“Do we understand each other?” Arlo asked, his tone entirely mocking.
“Yes, perfectly,” the principal scowled.
A new image overtakes the previous one, and suddenly I’m surrounded by a densely wooded area.
A small, lanky Dimitri stands in the woods. It must be fall because orange and brown leaves pepper the ground. Clutched in his grasp is a hunting knife, and it somehow looks so awkward and difficult to maneuver in the hands of a young teenage boy.
“You need to slice down - deep and hard - before jerking the knife to the side. Again,” Arlo commands.
The young Dimitri follows the slashing motion that Arlo had just instructed him on, and once he has completed the action, Arlo barks, “Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
That was how I witnessed young Dimitri learn how to gut someone - I was only grateful that I hadn’t stumbled across a memory which held an actual person for practice on, although I was certain such memories existed.
Arlo walked a room fitted with a round wooden table, bookshelves lining the walls. Three large bodied men were already seated at the table and Arlo wasted no time before firing away at them in a series of rapid Russian words that made it difficult to keep up with.
Arlo’s hand slammed down on the table fiercely before he growled in English, “He is the rightful heir and leader and he will take his place. Any further discussion to the contrary will be deemed a challenge and such disloyalty won’t be tolerated.”
“No one is questioning his right,” one of the men countered, “it is just that he is so young to have such responsibility on his shoulders.”
“Entire civilizations in history have been carved around men his age. You will give him the respect and loyalty that his position deserves.”
Without listening to any further objections, Arlo turned abruptly and marched out the room.
The flashes in his memory seemed to slow, and I was vaguely aware that I was about to see the real reason he had asked me to see. To see what lay beneath his surface, to see past his lies and the carefully crafted image of the rainmaker that he maintained. To understand.
Arlo sat in the doctor’s rooms, the elderly medical doctor leaned across his desk - his tag read ‘Dr. Williams’.
“I am sorry, you know?” Dr. Williams offered.
Arlo remained seated stiffly in his chair.
“How long?” He asked.
The doctor’s gaze dipped in understanding.
“At best, possibly six months, at worst, four.”
Arlo nodded, “Enough time to get my affairs in order then.”
I pulled my hand back, suddenly needing distance. It was one thing seeing such news through the eyes of a client when you knew absolutely nothing about them, and another thing entirely when you were practically living under your clients’ roof.
“How long have you known?” My voice was hoarse, wavering slightly after what I had just seen.
He didn’t deny it. He did not even bat his eye at my questioning.
“For just over four months,” his voice sounded low and gruff.
“Does Dimitri know?”
Arlo simply glared at me.
“Fine, Dimitri doesn’t know,” I conceded, working through the puzzle that Arlo’s mind had presented me with.