Authors note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Rutwell College Chronicles:
Revenge of the Nerd's Father
Introduction:
Welcome to Rutwell College.
A place of learning. A steppingstone for all who enter its halls in the great journey of life.
For over two centuries, students at Rutwell have found themselves growing, stretching their limits, encouraged to try new experiences, to embark on paths they never considered before.
In these lecture halls and libraries, this haven of scholarship, the faculty find fresh minds to mold, empty vessels looking to be filled. Youth and experience coming together in creative and unexpected ways with astonishing results.
As the motto of the college says, 'Mens Aperta, Corpus Saturatum'... 'Open Mind, Sated Body'.
Chapter 1: The Briefing
Calvin Weeks rested his head on the steering wheel of his car. Like the vehicle he was sat in, Calvin had seen better days. He rose up from his slumped position, rising like a zombie from the grave, complete with a groan of suffering. Sitting back upright, Calvin twisted the rear-view mirror to inspect his appearance. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, the beard that covered his face looked more like a briar bush in a field than a man's facial growth. Both were long overdue a visit with a brush and scissors. Calvin patted himself down in search of a comb but came up empty. He mauled at both hair and beard for a few seconds with his bare hands trying to bring some order to the chaos, but it was a hopeless task.
He climbed out of his twenty-year-old, much dented car and stretched. At a shade over six foot five, driving for any sort of distance left him stiff, his tall body having to wedge itself into the driver's seat. He might have let his appearance slip some these last couple of years...he looked down at the grubby jeans, oil-streaked white t-shirt and worn leather jacket...okay, he definitely had let his appearance slip. But he had kept himself in shape, at forty he still had the same physique and fitness level he had enjoyed at twenty-five. It took effort and dedication and time. Then again, all he had was time.
A young white man, a student by the look of the books cradled under one arm, passed by him, eyes lowered, shoulders hunched protectively. Calvin got that a lot. Big, black and looking seedy, yeah, he had gotten used to folk being wary around him. He chided himself for prevaricating, there was no point putting things off any longer, he had a job to do.
Calvin walked across the car park towards the building marked 'Rutwell College - Administration Building'. It had been two days since his ex-wife had called him. He knew there was something wrong straight away because Gloria only ever called for two reasons, he was late with alimony or there was trouble. Since he was on top of the money situation Calvin had answered the phone with trepidation. He was right. Trouble.
Their daughter Josephine, Jo as everyone called her, had started college that year at Rutwell. He'd spoken to her the night before she'd left, told her how proud he was of her. Now four months later there was Gloria ringing to tell him that Jo had returned home and was refusing to go back to the college. She wouldn't open up to Gloria at all, wouldn't talk to Mark either. Mark was Gloria's new husband and as much as Calvin didn't like the guy, hard to like a man who is sleeping with your wife, he respected the way Mark had formed his own bond with Jo. So, if his daughter wouldn't tell her mother or her step father what was wrong, wouldn't even come on the phone to Calvin. Well, something was rotten.
Jo was the sensitive type she had been since she was born, which always seemed odd to Calvin as sensitive was never a word that could have been used to describe him. Gloria, well she made Calvin seem reasonable in comparison. Hot tempered was a massive understatement regarding that woman. Jo, however, took things to heart. If a friend didn't call straightaway, then Jo worried that she'd done something wrong, and they'd fallen out. If someone laughed, she worried that she was the source of the joke. Most of the time she overreacted, Calvin hoped that was the case now. Gloria had then asked him to drive out to the university to sort things out and Calvin agreed, not for Gloria, for Jo.
He tapped a finger on the desk, looking to draw the attention of the secretary who was sat outside the office of one of the college administrators, a Ms. Thompson. It was Ms. Thompson that had contacted Gloria, asking for information on Jo and when she might be returning. The secretary, a mousy looking brunette woman whose character and appearance seemed to have made her destined for such a role, squinted at Calvin through thick glasses.
"Janitorial services are two floors down," she said, looking back at her computer monitor.
That wasn't entirely unexpected given his appearance, but Calvin still felt he'd been judged a bit harshly.
"Calvin Weeks to see Ms. Thomson, I'm expected."
His voice was deep but a bit croaky sounding to his own ears. That's what comes when you don't talk to people much anymore.
"Oh, sorry. Um yes. Let me see if she can see you now."
The secretary disappeared into the office behind her, reappearing a moment later. She beckoned Calvin to come inside offering him a mildly apologetic half smile. He brushed past her, watching as she flinched to avoid contact. 'Need to see about a shower along with everything else I guess' he thought as he entered the office, closing the door behind him.
Sitting behind the desk was an older white woman, maybe fifty. Her hair had probably once been light blonde in color, but time had reduced it to a snowy white luster. The haircut itself was a short pixie cut that suited her well with her long delicate neck. Ms. Thompson also seemed to have managed to stave off many of the wrinkles you would have expected a woman of her years to have added by this point of her life, taking care of herself, something Calvin respected.
Her expression as Calvin walked to the desk was as frosty as the hair on her head, piercing blue eyes making Calvin instinctively cast her in the role of villain, 'The Ice Queen'. He had to struggle to keep a small grin from his face at the thought, a smirk at this point wasn't going to thaw out this woman.
Ms. Thompson indicated the chair in front of her desk, but she didn't speak until Calvin had eased his large form into the small chair. He shifted a little hoping to get comfortable, stopping as the icy look dropped another few degrees in temperature. Ms. Thompson then rose to her feet, extending her hand. "Mr. Weeks, I'm Clara Thompson".
