Page 10 of A Dead Man's B-Side
Like clockwork, a sleek black vehicle rolled to a stop in front of me, forcing me to meet my own eyes in the windows of the backseat.
A tall man with sharp features stepped out and came around the car to open the door for me, without question. Without even meetingmy gaze. I paused for a moment, looking at the passersby as if one of them would stop and tell me what to do next.
When the realization that I was alone across the globe with nothing but a promise of a future in my bag caught up to me, I, with wariness, climbed in.
He didn’t wait before closing the door right as I entered with a resonating shut, damn near shattering my ankle.
We didn’t talk on the drive, and I didn’t know where he was taking me. Only that we, through my own research, would be finding ourselves in the countryside soon.
And, in the countryside, we were.
I slid my eyes, from where they’d been focused on the outside world as it passed us by, to the stoic driver.
The man was doing his job and didn’t look to be searching for conversation, if his serious expression and eyes fixed forward were anything to go by. So, I chose not to indulge him. And neither did he.
I must have only been in my head long enough to blink, but looking out, I found us driving under the heavy canopy of misted leaves that left droplets on the windshield. Only then, did we slow down and turn onto a new road, still surrounded by trees.
The big sign up ahead on the side of the road, with the wordsCastle Hill Preparatory Academy, did very much sooth the tension up my spine.
My shoulders slumped, and I leaned back into the soft leather, hiding the feeling of unease leaving my body, and grabbed sparklingwater from the side compartment. I forced down every gulp, hoping the next would be the last until I finished the bottle, until the thought of vomiting all over the expensive seats receded.
I checked and rechecked my bag and the money I’d stolen. Making sure that nothing, during the moments that they’d been within eyesight, was missing. I felt the car slow when I finished counting the last hundred euros, which signalled to me to look up at where we’d arrived. The thick oak trees and tall iron gate covered what was up ahead. I moved to the center seat and squinted my eyes at what lay behind the wall, separating itself from the rest of the world, finding nothing but a road leading in.
In a way, it reminded me of an orphanage. One with a spiteful nun standing tall at the end of the path, and inescapable rooms that you feel trapped in, no matter how much freedom you’d be warranted.
The driver didn’t seem to do or say anything for the gates to open in a slow and monotone manner. The iron looked old, but it didn’t let out a deep groan like I had expected.
The car started up again, and I wasn’t quick enough to hold myself from falling back at the sudden movement before grabbing at the headrest of the empty passenger seat to keep myself upright, with my eyes locked ahead. Watching for anything, with little patience, that could help me understand what exactly I’d signed up for.
Sure, it might have been of my own autonomy when I signed on the dotted line, accepting a sponsorship to study at Castle Hill Preparatory Academy, but there was practically nothing about thisplace in any library.
The drive up made me anxious for what was waiting for me on the other side. It felt like a doomed path to an abandoned home.
Upon realizing that patience was in fact a virtue, I tried rationalizing it. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to study abroad at a prestigious school. That the students and staff here would be pretentious and educated but never miscreants. There wasn’t anyone waiting to take me away, to drag me into an alley and beat the breath out of me or cut me up until I could see nothing but blood.
This was an honourable institution.
But no matter what I told myself, my lifestyle didn’t allow for the tension to dissipate.
The single gravel road that was once lined with the autumn-coloured leaves and branches stretching high, almost entirely hiding away the sky, not that the Scottish clouds were anything special to look at, disappeared, as the view opened up into a vast field.
Nothing but grass faced the windows until, far down, and growing bigger with each moment, a castle.
Castles, plural.
Castles that seemed to almost reach the sky with their sharp spires and overwhelming architecture. Comically, they all seemed to be battling each other over which was the larger fortress. They looked old but polished, clean and well preserved.
The road turned to cobblestone at a point I didn’t notice, and I held my tattered bag closer. Watching as, in the distance, gardeners tended to the well-kept lawns and flower beds. On a trail through thetrees that seemed to keep these grounds a well-kept secret, a woman in riding clothes passed on a horse. I almost thought I imagined it, had it not been for the second rider following close behind.
I wanted to laugh, but the situation didn’t seem to allow it.
We slowed at a roundabout and stopped in front of the one building that stood at the end ofCastle Hill’s collection of castles.
It seemed to be the most important, considering its position.
I admired the structures in front of me from my window behind the driver’s seat. The cool grey stones piled upon one another on one end, with open metal gates into what looked to be a courtyard. Another building had a smooth stone with intricate carvings sitting high on its front wall and proudly on display, most likely with catholic symbolism if I knew my history.
There were too many details to consider, windows that covered half a wall and windows that covered barely a few inches. The weathered gargoyles stared down at me as though they sensed an imposter.
