Chapter 8: Death Pattern

We went back to the car and I felt pain in my knees and ankles as I gained strides. My left leg felt like noodles and my ankle endured a thousand needles piercing every time I took a step. My father patted me on my shoulder and said. “Do you understand why I am doing this right?” He pulled me close to his body.

“Not really.” I shrugged and my voice cracking while I gasped for air.

He smiled as if there was humor about our death-defying training. “I intended to be harsh in your training for I need you to prepare for the worst. This is a life and death situation, son. You should understand this.”

It was hard to understand at that moment. But I felt different than before to have undergone that long hour of beating. I felt a lot stronger now, confidence grew in me. It seemed that I can take a minor beating with my classmates if bullied and have the audacity to fight back. A few more days to have trained like this would make a better fighter.

We reached the car and Collins opened the door for us. “Nice job, Luke!” Collins mused at me. Seemingly, he was used to seeing sons getting beaten by their father during training.

“He is a born fighter.” My dad added. It was amusing to hear those words especially coming from my dad. None of my friends has told me that and I felt weak all the time. It was beyond my comprehension to have known my hidden strength was driven by adrenaline. I struck a smile at the thought of it.

I slid inside the car and my dad followed. I grunted in pain as I leveraged my foot on the car’s floor. My dad saw it and he said, “Pain is just temporary, son. You have to experience it, to endure it and in the process, grew an immunity like it was nothing.” He assured.

He turned to the driver and said, “Collins, hand me the kit.” Collins took a metal box from the dashboards compartment and gave it to my dad. It was a first aid kit. Dad took out a roll of plaster and professionally wrapped it around my ankle like he was a doctor or a nurse.

Then I remembered, “Collins told me about me being bullied at school. How do you know?” He glanced at me while finishing with the plaster.

“I deployed spies, almost the same age as you, to monitor witches present in your school. This started during Mr. Benette’s death last year. But we have not found one yet. They sensed magic users but very rare. They continued their pursuit until they identify the witch.”

“If they found one?” I asked, curious what comes next.

“Then they will apprehend the Witch if possible.” My dad said.

His words fainting as he said the last statement. I thought at that moment, there was more than apprehension if they found a witch.

“Are they members of the Keepers too?” I asked. Curious to have maybe classmates as members of the Keepers.

“Yes, they are son. Just like you. Some of them are from other schools and transferred for deep espionage.”

Tingles in my spine quickly grew. I felt excited to have other secret members of the Keepers lingered inside the campus. I felt to have somewhat guardian angels watching over me and to be in a cause bigger than everyone else at school. To participate in a secret war and protect humanity from the Witches’ abuse of black powers.

“So, they are the ones that told you that I was being bullied?”

“Yes son, they report to me. But I have instructed them not to interfere or help you in any way. I wanted you to learn the hardships in life, son. You have to experience every bit of pain like a normal person to make you stronger, physically and mentally.” A piece of rare fatherly advice that I did not remember having before his leaving.

I was curious about how the Keepers work as if this so-called underground war existed. It pursued me to question, “How many have you killed, dad?” There was a moment of silence and I saw Collins glanced at the rear mirror. My father was facing in front of the car and smiled while saying, “Too many to count son. You will soon know everything next week. I am planning to show you our Headquarters in this division.”

“Headquarters?” I emphasized. This war was bigger than I thought. To have a headquarters in our area should hold a lot of members of The Keepers.

“Yes, son. We have a headquarters here and the rest of the major cities. Each headquarter is led by a veteran Witch hunter, and in our area, it is me.”

They dropped me at home and saw my mother waiting at the door. I saw her smiling and waved at the car. Her smile was different like it was forced. Her lips and eyes did not synchronize with the emotion she tried to portray. It concerned me and asked, “Are you ok, mum?”

“Yeah. I am fine. How about you?” She saw me grunting in pain as I walked towards her.

“Here, my training paid off. I hope so. Dad told me to embrace the pain and walk it off.” I smirked at her.

She held me close and let me rest on our sofa. My mum was surprisingly quiet as she prepared a hot drink for me.

“Did dad also experience this kind of training when he was as young as me?”

“I think so, son.” She said while focusing on stirring the cup with spoon.

She gave me a hot tea and she inspected my injured ankle.

“You should drink pain relievers, son.” From my standpoint, my mum was briefed in advance by my dad to anticipate situations like this. It was expected that I will get hurt every training.

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(The next day – at school)

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“Did you trip on your stairs, scholar boy?” Alexander shouted as they laughed together with his basketball buddies with amusement. I ignored them walking forcibly straight as not to show weakness every time I stride and to lessen the obvious painful ankle. Sweat started to gradually seep from my forehead pores as I took the stairs to my classroom.

Carla and Bert waited for me outside the room leaning against the wall. They waved at me and teased me about my injured ankle. I smiled at them and joke about tripping myself on our stairs at home. They believed it but the teasing continued until we got inside the room. Maria was there already sitting inside, in front as usual. She saw me almost dragging my left foot as I struggled to weave among the lined chairs. Our gaze met and her eyes shifted to my injured foot and looked back to my eyes. She struck a faint smile at me and it was brighter than the sunny day. My heart pounded double its normal rate and my breathing ceased. The crowd seemed to stop moving and everything else blurred. Time flew slowly at that moment and chatters became noise muffling in my thoughts. She shifted her glance back to the blackboard and everything went normal again. It was always like this when our eyes met. I am sure she felt nothing as if she was looking at a lowly loser, but me, I cherished every moment.

I was not able to read her gaze at me, we weren’t even really talking about outside lessons and lectures. Maybe she was looking at me because of my injured foot or maybe she was not used to looking at me entering the classroom later than her. I am known to be always earlier than everyone else.

I sat at the back as usual and Carla noticed me giving a squint at Maria. She teasingly said, “In your dreams, Loverboy!” She chuckled.

Bert interjected, “My best bet for you, lover boy, is Carla!” He laughed instantly and Carla gave him a soft punch to his arm. I saw Carla’s cheeks flushed as she always does whenever Bert teased her.

Our Advance Mathematics teacher, Mr. Ross, seemed to be very late as the time passed six minutes from nine. The students continued to joke around and the babbles grew louder and louder. The door swung open and the chatters ceased as they turned their heads towards the teacher that came in. It was not Mr. Ross. It was Mrs. Mendoza, the Department Head of Mathematics.

Her face was serious with no hint of humor. She went in front of the podium and addressed the class, “I have sad news. Mr. Ross, your teacher was found dead in his apartment last night. Investigations are ongoing as we speak but for now, you are dismissed. We will look for a substitute teacher for you next week.” Her voice cracking as she announced the news and her eyes were watery.

The students grew silent and only the footfalls of Mrs. Mendoza echoed inside the room as she headed out. We do not know what to feel but Mr. Ross was a good and dedicated teacher. It was just last year, Mr. Bennette died and now this year, Mr. Ross. I thought somehow, there’s a connection between the two deaths.