“Old age,” Dr. Christa Smith teased from the doorway, where she’d been eavesdropping. “They’re just not teenage material anymore.” She smiled, waiting for their obligatory protest. She did not have to wait long. A resounding rebuke of her assessment followed by some snickering filled the classroom.
“Good morning, Dr. Smith,” Nina greeted amicably. “Welcome to the mid-morning sloth’s meeting.”
Christa laughed and entered the lecture hall, carrying a collection of papers under her arm. “Don’t fret, Dr. Gould, they just need a jump start. How about giving them a surprise oral exam for grading that counts for the semester?”
Nina thought the suggestion was a bit harsh for an understandably slow start to the week, but Christa looked absolutely serious.
“H-how do you mean?” Nina asked. “I’ve prepared a tutorial and some assignments, but nothing close to a gradable test that could serve as term papers.”
“Of course I’m aware of that, Dr. Gould,” Christa replied snidely. “But fear not. I have something quite adequate for the subject and the time frame of your lecture for today. These are exams from a few generations ago that we found in the archives, and what better way to study history than to take exams prepared and used in actual recent history?”
Nina’s class stared at her in astonishment, but she needed no prompting to assert her position. “Dr. Smith, could we have a word, please? In private?”
“Whatever for?” Christa asked with a smirk painted on her cemented mask. “As far as I recall, I’m the head of the history division here at St. Vincent’s, and if I deem these tests viable to enhance the education of our students, then any visiting lecturer must yield to the decision. I’m sure you understand completely, right Dr. Gould?”
Nina’s eyes shot daggers at the intruding, self-proclaimed savant of the institution, but she had no choice. Her contract was month-to-month and she had to complete her curriculum before attaining credit for her involvement, which she needed to strengthen her credibility for other ventures. She gave her students a sympathetic glance, but had to concede. “I’m sure your exams will be a walk in the park for the talent of their capacity,” Nina said, challenging the department head while enforcing her faith in her students. “In fact,” she said as she took the papers from Christa and handed them out, “I trust that they will obliterate anything you throw at them.”
“There is only one way to find out,” Christa grinned derisively at the desperate attempt for the guest fellow to heave her students from their doubts. “But your faith in your students is valiant in any respect.”
Nina checked the clock. It was 10:30am, but her superior had sat down at Nina’s desk to preside over her class. She gave Nina an empathetic look and whispered, “Why don’t you get some food in, Dr. Gould? God knows you look like you could use it.”
With a reluctant look at her class, all drudging through the questions on the examination sheets, Nina took her case and her coat and walked out without a word. Well, the words came after she’d left the chamber and entered the hallway — two words. Choice ones at that.
When Nina came outside to the undercover cafeteria-come-gathering spot for the limited student body, she chose the first bench nearest to the doors and sat down. Furiously, she mumbled while she rummaged through her bag for a cigarette. Then it occurred to her that she’d chucked them out after the sour revelation she’d suffered with her hair.
“Jesus Christ! It seems I’m not allowed any breaks anymore, am I?” she seethed, slamming her bag on the table in the quiet recreation area. “I may as well shave my bloody head and buy a chest of Dominican cigars and be done with it all.”
“You are in luck, my dear.”
Nina jumped at the sudden voice, but found the harmless smile of Mrs. Patterson beaming down on her. The old lady held out a pack of Marlboros and offered the blue Bic lighter with her other hand. “Personally I despise smoking, because of, you know, the premature aging, but I can’t stand seeing such a lovely child so unhappy.” She chuckled as Nina slipped one of the fags between her thin fingers and leaned forward for a light.
After pulling a deep one, Nina’s eyes rolled back in her head and her face fell into a picture of peace. She exhaled. “You know, Mrs. Patterson, had you not been so pretty I might just have confused you with Satan.”
The elderly woman laughed out loud with Nina and shook her head, “Said every man I have ever been with!”
They shared a good laughing spell once more as Nina rushed the nicotine into her system as quickly as possible to calm her down from the killing rage she felt for Christa Smith. It was evident to Nina that Mrs. Patterson had some hidden agenda behind her support of Nina’s deadly habits, but she knew that the old lady would not feel comfortable disclosing it until she thought the historian would need to know.
Still, it was in Nina’s nature to be straightforward. She hated playing mind games or taking roundabout trips to the truth. Even knowing how the Dean’s mother had left her in concerning circumstances sheltered in words of subliminal warning, she still wished she could just ask what was going on. Propriety stopped her from doing so — for now.
“What are you doing, Mrs. Patterson?” Clara Rutherford exclaimed in awe. She’d just seen the two women sitting outside and came rushing toward Nina. She stopped in her tracks just before reaching the historian, realizing that she could not very well slap the cigarette from her mouth, not without suffering a beating of some measure.
“Um, Dr. Gould, are you sure you should be smoking like that? You know it’s very bad for you,” she said hastily and tried to look friendly.
“You look like you’re about to get caught out for doing something illegal, Clara. Relax,” the Dean’s mother advised sarcastically.
Nina knew that she was in the middle of some kind of power struggle, but she held her tongue to see what was going on between the two of them.
Chapter 8
Purdue woke from a wonderful, dreamless sleep for the first time in ages. This time he knew he was in his own bed, in his mansion, Wrichtishousis. He’d awoken, however, with a sick feeling curled up in his innards. No doubt it was the recollection of the awful surprise he’d endured at Sinclair two days before. Although he hadn’t been seriously injured, apart from a nasty blow to his patella and another pounding to the back of the head, the emotional turmoil of what could have happened had he not realized that he was being played was overwhelming.
As a matter of fact, Purdue felt almost violated, having been probed and deceived by someone who was purposely exploiting him for the benefit of whatever wicked god he was serving. He cringed at the thought of what might have befallen him once the charlatan was done tapping the secrets of his mental reprogramming. Purdue literally shook his head to rid his mind of the possible exits he could have taken from this world.
He’d been awake for over a day, occupied at the police precinct with Lieutenant Campbell in Dundee until early the previous evening. According to the investigating officer, Purdue had been the target of a hit, but the lieutenant could not confirm this. He’d hinted at it, but assured Purdue it was only the product of experience and logical deduction.
Showering hurt this morning. The warm water agitated the bruises and lacerations he’d incurred during the struggle for the gun. The tall billionaire wet his white hair with shampoo and cried out in pain from the swollen bruise at the base of his scalp. “Oh my God! If he isn’t dead yet, I’m going to kill him just for the bloody discomfort!” Purdue shouted in frustration.