Nicholas Vials: The Case Of Michael Vials

Nicholas was seated with his legs crossed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was willfully being kept outside the office for long hours, but he refused to leave without a word with Mr Lance.

Nicholas held the letter in his hand, often turning it to observe the broken stamp. Sometimes, he would read the content of the letter, carefully examining the tone and texture.

It was addressed to Michael Vials.

I have confirmed the transaction and posted the receipt. It read.

Michael had borrowed money on an urgent basis from Mr Lance. It puzzled Nicholas why Michael would require any loan, let alone a loan on such an urgent basis. He was given a large sum at the end of each month for personal expenditure, yet he felt it wasn't sufficient.

The mustard grey wallpaper made him impatient, which was already a quality he lacked. Michael Vials was incredibly conscious of his environment. He would never tour such places unless the circumstances weren't well. Nicholas wasn't sure what bothered him about the loan, but he just wanted to have a word regarding the deposit his brother had kept in exchange for the loan.

Nicholas wasn't aware of such transactions before he had been admitted to Doane. However, the letter and the receipt attached to it bothered him immensely even then. Nicholas knew that to take out any amount of loan, one must surrender a safety deposit. Be it jewels, your vehicle, or anything that could be held at value. The dens that operated illegally were especially unforgiving.

Nicholas was fidgeting restlessly. He pocketed the letter before he stood at the door, knocking and shouting, "Is anybody there?". No answer. He then sat back down and began drumming his fingers against the paper.

The door opened. "He is not taking any clients."

"I am not looking for a loan I just want to discuss this receipt," Nicholas grumbled as he waved the letter in the air.

"Tell him to go away," a muffled shout from behind the door ordered.

"I am going to lock the place up. You better leave," the man at the door ordered. He was a tall and broad man, having to surrender his head at the doorway so he would avoid hitting the ceiling.

"I am not leaving," Nicholas replied and straightened up his back. He did not want to resort to such childishness, but he bore no tolerance.

The man entered the room and closed the door behind himself, folded his arms to appear threatening. And threatening he was. His hair struck out in all the most odd places, and when he spoke, it seemed the entire room hummed in agreement.

"I want you to leave this place, and I want you to do it now," he ordered, squaring his jaw. He was a ragedy man. Multiple scars ran down his neck like thunder in a storm.

Nicholas stood from his seat and lowered himself, acknowledging his heavy presence. "I will not leave without a word," he retaliated.

"You will not leave with your bones intact. They won't know how to put you back together, cityboy," the man roared. He was certainly one to take seriously, and Nicholas was well aware of it. He was, however, unbothered.

"I don't mind a fight," Nicholas said, almost hesitantly. He scanned the man before him like a hawk would to a prey. He heard the tumbling of a few things in the next room, furthering the sense of urgency that he had arrived with.

The man cackled at the invitation. "I eat boys like you for lunch," he said as he held his hands up and tucked his elbows, ready to land a punch. "Let's see what those scrawny arms can do," he said as he lunged at Nicholas.

Nicholas reached for the gun and shot him precisely in the foot. There was no contact between the two. Instead, his opponent stumbled sideways and shouted very indecent words. "You brought fists to a gunfight," Nicholas remarked. He was slightly hindered by the thought of using the gun, but the situation called for it.

"A knife would do you some good," he jibed as the man moaned in pain and anger.

Nicholas was reminded again of the task at hand when he heard a door shut in the next room. He tucked the gun snugly into its holster and entered the room.

He was immediately met with the smell of old wood and sour drink. It was unusually dim, and there were no windows that could aid in finding the exit. It exuded the feeling of underhanded debauchery. There was a singular table on which a candle flickered weakly.

The small light urged to be extinguished, and Nicholas immediately located the door by the wind against which the candle fire rebelled. He rushed and pulled it open.

Nicholas was met with the blinding light of the sun. He adjusted his gaze onto the oncoming crowd and saw only one figure running hastily to the opposite end of the street. Nicholas had never seen the loan lender in person, but he was sure to pursue this man into hell if he had to.

He blended into the crowd, his eyes glued to the man who hurried opposite to him. When the man glanced back into the crowd, the look on his face only confirmed what Nicholas had suspected. He quickened his gait, determined not to lose his trail. He interfered with bargaining customers and stall owners, but he did not look away.

Nicholas was now jogging, and the man was now running. He was a short, statured man, not very comfortable with the exercise. He was frightened of Nicholas, and he did not know why. "Wait!" Nicholas called, but he did not wait. Nicholas trailed him through the winding streets, wanting to close the distance but always interrupted by a never-ending crowd whereas the other man maintained a careful distance. As they approached a looming bridge that arched over a fog-shrouded river, the man quickened his pace, urgency in his step. Nicholas was only just closing onto the man before the heel of his shoe was pulled, making him tumble onto the concrete with a sudden and loud crash. Nicholas felt his hand bend unnaturally during the fall, but it did not deter him. He sat against the floor, feeling every gaze upon him. He stood on his two feet. Nicholas thought he had hit his head hard, or perhaps he was feeling the effects of some drug he had taken a little earlier because his mind started to wander. He felt as though his head was too heavy to carry, and his eyes turned against his will. Nonetheless, he walked onto the bridge, unwilling to let the man go. The bridge's rusty, ironwork rails creaked underfoot, adding an eerie soundtrack to his pursuit. Nicholas, oblivious to the looming presence, walked steadily toward the center of the bridge, his body unable to remain steady.

A crowd gathered around the lining of the bridge, one after another people huddled around the view above the river. Multiple people called for help. Some talked in disbelief, and others simply watched. Nicholas pushed into the crowd, his body suddenly swelling from the pain of the fall.

The loan lender hung down by the bridge, a rope tied around his neck, gasping for air. Nicholas felt convulsions in his stomach. He separated the crowd and pulled on the rope that the man had attached to the bridge. He reeled it up, trying to get the man up on the bridge before he ended himself. Nicholas used all the power his body could manage. Everyone else simply watched the spectacle. No man took hold of the rope to help the dying man. The man below was now clawing the rope, hoping to save himself from his own doing. Nicholas pulled and pulled, but the rope had been tied too long. He felt the desperation of the man, who was now convulsing like a fish out of water.

But even with his greatest attempt, he could not save the man. He felt his body go limp through the subtle strings that strung with the swinging man, and he had a long stretch to pull. Nicholas couldn't help but let go, aware that, by the time he pulled the man to land, there would be no life to save. The man dropped back into the nothingness below, snapping his neck in a loud crunch.

Nicholas fell headfirst onto the rocky path, straightening his back. He realised that his mission had led him to an unending chase, the only direction he had, hung below the bridge. The intent behind it was unclear and trivial. However, Nicholas felt that the desperation of the dead man told him more than what he had had taken to the grave.