Enigma Nocturne

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Part Two.


“You… uh… wanted to see me, sir?” Jore said, timidly stepping through the doorway to the Headmaster’s large, dark office. It was nearly midday on a nice, early spring Saturday, and the Headmaster would have had a beautiful view of the grounds around the school from his office, but Jore had noticed that Mr. Nairicks always kept his curtains closed, and apparently he didn’t need much light to do his work or read the thousands of books in the personal library he had growing in the high-ceilinged room.

“Yes, Mr. Meili, come in,” the Headmaster commanded tiredly, not looking up from his paperwork as Jore slowly entered the room, glancing around him like a jumpy animal. He had been here before, and he knew from personal experience, as well as from numerous stories almost every other student in the school had told, what often went on in here. Mr. Nairicks didn’t tolerate disobedient children. …Well, that was an understatement. If you even breathed wrong in this school, the Headmaster would find some way to punish you. Jore hadn’t gotten in trouble too much this year, but since it was just after the start of second semester, he figured he had a few more chances. And he could still feel the bruises he had received during his last visit to the Headmaster’s office.

Mr. Nairicks was a seriously troubled man, with a lot of power, and those two things combined made him incredibly frightening and unpredictable. Of course, no one ever told their parents about the fact that their Headmaster abused his students, because they had nightmares of him tracking them down even if they changed schools or moved. And since that was hardly an option, seeing as the headmaster himself decided everything about his students’ lives, the boarding school was both a great wonder and an awful cage. It was a really good school, with wonderful, brilliant teachers, and some of the greatest young artistic minds in the country. Its only flaw was that Mr. Nairicks was a direct descendant of the very first Headmaster, so he could never be fired or replaced, no matter what he did. And no one ever told the horrible secrets of Berns P. Nairicks’ School of the Arts.


“Why are you here, Mr. Jordan Meili?” the Headmaster asked emotionlessly from behind his desk, looking up briefly to pierce Jore’s soft brown eyes with his sharp steel ones.
Jore resisted the great urge to flinch, and stuttered, “I…I was… d-disrespectful… at the Midyear Ballet last night, s-sir.”

“Exactly,” said Mr. Nairicks climactically, and then he stood up from his large, lavish chair. He walked towards Jore, who was shaking slightly with the knowledge of his impending punishment. The Headmaster stopped, standing inches away from him, taller than him by almost a foot, even though Jore was nearly five-foot-seven. Jore inhaled, trying to calm himself, but instead of the calm, dusty air of the office reaching his nostrils, the unique, sharp scent of the Headmaster’s hair gel triggered some fierce memories from his last punishment. Jore stared straight ahead at the buttons on Mr. Nairicks’ suit, then flinched noticeably as the Headmaster rested a pale hand on his shoulder. Jore looked up fearfully and met the strangely smiling eyes of his nightmare. He tore his gaze away and looked sideways at a wall with heavy curtains, trying to imagine the view out of the window that they veiled. The Headmaster made a sort of thoughtful hum in his throat, and then said, “Let’s sit down at my desk, Mr. Meili.”

Jore choked out, “Y-yes, sir,” and followed the Headmaster back to his desk. He watched Mr. Nairicks sit down first before he took a seat on the other side of the desk, in one of the two comfortable easy chairs the Headmaster kept for his guests’ comfort. The chair creaked from disuse as Jore sat down, and he stared at the surface of the Headmaster’s desk as a few extremely tense moments passed.
The Headmaster cleared his throat. “Why don’t you have a seat up here, Mr. Meili?” Mr. Nairicks suggested, patting the surface of the desk, and giving Jore a small fake smile. Jore obeyed without question, getting up, then pausing confusedly at the edge of the desk before turning around and pushing himself up to sit on the uncomfortable wood surface with his back to the Headmaster. His legs twitched slightly from the sudden loss of solid ground to steady them.
Jore heard papers being shuffled behind him, and a desk drawer being opened and then closed. Jore’s entire body ached with the longing to turn around and see what the Headmaster might be getting out of his secret desk drawers… could it be a paddle? A bat? …A letter opener, maybe, sharpened just recently for the occasion?

Jore’s jaw tightened, expecting cold metal to pierce his skin at any second. But then he nearly yelped in surprise as he felt five of the Headmaster’s sharp fingers scratching his back lightly. Jore focused on trying to steady his nervous breathing, oblivious as to why Mr. Nairicks would ever touch a student other than to hurt them. Jore shivered at the feeling of the Headmaster’s fingertips on him, and thanked the heavens that he had on his uniform’s nice, thick jacket.
“So, Mr. Meili, what do your friends call you?”
“Uh… J-jore, sir.”
“Hmm. That’s an interesting abbreviation for Jordan.”
“It, uh… it runs in my family, sir… actually, my full name is Jordan Ling Meili… uh… the Third.”

“Fascinating,” Mr. Nairicks said softly, running his fingers down the length of Jore’s back. Jore felt himself blush slightly, then suddenly wondered why. Mr. Nairicks, the abusive Headmaster… his touch was making his body react, if only just slightly. Jore shivered with a sudden feeling of self-disgust, and tried his best to ignore the Headmaster’s fingers on his spine.
It didn’t work very well. After his first reaction, Jore’s mind was suddenly filled with surprise and more extreme confusion. Did the Headmaster know that he was… different? Did he know the reason why his parents hated him?
“Mr. Meili?” Mr. Nairicks prompted, instantly replacing nearly all of Jore’s confused thoughts with fear.
“Um… Yes, sir?”
“Do you have a girlfriend at this school?”
Jore shut his eyes, trying to relax, knowing where this conversation was going. “Uh… no…no, sir.”
“What about one outside of school?”
“No… sir… I don’t have a girlfriend… at all… I… I, uh…” Jore searched for the right words, feeling his brain go blank. He gritted his teeth, wishing Mr. Nairicks would just get the message without him having to say it.

“Oh, I think I know what you’re trying to say, Mr. Meili. You’re a homosexual, aren’t you?”
Jore let out the breath he was holding, silently. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Nairicks made that soft, thoughtful sound in his throat again, and continued to scratch Jore’s back absently. Jore was trapped in awkward, fearful silence for what felt like hours.
“Take off your jacket,” the Headmaster commanded, ceasing his light scratching for a moment. Jore’s heart rate spiked at the Headmaster’s words, but he knew he had no choice but to obey, and in truth, even though the situation was insanely strange and confusing, he felt grateful that Mr. Nairicks wasn’t beating him up at the moment. With shaky hands, Jore unbuttoned and removed his jacket, and then only a thin white formal shirt separated his oriental-tan skin from the Headmaster’s fingers. Jore thought it was better than nothing. But then, “Take off your shirt, Mr. Meili.”
What little was left of Jore’s hope plummeted into darkness, and he tried not to tremble too much as he reluctantly, fearfully, unbuttoned and slipped off his shirt. He crossed his arms at his chest, but a soft, authoritative ‘ahem’ from the Headmaster sent his clammy hands back to gripping the edge of the desk nervously.

Mr. Nairicks’ hand touched his back again, and Jore shivered as the cold of the Headmaster’s fingers crept up and down his spine, and sharp nails slid over his shoulder blades. Jore screamed inside his head. What was going on? His face was red, his heart pounding in his ears, and he was sweating. He was at the mercy of the dreaded, abusive Headmaster, and instead of an insane fear, anticipation, and surety of pain, Jore felt strangely excited, unsure, and… aroused. Jore’s mind raced with confusion and despair, with the terrifying, underlying notion that he liked what was happening.
“Do you have a boyfriend, then, Mr. Meili?”

“No, sir,” Jore answered softly, staring at the ground. He suddenly felt a pang of loneliness, and he wished with all his might that he were out of this office and back with his friends at a leisurely, lengthy Saturday lunch period.

The Headmaster sighed sympathetically. Then he asked, “Oh… maybe you’re not open about it around school, hm?”
Jore shook his head. “No, sir… only my family knows, and… my parents… hate me for it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mr. Nairicks said softly, his fingers scratching around Jore’s lower back.
Jore’s wonder at why the Headmaster was being nice to him renewed. He realized that he hardly felt scared at Mr. Nairicks anymore… the Headmaster was starting to feel more like a School Counselor than the scary, abusive, unforgiving authority figure the school knew and feared.
Jore suddenly stiffened as the Headmaster’s fingers slipped down the small gap between his skin and his trousers. Jore’s whole body shivered as the Headmaster’s cold fingers pulled at the edge of his boxers, making his face flush. Jore shut his eyes tight, and then suddenly made a decision. He slid off of the desk quickly, his hands still gripping the edge. And after the sound of his formal pants scraping across the wood, there was utter silence. Jore stared at his feet past a few strands of his straight black hair, his heart pounding in his ears, breathing through his mouth hard yet silently.
He kept his eyes shut tight as he heard the Headmaster’s chair scrape across the carpet, and then heard his nearly silent footsteps as he approached Jore from the left.
“Something wrong?” the Headmaster asked calmly, and he reached out to tuck Jore’s hair behind his ear.

“Don’t touch me!” Jore yelled, and jumped away from him, holding his arms over his chest.
After almost a minute of silence in which Jore stared at the ground, he stole a glance up at the Headmaster. Mr. Nairicks’ hand was still poised from when he tried to fix Jore’s hair, and his expression was emotionless save for a small widening of the eyes as Jore made eye contact.
Then suddenly, Jore said, “I… I’m sorry…” and looked away as he sniffled quietly. He was so confused with himself. What had happened in the last ten minutes? He had hated and feared the Headmaster. He had expected to be beaten up and then sent back to lunch today, not treated like… he didn’t know what. Certainly not a student… or a friend, or a relative, or a child… it was more like he was being treated like… a pet. Jore braced himself and tried not to think about below-surface issues as he took a timid step back towards Mr. Nairicks.

Nothing happened. The Headmaster didn’t hit him, yell at him, or even approach him. Jore knew that if he wanted to leave this office before he starved to death, he would have to make a move. Grabbing his shirt and jacket and then running for it was definitely out of the question. So was attacking the Headmaster. And he didn’t know what else to do, except…
Jore stepped slowly, shakily back to where he was before, and he touched the side of his head to the Headmaster’s still-poised hand. Mr. Nairicks brushed Jore’s hair back gently, and then Jore felt compelled to look up into his eyes.
“You are a strange young man, Mr. Meili,” the Headmaster said emotionlessly.
“I…I know, sir. Sorry, sir,” Jore choked out, suddenly feeling very lonely, guilty and extremely vulnerable. He didn’t realize what he was doing until it was too late; he hugged Mr. Nairicks hard, burying his face in the Headmaster’s jacket.

Mr. Nairicks stayed still; his eyes wide, a small smile pulling at his lips as he looked down at Jore’s blindly sobbing figure.


This was even easier than he had thought it would be. Everything was going along perfectly.


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