BIA Ch. 16

He knew. Isaiah Cole on his side was helpful. That meant that Isaiah Cole who was not on his side or Isaiah Diaz, who was on his side but couldn’t even shoot a gun, wouldn’t be helpful.

Suddenly, it crossed his mind that Bran might be the type to quietly eliminate him without anyone noticing if he failed to recover his memories by the time the successor was announced. But…

“Huh, Isaiah?”

He had no choice. If this guy and that guy were the same, he had no choice but to side with the one who had a better chance of winning.

“Okay. I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

No sooner had Isaiah finished answering than Bran rose to his feet.

“Where?”

Isaiah asked. Bran set his barely-touched beer down on the table and said.

“To my house.”

“Oh, yes.”

Isaiah quickly got up.

“Bran but you know…”

Isaiah cautiously began as he followed Bran to the front door.

“This body…”

“Why, have you grown fond of it already? Shall we take it with us?”

Put it in your bedroom? Bran said without smiling.

“No!”

Isaiah shouted urgently. When Bran said things like that, it didn’t sound like a joke at all.

“Who on earth is this person?”

“Well, even if I told you, you wouldn’t know.”

Bran said in an indifferent tone as he stepped over the corpse.

“Of course, that would be the case, but…”

“What did Chester say?”

“He said he was probably a drug addict who followed from Mountain Dog.”

Isaiah muttered as he circled the body and approached the front door. Bran chuckled as he opened the door.

“He’s not wrong.”

Bran had no chauffeur. After a forty-minute drive in his Bentley, which he drove himself, we arrived at a single-family home on the outskirts of the city. The three-story house with seven bedrooms and a living room on each floor was unexpectedly decorated with a lavish antique-style interior. The second-floor study in particular looked like a replica of a European royal palace library. It had that many books and the furniture and decorations were incredibly ornate.

“I thought you would prefer a more modern style.”

“I’ve had enough of that since I was young.”

Bran took off his jacket and hung it on a hanger in a corner of the study.

“After my father passed away, I was placed in a childcare institution for a while. The facilities there were the epitome of post-modernism. The plaster on the ceiling was cracked, exposing all the pipes and the only furniture in the room was a pipe bed and a desk.”

So I got sick of it. Bran said, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.

“I promised myself that later, when I made a lot of money I would live in a house so extravagant I would get sick of it.”

“Your wish came true.”

“Not quite. I don’t have a home theater yet.”

Isaiah burst out laughing at Bran’s joke. Or rather, he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not but Bran’s tone was amusing. So he laughed. If Bran was serious, it wasn’t shocking.

“Come to think of it, you don’t have a dog?”

Isaiah asked, pulling out a poetry book with an eye-catching title from the bookshelf.

“A dog?”

“Chester has a dog.”

“Ah, that ugly dog. Venus, was it?”

“Isn’t it Agrippina?”

When a bewildered Isaiah asked again. Bran raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’

“Anyway, I remember it wasn’t a name that suited its appearance.”

His tone suggested indifference. Isaiah chuckled and scanned the table of contents of the poetry book. Turning the pages to the title poem, Isaiah asked again,

“You don’t like animals much?”

“I’ve never raised one. You?”

“Well… I don’t remember.”

“Think about it now.”

Isaiah, having found the desired page, opened it and pondered for a moment as he read the title in bold font.

“Well, a cute animal would be nice.”

“Aphrodite is eliminated then.”

“It’s Agrippina.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Isaiah laughed again. Bran, watching him, unbuttoned another shirt button.

“You laugh easily.”

“I do?”

Flustered, Isaiah quickly tried to erase the smile from his face. He tried, but it wouldn’t disappear. Finally, lowering his head to hide his crumbling expression, he muttered in a tone of feigned blame,

“Well, it’s because you make me laugh.”

“I always speak similarly.”

Bran approached, unbuttoning a third shirt button.

“Yesterday, you didn’t smile even once.”

Yesterday? Yesterday, Bran and I… Did we have any other conversations besides work? If so, what did we talk about?

Isaiah raised his head to ask but couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“What have you been reading so intently since a while ago?”

Bran, now standing surprisingly close, asked. Isaiah was flustered by the proximity. It was so close that he could clearly see the small flecks in Bran’s golden irises.

“Do you like Bukowski?”

Isaiah, lost in thought, was startled back to the present by Bran’s voice asking about the poetry book he held.

“Oh, no. I don’t know the poet. Just the title was intense…”

“Love is a dog from hell.”

Bran took the book from Isaiah and read the title aloud.

“Is that why you were talking about dogs?”

Bran said, scanning the poem on the open page.

“I guess I’ll see Chester’s ugly dog again at the funeral.”

“I guess so…”

Isaiah, once again mesmerized by Bran’s face, muttered dazedly. He couldn’t help it. They were so close he could feel Bran’s breath. The man’s face, seen from this proximity, especially his golden eyes was breathtakingly beautiful and mysterious. Even the scar on his iris resembled a sunspot.

“I get sleepy when I go to a funeral. Vomiting at the parade. I’m crazy about chess games, cunts, and babysitting.”

“What…? W-why are you suddenly saying such things?”

Isaiah shouted, startled.

“It’s the content of the poem.”

Bran held the book up to Isaiah’s face. It was true. It was a line from the very poem Isaiah had been reading, the title poem, “Love is a Dog from Hell.”

“I don’t know what you were thinking.”

Bran said calmly, placing the book back on the shelf.

“The guest bedrooms are on the third floor. Pick any room you like. The bathroom is inside.”

Before Bran finished speaking. Isaiah bolted out of the study.

Having chosen the room closest to the stairs on the third floor. Isaiah finally saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror after starting the shower. His face was flushed crimson and the heat didn’t seem likely to subside easily. Therefore, Isaiah turned on the cold water and started drenching his head.

When Isaiah came downstairs after showering. Bran was talking to a stranger in the living room. The stranger looked to be in his mid-thirties. While not quite as extravagant as Chester, he was still draped in an expensive designer suit.

“Why is this faggot here?”

The man’s wide-eyed reaction upon seeing Isaiah suggested he was one of Bran’s subordinates.

“Why would a faggot be in a man’s house?”

The subordinate looked up at Bran with a questioning expression. Bran simply chuckled and jerked his chin towards the front door.

“Go. And keep your mouth shut.”

“…Yes.”

“And tomorrow, tell Jace, Van, and Aaron to be there two hours early.”

“Understood.”

After the subordinate left, Bran casually beckoned Isaiah over.

“Come this way.”

Isaiah was suddenly overcome by an indescribable feeling. His body tingled, and he felt a strange urge to cry. Unsettled by these unfamiliar emotions, Isaiah approached Bran.

“You don’t drink alcohol, do you?”

Bran said, picking up a whiskey bottle from the table as if just remembering. Isaiah watched as Bran poured himself a drink, muttering,

“Why doesn’t Isaiah Cole drink?”

“Are you asking me that now?”

“Oh, no. It was just to myself.”

He had actually wanted to ask anyone but embarrassment made him cover it up. He realized Bran wouldn’t know the answer anyway.

“Well, I guess when you’re drunk your aim gets worse. Maybe that’s why.”

“I see… That could be possible.”

To maintain a clear head at all times, yes, that could be the reason and that’s why he didn’t do drugs either.