My Dark Scientist

43 | Put a ring on it

E L L O R A

I stare at professor Langdon.

He glances at me from his papers, and then looks back down again.

"Close that mouth. You forgot to delete Google history."

I continue staring.

He sighs. "I open my computer atleast once every hour when I'm home Ellora. And I sure as fuck haven't searched 'Dark scientists' and opened a shit ton of illegal articles on it."

I stare. "So you mean stuff, stuff as in your computer stuff?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Why? Is there any other stuff of mine that you went through, I should know about?"

I sigh of relief and curse myself internally. Relived because he doesn't know about the newspaper cuttings. And curse, because now he will know about them because of my stupid questions.

"Um..your kitchen?"

Brilliant Ellora, for coming up with this. And it's not even a lie. I give myself an internal pat in the back.

He sighs before turning back around to his papers. "Just bring your assignment Ellora."

~

Two weeks later

I've been sitting on the floor with my back against the foot of the bed for the past hour or so. Too tired of the same monotonous routine for the past few weeks- getup, eat, solve papers, discuss them with professor Langdon in the evening, sleep, repeat.

I've been going to bed at 11 'O clock every night for the past few weeks. Now it is 2'O clock. I just could not fall asleep today. Too many thoughts swirling inside my head.

I've called Ethan many times since the rather eventful evening in the balcony. And I've spoken to papa too. It took everything in me to not ask him about Mr. Langdon because obviously Mr. Langdon has been there every time I got to hold my phone.

My eyes focus back on the newspaper cutting in my hand. The cutting from Los Angeles Times, 1969.

I've gone through this article probably like a thousand times already. And I couldn't make head or tale of it.

This ofcourse cannot be true. I mean that man who was caught in 1969, whom these newspaper reporters called Abraham Langdon is obviously not my professor Langdon. The numbers do not match up.

The man in 1969 obviously gave the police a different made up name.

Or well, Abraham is a pretty common name.

Even the surname Langdon is common.

And two very, very different people can have the same name.

Right?

It has to be.

If my life was a Twilight book, I'd have said professor Langdon is a Vampire. Then it would have made perfect sense for him to exist in the 1960s blasting off entire cities, and continue to exist in the 2020s teaching in MU and kidnapping students with the same grace.

But my life is not written by Stephenie Meyer. And professor Langdon is not a vampire.

Shaking my head I get up from my position at the foot of the bed. I need to wash my face with some cold water to clear my mind.

Just as I am about to turn I hear a clinking sound.

I freeze in my spot.

A few seconds later, another clink.