Leuthold Preparatory | ✓

Chapter Fifteen

Trustee

"Oh, that's maddening, innit?" were the only words that left Hannil's lips after Noah explained in an incoherent string of incoherent sentences, mixed in with continuously asking if it was fine that he was sat on the futon Hannil had rolled out on his bedroom floor.

His painting had changed to another, Noah had noticed when he came in. This one was vertical and was so abstract Noah didn't even know what he was attempting to paint. His room was messier than it had ever been, the record player played someone Hannil had said was called Queen, books and records were stacked all around, papers and sketches that were half-finished or torn apart left astray. Hannil sat with a clear ashtray that had a few cigarettes already burned out, he had smoked an entire one while Noah sat nervously on his ankles. Hannil had not interrupted him once, the only time he spoke was to hum in consent to Noah being on his secondary-bed.

Noah watched Hannil take a long drag as he looked down and away from him, deep in thought. He sat cross-legged, one elbow on his knee and his knuckles pressed to his cheekbone, he had put on a robe that hung loosely around his shoulders and crumpled down his arms, it was stained with paint in random colors, the cuffs were so stained that Noah couldn't tell what color they originally were.

"Innit?" He asked once again meeting Noah's eyes this time, passed through his nose.

With hesitation, Noah nodded. A long pause followed when Hannil seemed to soak in what he said. After a minute, Hannil mumbled something Noah didn't understand before he got off of his futon and went behind his easel. Noah couldn't stop the way his fingers tapped nervously on his knee, not even as Hannil returned with a large sketchpad and sat back down as he had before. He opened his sketch pad and Noah saw glimpses of portraits and figures sketched in dark lead or maybe charcoal as he flipped through until he showed Noah a drawing of the girl with no eyes. It was hauntingly realistic; Noah could smell her putrid flesh from the black-and-white image, hear her nails on the tile floor, hear the growl in her voice. It was such a gruesome sight, Noah had to look away as if he had been shown the girl herself.

"You remember her now?" Hannil asked.

Weakly, Noah nodded and hummed in agreement.

"And you think Ms. Rae did this to you?" He asked.

"I told you all I can remember," he said, his eyes moved back but seeing that Hannil still held the painting, his eyes went away to the dark duvet that covered the futon.

"And you think that it just happened recently?" Hannil asked.

"Yesterday," he painfully answered.

Hannil shut his sketchbook and took another drag from his cigarette. "Fucking mental," he muttered in his exhale of smoke. With the figure gone, Noah felt a bit of relief that was soon swarmed by an anxiety he had since he first figured out what month it was.

"I know I sound crazy," Noah began, "and you probably don't believe me and—and I've got issues, sure, but I have never had a hallucination in my life and never had any kind of dream like this! This happened!"

Noah watched Hannil when he got up from the futon again and went to his bed, he pulled out the box beneath his bed and he quickly began to rifle through it. Noah heard several bottles clank together before Hannil returned with a bottle of the same amber liquor that still resided at the bottom of Noah's dresser. He set down two glasses on the hardwood and carefully poured in the same amount into each.

"My grandfather has a habit of refusing to talk to anyone outside of his family until he's had three glasses of bourbon," Hannil spoke as he poured; when he lifted the glass, he said: "I now understand why."