Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard
“This is a witch hunt that was started by a disgruntled graduate student. Christa Peterson is trying to have me fired.”
“You might be right. But before you get on your soapbox, realize that you violated university policy. That makes it much easier for the administration to infer that you’re guilty of other infractions. And by the way, I received an email from the Dean asking me about the M. P. Emerson bursary. For your sake, I hope your fingerprints aren’t on it.”
Gabriel let loose with a string of curses. Jeremy interrupted him.
“If you don’t have a lawyer, my friend, now would be the time to hire one.”
Gabriel muttered something and hung up the phone, walking swiftly to his dining room to pour himself a drink.
* * *
Although Gabriel notified the Faculty Association of his situation, he declined their offer to accompany him to the hearing. John was of the opinion that his legal acumen was far more threatening than that of the union, but he was willing to admit that should the matter result in charges, it would be appropriate at that point to involve them.
John’s advice was to stonewall, although he urged Gabriel to coach Julianne on what not to say. Failing that, he had every intention of arguing that she was an unstable, impressionable student who had become fixated on Gabriel at a young age and had seduced him.
Hoping that his client would follow instructions, John didn’t bother to explain this strategy.
Soraya’s advice paralleled that of John. She told Julia to say nothing and if pressed, to blame Gabriel for everything. Soraya almost cackled with glee at the prospect of arguing that he was the older, rakish professor who had seduced an innocent young woman with promises of a long and happy future. When Julia declared that she wanted to tell the truth, Soraya told her that that was a very bad idea. She planned to bring up Gabriel’s promiscuous reputation and brushes with law enforcement.
Like John, she anticipated a cooperative client and thus didn’t bother articulating the details of her strategy.
The night before the hearing, Julia was awakened mid-dream by the sound of something tapping against her apartment window. At first, she thought she was still dreaming. When the sound repeated, this time more loudly, she exited her bed and pulled aside the curtain. There, standing with his nose almost pressed against the glass, was Gabriel. He looked slightly wild, eyes frantic, wearing his beret and his winter coat, standing knee-deep in a snowdrift.
She quickly unlocked the window and stood aside as a gust of frozen air whooshed past him with his entrance into the room. He closed the window soundly, locked it, and drew the curtain.
“Gabriel, what are you—”
She wasn’t given the chance to finish her question as he wrapped her in his arms. She smelled the Scotch before she tasted it, as he pressed his lips to hers. His lips were freezing, it was true, but his mouth and tongue were warm and inviting. And the heat of his kiss, which was deep and sensual, began to blossom across her skin.
“Are you drunk? What happened?”
He pulled away, but only for a moment, so he could divest himself of his hat and coat. Then he was embracing her once again, tracing icy fingers up and down her arms, unbuttoning her pajama top and slipping a hand inside to cradle her breast.
He moved her to the bed as he pulled his shirt out of his trousers, watching her slip off her pajamas as he carelessly dropped everything to the floor. Within an eye blink they were naked and he was pulling her into his arms, tugging her legs around his hips. They’d never been this quick to undress and to love.
As he walked her to the closed door and pressed her back against it, his movements grew frantic and desperate. His cold fingers teased her while his mouth trapped her breast, sucking and nipping.
She was crying out already, still shocked at his speechless fervor.
A few moments later she was distracted by the difference in temperature between their bodies: the taut, hard coldness of his chest pressing against her soft, warm curves. When he felt with thawing fingertips that she was ready, he thrust up into her, grunting into the crook of her neck in preliminary satisfaction, his upper body relaxing slightly at the feel of her. There was no space between their bodies or air between their skin.
Julia moaned appreciatively at the sensation of being one with her beloved. Her hands immediately slid from his shoulders to his hips, and she pulled at his lower back to encourage him forward. It was a cacophony of unembarrassed sounds and noises, made far more animalistic by its lack of language and of course, the rhythmic bumping of Julia’s back against the heavy wooden door.
Their coupling was loud and fast, perhaps the most intense physical connection they’d ever had, topping even their sex against the wall in Florence. Soon they were exploding jointly into bliss, hearts racing and blood pumping, clutching one another and crying out. Then finally, finally, they collapsed into a tangle of flesh and limb in limpid satisfaction on Julia’s narrow bed.
Gabriel was on top of her, but she would not let him move. He shifted slightly to distribute his weight to the mattress, but he too was unwilling to break the contact of skin against skin.
She petted his hair and told him how much she loved him as he buried his nose in the hollow of her throat, inhaling her scent. She told him that he didn’t need to drink, that he could talk to her, instead.
Gabriel sighed against her neck. “I am talking to you,” he whispered, pressing insistent kisses across her shoulder. “You aren’t listening.”
Before Julia could argue, he began exploring her mouth. Further discussion was silenced as he enticed her to join with his body once more.
When she awoke the next morning the apartment was quiet. In fact, there was no sign of her evening visitor apart from an unlocked window and the scent of Gabriel and sex that clung to her body and the bed.
She searched the studio expecting a note, a message, something. But there was nothing, not even an email. A creeping sense of dread spread over her.
* * *
Julia wore her hair long the next morning, following Soraya’s instructions, for it made her look sweet and innocent. At eleven o’ clock sharp she met her lawyer in the hallway outside the boardroom.
Gabriel and John were already there, huddled next to the wall and talking in low, hurried tones. They were both dressed in dark suits and white shirts. But the similarity ended there. Gabriel wore a bow tie. The green of his tie contrasted sharply with the blue of his eyes.
He made eye contact with her briefly, enough for her to notice that he looked worried. He didn’t smile or beckon to her. He seemed content to keep his distance.
She wanted to go to him, but Soraya pulled her to sit on a low bench just outside the door. Suddenly, the door swung open and a large, angry looking rugby player strode into the hallway.
“Paul?” Julia stood up.
He stopped, surprised.
“Julia? Are you all right? Tell me it isn’t—”
Mid-sentence and mid-stride Paul stopped as he saw the face of Soraya, who was now standing behind her. He stared at the two women, eyes wide and questioning at first, then narrowing. Muttering curses, he scowled and strode past both of them.
“Paul?” Julia called to him, but he disappeared down the stairs.
“Do you know him?” asked Soraya.
“He’s a friend.”
“Really?” Soraya seemed incredulous.
Julia turned to face her. “Why? Do you know him?”
“He filed a complaint last year against one of my clients. That’s when I made an enemy of the Dean.”
It took a moment for the import of Soraya’s revelation to sink into Julia’s brain. But when it did, she sat down slowly.
Soraya was Professor Singer’s attorney? What have I gotten myself into?
Her answer to that question was interrupted by the Dean’s assistant, Meagan, who announced that the hearing officers would prefer to interview Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson, together.
Afte
“Dr. Tara Chakravartty, Vice-President of Diversity.” Professor Chakravartty was a beautiful and petite woman of Indian descent, with dark eyes and long, straight black hair. She was dressed in a black suit with a large persimmon-colored scarf swathed like a sari around her torso. She too, smiled at Julia, in between withering glances and the occasional scowl in David’s direction.
“Dr. Robert Mwangi, Vice-President of Student Affairs.” Professor Mwangi was a Kenyan Canadian who wore wire-rimmed spectacles and a button down shirt with no jacket and no tie. He was the most casually dressed of the four of them and the most obviously friendly. He smiled at Julia, and she smiled back.
The Dean proceeded with his opening remarks.
“Miss Mitchell, Professor Emerson, you have been notified by letter as to why your presence was required. Pursuant to our investigation of the allegation of academic misconduct against you, Miss Mitchell, we have talked to Professor Picton, Miss Peterson, Mrs. Jenkins, Professor Jeremy Martin, and Mr. Paul Norris.
“During the course of our investigation, several facts emerged, facts that have been corroborated by more than one witness.” The Dean stared at Gabriel, pursing his lips. “For this reason, the Provost’s office ordered this committee be formed to investigate matters further.
“The facts that have come to light so far are as follows: first, that a public argument with possible personal overtones took place between Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson during his graduate seminar on or about October twenty-eighth, two thousand and nine.
“Second, that on or about October thirty-first, Professor Picton agreed to supervise Miss Mitchell’s MA thesis at the urging of Professor Emerson, who later notified Professor Martin about the change. Professor Emerson claimed that the switch was necessary due to a conflict of interest, namely, that Miss Mitchell was a friend of his family. Paperwork was filed in the School of Graduate Studies in November to effect this change.
“Third, on December tenth, Professor Emerson gave a public lecture in Florence, Italy, to which he was accompanied by Miss Mitchell. Over the course of the evening, he introduced Miss Mitchell as his fiancée. These facts are substantiated in print and in photographs, and they have also been corroborated by a Professor Pacciani who was present at the event.” The Dean held up a piece of paper that appeared to be a hard copy of an email.
Gabriel glared darkly at the mention of Pacciani, mumbling an expletive under his breath.
The Dean fixed his gaze on Gabriel. “Did Miss Mitchell harass you into participating in an amorous relationship with her?”
Julia nearly fell off her chair.
All eyes in the room focused on Gabriel, whose color deepened. His lawyer began whispering furiously in his ear but Gabriel waved him aside.
“Absolutely not.”
“Very well. Are you currently engaged in an amorous relationship with Miss Mitchell?”
“Dr. Aras, you’ve offered no evidence of any policy infractions here. All you’ve offered is a sketchy timeline that is open to interpretation and tabloid journalism from Italy. I will not allow you to railroad my client,” John complained.
“If your client has nothing to hide, then he should answer our questions. When did the relationship between you, Professor Emerson, and your student begin?”
Before John could open his mouth to protest, Professor Chakravartty interrupted. “I object to this line of questioning on the grounds that relationships between professors and students in the same department cannot be consensual. And I’d like my objection minuted.”
The Dean nodded at his assistant, Meagan, who was typing notes furiously on her laptop. “Duly noted,” he huffed. “We’ll discuss that issue shortly. Professor Emerson?”
“With respect, Dr. Aras, my client is not obligated to respond to supposition and speculation. Perhaps Miss Mitchell might take a different view.” John cast a snide look at Soraya, then smiled innocently at the hearing officers.
“Very well. Miss Mitchell?”
Soraya glared at John before turning to face the committee.
“My client has already been subjected to a harassing experience by the Dean’s office when she was forced to defend herself against a serious but entirely malicious complaint by another student. In view of the stress and emotional trauma that has already been inflicted on her, I ask you to direct your questions to Professor Emerson. He instigated the transfer of my client’s thesis supervision to Professor Picton, it’s his signature on the forms, and we have nothing to say on the matter.”
Julia leaned over to protest in Soraya’s ear, but Soraya waved her off.
Julia gritted her teeth.
“Ah. A classic prisoner’s dilemma emerges. I wonder if either of you realize the outcome you are headed toward if you continue in this manner.” Dr. Aras cleared this throat. “I can allow you a short recess in order for you to confer with your attorneys, Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson, but I expect you to answer our questions expeditiously and truthfully.
“In the absence of any testimony at all, we reserve the right to decide the matter for ourselves, based upon the evidence we have been able to gather. And to refer the matter to the Provost’s office so he can lay charges, if that is our recommendation. You have five minutes.” The Dean’s voice was cold and dispassionate.
“Since relationships between professors and students in the same department cannot be consensual, I move that we excuse Professor Emerson so we can interview Miss Mitchell.” Professor Chakravartty gave Julia a sympathetic look. “Let me assure you that this is a safe space. There will be no reprisals from the Department of Italian Studies because of anything you disclose to us. If you’ve been a victim of sexual harassment, we can help you.”
Tara’s sympathy immediately morphed into disgust when she glanced in Gabriel’s direction.
Julia quickly rose to her feet. “I wasn’t harassed by Professor Emerson.”
Soraya clutched her arm, but Julia ignored her. So Soraya stood beside her, waiting for the appropriate moment to interrupt and to object.
Gabriel began shaking his head in agitation, but Julia couldn’t see him, fixated as she was on the hearing officers.
“We weren’t involved while I was his student. And our current relationship is consensual.”
The room was silent for a moment, before the silence was broken by the sounds of the hearing officers’ pens scratching against paper.
The Dean sat back in his chair, looking remarkably unsurprised.
This was Julia’s first indication that something had just gone very, very wrong. She sat down slowly, ignoring the hiss of Soraya’s voice in her ear and turned to look at Gabriel. He stared straight ahead, but she knew he could feel her looking at him, she could tell by the set of his jaw. He crossed his arms angrily over his chest, his eyes fixed on the Dean’s like a cobra waiting to strike.
“Thank you, Miss Mitchell. So the relationship is amorous.” Dr. Aras glanced in Gabriel’s direction before looking at Julia again.
“Since you’ve been so forthcoming, allow me a follow up question. When did you purchase the airline ticket to Italy, knowing that you would be traveling with Professor Emerson?”
Julia gazed at the Dean blankly.
“Surely the tickets would have been reserved before December eighth, which would place the purchase date squarely within the semester. So prior to his submission of your grade, you must have had a conversation about your intention to accompany him to Italy as his guest. That seems problematic for the professor-student relationship, does it not?”
Julia opened her mouth to speak, but Soraya interrupted her.
“With respect, Dr. Aras, you’re speculating.”
&
Julia inhaled loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. Across the aisle, Gabriel’s anxiety was telegraphed by the way he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to hide them at his sides.
The Dean began to speak but he was interrupted by Professor Mwangi. “Miss Mitchell, at this point I need to remind you of the penalties for perjury and also for the violation of the non-fraternization policy of this University.” His calm and kind voice was a studied contrast to the Dean’s impatient directness.
“Perjury can result in expulsion or serious sanctions. A violation of the non-fraternization policy can jeopardize your academic standing in last semester’s seminars.” He shuffled a few papers on the table in front of him.
“You were writing your thesis with Professor Emerson until the beginning of November, about a month prior to your trip to Italy. You were registered in his Dante seminar for the entire fall semester, and awarded a mark of A.
“The non-fraternization policy exists to protect students from being preyed upon by their professors and to prevent any possibility of unfair preferments being dispersed. If you’d dropped Professor Emerson’s class, we would not be here today. But since you remained in his class, we have a problem.”
Professor Mwangi handed some papers to Meagan, who walked them obediently to Julia and Soraya. While Soraya glanced at the documents, Julia gaped in horror. She looked over at Gabriel once again, but he wouldn’t return her gaze.
“Professor Martin testified before this committee that he has no recollection of any conversation with Professor Emerson about having Professor Picton grade your work in the Dante seminar. The Registrar’s Office reports that it was Professor Emerson who submitted your grade via the online grading system. We have dated copies of those electronic documents, which you’ve just received.”