Study Hall Smoke (10 of 10)

The door to the Study Hall opened...

"What in the HELL are you doing!?" the voice asked incredulously. "And WHAT is that GOD awful smoke in the air!?" Mr Carmichael barked in surprise as he entered the room and spied "Bryce" in the act of... something. His eyes winced from the acrid taint to the air, and immediately, he cupped a hand over his mouth to stop from breathing in the fumes.

The man falsely named "Bryce" was kneeling over the body of a blonde girl wearing the uniform of the students at the Academy. In one hand, he held a white handkerchief over his mouth and nose. The fingers on the other hand were busy interfering in the waistband of the girl's pantyhose!

"Good LORD, my dear man! You cannot just go around helping yourself to the underwear of the girls of this school!" Mr Carmichael's aghast tone matched the look on his face. So distracted was he by the shocking discovery that only when he tasted the noxious tinge in the air did he remember to smack his hand back over his mouth.

Bryce was surprised by the arrival of the grouchy and temperamental teacher, but after a couple more incriminating seconds of fishing around in the girl's undergarments, he raised his hand, and there was something in it. He held it up in explanation.

Mr Carmichael took a step closer, peering through the haze to see what the young man was holding. It was a plastic rectangular card, with the picture of a happy, smiling girl on it.

"Dawn Meadows?" Mr Carmichael read the name aloud off the School ID card.

"I was simply looking to identify the name of the nosy little snoop who was eavesdropping on our private business exchange. I noticed the outline, and it appeared that she had her School ID card tucked into the waistband of her tights," explained Bryce. He turned the ID card around to examine it himself before pointing it back at the grouchy teacher, as though he still needed the proof that he was not just molesting the poor girl.

Mr Carmichael narrowed his eyes, seemingly testing or appraising Bryce's explanation for veracity. "And what is this God awful smoke?" he added, returning to his other question. He waved one hand all around him as though to indicate what Bryce might not have already noticed. It was also to try to chase the awful smelling stuff away from him.

"It's a special formula smoke grenade. A chemical gas concocted to... it's a product my employer... as I said... this... Dawn Meadows was eavesdropping on us," Bryce explained, jumping topics, redacting details wherever appropriate to reveal as little as necessary.

"Well for Christ's sake, man... get a damn window open!" ordered Mr Carmichael, indicating a large one nearby in the corner of the room. Bryce hesitated for a moment, clearly making it evident that he didn't take orders from the overweight blowhard teacher. But even he could not deny the logic in the "request" and so he stood up and went over the window. Fishing through the bothersome blinds, he found the crank at the base of the window pane, and opened it to let in some much needed clean winter air; and more importantly, to let out the noxious green fumes from the smoke grenade.

All the while, Mr Carmichael stood over the body of Dawn Meadows. The blonde girl looked like she had been on her knees, and simply toppled over, delicate face smacking unprotected onto the hardwood floor. Her bottom was still stuck up in the air, pert, proffered, and particularly unladylike. The short hem of her uniform skirt was exhausted beyond its limited limits. Mr Carmichael had long been after the administration to increase the lengths of the uniform, as the girls were finding never ending ways to cinch them higher and higher every year that passed by in his tenure! Here it was barely covering half of her exposed bottom. It was scandalous! Mr Carmichael had half a mind to look away! Thank goodness the school has the sensibility to make these girls wear tights! Otherwise he'd be looking straight at the displayed girl's---girl's---at her...! As it was, right there for him to see, there was the gusset of her pantyhose---and was that---was that her panties peeking through the smoky gossamer material of her nylons?

"Heavens to goodness," Mr Carmichael wiped a hand at the sweat forming on his brow. Seeing Miss Meadows in such a state. He had half a mind to look away! Dawn's glasses were askew on her femininely chiseled face, her emerald eyes were glassy, crossed, and far away. Her delicate jaw was open, slack, and drooped against the floor. Carmichael thought he could make out gentle murmurs and weak gasps passing from the pink glossy lips of her mouth.

"This is bad." Mr Carmichael stated as Bryce was returning. He noticed the young man in the suit had removed the white handkerchief from his mouth, and then noted that the green fumes had already started to dissipate from the Study Hall. The introduction of crisp winter air had an almost immediate effect on clearing the smoke. He hesitantly removed his own hand from protectively covering his mouth.

"I said this is bad. We can't be caught in here with--- it's bad enough being a male teacher at this Academy and having to always worry about never being caught with a female student with the door closed... but THIS!? Jesus Christ, Bryce! Getting discovered in a room with the door closed, and the GODDAMN girl lying on her face with her ass in the GODDAMN air----!!!" Carmichael was in hysterics. His tone, his gesturing, the redness in his fat face, and the spittle coming off his lips made it all too clear.

"Relax, Mr Carmichael. I have this all under control," Bryce cut him off cooly. As though the dropping temperature in the room was from his persona instead of the newly open window.

"Oh you do, do you?" Mr Carmichael replied in mock disbelief at the younger man's confidence. "Pardon me if I don't share your nonchalance about this--- this--- clusterf****" he spat, indicating down at the fallen Dawn's body on the floor. "...And just what in the HELL were you doing back here in the room? I thought we agreed our meeting was adjourned after the blasted Head Mistress of the whole damn school nearly walked in on our whole damn business deal! Were you coming back in here to doublecross me? You were weren't you!? You were gonna steal the files and leave my payment out of it. You were gonna screw me over you little---"

Again, Bryce cut off the hysterics.

"I was not going to cut you out of anything. I was simply coming back to make sure that those files didn't 'return to their original home' so to speak" replied Bryce.

"And just what in the hell do you mean by that?" barked an already cranky Carmichael.

"Let's just say that, I got the whiff of perhaps it might be you who might have second thoughts on our business arrangement. And after the interruption by your 'Esteemed Head Mistress' that you might get cold feet. I couldn't take the chance that you would come back to collect the files and return them to the filing cabinets of the School Offices, where they would be... ahem... understandably, out of my reach." explained Bryce.

"Are you implying that I was going back on our deal? Are you calling me a coward, you little snivelling brat?" Carmichael was getting redder with anger.

"I would never dream of slandering you as a coward, Mr Carmichael. No doubt you are the example of bravery," defended the young man in the suit, that unplaceable tone in his words. "No, you strike me as more of a survivalist." he finished.

Carmichael grumbled at the young man, sure he was mocking him, despite the friendly sounding compliment.

"...and I would like to reassure you that my employer is not in the habit of double crossing. Even if I had collected the files here this afternoon and you had not returned to 'catch me in the act' you would have still received your payment as agreed upon," explained Bryce solemnly. Again, was there an underlying duplicitous tone in his words?

"Pardon me if I don't take your word for it... Bryce." Mr Carmichael grumbled, emphasizing the fake name of the young man standing before him in the expensive suit, the $100 haircut, and the smug self confident expression permanently plastered on his face.

"Now then, we've run our mouths for more time than I'd care to spend trying to convince ourselves that we can trust each other. We need to get Miss Meadows out of sight. Help me move her to your car." Carmichael took the reins on the lead once more.

"Excuse me?" balked Bryce, his normal calm facade dropping at the teacher's "suggestion."

"You heard me. Help me move her. Come on. You know, for a young man with your looks, you sure didn't get the brains, did you?" Carmichael repeated the instruction, scathingly chiding Bryce.

"I heard you just fine, Mr Carmichael," defended the man in the suit, an edge of irritation uncommon in his voice. "What I meant was, won't someone be looking for her?" he asked, gesturing a hand down toward the salaciously collapsed girl at the feet of the men.

"What? No... no... her parents. She doesn't... her parents passed away--- it was last year---she's... the girl has no one. There won't be anyone looking--- just don't worry about that," Carmichael stated. A detectable twinge of melancholy and sympathy entered his voice as he explained that Dawn Meadows did not have any parents that would be worried sick that their precious young daughter was missing.

"Oh... I just thought---" Bryce stumbled over his words. Again, a first.

"Well stop thinking, and get scooping up her shoulders into your pampered little hands. I'll get her legs," he ordered. Bryce complied, but again, the hesitance was visible in his displeasure at being ordered around by a fat high school teacher.

"And that's another thing. You would think that given who your employer is, you would have the two brain cells it takes to know that of all the girls to leave lying around, you would not want it to be Dawn Meadows," continued Carmichael.

"I'm certain that my employer would have no idea who---" Bryce began defending before being cut off.

"Oh cut the horseshit, young man. Your 'mysterious employer' is none other than Gerald Sinclair, of Sinclair Pharmaceuticals," Carmichael accused, as the two hoisted the lithe body of the blonde girl.

"I don't know what you're---" Bryce deflected.

"I am at about the end of my patience with you, you little snit," growled Carmichael. "This inquisitive bereaved girl here has started asking lots of questions this year. Questions about her parents, and their supposed accidental death. And the name of your employer, Gerald Sinclair has come up."

"...How did you...?" Bryce acquiesced, as he adjusted the weight of the blonde girl's jellied body being hoisted between the two of them.

Mr Carmichael sighed.

"My dear boy. I have two doctorates, and am halfway onto my third. And while I am no criminal, I do my research. So of course, I know who your 'mysterious employer' is. In addition to that, I am a tenured professor at this fine Academy. And as such, I am privy to the gossip on campus of Miss Meadows and her line of questioning. Whether or not she suspects that Gerald Sinclair had anything to do with her parents' untimely end or not remains unknown to me. But I do know that Sinclair once worked with her father, and that they had a falling out due to questionable medical research and practices. You may not know who Dawn Meadows is, but I assure you, your employer very much does."

"I had no idea... I just thought she..." Bryce's voice trailed off once again, as he regarded the girl with curiosity, her body sagging limply between their arms.

"Unbelievable. I certainly didn't expect you to have a doctorate, but I most assuredly expected more out of the administrative assistant to the devious Gerald Sinclair," sneered Carmichael

Bryce winced at the mocking swipe at his assumed employment title and intelligence, but he recovered quickly. The self assured demeanor returning like an armor, the words cool and calculating.

"What about you? Why are we bringing her to my car? Why are we dragging this nosy brat around at all? And if you're so smart, tell me... why are you sweating like a scared pig?" the handsome man's words cut like ice. It was Carmichael's turn to wince.

"I am smart..." began the overweight teacher with indignant bravado, but then his voice softened. "...But I'm not some hardened criminal mastermind. As you can imagine, this is not a typical day for me. I don't know what to do in a situation like this. How could I!? But you said it yourself. The girl was eavesdropping on our meeting. She heard everything. For all we know she took a look at the files. She knows too much. And I..." Carmichael paused, trying to think about his next words carefully. "...I am a tenured professor at one of the most prestigious Academies in the country. I cannot risk... I cannot risk exposure."

"So you're okay with---" Bryce interjected.

"I never said I was okay with anything!" barked Carmichael before the young man could get the accusation out. "It's unfortunate that the girl overheard us... that she was even in the Study Hall at all. How could I have known she was skulking behind the table like some nosy little snoop!?" Carmichael's voice made it evident that he was coming apart at the seams; that he wasn't cut out for this type of thing. He looked down at the girl they were carrying. Her long blonde ponytail drooped and dragged over the hardwood floors. Her bottom sagged mere inches from the ground, the rear hem of her short pleated skirt draping along. The malleable material of the skirt sagged into the low point of her lap, showing off every inch of her stocking bearing legs. He could feel the texture of the garment in his own hands. The nylon material made it difficult to maintain a grip on her legs as it slipped and slid along the soft milky flesh on the backs of her long slender thighs. The skirt pooled into a bunch at her hips, providing the bare minimum of modesty to the "heart shaped v" that indicated her most private area. Carmichael could see the scandalous cut of the control tops, a feature never meant to be seen beyond a girl's own eyes reflected in a dressing mirror in the privacy and safety of her own dorm room. He remembered the sight of the thick cotton gusset of her pantyhose, mere minutes ago. He remembered the ghostly apparition of her panties teasing him behind the silk smoke of her sheer black tights.

Carmichael thought of Dawn, and how unfortunate it was that she had been in the room at that time. There was no way she could have known what she was about to overhear. He was certain of it. He had been so careful up until that point. But she was in the Study Hall. And damn it all, she had eavesdropped. Why hadn't she spoken up? Why hadn't she politely announced that she had been in the room? Why was this stupid girl such a foolish meddling sleuth? Carmichael's sympathetic side gave way to his own internal sense of self preservation. He felt his heart harden.

"I won't go to prison," he stated flatly, looking Bryce directly in the eye. There was a moment of silence as the two men regarded each other.

"I understand," replied the young man in the suit.

Together, they carried the unconscious body of Dawn Meadows carefully through the hallways of the Ivy Ridge Academy For Girls, making sure at every corner they were never seen. From there, they made their way to the underground parking garage, where an expensive company car belonging to Bryce's "mysterious employer" was parked.

Chirp! Chirp!

The key fob opened a clean and spacious trunk where the body of Miss Meadows was deposited.

Bryce handed the briefcase to Mr Carmichael wordlessly. Mr Carmichael received the briefcase wordlessly. The teacher walked to his less luxurious car and didn't turn around once before getting in. He fumbled with his keys, dropping them in his lap while trying to start the vehicle. It was the only evidence that revealed his own discomfort with the outcome of the whole ordeal. It couldn't be helped, he reminded himself shaking off the specter of guilt.

He saw it, but refused to acknowledge the sight of the company car exiting the parking garage in his rearview mirror. As he finally mashed the keys into the ignition, he started the engine with just a little bit too much growl. Side eyeing the briefcase in the passenger seat, he threw the car into reverse, and with a squeal of the tires, sped out of the parking garage and into the misery of a cold winter night rain.

THE END