Autopsy Of A Mind 12 Tantalizing

My aunt's house was one she had bought with her late husband, who wanted to live in peace after being discharged from the military and they lived happily until he pa.s.sed away because of a heart attack. Hence, my aunt was pretty much the older lady of the town who everyone loved and was invited over to dine with.

When I entered her house that evening, there were a group of people in the living room, already. There seemed to be three excited adults, two men and one woman, who were chatting about the current weather and how Town X was suffering because of low funds for maintaining infrastructure. Apparently, even the small town of X had recently been prey to a couple of car accidents because of grievously bad road conditions. As I entered the room, I saw everyone pause and look up.

They seemed a little confused until I was introduced.

"Evie Lewis," I said and extended my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I don't think you saw me when I was in town a few years ago."

"Oh, yes. You were sick and recuperating at Rachel's house, I remember."

The woman was pleasant, as I had imagined, having brought up a well behaved, rational boy like Seth.

By the time we were having dinner, I had molded my behavior into that of a polite young lady.

"I saw you at the grocery store yesterday," Seth began when he noticed that the older generation was busy in some other discussion. "I couldn't recognize you at all."

"It's been years and I look better."

He laughed at the sa.s.s.

"Yes, you do look better."

"I hear that you made it as a detective." I didn't quite love the job description but he had achieved his dream, I would give him that.

"Yeah, I studied hard and worked harder and made it." And he had a right to be proud.

"I just graduated," I informed him knowing he was curious but didn't know how much to ask. I was sure that he knew some of why I had ended up in Town X because he was close to Aunt and he was in the law enforcement. "I start work next month."

His eyes lit up at the mention of that.

Of course, it was a safer topic to talk about.

"What did you study?"

So I went on to explain what I did in the five years and what job I was taking up. It felt like I was compensating him for the time he had spent talking to me and helping me feel more human. I felt like I had repaid my debt.

He noticed my diet towards the end of the meal.

"You don't eat chicken?" He said, pointing towards the dish. I was sure that it tasted delicious without tasting it.

"No. I don't eat any meats. I don't like the smell of fish. So my diet consists of eggs and endless amounts of vegetables."

"Are you transitioning to a vegan?" I shook my head.

"Just a personal choice. I can't stomach it," I said truthfully, and he didn't dig further.

I could feel my phone vibrate, but hesitated for a minute. He seemed to notice my plight and ask me what was wrong.

"I'll just check a message," I said, sounding more apologetic than I felt. He nodded and urged me on.

'The contrast has been sent to you via email. Please sign it and send it over as soon as you get the time. Alec will go over the details of work. -Sebastian Butler.'

Another job in criminology.

Lovely.

.

I was already at Mr. Butler's villa at eight thirty in the morning the next day. As I had done the day before, I sent him a message letting him know I had arrived. Within seconds there was an automatic sound. I stared at the door for a second, trying to internalize what had just happened. It had been the sound of the door unlocking. It was only then I saw the hidden keypad behind a bunch of vines that was probably used to unlock the door. Looking around, I also saw the camera discreetly placed diagonally above the door. Twisting the door open, I gave out a little chuckle.

So, it had all been a show to gauge my reaction to unexpected situations. Definitely not necessary for someone who was applying as a translator.

I had been told that I was not allowed to move any of the paper around or take it home with me (of course that would be the case, seeing that it was a case he was using to produce academic material) and that I could work as much or as little as I wanted to work in a day, as long as I finished the translation in the stipulated time. I was rather flattered that they had given me the liberty to move about the house as I wished, giving me permission to help myself to any food or raw material found in the kitchen. Of course, I was also instructed not to approach the first floor of the building or the locked door on the ground floor.

I didn't plan to go anywhere else, anyway, but knew that those must be the rooms where Mr. Butler spent most of his time. I was curious as to find out if he would come down to eat when I was in the house, though. He was taking so many precautions to avoid coming face to face with me.

'How interesting.'

A couple of black files were stacked on the tea table, accompanied by a laptop and a thick envelope. Having learned the level of difficulty of the text previously, I ventured out to find the dictionary I had used yesterday. It was surprisingly easy to find, as if someone had placed it in clear sight for my convenience.

I smiled.

Flipping the folders open, I realized that various paragraphs that numbers written in brackets with it.

PM2890.

IJ5473.

CS7895.

I figured that they were references to some other text with a filling format. Instantly, my eyes traveled to the envelope. I opened it and found the source of my despair. I would have to sort through all of them to find the pictures each goes with.

His writing was poetic, even as he explained the scene of the crime he wrote with pa.s.sion. It seemed almost like a work of literature in its own right. As I placed each pictorial reference beside the written text, I began to understand the relevance of them.

He was helping me understand the scenario better so that I could portray the true essence of his research. He was using visual aids to enrich the literary text only if for me to better realize it. I found the method fascinating, and it reminded me of all the theories of adaptation and translation I had stumbled upon in the course of my higher education. He was using them in practice, and what a beautiful way of doing so. Morbid? Yes. But true to its theoretical roots.

I got to work fast and despite the ma.s.sive amount of pictures that I had to refer back to, the task was surprisingly interesting and challenging in equal amounts.

A series of seven lectures on the evolution of madness of a killer, focusing on different segments of their lives, a truly fascinating read. I might have wanted nothing to do with the subject or police work, but I was up to critically a.n.a.lyzing any literary text that I could get my hands on, especially one as tantalizing as this.

As the day rolled on, I was tempted by the beautiful jars of tea on the countertop. Hoping that the courtesy extended to helping myself to them, I went to the kitchen and got myself a tall gla.s.s of warm water. Unlike most tea drinkers, Mr. Butler preferred using tea leaves in place of tea bags. It helped moderate the process and personalize it to one's taste. Safe to say, I enjoyed the work thoroughly for the next three days.