CHAPTER II

After that night where I fell from utter panic and desperation to find my medicine, Benjamin has become more…gentle with me. Meaning that he takes to avoiding me as much as possible. I do not understand why, but I am grateful. Though still, it nags on the back of my mind that because of my fall out, he sees me as something to be avoided—what he sees me as, a drug addicted creep or a troubled, weak man, I do not know.

It bothers me, this unknowing, but alas, I do not have the strength to ask such a simple question. I used to; I did. But I would like the past to stay in the past for many reasons.

Mr. Turner has gotten back from delivering my last batch of reports to the Board, and I am rather thankful that I got the rest finished when I did because he brought more. Talking to Henry—because the man cannot take a hint—makes me uncomfortable, but in a way that I don’t want to push him away. It unnerves me.

He speaks about things so brightly, even when it’s about a recent murder that is no doubt going to get our hands dirty and filled with paper reaching to the low ceiling. Having a bad day? Don’t worry, Mr. Henry Turner is here to wipe all those troubles away by talking with you about your life while obviously prying into your personal business whether he himself knows it or not.

People like him make me sick, they give my stomach a jostle of pain; I used to be in love with one, but he was different. He did pry, but he did so because he cared. He wanted to know what was going on so that he could help me to the best of his ability. He was there when I was up and when I was down. He gave me so much Life—

I shake my head and grab my medicine, which I had bought earlier this morning from the pharmacy after coming to the conclusion that my pills had absolutely disappeared. I don’t have any water, for there is no faucet in my office, but I do have a cup of coffee. “Don’t let this kill me yet,” I utter to any God that is listening.

“...and the number of Vice attacks has lessened throughout the months....still checking on several posts in the countryside near Varice….there was a dead body found in the sewers this week, but that was all. Oh yes, and it seems that strange old man—Archer, right?—well, he really had something to worry about, Mr. Greyhead. Mr. Greyhead?”

I blink back into reality to find a brown haired man, whose hair really is too long for modern fashion, and an Asian woman with glasses staring at me quite intently. I smack my lips, licking them when I find them dry, and shake myself out of my stupor. The man is Mr. Henry Turner, a magickal individual such as I who had come back from whatever board meeting I sent him to to avoid him. The woman is my typist, Miss Bass, who has followed Mr. Turner to, no doubt, check on me.

And I, oh, what exactly did happen to me? I bought new medicine, was about to drink it with some water—but then I forgot my water, and— Well, now I know that these pills, whatever they are, should never be mixed with coffee unless a dire emergency arises. They still helped, though. My safety hardly matters in the process.

“Ah, oh. What?” I straighten, patting a hand against my chest in case any wrinkles formed while I was in my trance state. “What’s this about the Archer fellow?”

Mr. Turner and Miss Bass share a look for a split second, and I, being the man I am, can’t even figure out exactly what that look means. Are they judging me? Pitying me? Trying to figure out how they can fill their registration papers without me noticing? It makes my head spin despite my pills, and then that causes my stomach to lurch wretchedly. I force it back down, telling myself that this is what I want, that this is how I could stop my evil self from destroying others when Mr. Turner begins to speak again.

“Well, sir, you know how you said that it was all just a misunderstanding of the situation that had occurred that night outside his home?” Mr. Turner steps forward and places a folder into my hands gingerly, as though he’s afraid he may shatter me.

My stomach lurches again, as well does my heart.

“Yes,” I open the folder and scan the contents inside, hovering over a certain word. I freeze, thinking over what I said over three ago after that incident.

_“No, never again. I’m sorry, Aunt Loriene, but I do not think I can ever handle something like that ever again.” My voice wasn’t strong at all, not even close to a whisper. My hands trembled at the things the Vice showed me, how I was frozen to the spot and had no choice but to watch that scene over and over again. To watch his face crumble over and over again. _

To watch his heart break over and over and over….

“You lie, your power is the most we’ve ever seen in decades—no! centuries. You can do it.” My aunt grabbed onto my shoulders, her eyes hard and demanding. “You have to do it.”

I pushed away from her, teeth chattering from that one touch. It seemed I angered her so much that her power was pushing inside her, wanting to lash out. I was thankful that palm magick was illegal in these times. “Aunt, it has nothing to do with my stamina and all to do with my mental health. I can’t—it shows me him. You of all people should know I can’t do this. You’re the one who made me do it.”

“I didn’t make you do anything, boy,” she pushed me away, a cold, cold smile almost the same temperature of her magick creeping across her face, “You made that choice, the way your Life is now is because of you.”

“Well, it seems that the Board has found a body that looks strangely like him. And did you know that he went missing a few weeks ago after filling in another report with that Higher-Up chap down the hall? It seems whatever he saw was indeed a threat.”

“Mr. Greyhead, what is the matter?” Miss Bass shuffles to me, placing her warm hand on my shoulder. I toss it off with a roll of my arm and stand, grabbing my coat from the back of my chair.

“It seems Mr. Archer has been a victim of a Vice,” I turn my head to Mr. Turner, who is looking at me with guilt in his eyes, “And it seems the Board wants me to deal with it.”