Life was silent. I was climbing the ladder at work at a fast pace, I had got a raise after working for six months and was sent to other cities in the country to accompany groups. The workload was higher, leaving me with little time for freelance work. At this time the pipes of the apartment above mine collapsed leading to flooding in my apartment. The building owners were called, checks were made and I was asked to find someplace to stay until everything was fixed.
It was a relief that the apartment came with furnishing and I had simply not added anything to the pre-existing décor. None of my belongings suffered due to this event. I just had to pack my suitcase and find a place where I could live for a couple of days.
The problem was, I had no acquaintances in the city. So, I opted to live in a hotel which had good security. I would possibly have to find a new place to live which I stay in the hotel; thank god it was the weekend. The security in the apartment I was living in was lax and left me being careful when I walked around.
I could see that the hotel was busy, but there seemed to be a conference happening there. As I checked in I heard someone tap on my shoulder. I moved away from the touch, a shiver running down my spine as my gut wretched at the thought of the touch.
I swiveled around, prepared for confrontation to see a vaguely familiar face.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I asked, my brow scrunched in irritation. The boy had blue eyes and blond hair, his surprised look registered in my head. I remembered his identity by the clueless look on his face.
Jameson, the throw-away apprentice.
"You don't remember me?" he asked, seeming disappointed.
"No." I lied. I was going to move past him when he grabbed my hand. I slapped it away, clutching at my wrist.
"Please don't touch me," I warned him. He looked unsettled.
I didn't like to be touched, especially by people as stupid as this one.
He spluttered an apology and wrung his hands in front of him.
"I just wanted to stop you," he whined. I grew angrier by the second. It was quite unusual for me to react this way as most people didn't dare to come near me because I gave off a snotty air. "Aren't you going to attend the conference?"
My brain processed the information.
"What does it have to do with me?"
"Dr. Butler is presenting a paper on the case you helped with." He told me.
"I didn't help him with any case," I ground out.
"You found the body, and well… we found a lot from it," he told me sheepishly. It was his inadequacy which had thrown him out of the case.
"It has nothing to do with me." I walked away without looking back.
Even if Sebastian Butler was lurking around in the hotel, I would not be stumbling across him.
.
I had gone down to the dining area for dinner. My entrée had arrived and I was poking at it when I saw a shadow pull out the chair across from me and slide into it. I looked up, disinterested and found the nonchalant figure of Mr. Butler looking at the plate he had placed in front of him.
I silently looked back to my plate and scooped out a spoonful of food and shoved it into my mouth.
There was no conversation while we ate. He glanced at me a few times without lingering for long. We sat in comfortable silence.
I was about to get up when I heard his voice.
"Eat some more, don't need to leave on my account," the deadpan was obviously there. I had really finished my meal but on hearing him I sat leaned back into the chair and stared right at him.
"Would you like some spinach ravioli?" he asked suddenly, but before I could answer, he had transferred a piece onto my empty plate. I couldn't come to hate the idea. I sliced into the ravioli and put it into my mouth so that he could have his peace of mind.
"Are you staying here with guests?" he asked.
I shook my head but realized soon that he was not looking at me, therefore didn't know how I had answered.
I chewed on the remaining of the ravioli, gulped it down and then put my cutlery down.
"No. Due to unforeseeable circumstances, I find myself seeking refuge in an expensive hotel," I had meant it as a joke, but he seemed to put on a sour expression in response. Confused, I waited for him to say something but ended up explaining the situation.
Didn't help matters.
"Doesn't the company you work for pay you enough?" he grumbled.
"They do."
He transferred another ravioli from his plat onto mine. I sighed as I took the fork and knife back into my hands and made two pieces of it.
"Then why didn't you find a place with better structural stability?"
"I like to live dangerously," I told him with a smile. He was not pleased.
"I can see that, going around town with unknown people all day long, treating them like gods when they are rude to you, and put yourself in danger all the time all seem like your way of living the dangerous life."I guffawed.
"Says the man who catches serial killers for fun. What do you think happens to those that escape you and come back to bite you in the ass?" I challenged. He raised a brow at me, pride flashing in his eyes.
"I never let them escape, so they can't get to me."He leaned back, issuing me a challenge.
I clicked my tongue and shook my head, my mood uplifting.
"Imagine: I want to kill a series of people, I have some psychoanalytic sense. I can change the pattern of killing to throw you off track. Maybe you won't even find out that it was the same killer on a spree." He scoffed in reply.
"Evie, our mind is divided into three parts: the conscious, subconscious and unconscious. While you can consciously refrain from killing in a certain way to evade psychoanalysis, your subconscious and unconscious mind are biased and lean towards motions that give you away. The killer can be intelligent, but they will always get caught because they are a slave to their mind. Nothing escapes psychology, no one can evade pattern.
I stayed silent for a minute. I licked my lips as I came up with what to say next.
"But it is up to you to come up with the analogy… to see the pattern and you are not omniscient." It was a direct hit to the preconceived notion that he was capable of unraveling the mind of every person he comes across.
"And therein lies the difference between me and you. I don't only look at psychology but also the scene of the crime, physical evidence and using knowledge, information to deduce the answer is the empirical method of solving problems, it is the same with crime analysis." He stopped, mulled over how to say the next part of his argument and then began again. "I was trained in this sphere, I had teachers who taught me how to keep myself safe. Can you say the same about yourself? Are you impervious to danger?"
His argument was somewhat compelling.
"I sense that there is more you want to say, that you have an ulterior motive for sitting across from me when you know well that I was trying not to meet you. Clearly, Jameson has told you that he came across the girl he had interviewed and you knew that was me because you would not expect such a thing. Therefore, you were sure of my identity when I was recommended as the translator and you tested me with a purpose." I grew enraged. "What do you want from me?" I asked him.
"Be my assistant."
I had not expected that. I had thought that he would try to placate me or try to turn the conversation, but it seemed like I didn't know him enough.
I was flabbergasted.
"You deserve to accomplish your dreams. This life you are leading is not meant to satisfy your thirst for knowledge. Be my assistant, Evie."
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