12 Tantalizing (2/2)

I could feel my phone vibrate, but hesitated for a minute. He seemed to notice my plight and ask me what was wrong.

”I'll just check a message,” I said, sounding more apologetic than I felt. He nodded and urged me on.

'The contrast has been sent to you via email. Please sign it and send it over as soon as you get the time. Alec will go over the details of work. -Sebastian Butler.'

Another job in criminology.

Lovely.

.

I was already at Mr. Butler's villa at eight thirty in the morning the next day. As I had done the day before, I sent him a message letting him know I had arrived. Within seconds there was an automatic sound. I stared at the door for a second, trying to internalize what had just happened. It had been the sound of the door unlocking. It was only then I saw the hidden keypad behind a bunch of vines that was probably used to unlock the door. Looking around, I also saw the camera discreetly placed diagonally above the door. Twisting the door open, I gave out a little chuckle.

So, it had all been a show to gauge my reaction to unexpected situations. Definitely not necessary for someone who was applying as a translator.

I had been told that I was not allowed to move any of the paper around or take it home with me (of course that would be the case, seeing that it was a case he was using to produce academic material) and that I could work as much or as little as I wanted to work in a day, as long as I finished the translation in the stipulated time. I was rather flattered that they had given me the liberty to move about the house as I wished, giving me permission to help myself to any food or raw material found in the kitchen. Of course, I was also instructed not to approach the first floor of the building or the locked door on the ground floor.

I didn't plan to go anywhere else, anyway, but knew that those must be the rooms where Mr. Butler spent most of his time. I was curious as to find out if he would come down to eat when I was in the house, though. He was taking so many precautions to avoid coming face to face with me.

'How interesting.'

A couple of black files were stacked on the tea table, accompanied by a laptop and a thick envelope. Having learned the level of difficulty of the text previously, I ventured out to find the dictionary I had used yesterday. It was surprisingly easy to find, as if someone had placed it in clear sight for my convenience.

I smiled.

Flipping the folders open, I realized that various paragraphs that numbers written in brackets with it.

PM2890.

IJ5473.

CS7895.

I figured that they were references to some other text with a filling format. Instantly, my eyes traveled to the envelope. I opened it and found the source of my despair. I would have to sort through all of them to find the pictures each goes with.

His writing was poetic, even as he explained the scene of the crime he wrote with passion. It seemed almost like a work of literature in its own right. As I placed each pictorial reference beside the written text, I began to understand the relevance of them.

He was helping me understand the scenario better so that I could portray the true essence of his research. He was using visual aids to enrich the literary text only if for me to better realize it. I found the method fascinating, and it reminded me of all the theories of adaptation and translation I had stumbled upon in the course of my higher education. He was using them in practice, and what a beautiful way of doing so. Morbid? Yes. But true to its theoretical roots.

I got to work fast and despite the massive amount of pictures that I had to refer back to, the task was surprisingly interesting and challenging in equal amounts.

A series of seven lectures on the evolution of madness of a killer, focusing on different segments of their lives, a truly fascinating read. I might have wanted nothing to do with the subject or police work, but I was up to critically analyzing any literary text that I could get my hands on, especially one as tantalizing as this.

As the day rolled on, I was tempted by the beautiful jars of tea on the countertop. Hoping that the courtesy extended to helping myself to them, I went to the kitchen and got myself a tall glass of warm water. Unlike most tea drinkers, Mr. Butler preferred using tea leaves in place of tea bags. It helped moderate the process and personalize it to one's taste. Safe to say, I enjoyed the work thoroughly for the next three days.