Nicholas Vials: The Case Of Michael Vials

The station door creaked open, drawing everyone's attention. Emberline’s stomach churned as Nicholas Vials strode in, his polished boots clicking against the uneven stone floor. Nicholas donned a grey coat, buttoned just beneath his chest, revealing a black waistcoat. His turnover collars had been flipped up, a deliberate attempt at mystery. His sharp, clean attire seemed almost too pristine for the dingy surroundings, and the sly grin on his face was enough to make her jaw tighten.

Emberline felt her face burn. She watched from the other end of the station as Nicholas Vials strode across to a desk, where a plump policeman sipped his coffee.

She could not make out their conversation, but Nicholas’s presence made the policeman straighten his back, and whatever Nicholas said left him in a contemplative state. Only a few whispers wound their way across to the jail where she sat.

“Don’t sell information,” Emberline read Nicholas’s lips. A few more words were exchanged, but Emberline could not make them out. She tried to focus on her own predicament, though a growing panic wreaked havoc in her mind. Once more, she transcended into her physical surroundings, attempting to decipher what was being said.

“That is beyond my jurisdiction,” the policeman replied after a heated exchange. Nicholas was evidently annoyed at that answer, but no sooner had he said something in a relatively calmer tone. It was deliberate and cold, delivering the blow Nicholas had intended. Soon, the policeman stood and stepped outside the station.

Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief. He drew himself from the desk, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. Emberline couldn’t help but concentrate on his face as the weak cigarette flame illuminated his dark hair. He placed the cigarette between his lips as he walked across the station, nearing Mr. Rourke’s desk. Emberline hoped to remain anonymous under the dull light, but he had felt her gaze resting on him. He locked eyes with Emberline, and a momentary chill numbed her senses as he approached the cell in which she was held.

“Well, well, what a sight this is,” Nicholas said, his voice carrying a menial tone of mockery. “Emberline Sterne, locked up like a common thief. Here I was, thinking you were following me around, but it seems trouble follows you.”

Emberline stiffened at the mention of her full name, though she had expected it. “Hoping to gloat?”

“Gloat?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Why would I do that? I’ve sat through the same punishment, although I’ve never seen someone this tense.”

“Tense?” Emberline felt a pang of anger.

“I am not tense, quite the contrary, actually,” she croaked, her words rebelling against her intent.

“I would know to doubt a woman’s word,” Nicholas said as he exhaled smoke.

“Spare me your act. What do you want?” Emberline said, exasperated.

Nicholas took a step closer to the cell, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “What I want is to see how long you last in here. A woman like you… Well, let’s just say you’re not exactly built for prison life, are you?” He hummed, leaning lazily against the bars.

Emberline crossed her arms, her glare unwavering. “I’ve handled worse than this.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, the words dripping with derision. Nicholas spoke with such softness, it was as though his tongue had gone limp. Emberline had heard him speak to Eva with clearer senses; he was sharper when sober. “But don’t worry. I might be able to pull a few strings—get you out of here before they write it upon your name. Though,” he added, smirking, “I can’t promise I won’t tell everyone about this little… mishap.”

Emberline’s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. “I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need your charity.”

Nicholas straightened, his expression shifting to faux concern. “Don’t be so proud. It’s not like you have many options. You’ve made quite the impression on the local enforcement.” He gestured toward Sergeant Rourke, who was now watching their exchange with thinly veiled amusement.

“Fine, do as you will,” Emberline said through gritted teeth. “But I’m not begging you for anything.”

Nicholas’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, his tone growing more cutting. “Suit yourself. I’ll let you rot here if that’s what you want. But when you change your mind—because you will—don’t expect me to be this sweet. I am only trying to repay a favor.”

He turned on his heel, heading toward the desk where the policeman had been. Emberline watched him go, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her pride burned hotter than ever, but she couldn’t shake the unease settling in her chest. A small part of her wished to call after him, to plead and reason with him, but a greater part of her refused.

The policeman returned, a small note in hand that he slipped to Nicholas. But the transaction did not end. Nicholas began to reason once more, bargaining but not pleading. The policeman did not conceal his exhaustion.

Twenty-five agonizing minutes passed before Nicholas returned, his smugness evident in every deliberate step. Emberline had spent the time sitting on the edge of the bench, her arms crossed, determined not to let anyone see the knots of anger and humiliation tightening in her chest.

“Well, that wasn’t too hard,” Nicholas announced as he approached the cell, dangling a freshly signed release form between his fingers. “Turns out the law can be bent when you have the right connections.”

The policeman trailed behind him, looking irritated but resigned. He unlocked the cell with a reluctant grunt, stepping aside as the door swung open.

“You’re free to go,” he muttered, his tone betraying his displeasure.

Emberline rose, making a valiant attempt to mask her confusion. She didn’t spare Nicholas a glance, even as he stared her down.

“Careful, Emberline,” he said, his voice low and calm.

She ignored him, focusing instead on Rourke, who seemed unable to hold back his curiosity. She was annoyed at how easily her name came to his mouth—there were no salutations or courtesies. He did not wait for her, instead immediately making his way out, as if to lead her.

“Thought you had more fight in ya,” Rourke jibed from behind his desk.

Emberline paused, turning back to face the officer. Her expression was steely, her voice calm but laced with venom.

“He owed me a favor.”

Rourke leaned back slightly, surprised by her sharpness. “You?” he asked gruffly. “He got you out. Means he’s got something over you now, doesn’t it?”

Emberline’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. She spoke calmly, her voice dropping. “I don’t owe anyone anything.” She stressed each word as if to release all her frustrations from the day.

With that, she straightened, brushing past Rourke without so much as a glance.

Nicholas fell into step beside her as they exited the station. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, his tone still dripping with amusement.

“You’re awfully quick to assume I’ll thank you,” Emberline replied coldly, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Oh, I don’t need your thanks,” Nicholas said, his grin widening. “I’ve got what I came for.”

Emberline didn’t respond, but her hands clenched at her sides as they walked into the cool evening air.

It had been well beyond sunset when Sergeant Wilkes stepped inside the station, a wrinkled release form held close to his chest. There was pure glee in his heart—until he saw that the object he had spent an entire day retrieving was of no use. Emberline Sterne was gone.