Gerald HighTower had called into work today. He planned to call in tomorrow as well. He hated the thought and the idea of not going to work but what did it even matter anymore?
He sat behind his enormous antique desk in his study with a glass of cognac in his hand. His third actually. He didn't like to drink so much but what difference did that make either? His cell phone lay on the desktop and the thing had been ringing all day. Mostly colleagues from the school whose voicemails all expressed outrage and dismay over his dismissal. What difference did that make either? , he thought as he drained the cognac and poured himself another glass steadily. All the good thoughts and prayers in the world would not give him his school back again. He sincerely wished he had never met Penelope Perkins.
The only calls he had received that hadn't gone to voicemail was from Alfred Giadello yet that was the ones he wished he had answered. He had not though because what would be the point? Alfred had a strong handsome slim young fiance by his side. Even if he came out officially there was no way in the world he could ever compete with Scott Sands. The man made him feel old , fat and useless. He laughed bitterly. That obnoxious teenager Mary Swan had been right about him. Gluttony was indeed a sin , he thought as he touched the big rounded belly that bulged slightly over his khaki pants , and he was a very sinful man.
He put down the glass and reached down to slide open his bottom desk drawer. He took out something his father had left him in his will. Along with the money of course. A nineteenth century antique British pistol. His father had once told him that all a man really had in his life that meant anything was his good name.
His good name.
And the board had taken away his good name in a sense. He had done nothing wrong but his name was smeared nonetheless.
He placed the gun on the desktop and stared at it. He had never approved of taking the easy way out but what did he really have to live for ?
He was about to pick up the pistol when his phone rang again. He almost groaned. Who was it this time?
Dr. Lane ?
Lyle Peters ?
Edna?
His assistant headmaster Oscar Oswell ?
Angel Anderson?
Richard Norland?
Not his nephew. He hadn't seen the young man since that day they had found Penelope's body.
He looked at the phone. Alfred. It was Alfred.
YOU ARE READING
ODDS OF LOVE : SEASON TEN
General FictionThe ongoing soap opera about disabled math genius and professor Dr. Spencer Norland - Lane , his doctor husband DuBuis Lane and their family and friends in the Washington DC area.
