 31. Going Down Memory Lane
Sineas’ legs were now aching. He had walked for at least two-and-a-half hours now. His legs threatened to buckle under his weight. His tiring journey had finally brought him to his destination. It still looked like the American Whitehouse to him. Even despite having grown taller, the building still looked gigantic. The white, thick pillars, the plush green lawn just inside the ten-foot barbed wire fence, the windows, everything still looked identical. He wondered the same about his mother. The only thing he thought may had been changed was the Breechwood Asylum sign. He did not remember it having a “welcome to”. He headed straight for the gate. There was a small security booth just to his left. ‘Good morning,’ he greeted the seventy to eighty year old guard. The guard startled to his feet spilling his coffee all over his khaki shorts.‘Darn it, Man!’ he yelped before he snatched a newspaper to wipe off the liquid. ‘What you
Psych 32. Baited Breath
A very chubby woman of about fifty to fifty-four years of age was sitting on a chair inside the booth. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform that looked to be too small for her. She was also wearing a short, black wig that looked ready to fall off at any time. She was one of the few white nurses Sineas had seen so far. Behind her were shelves stacked with countless files. She slowly chewed a piece of gum, slurping and smacking it like she was willing to do anything necessary to get the last bit of flavour out of it. She was leisurely turning the pages of a magazine on her lap. Coincidentally, it was a fitness magazine.Sineas leaned his head towards the small window, his fingertips on the small counter. ‘Morning,’ he said.She ignored him. She turned another page. “Abs that will drive him nuts!”, the title on the left page claimed.You’re going to need a lifetime of sit-ups to achieve that, you fat bitch! Sineas thought. ‘Good mor
Psych 33. Reunited
She turned her head. Her movement was lightning-quick. She leapt seven feet in the air aiming for his neck.Sineas did not remember ever being hugged this tightly before. She squeezed him while she cried.‘Oh, my boy, my baby boy! Sin, my baby!’‘I think I’ll leave you two alone,’ Beth said before she stepped outside. She closed the door behind her.‘How have you been, mama?’ he asked her as soon as she released her anaconda vice grip. She had not changed much. The saggy eyelids, the weary shadows beneath her eyes and her beauty. She still had it all. After a decade she was still the mother he remembered.‘How have I been? How have I been?!’ She clapped her hands, her face drenched in tears. She was smiling from ear to ear. She sat down on the sofa, cross-legged. She sighed and pinched his cheek. ‘I’m still alive, my boy. As you can see, your mother is still alive.’‘Mama, you
Psych 34. Sweet Steel Music
The Malrich High School Library was opened every Saturday from 4 P.M. to 7 P.M. The time was 7 P.M. and Clarissa was making her way back home. She had fallen asleep and lost track of time whilst working on the Math assignment only to be woken up by the old librarian, Mrs. Harn, telling her it was closing time. The time had been 6:47 P.M. Thirteen minutes later she was walking on foot to her house. When she had left home, she had refused bus fare from her mother thinking she would be back home on time. But as she walked in the pitch-black of that Saturday night, her books pressed closely against her chest, she was beginning to think she should have taken the money. Her house was now only thirty minutes away. At least that’s what she thought. She had never walked from school to home on foot before. There was not a single human being in sight. In Malrich, people always retired into their homes at six in the evening. She continued with her quick paces, occasionally loo
Psych 35. The Suspects
On Monday, during the morning Math period, Clarissa had relocated her desk to the centre of the classroom again, far away from Sineas. She did not even look at him as Mr. Sawyer dictated notes. He had forgotten his Teacher’s Textbook for the third time. Sineas looked ahead at Clarissa. She was wearing a white top and a black, silk skirt. He could not see her face but he guessed she looked as calm as a light breeze. He kept staring at her so much that his teacher had to remind him to keep his eyes in his book. It had been a loud morning. For ten minutes of the beginning of the lesson, students had been discussing Justin. Not in whispers but blatantly tossing around threats about whoever had killed him. One said something about the killer’s mother being a deranged slut. Mr. Sawyer had to seek assistance from the no-nonsense Mr. Regwizini to restore order in the classroom. The lesson had finally started smoothly with fifteen minutes of Mr. Sawyer’s time ha