Nicholas Vials: The Case Of Michael Vials

The professor unfolded a letter with slow, deliberate movements, his brow furrowing as he read the words inscribed on the paper. He cleared his throat and glanced out the window, his demeanor surprisingly calm despite the peculiar news.

“No records of graduation,” he murmured to himself, a faint, wry smile tugging at his lips. “That’s a first.”

An eerie silence settled over the office once more. It was so still that Charles could hear his own breath. Charles preferred having no company in his office, it allowed him to listen to his own thoughts more clearly. In the utter silence, he would sit, debating with himself, either matters of intellectual nature or of emotional matters. Today, however, his mind did not comply with the silence. The disorder within demanded release, forcing him to voice his thoughts aloud. He had not felt this disorderly since the day his wife died.

“Why lie? What’s going on? Why are you speaking to yourself? Nicholas? Where does he come in?” he muttered under his breath, his disjointed words echoing against the walls.

A knock at the door broke the oppressive stillness, and his voice rose just enough to call out, “Come in!” He hastily folded the letter and tucked it into his coat pocket.

Eva entered immediately, her coat draped over her frail frame despite the hot summer day. Her white, fraying hair stuck out in awkward directions, giving her a disheveled appearance. It looked as though she had just climbed out of bed.

“Oh, goodness, Charles, you look... gleeful,” she remarked, her exhaustion evident in her voice.

The professor weighed his response, his fingers brushing against the letter hidden in his pocket before he removed his hand. “It’s nothing,” he said curtly.

“Nicholas doesn’t listen to me, Charles,” Eva croaked in a low whisper, her voice heavy with frustration. “I’m afraid he will find out.”

“Find out what?” Charles asked, his voice lowering to a whisper, as though ears pressed against the walls could hear him make a confession.

“There is nothing for him to find out,” he declared with forced confidence.

Eva sighed deeply, her exhaustion evident. “The letter I sent to Joaquin Sherrels is missing,” she confessed, her tone tinged with defeat.

The faint smirk on Charles’s face vanished instantly. “Missing?” he repeated, his voice taut.

“It’s gone, Charles. I put it in my drawer, and now it isn’t there. I’ve searched everywhere,” Eva explained, her hands resting on her hips before she sank into the chair by the desk.

“You put it in your drawer? How careless could you be? I told you to keep it because I thought I might lose it!” His frustration seeped into his words, echoing in the quiet room.

“I don’t know what happened! It’s simply gone,” Eva replied, her tone resigned.

“Maybe Nicholas took it,” Charles suggested sharply, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. Eva’s knowing gaze was all the confirmation he needed.

“Of course he took it,” she hissed, her words dripping with bitterness. “He replicated the key to my office and stole it while I was away.”

“How could you be so foolish?” Charles was fuming, his head throbbing under the weight of the implications. “You could ask him to return it—it’s only a harmless letter. It’s of no use to him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Charles. That letter is tied to his brother. He wouldn’t have taken it otherwise,” Eva replied.

“What do we do?” Charles asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We wait for Joaquin’s execution. It should be no more than a month. Once he’s gone, the case of Michael Vials will be officially closed, and there will be no further investigations. We can refuse any questions about the boy and his business without scrutiny,” Eva said, her tone calculating. She glanced at her hands as though counting down the days to the execution.

“But Nicholas—”

“He’ll have his own matters to worry about. For now, I’ve heard his room was thrashed by another student. That feud should keep him preoccupied for a while. Perhaps I could send him home to mourn his brother before the execution,” Eva mused aloud.

“Someone thrashed his room?” Charles’s worry was replaced with a bemused scoff.

“Donald Miller made a mess of it—tore his clothes, ripped his mattress apart. I don’t know what’s gotten into these boys. They lose their minds without warning,” Eva sighed, clearly exasperated by their antics.

“Donald Miller would never do such a thing,” Charles replied, his brow furrowed as if unraveling a puzzle.

“So I thought. But Nicholas has an uncanny ability to provoke anyone,” Eva said as she stood, preparing to leave. Her joints protested with audible groans, but she ignored them.

“That’s unusual,” Charles murmured, his eyes narrowing as if struck by a realization. “Was Donald taken to the infirmary?”

“Briefly, yes—we treated the wounds on his hands,” Eva replied dismissively.

“Did you check for ingested narcotics?” Charles asked, his fingers instinctively brushing the letter in his coat.

“What are you implying, Charles?” Eva demanded, her sunken eyes widening slightly. She waited for an answer, but none came.

Charles sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping under the weight of unspoken thoughts. The silence between them grew, thick with tension and uncertainty.

Finally, Charles cast her one last look, his eyes pleading as if hoping she might, understand him, or agree him. But when her face remained still, he bowed his head in quiet resignation and turned to leave. The echo of his footsteps faded down the hall, leaving Eva alone with her thoughts.

For a moment, she remained seated, the silence pressing down on her. Doubt crept in. Had she missed something? Had she been too short-sighted, too quick to dismiss him? The questions grew louder with each passing second.

Unable to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest, Eva shot to her feet. She couldn’t let it end like this—not without knowing the truth. She was going to search Donald Millers room, and recall him for further inspection.

...

By the time Charles reached Professor Lee Martin's office, the room had just been emptied, the door slightly ajar. He pushed it open without knocking, stepping inside with purpose.

His colleague looked up from his papers, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Charles standing in the doorway. “What is it, Mr. Orson?” he asked, his tone cautious.

Charles didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He walked across the room, his eyes cold as they met the professors. “have you known anything about Mr Millers addiction?”

Lee's eyes shot up, a look of shame painted on his face. "I have no idea what you are speaking about"

"I find that very hard to believe" Charles bellowed and after a pause said "I have only recently noticed how close the two of you have come to be, I find it only convenient to see such an outrageous breakdown, and without cause too"

He delivered his words with a reluctant pause. His slow pace made the impact of his authority far greater than he intended.

"It's only coincidental—"

"Do not lie to me!" Said Charles as he lunged at Lee Martin, keeping a distance only fit for their professional setting. "I have been well aware of your little experiments, your use of gold for poison, using harmless garden plants to make soporific medicine for yourself, disguising harmful plants for your sick purposes, which I can only assume you have recently come to use on Mr Miller"

"You are theorising unnecessarily, my friend", Martin mused, a relaxed smirk playing on his lips. His eyes were reddened, his pupils dilating as Charles grew nearer.

"I'd better hope so, or else I will not remain quiet"

The professor stood, his hands resting on the desk. “You’re out of line, Orson. I’ll do as I see fit. I’m not intimidated by your threats.”

Charles stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “You will be. If you take my words lightly, you’ll regret it. I’ll make sure of it.”

The professor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move. There was a moment of silence, thick and heavy. Charles's voice lowered, just above a whisper.

“If you have nothing to fear, then do as you will. I have been given the duty to inspect everything so don’t think for one second that I won’t make things harder for you if my suspicion proves true. This is your only warning.”

With a final, lingering glance, Charles left the office, the door swinging shut behind him. The professor remained still for a long moment, his hands gripping the edge of his desk as he mulled over the words. He had no doubt Charles would make good on his threat, but he had his agendas, and he was more worried about it than he was about menial threats.