Nicholas Vials: The Case Of Michael Vials

Nicholas felt like a very keen observer had been watching his every step. It was as though he had time to blink, but his observer did not. It was little consolation that Nicholas was surrounded by the students of the grand Doane Institute, an abode of the destitute and selfish. He never understood why the feeling persisted, even when he sat at the edge of his four-poster bed, utterly alone. The sensation of eyes creeping up and down his skin made him uneasy. He held his head in his hands, gently caressing his scalp.

It had been a long day. It was the first time he had managed to attend all his classes. He counted them in his head: Geography, History, Institutional Law, Commercial Administration, Communications, Languages, and—

He paused. His mind skipped over the important details of the day as if he had not been sitting through them, blankly staring at a man professing knowledge that would prove useful, at least until he had to write them down on paper and submit it at the end of the year.

—And Morals and Ethics, the most important class of all, taught by none other than Professor Charles Longface. He was glad he did not have to take it today.

Nicholas felt as though his head would fall off. He was used to being chased out by thugs and goons; even the idea of sitting down without confrontation had become a chore.

He rose from the bed, opening his eyes to everything around him. The sunlight shone brightly onto his leather shoes. It was only then that Nicholas realized he had dirtied the carpet with them. There was nothing to be done, so with a sigh, he slipped out of the room. He hurried down the stairs, hoping not to be noticed by anyone he knew.

Nicholas was only allowed a trunk’s worth of items when he was shifted to the institute, but a trunk could not hold his elaborate collection of coats, let alone his shoes, shirts, pants, and accessories. Being a friend of Eva's did the family a great deal of good, for she bargained for the remainder of his items to be placed in her department as a gesture of goodwill. Nicholas, however, used this as an excuse to find solace in her empty office, despite the strict rules forbidding him from doing so.

Nicholas knew he was simply going to shuffle through the compartment below her desk, where she hid his many shoes, and then he would sit there, perhaps watching the birds sing outside the window while he read her notes on the sciences of medicine.

However, as he descended the steps today, he felt a chilling cold. It was as though the pair of eyes that had been set on him was getting closer. With each floor, he made sure to examine every face that turned the same corners as he did, but he felt as though he was not unnerved by the same set of eyes as the ones that were set on him. Quickening his pace, he hoped to escape the sensation until he finally stood opposite Eva's office.

Nicholas realized he had been sweating profusely. He breathed sharply, allowing no room for his paranoid mind to gnaw at his sanity. He was astonished to find Professor Charles already in the room, reading a messily arranged file of papers as he opened the door. He was even more surprised when Charles furtively disposed of the file. In a hurried, almost frantic motion, he fumbled with the file, trying to shove it out of sight. His hands shook slightly, betraying his anxiety, while he plastered on a forced look of nonchalance, as if nothing suspicious was happening.

"What are you doing here, Mister Vials?" he asked without a hint of frustration. He behaved as though he had been caught in the act, but Nicholas couldn’t quite pinpoint the crime.

"That’s the bliss of verbosity—you could charm me into believing your innocence even if you were painted red," Nicholas thought to himself but did not say aloud.

"I—wanted to talk to Eva," Nicholas paused indefinitely between his words, examining the shifting hands of the man before him. He was hiding something.

"She is not here," Charles declared. A dull silence rang in Nicholas's ears.

"I can see that," Nicholas replied.

"Well then—leave," Charles ordered.

"This is not your class; you cannot make me leave at your command," Nicholas said, making sure the bitterness in his words stung like the fangs of a snake.

"It seems I cannot order you at all," the professor retorted, relaxing his posture, his eyes now dead set on the boy before him. Nicholas was certain of some nefarious deed. "It seems true," he replied.

"I did not see you in class today," the professor said with a profound sense of authority. He had now made himself the jury and Nicholas the suspect.

"I did not have your class today," Nicholas declared zealously. Debate excited him beyond measure, but he knew this argument would only make someone like Charles calmer and more relaxed. Charles was used to disputation. Playing the jury and passing judgment was his favorite game.

"I’d better see you tomorrow, then. Until then, you can leave me be," he declared, dismissing Nicholas with a wave of his hand. His right hand pressed against the table; his left was hidden behind him still.

"I told you, this is not your class, and you cannot command me."

"Fine then—" Charles said, moving toward Nicholas and pushing him aside as he made his exit through the small door. "I’ll leave!" he roared in anger. Nicholas observed how his hand shifted, his knuckles clenched around the paper he was holding. He folded it, and before Nicholas could decipher his mannerisms, the professor had disappeared.

Narrowing his eyes, Nicholas closed the door behind him and turned the key, hoping for no further confrontation for the day. For the first time since waking up, he felt the eyes leave him, and he couldn't help but feel like a fish that had been let back into its pond.

He moved over to the table where Charles had attempted to stash the file. It was cluttered with books and even more divided pages messily scribbled on.

Pain in the neck—Pain in the back and stomach—Unclear vision—Poor grip—Irregular heartbeat—

Eva had a habit of scribbling onto paper whenever she could. At the institute, she excelled at treating students who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves and people who couldn’t avoid gunfights. But Nicholas recognized the signs of a slow poison from miles away, and this was certainly an intriguing find.

"Slow poison," he wrote on the paper before tossing the pen onto the table. He wanted to clear the table for her, but his gaze was fixed on the file Charles had nervously put away. Charles had left a pen in lieu of a bookmark. It was optimistic of him to assume Nicholas wouldn't be nosy, but he was wrong. Nicholas immediately grabbed the file and turned to the marked page, only to find a rather odd biography of the cook instead.

"An infatuation—here today, gone tomorrow," he mused to himself.

He judged too quickly. Charles was a lonely man, bound to make friendships, even if he was not fit for romances. Nevertheless, Nicholas was disappointed, though unsurprised by the professor's curiosity. Soon, he found himself flipping through the pages, quietly listing the nurses to find one he recognized. Elena acted sincerely beneath her qualifications, Nicholas noticed. She had studied under multiple doctors and in various departments yet still acted as though she knew little of the world. Her resume had very little regarding her tales. She had many of those. Twenty-one years of age and very much to say. Nicholas was amused by his findings. Apparently, his companion was a memorable student in the Wade Institute.

The person who accompanied her, however, surprised Nicholas much more. At the tender age of twenty, she was already a decorated nurse. She had studied at the Wade Institute, and her only reference was Elena. Her previous employers included many noticeably odd names, including Jacob Miller, Ellicott Purcell, and Enele Cohen.

It was bothersome. Enele was a name associated with the polytheistic Midwestern islanders, and Cohen was a last name linked to the religious saints of the East. An obvious case of forgery that went unnoticed. It did not take Nicholas much time to know why his bullet wound was sown so carelessly together. It was a funny situation, but solving the case of Emberline Sterne was somewhat amusing even if it wasn't that time-consuming.

He closed the file with a loud thump and tossed it in the same place the Professor attempted to hide it. His lids were heavy, and he knew to treasure his sleep, as it was rare to come by. It was only that he had spotted a large piece of paper that was folded neatly and nestled into the shelf. The map of the university that he had set his eyes on since the day he had learned of it. He picked it from its place, replacing it with another piece of folded paper. He had intended to fool Eva, but he smiled at his own lousy effort. Today, he would sleep with the peaceful burden of a worked mind and a tired body.