Elder Benson is dead.
He had a gift of taking pictures in a surreal manner and didn't care people thought he was strange.
When his body is found with a bluish substance in his system, everyone concludes that he overdosed on drugs.
And no one cares...
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For the second time in less than a month, the dean of students, Dr. Blankson sat behind his desk confounded. A student was dead on campus again and this time, he really had no idea on what to do.
He rubbed his hand over his face for maybe the hundredth time and sagged further into his leather chair. Two students within three weeks. How will I explain this to the board? He thought to himself.
They had given him a warning to take his job seriously or else they'd find another dean. He was up in his neck trying to expose the Chill Network and the ungrateful bastards thought he wasn't serious.
A loud ring suddenly blasted through the room and muttering curses, he picked up his phone.
"Dr. Blankson. How do you do?" the voice of the chairman of university board filled his ear.
"How do you do?" he gave a curt response, calculating his words carefully.
"I assume you know why I am calling you?"
"The death of the student two days ago. I've already spoken to the police."
"Not only that, there have been too many deaths on campus. We need to talk to you. You will be notified of the day and time."
The call ended and Dr. Blankson sat there dumbfounded. He'd tried so hard to climb his academic ladder and all at once, he was afraid he'd lose it all. All he'd done, the sacrifices made and laws broken came rushing to him. His only option now was to find a way to get back into the board's good graces and fast before his career was permanently ruined.
He called his assistant into his office, gave her a few instructions and drove out of his office to visit Dr. James Austin. He needed another favour from him, the same favour he'd asked before.
30 minutes later, Dr. Blankson was on the 2nd floor reception area of the Evans Mills University. He approached the receptionist who gave an an almost surprising look upon seeing him and it was if realizing that she was afraid of him boosted his ego. He smiled at her.
"Is Dr. James around?"
"Yes sir. A minute please." Asha, the receptionist almost stuttered as she talked.
She made a call to the Dr. James office and when he didn't answer she turned to the dean of students. "I'm sorry but I think he's busy at the moment."
"Not too busy for me,'" he walked towards his old friend's office, muting the receptionist's nagging out of his head.
Maybe it was because the reception area was almost empty. Or that it was almost her lunch break. And as Asha tiptoed and planted her face on Dr. James' door half an hour later, she knew it was a bad idea. But she'd found out an inconsistency lately and it was eating her up.
She listened in on the conversation between the two doctors; the laughs they shared, the teasing they gave each other and pressed her face harder into the door to listen to their argument on the very thing she had been dreading. The only person whose face came in thought was Malachi. He has to know this, she thought.
