Upon triple-checking that any bit of trace evidence I had left behind had been collected, I sat down in the center of the room, in the lotus position, and began meditating, as usual.
Even without ambient particles floating in the air, I still tried to do this at least once a day so as to calm my mind and focus on any immediate tasks that required my attention.
It didn’t take long for Jennifer to reappear wearing a new set of transparent nightwear. Still, when she saw me meditating in the middle of the living room, any thoughts she had about having another "Exciting" night like the one before vanished, and feeling a little depressed, she retreated to her bedroom, seeing as I had no intention of indulging or giving her any attention.
Like sand in an hourglass, time moved on, and when I finally opened my eyes four hours later, I was greeted by the sight of Jennifer dressed prim and proper as if going to a job interview, luggage in hand and a small sun hat placed atop her head.
"I was about to wake you up, My Lord, but I didn’t wish to startle you…" her eyes darted side to side in nervousness, and I knew that I had taken a bit longer than four hours to finish my meditation, which frankly wasn’t that surprising, seeing as how I seemed to lose track of time when I did so.
Glancing up at my System display, I saw it was already 8:22 am, so I casually got up, told Jennifer to fix up a light breakfast, showered, and changed into my own childish formal wear, aka, a collared black shirt and khaki pants with dress shoes.
Before you go wondering why I was dressing up or even why Jennifer had, the reason was simple. From the time commercial flights were introduced to the public, there was a common stipulation, and that was to wear your Sundays best when flying.
What this meant was to dress up as if you were going to church, and as annoying as it was, I remember that thought process eventually going out of style around 2003ish.
Since Brenden and I would frequently fly when we were kids back and forth from Orlando to Chicago for visitation with Amanda, it was ingrained in my mind that it was necessary to dress up when flying to the point that even when it had gone out of style, I still continued to wear a full suit well into my adulthood on planes in the Origin Timeline.
Stepping out of the bathroom, contrary to what I expected to hear in the way of asking where I had gotten the clothes from, Jennifer instead praised how handsome and adorable I looked in my formal attire.
In a sense, her response was partially due to practically being a slave and finding it disrespectful to question my actions and partly due to me planting in her mind not to think too deeply about my actions.
That alone would save me the trouble of explaining where the documents pertaining to her Franchise or even the fact that all the valuables in the house vanished.
"Get your keys. We need to go to the Balmoral Hotel, where my father is staying." Stepping into the living room, I extended my perception, checking for any leftover particle signatures, and when I saw none, I nodded.
Giving a curt smile and nod, Jennifer walked over to the hall piece stationed near the front door and grabbed her keys. Turning back to check if I was following her, which I was, Jennifer and I left the house and found ourselves standing in front of an old Ford Anglia 105E, which I knew to be the inspiration for the Car the Westlys in Jennifer’s story owned.
It didn’t take long for us to get on the road, and as I had already been in this particular vehicle once before, I wasn’t phased by it, even if it did cause me to raise an eyebrow the first time.
The drive from Jennifer’s off-the-beaten-path home to the famous and old hotel wasn’t terribly long, about an hour, and once we arrived, I had her wait while I exited the car and walked up to the castle-like hotel.
Built in the late 1800s and opened in 1902, the Balmoral Hotel has always been considered the peak of luxury, and with its impressive architecture along with proximity to Edinburgh Castle, the Hotel was honestly pretty cool to look at.
The sight of it was impressive enough to make me want to explore every nook and cranny, triggering the part of my brain that loved history. Unfortunately, that would have to be some other time as our flight was at 10:30 am, so my main objective was to pick up my father and head to the airport.
New novel 𝓬hapters are published on freёwebnoѵel.com.
But with everything in my life, of course, it turned into a task that proved to be more annoying than I could have imagined because when I arrived outside the door to his room, I could hear the faint sounds no kid ever wants to hear from their parent’s bedroom.
"This fucking Guy…. it’s god damn eight something in the morning, and he’s banging some hoebag he met in the hotel." Feeling my eye begin to twitch, I clenched my fist and had to control my strength as I started beating on the door like a police officer.
The scene that followed was like something out of a bad romantic comedy; through the door, I could hear objects being knocked over, my father swearing, and hushed whispers, which, to my dismay, I could hear clearly thanks to being an Alpha-Ranker.
"WHAT IS IT? I SAID THAT I WANTED TO BE LEFT ALO…oh, Taylor, son, what are you doing here so early? Did you get scared being in your room alone?" Whipping open the door full of fury and repressed sexual tension, my father, wearing only a bathrobe, burst out into the hallway as if he were going to beat up whoever was on the other side of the door, only to stumble upon seeing it was me…his five-year-old son.