Page 102 of A Dead Man's B-Side
The day passed like this: I battled with my mind on whether I should trudge down to the Dining Hall in search of food, as I hadn't eaten since dinner last night, before deciding against it and choosing to lie in bed and continue swimming deeper and deeper into my thoughts. Already used to the growing hole of hunger aching in my stomach. When the strain on my temple got to be too much, I made the very short trek to my desk and studied anything my mind was willing to retain.
Today, it was finance and law, so I smoked and studied. Studied and smoked.
Asset vs. liability.
Equity vs. debt.
Compounding interest and risk assessment.
Market psychology.
Keynesian vs. free market economics.
GDP and balance of trade.
Indemnify, breach, and force majeure.
There was so much to take in that, at one point, I didn’t know who in the case studies was right and who was wrong. What financial practices were ethical and what were not? The words in front of me were written with a clear bias, and yet I couldn’t muster up the brainpower to differentiate between what opinions were mine and what weren’t. I could only work, write, absorb, remember, and smoke.
God, did I smoke.
Chapter Sixteen
Alexandr Miroslav
1982
The days came fast after the Founder’s Society meeting, but I remembered it was a Friday and I’d spent my week avoiding Wolf as best I can after the entire ordeal.
It wasn’t fear, exactly, but rather a small experiment I thought best to try out. Watching, observing, studying Wolf from afar was proving to be most beneficial when he wasn’t so up close and blurry.
Perhaps it was the weekend finally creeping up on me that made me feel much more… open-minded. For two days, I wouldn’t have to think about French, or Thomas Hobbes, or being given a stack of business contracts to read through and find loopholes or room for negotiation in my benefit.
I tried not to let the second-hand embarrassment get to me when I watched my peers get into their personas, arguing as if the million-dollar deal was right there in front of them.
Perhaps, now that I was finally getting the hang of it, I feel it much easier to speak about.
We often hide the parts we’re vulnerable about, after all.
The grounds had transformed into a vivid dream of Halloween when the trees turned a pale yellow, then orange, and finally, red. It brought a colourful liveliness to Castle Hill I didn’t think was possible. What with its never-ending perfectly mowed lawn and well-manicured walkways. Had the seasons not changed before my eyes, I’d have mistaken the property for an inert ghost. Haunting the Scottish countryside one cobblestone at a time.
In contrast, the grass was turning yellow, a pale and ugly shade.
I didn’t know if they celebrated the pagan holiday in Castle Hill. I was sure it was popular throughout Scotland, though.
It was actually quite interesting, this time of year.
I once read in a book that the Celts believed the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest this time of year.
I didn’t believe in such things, but if I did, I would run as fast as I could away from this ‘veil’ they told tales of. There were too many dead looking to pull me across to their side.
“Evander Kinglsey hasn’t reached out to Wolf in years. Perhaps… Barthalow’s death has changed that. But I can’t be sure.”
Rain watched me from across the chess board sitting between us, not that either of us was using it. After a moment, she sighed and turned to look out the window at the sprawling field of freshly-cut grass and well-lined trees. Her sigh reminded me of an old school teacher I’d had, with white hair and smile lines, and heavy-weighing bags under her eyes, exhaustion in her bones.
For a short beat, I didn’t envy Rain as I once felt I did. I wasn’t wary or cautious. I just… pitied her. “Who’s… Barthalow?”
She rolled her eyes. “You need to study up on family names. It’s important.”
