It's been a week now since Mr. Devian has been in our class. He's not that bad, but I still have this eerie feeling about him — as if he came out of nowhere, as if it was meant to happen.
In his period, we discussed how human brains work and how perplexing they are. One cannot truly understand someone else's mind; you have to understand it yourself to fully map the labyrinth inside your own head. Psychologists and psychiatrists are there to guide you through your labyrinth—
"They don't do it for you; you do all the work." he said.
"Our path in life is also a labyrinth. You'll never know that there's a beginning to another end unless you see it for yourself. What looks like an endpoint in life can be a beginning as well, just like how someone's death can be the rebirth of something else."
...He had me spaced out for a minute. Every time he speaks he always stops somewhere that edges me completely into a trance, and there is always a hint of ulterior intention lingering in his words. I wasn't focused on the point he was trying to make to the class; I was more intent on trying to figure out what he was describing that could relate to me. I always feel like he's pinning his words on me. Of course I don't think he means me specifically, but he speaks with threads and needles that stitch my life and his words together, like they connect somehow — which I don't understand. Maybe it's like that with everyone else...
I looked at everyone and scanned their faces for a second to see if I wore the same expression. I couldn't tell, but I gaslit myself into thinking they did. I didn't see the point in digging deeper; not every face is a cipher worth decoding.
...
At the end of his discussion and after dismissal, I stayed in my seat. I didn't feel like going home yet; I just looked out the window beside me. "Mr. Ambram, is something bothering you?" Mr. Devian asked while stacking his papers on the table. He then slowly approached me as I shook my head and subconsciously fidgeted with my necklace. He noticed it—I could see it in my peripheral vision. The same stingy sensation I felt last time in the head's office returned. He smiled at my necklace.
"You inherited the Ambram Hotel, am I correct?" he asked, his wrist locked behind his back. "Not yet," I replied. He nodded and hummed, then looked at his watch. "Well, see you around, Mr. Ambram. I hope to bump into you there," he said as he left the classroom. He's so unreadable...
I entered the student council office. No one's around here during lunch break except for me, though I sometimes find my friend Vergel here—like now.
"Why are you lounging in here?" I asked because I didn't know what else to say.
"Well, why not, Mr. President?" he answered as he fixed his back on the sofa and read papers.
"You can't stay here, Mr. VP." We glared at each other for a second and burst out laughing.
"Did you hear that?" he asked, recovering from laughter. "I don't know why a sucker like you ended up being the VP." I was being sarcastic, of course.
"Come on, at least I sound like one," he chuckled.
"Oh yeah—also, have you heard about, or maybe read, the recent murder that happened a few weeks ago?" The atmosphere changed. "You mean the body of a student that was found yesterday?" I sat next to him and glanced at the newspaper he was holding.
"Yeah. He wears the RU uniform—our rival university." I knitted my brows in disbelief. "What?"
"You heard me. And you know what's creepier? The murder happened in their university."
...
The information didn't bother me for some reason. Either I felt no remorse because of my trauma, or I felt relieved it wasn't in our university.
"Where did they find the body?" I asked, feigning deep concern.
"The school's greenhouse garden." I blinked at the image in my head. The student had been buried; they must have found the body after the person in charge of watering the plants noticed a foul smell. It was eerie as hell...We didn't go further talking about it; we were about to eat lunch.
A few hours passed and it was time to go home. I walked with Vergel around campus for a while. I was helping him rehearse the school hymn for next week's flag ceremony.—Vergel is a friend I met during the MU entrance exam; he and I stood out to each other. He said I looked lonely so he approached me. The attention felt new; his consistent talking and daily searching for me made me feel less lonely and less unwanted. He's super loud though.
"Was that good?" he asked as he twirled and rested his arm on my shoulders.
"Better," I said briefly.
"Better than yesterday?" he asked. I rolled my eyes.
"Better than the last today," he blinked in disbelief and took offense, sarcastically. "Well, at least I'm a better singer," he chuckled.
"Good evening, Sir Felix. It's rather late," Mrs. Clara curtsied when I arrived. I explained I was helping Vergel with his singing. I took off my shoes as Mrs. Clara placed them on the shoe rack.
"Dinner's ready, sir," Mr. Lim—Mrs. Clara's husband and the butler — bowed to greet me.
"Good evening, Mr. Lim. Thank you. I assume you guys haven't eaten yet?" I asked, pleading lightly for a 'no' answer. They smiled warmly.
"No, we haven't, sir. We were waiting for you."
"Care to join me for dinner?... Please?" I emphasized my pleading tone to melt their hearts. "Alright then, Sir Felix. We will," Mrs. Clara said, saving the little old me from another lonely dinner. We ate at the same table. They were a bit hesitant because it was a rare occasion. I usually ate in my room and had them serve me, but somehow I wanted to eat with them.
Halfway through the meal, I clinked my glass with a knife to draw their attention. Their chins lifted and their gazes met mine.
"A toast."
I smiled from ear to ear, eyes forming crescents. They smiled back and lifted their wine glasses.
"Cheers—for a meal with my family."
Their smiles turned genuine and we toasted.
...
Red wine—red as my mother's blood, red as my father's blood, red as the RU student's death. I clutched my head as memories flashed: my ears ringing and a voice repeating a single word.
"Murderer. Murderer, murderer... What a shame."
My eyes opened. Mr. Lim and Mrs. Clara vanished from the thousand-castle dining table. I was looking at myself—or rather, he was looking at me, smiling and chuckling.
"Such a shame... Felix Ambram. Ambram Felix—such a shame, what an idiot."
He mocked me, swirling the glass in his hand. I finally acknowledged his existence.
"What?" I panted, desperately trying to catch my breath; my head ached. "What is this I'm seeing? Am I hallucinating?"
"Are you crazy? Haha! Oh dear, of course you are! Well, I hope so."
He was abstruse and insane, but...
"Oh, you're not completely insane yet—I am you, after all." He grinned.
"What is your purpose?" I asked, panicking.
"Why don't you ask Father?" He laughed menacingly.
"Get out of my head," I cried, hyperventilating and pressing my temples.
"Oh?" he pouted, disappointed, still lacing his words with sarcasm. "Fortunately I can't. Goodbye for now."
I knitted my brows in confusion as he grinned and took a sip of red wine before disappearing in a blink. Mrs. Clara and Mr. Lim shook me back to consciousness.
"Young master! Thank heavens! Are you all right?" Mrs. Clara panicked.
"Yes, I'm fine." They helped me to bed after dinner.
"Sweet dreams, Young Ambram," Mr. Lim bowed and left my room. I was alone—well, maybe not. Who was that? He had my face. Or was that me? I fell into the abyss of thought. Maybe I just lacked sleep. I caressed the pendant on my golden box chain; it bore an image of Mother Mary. Eventually I slept, listening to the grandfather clock ticking. Deep, dreamless sleep.