Frank slammed the door of his Mustang shut loudly, cursing silently at the unpredictable weather. The morning started to the tune of a gentle waltz and somehow, between the hours of dawn and mid-afternoon, the conductor decided to change the pace, torturing the ears of the listeners with a tedious movement with no beauty whatsoever to speak of.

Splotches of obese, wet droplets- fat from the feast on dampened spirits- fell heavily onto the ground. It was not a refreshing sort of rain, not the kind that the heroine in a movie would want to dance in, her mien resplendent as the hero watched with admiring eyes. No. It was more like liquefied dirt –grimy and sticky- bringing on the feeling of filthiness.

Even the humid air reeked of the miasma of hot, sweaty bodies in the locker room after a grueling football game.

He dashed across the broad width of the Law Faulty car park. All the law students must have decided to attend classes on that day. There were no lots available except for that one, miserable space in the farthest corner. It was perhaps fitting for his beat-up Mustang. Cast out among the Porsches, BMWs, Maeseratis and other assorted convertibles, Frank’s old Mustang would be happy to be away from the spotlight.

Frank hurried for another reason. He was not late for class. It was just his luck that the modules he was interested in were mostly in the late afternoon and evenings. His classes for that day would not be for another couple of hours. Tuesday was a late day for him.

The M3 was still in the car park.

Randy Ophir was no law student but he managed to soak in the elitist atmosphere by qualifying for the only elective module that particular faulty offered, something about Introduction to the American Constitution or the like. Frank did not care much. He just knew Randy took that module. The Law Faulty was small, apparently sponsored by Gucci, Armani and Versace, brands which so cautiously steered away from Frank’s wardrobe. Anyone not of the Faculty would be extremely prominent in the negative aspect. Most of the pompous, Shakespeare spouting idiots with no inkling of what they were talking about- describing the Taj Mahal like it was their own home but getting the history all wrong- cast a most disdainful eye on "those who did not belong."

Oh the decadence of the rich brats of Bayport who are doubly blessed with good enough grades for one of the most sought after majors. I wonder how did they do it? They don’t even pass their tests half the time!

But of course Randy is an exception. He is treated like one of the socialites, heading for the high life.

Heading straight for my fists.

And there was another population of the Law Faculty who were less prolific. A population that consisted of students rather like Frank who were actually in the Faculty to study law before they whooshed to some other more prestigious graduate school to further their schooling for the career that could get downright disheartening. They wore jeans and t-shirts; maybe an occasional shirt. They studied, debated and ponder.

After which they returned home or back to their dorms- like hermits retreating back to their caves- to type thesis after thesis.

Frank had no idea which group was in a sadder state.

The stream of students exited from the lecture theatre that he was waiting near. Randy Ophir, immaculately dressed, strolled out confidently with a group of rich kids who hailed from Bayport. Frank recognized some of them by the scent of overexposed currencies but not by name. They joked and laughed- unaware that Frank was expertly tailing them from behind.

"Bye, Randy! You know, you should have majored in law…" A well-groomed brunette, the last in the group to scatter away from Randy, spoke with some regret.

"Ah, Britney, you know, I have a passion for the unearthing of truth." Randy winked at the girl who practically swooned for his lame line before she very deliberately swung around so her glossy hair would swirl along with her and walked away with the gait of a model-in-training. Randy raised an interested brow at the sexy silhouette before he stepped over to the incongruous water cooler; awkward but much needed- tucked in the corner so as not to clash with the extravagant embellishment of the small, privileged faculty.

Miserable louse.

When the coast was clear in the hallway, Frank stepped out from the column he was hiding behind. The Law Faculty was designed like some ancient courthouse. Carved columns and cornices decorated foyers while statuettes of white, eyeless disembodied heads placed on polished, wooden podiums guarded the hallways- observing the students with their impassive lack of sight.

Randy Ophir had just finished drinking from the water cooler.

"Hello, Randy."

The brown-haired heartthrob jumped and whirled around. Almost eye-to-eye with Frank, his initial shock was forgotten; replaced by an air of nonchalant arrogance.

"Oh, so, the infamous Frank Hardy. Valedictorian wannabe."

Your tormentor wannabe had he been just a wee bit crueler.

Oh, why can’t I be evil?

I’m not called Randy Ophir, that’s why.

"I think you know about Callie…" Frank began. While Randy’s arrogance was born out of wealth and having too much at a tender age, Frank’s condescending tone arose from his knowledge of Randy’s shirking of responsibility.

And his cowardice.

"The baby’s not mine." Randy immediately dismissed Frank’s words. Frank shrugged mockingly.

"Who said anything about a baby… relax… though, you may want to know a paternity test is easily done these days. And when a girl has a baby, she’s going to need all the support she can get…imagine the headlines, ‘Heir to the Ophir empire embroiled in Child Support Lawsuit’…The jury is usually more sympathetic towards a hapless lady than a rich brat…" Frank let his words linger in the air as his threat hung heavily. Disaffectedly, he pretended to be interested in his fingernails.

The color drained away from Randy’s cheeks. Frank wondered if Randy actually learned anything from the module he was taking. Even those not familiar with law would at least have an idea of Paternity and Child Support Court Cases. Not only that, Randy’s father, Edward Ophir, Director of the vast Ophir business empire would not be too pleased if his son managed to hog limelight in a most embarrassing manner.

"What do you want, Frank Hardy?" Randy growled- his fear transmuted into anger. The two emotions, in Frank’s opinion, were hardly distant relatives. Anger usually followed Fear like a bodyguard of sorts- masking the smell of cowardice with one of violence.

"Nothing. Just some decency on your part." Cool under pressure, Randy’s smoldering rage could not penetrate the layers of calmness to faze Frank. For Frank’s part, he had no idea what he wanted from Randy, just that he felt such a need to lash out at the young man who had irresponsibly altered Callie’s life, steering her sharply off the broad, promising highway she was supposed to zoom through to a twisting dirt path hidden by thick, hostile foliage.

And left her there alone, washing his filthy hands clean of all the wrongs he had done. But it was only his hands that he could wash, there was no way he could sluice his conscience, if he even had one.

If he dares slander Callie again to save his own ass, I’ll not be so easy on him.

Whirling around, Frank decided to just end the conversation there. He was not expecting much- he did not anticipate tears of remorse or even half-hearted promises of taking on the role of at least an adequate provider for Callie and the baby. He was expecting nothing from Randall Ophir. Randall Ophir, as proven by his own actions, was yet another spoiled rich brat who took and took without caring about the harm he could have caused another person. Self-centered and an epicurean in the most negative connotation of the term, he had no place in his heart for anybody else.

"Hasn’t it occurred to you that if Callie could cheat on you, she could cheat on me as well? Maybe she already had scores of lovers before me and I am the one who’s really denigrated. Maybe it hasn’t occurred to you that she may just be a slut with an angeli…"

Randy never got to finish the cheap shot. Frank spun around so quickly that everything happened in the span of less than a flash. Righteous anger like a glowing cinder burst into blinding sparks that clouded Frank’s vision- both of sight and of spirit. The next thing he knew, Randy was on the floor with a bleeding nose and his own right fist was throbbing with the aftermath of a well-deserving punch.

Violence. So, it has to come to this.

"You’re the slut, Randy. Spreading yourself thin. I can just imagine how many kids running around out there have your genes inside them. Poor abandoned children. Child support is looking to be hefty." Frank spat - his subtle warning was not lost on Randy who glowered at Frank, dabbing at his nose gingerly.

"So is assault." Randy retorted but the arrogance in his mien was fast fading.

"And so is slander. Sue me if you want. Your dad’s going to be so proud of you." Frank’s steely voice matched the coldness of his eyes. His pupils, deepened and enlarged, threatened to consume Randy into the twin black holes that they had collapsed into as he glared intensely into Randy’s eyes.

The broad figure shivered slightly.

Wetting his fingers with the icy water from the cooler, Frank flicked a few drops of frozen insult onto Randy’s face. Disgust dictated his expression as he twisted his lips in loathing at the poor excuse for a man before he spun around and walked away from the pile of rubbish that he left behind- wallowing in its own self-pity.

***

The late evening air was chilly and Frank huddled himself as he made his way in solitude across the car park to his Mustang. A conscientious student who could always spot flaws in arguments as they came, Frank found his performance lacking as his concentration trickled slowly away. He could feel fatigue creeping up to him- waging a deadlock war with his insomnia. One of his lecturers actually commented that he was an alien- the moment Frank took his course, he readily admitted to Frank that Frank was much more intelligent than even the professors. Frank laughed it off, embarrassed by the honor that he knew he did not deserve.

But now, Frank could only find comfort in the assumed accuracy of his professor’s praise. He could feel his intelligence leaking out of his brains as it was fast displaced by chronic weariness and restlessness. If he had a large pool of brilliance to begin with, it might still be a while before he would turn into an idiot.

Maybe enough time for him to graduate.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket then and he jumped at the electrifying sensation of the vibration. Rolling his eyes at his own comical reaction, he flung his sole textbook for the day onto the bonnet of his Mustang before fumbling hurriedly into his pocket for the tiny Nokia. The flashing number on his screen accelerated his heartbeat and quickly, he accepted the call.

"Callie?"

"Hello…" Callie’s greeting was faltering; awkward.

"Have you got a moment?"

Have I? Of course. For you, of course.

"Why? Are you all right? Is anything wrong?" Anxiety laced each and every word. Callie did not sound like herself but she did not sound too depressed either.

"Is anything wrong?" Callie asked in disbelief. "Everything is wrong… but… at least something’s clear. I had a talk with Randy. He had an injured nose. You should have hit it harder; should have broken it."

Frank relaxed as he heard the familiar edge in Callie’s tone- a sarcastic tinge that she could not control whenever she was discussing someone who rubbed her the wrong way. Leaning against the body of his car, a poignant smile stole onto his lips.

"He told you about it?"

"Nope. I guessed. He came to me after class with his nose all bandaged up like a cocoon and we went to a quiet café to talk about it. I thought he was going to propose or something, silly me. Yet again, my foolishness amazed me. He gave me this cheque and begged me to not tell his father."

"Whoa…a cheque…"

"It’s five-figured…the high end. What a cheap payment to get my mouth to shut…if we sue, do you think we’ll get his millions?" Callie jested with some menace but Frank knew her. She was angry and humiliated by Randy’s actions done out of spinelessness again.

Nevertheless, she was never one to profit from her own plight.

"I don’t know… if you want…"

"No."

"Huh?"

"I don’t. I don’t want to ever let my baby know he or she has such a wimp for a father." Callie’s harsh tone was absolute. "Maybe when he or she is older but… the child’s all mine as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want his taint on it."

Joy surged through Frank at what Callie had inadvertently revealed. He heard a baby cry but it was not a cry in plea but a cry to greet the world.

"You’re going to keep it, tell me you are. Callie… it’s wonderful. We’ll take care of it, I’ll love it like my own, I promise. More than anything, I’ll..." His mouth clamped shut abruptly at what he had accidentally blurted out- careless under the influence of the ecstasy at having a constant nagging fear released from him.

There was a pregnant pause. Friendship remained but Frank knew he had crossed the line. Wasn’t it Freud who said that one’s hidden thoughts- though suppressed into the unconscious dimension- would grope its way out into the open one way or another? While Frank did not agree with the pioneer of psycho-analysis in many points, he had just proven the philosopher right at least in that aspect.

He could not repress his deep love for Callie and because of that, he jeopardized his current standing.

"Silly! You don’t have to sound so happy. I’m having the baby but it’s not like it’s going to be a bed of roses…" Callie chided him good-naturedly after the brief silence and Frank knew she was graciously pretending to take no heed of his confession. Torn between relief and anguish, he had nothing to say to add on to the conversation.

"I still have to tell my parents and I know they’ll freak out. I still have to finish my degree with a protruding stomach. My life’s changed and I can only hope that by not damning the baby, I’m not going to damn myself. Do you understand, Frank? It’s not an easy feat and I don’t know if I have the courage to see it through." Her voice was subdued now by the overwhelming uncertainty of the road now laid out before her. Bumps and sharp corners awaited her. Crossroads with confusing signs graced every junction.

But it would lead her to a destination most beautiful and rewarding, as with the victory over every trial in life.

"You have the resolution. Don’t worry, you won’t damn yourself…" Frank assured her as best as he could over the phone. He wished he was right there with her then, so he could hold her.

So she could hold him.

"Because of love. Because you have love. With it, you’ll have hope and you’ll find the strength. I know you’ll make a great mother. You only have to do your best."

There was another pause and once again, it was Callie broke the silence. "And I know you’ll be the best father a child can ever hope for. If only things were different, Frank. But this is the consequence of my action, not yours. But I do appreciate you so much. Thanks."

I know the consequence’s not mine, but I want to give you all of me. Who cares who did who wrong?

You’ve never done me wrong. In my eyes, you can do no wrong.

"You’re welcome." Frank spoke hoarsely, feeling hot tears burning his eyes. The way Callie put it across to him was a finality of sorts.

I know you love me, Frank. But I can never take you back. We have too much history.

"I just thought you’d want to know my decision. Be there for me as a friend, will you?" Callie almost pleaded. Frank tilted his head back to contain the disappointment threatening to moisten his cheeks.

Goodness, I’m turning into a crybaby. That’s Maggie’s task and when she’s busy, Joe’s.

Not me. I’m the strong one. The Superman.

In diapers.

"I will. I’ll always be there." He responded disjointedly. A longer answer would betray his sadness and make her worry, if she had not already guessed.

"It’s late. I’ve got to finish some reading… see you around?"

"Bye." Frank answered and disconnected the call after she hung up. Staring up at the starry sky- the twinkling lights blended into one another by his blurry eyes- he thought of her rejection of him.

And he never knew, until then, how regret could gnaw unremittingly and mercilessly at a person’s soul and render him speechless as remorse drowned his lungs.

***

It was past midnight when he reached home. As silently as he could, so he would not disturb the guest and his parents who had already turned in for the night, he made his way into his room and switched on the light, dimming it because he was already accustomed to the night In its stark nakedness, the contrast of light to the dark would only pierce his eyes.

Besides, he could see well enough under the weakened, glowing bulb.

In the comfort of his own room, he felt at rest again. Driving about aimlessly for the past few hours did nothing to ease the disenchantment. It only made him feel more alone than ever- a lone man in his lone Mustang, cruising down lone streets.

He thought of calling Joe to just chat but he could not bring himself to. Joe had his own problems to deal with and Frank’s whining about a failed attempt to win back the hand of his love was something his little brother did not need.

Sinking down onto his leather armchair, he picked up his Hi-Fi remote control and pressed "Play." The soothing, almost inspirational symphony of Nimrod from the Enigma Variations caressed him and calmed his troubled heart. Its deliberate slowness forced his rhythm to steady but on the other hand, the dull ache in his soul was accentuated. Shaking his head to clear it from the remnants of the noise in his mind, he decided that since he could not drift away with the sand from Mr. Sandman’s bag, he would do some productive work or the night was going to be yet another tedious wait.

For the first time, he thought his room looked like some archive section for the library. Piles of papers carefully labeled were strewn all over the floor and his study table. Faced with the mess, he could not expect the latent chaos in his own sub-conscious to sort itself.

Retrieving some empty ring-files from his study drawer, he made the resolution to organize his notes and research papers so he could actually start his thesis proper. In the stillness of the night, the only sounds to be heard were that of the paper puncher and the crushing of useless print-outs.

Suddenly, the monotony of sounds was broken by a tense silence- dense with contemplation. The resurfaced case file on Vanessa was held tightly with slightly trembling hands- hands that felt the power of the fruit of a horror that would not just dissolve away into nothingness.

"You’re right. I was protecting her name. So you must too…because you’re my brother. Don’t tell anyone. Let the doubt be on me…please…"

Out of an inborn fervent for the truth that was never satisfied with Joe’s admission of the terrible night- a night that would haunt them all for the rest of their lives, Frank flipped the cover of the brown file to reveal the report within.

Had Joe not stopped him; had the urgency of his essays and thesis not overpowered him, he would have done that a long time ago.

At that moment, Nimrod, repeated for the umpteenth time, roused from its Pianissimo state- a reflection of the sudden revelation in Frank’s mind. A revelation that he cursed himself for not having a year ago.

But how could I know when a year ago, Joe would not talk to anyone at all?

Still, I should have tried to look at other angles… and maybe his anguish would not be so great.

Will it?

……

Deceased : Vanessa Angela Bender, W/F

Location : Forest behind 10, Elm Drive.

Date : 15 Oct, 2001 Time: Approximately 23:45

Means : Gunshot wound to the head

Weapon : A pearl-handled .22 (Established to be her mother’s.)

Reporting Officer : Con Riley, Detective Sergeant

Details :

On 15 October, 2001, I responded to a phone call made by Franklin Jeremiah Hardy around 01:30 that the deceased was found dead at the above-mentioned scene.

When I arrived, Franklin Hardy told me he and his friend Brian Allan Hooper found his brother, Joseph Elijah Hardy with the body of Miss Vanessa Angela Bender underneath a tree. Joseph Hardy was still in the said position when I arrived, apparently in a daze. He had the murder weapon in his left hand as he cradled his late girlfriend with his right. There did not seem to be anyone who could bring him away until we approached and arrested him on the spot…

"I called her a whore, Frank. Then I left her…I don’t know for how long. I came back and there she was, gun in her hand. She…her head…it was blown…I remembered her suicidal past, her father’s own fate…I knew what happened…"

Miss Bender was pronounced dead by the Medical Examiner, Alex Ferdinand. Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head. Her neck was broken and from Joseph Hardy’s statement, (see attached report no. 4B) we established that he shot her at point blank range and she fell out of the tree house and broke her neck…

Frank re-read the report again and again and exhaled heavily.

"… I came back and there she was, gun in her hand. She…her head…it was blown…"

His heart pounded faster, screaming at him to ascertain the blatant error.

Something’s very wrong.