Autopsy Of A Mind 29 Game Of Houses

The conference was long, I didn't know what possessed me to sit there, but the familiarity of Mr. Butler sitting next to me and jotting down points from the various talks was comforting. There was a sense of ba.n.a.lity that visiting tourist spots every day couldn't bring me. I had not worked with Mr. Butler for long enough to feel a sense of belonging, but it was this, accompanying someone to a conference, listening intently so that I can reiterate in a different language and then somehow internalizing that knowledge without meaning to. It was a habit by then that couldn't be replaced by mundane paperwork and traversing through busy streets.

I found myself enticed, I flipped the notepad open (customary for any respectable conference) and started scribbling whatever questions I had. I remained silent when the panel discussed, I didn't ask any questions. It would be embarra.s.sing to come off as ignorant in such a high profile conference. Mr. Butler spared me many a glance, sometimes coaxing me to go ahead and ask. I didn't understand why he wanted me to look foolish, but it was probably because he thought that me having an interest in his stream of study would make it easier for him to lure me into being his a.s.sistant.

a.s.sistant…

I didn't need to go to college for another degree.

It was just an extension of what I had learned in school.

I could do it temporarily.

'No,' I reminded myself. I referred back to all the devastating scenarios that could be made possible by one stupid mistake. I stopped myself from further contemplation, choosing to focus on a paper on unethical interrogation techniques.

.

My suitcase remained packed in my hotel room. I was inside the car with Mr. Butler, following him to his apartment complex where he ensured me there were plenty of apartments up for rent. He also promised that I would love the location and the view, but I doubted much of that would matter or would be within my budget.

As he had said, the community was gated. With a registration booth and guards checking every car that entered. It was also pleasing to see them ask for my ID even though I had entered with a resident. I had learned of the beautiful pathways and facilities of this place, the reviews were glowing, and I had zero hope of being capable of living in such a fancy place.

Mr. Butler guided me to the building manager's office who seemed delighted upon seeing me. The woman was in her late forties, clearly bored as she at her desk as an unfriendly resident reiterated their paranormal experiences. I saw Mr. Butler glance at me surrept.i.tiously at the mention, but he seemed pleased by how unfazed I was.

We waited for a bit until the resident was done with his supposedly spooky rant. The manager was worried that I would be put off by the ghastly sightings relayed by the resident, but I was very unbothered. I had not heard of such an instance during my research, hence I was sure it was a well-hidden rumor. The possibility of that affecting the rent would be minimal. I sighed in dismay.

I believe the manager presumed that I would be one of the posh individuals because she led me to a building that clearly had some limited edition cars in its bas.e.m.e.nt garage. She made me tour the indoor pool, the gym, the cinema theatre, and many more recreational facilities before leading me to the room she had expected me to like.

It was beautiful. The last tenant had left it spotless, the walls and carpet looked new and the view was beautiful. I was not surprised.

"I can't afford to stay here," I blurted out. The manager looked struck by my words. The apartment came fully furnished and it was a beautiful labyrinth of rooms, and it would be about impossible for someone to say no to. But my no was not one which said 'I love it but I can't afford it,' it screamed 'get me out of here.' It was not panic, but a sense of unease in being in a location where I couldn't see in all directions.

"Do you have something smaller than this?" I asked, my voice sugary sweet, trying to make up for my loud blunder moments ago. The woman nodded with a distasteful expression on her face, peeved that I wasn't going to fill her pockets.

Mr. Butler made no comment as we made our way to another apartment. I had already rejected three, but the building complex was huge and surprisingly had apartments furnished for various standards of living. The woman, finally exasperated had asked me what exactly I wanted in an apartment after that. I told her I wanted a loft, a single open s.p.a.ce with a kitchen and bathroom attached to it. I told her that I wanted something devoid of furniture as I enjoyed living without extravagance.

The manager must have pegged me a beggar at that point, but I just shrugged off her weird looks and followed her about.

The last place we visited was considerably farther away from the places we had been to. The security was still very good, much better than the last place I was living at, and I was sufficiently happy with the s.p.a.ce and look of the apartment.

The building, I was told, was one of the first to be made in the complex which was then catering to single men and women who needed a place to stay. It worked out well for me, as the price point was almost identical to the last place I was living, albeit the security deposit was a bit higher. I paid, satisfied and found myself standing in front of a polished looking building with Mr. Butler standing in front of me.

"Would you like to come upstairs?" he asked softly as if waiting for my rejection. "It's been a long day," he went on to explain, his hand shoved inside the pocket of his pants. I nodded without hesitation, not wanting to offend him after all the rude conversations we had. He was my benefactor in all sense of the word; he had done his absolute best to get me out of any bad situation I was involved in, the apartment situation included. I couldn't just remain so cold towards him.