Chapter 8: Vendetta
July 31, 1938
Sunday
The anxious crowd of children had long since dispersed to their rooms, but excitement still seemed to be in the air, hovering like a thundercloud. Mrs. Cole returned from the police station and was in her office with a couple of officers. Having made a description of the two missing boys and recorded the fact of disappearance, they soon left.
I didn't really care about this commotion. I creeped up the stairs to the third floor, lit by two old kerosene lamps. I hurried to the place where I could just be myself! As soon as I saw the shabby door with the dim numbers "37" on it, a pleasant warmth pervaded inside me. I was just about to push the door open, and a painfully familiar silhouette appeared in front of me.
"Irene!" it was all I managed to exhale. She wrapped her little arms around my neck, like she was trying to strangle me in a tight embrace. "Let go of me," I wheezed softly, stroking the curly mop of hair with my only free hand.
Irene recoiled and looked me up and down. I nodded silently, forcing her to finally go inside. When my world was separated by a shabby old door from the orphanage, I waved my hand confidently — a bright light flashed in the air, hovering in the center of the small room. The sly eyes across the room continued to prowl my body. Ignoring the fox's insistent gaze, I walked over to the table, where yellowed sheets of paper were scattered across the surface, most of them scrawled with faces.
"Is that your mother?" I picked up one of the drawings, which showed a middle-aged woman looking back at me, her charcoal hair gathered in a bun, big eyes, thin lips, and a slightly hooked nose, with an arrogant, sly look in her eyes.
Little bare feet strode toward me. I held out the drawing to Irene. She frowned, as if desperately trying to remember who it was. Only now did I notice that she'd changed her chemise for a dress, but the braid was still the same, horribly braided, with curls loose in all directions, the unruly curl was getting into her eyes again. I couldn't tell from the flickering fire in the center of the room whether her face was coal black, or whether it was a trick of the light.
"I don't remember," Irene grumbled, pulling the drawing out of my hand. She tossed it carelessly on the table.
I climbed into the bed, and she began to collect the drawings in a small pile, which she soon placed on the edge of the table. She hung around for a while, and then climbed in next to me like a big-eyed little kitten and snuggled up next to me. She gently put her head on my chest and froze for a moment, waiting for my reaction. I touched her long hair and slowly brushed through the curls that shone blue-black in the flickering firelight. I felt an amazing sense of serenity and calmness from the fact that Irene seemed to feel what I wanted and did everything exactly that way. She was just there and silent.
"I wonder where you're from?" The silence was broken by my calm voice. "And why don't you even remember your last name?" Irene didn't answer any of the questions, and I continued: "This is the very last place you or I should have been. These are the last people we should have crossed paths with. You're special. So am I. And they think we're crazy. I've heard Mrs. Cole discuss with someone several times how much she wants to put me in a home for the mentally ill. And also this situation…"
Irene fumbled, freeing herself from my hands, and then sat down next to me, leaning against the wall.
"How did you end up here?"
"My mother..." There was an invisible lump in my throat. "She abandoned me. She died, leaving me in this filthy place. She was so... Weak. I'm sure my father is looking for me, he just can't find me yet."
"What happens if he comes?"
"I'll ask him to take you too," I answered with absolute confidence and honesty. Irene put her hand on top of mine.
"Tom, I'll tell you absolutely everything about me... When I remember."
"Fine." I put my hand in a pocket to get the white stones. "As you asked, two in case I decided to keep one for myself."
Her eyes flashed with sly sparks at the sight of what she had been searching for from the first second I appeared. Thin fingers immediately grabbed both pebbles.
"They're beautiful!" Irene squeaked contentedly. Goddamn, I loved her reaction, her emotion! I sighed heavily, which caused her to freeze immediately, and her hypnotic eyes to stare at me, which made me feel sick for a moment. "Is something wrong?"
"This lack of information irritates me, Irene. If your parents are alive and will come for you at any moment?" I suddenly blurted it out, not ready to share her with anyone; not ready to lose her emotion from the idiotic pebble I'd brought her. No one had ever reacted to me like that, and in this damned orphanage she was a breath of fresh air that made me do something all over again, something forbidden but so exhilarating. Even if I'm punished for something, I'll keep doing it, because the feeling of satisfaction, this reward in the form of her, is the only thing that makes sense.
'And if they come for you, I won't give you up for anything!' I wanted to say it out loud so badly, but it would scare her. It was better for her not to know.
"I'm not going anywhere, Tom. I will always be with you. You're the only person I trust and have now!" Irene answered in childlike sincerity. The iron confidence in her words made me feel such a painful desire to believe in their truthfulness.
There was a muffled noise in the corridor, and then footsteps and a voice approaching. I swung my hand immediately, and the light that had been brightly illuminating the room went out.
"Under the bed, Tom!" Irene reacted quickly.
Without hesitation, that's exactly what I did, although the prospect of collecting dust under the orphanage bed never tempted me. Why did I put the pillow away this morning? I should have tucked it under the bed... The last time I did something like that was probably never. The door to the room opened abruptly. Black high-heeled shoes clattered loudly toward the bed. No doubt it was Mrs. Cole.
"Irene," she barked without any tenderness or concern in her voice, "have you seen Tom?"
"No."
She stepped even closer. The seconds of silence were filled with an agonizing tension that was replaced by a stern stare at Irene.
"Don't you dare. Lie. To. Me," Mrs. Cole gritted through her teeth.
"I'm not lying," Irene replied calmly.
"You're always together," there was a disgust in her voice. "You're just... Weird, like him. And your hair," she said and got closer to the bed. A strong hand grabbed a disheveled braid, pulling Irene off the bed, "just like his!"
"It hurts!" Two white stones hit the floor with a clang. The round one bounced off and rolled straight toward me.
"Now tell me where that obnoxious Riddle is!" the voice sounded unpleasant, harshly. "Where is he?!"Mrs. Cole exhaled, and Irene smelled gin.
"Just calm down," Irene breathed.
I immediately realized that it was addressed to me, and not to Mrs. Cole, who still could not pull herself together because of the missing boys. And the alcohol she loved so much didn't help her relax at all. Irene, on the other hand, felt with every cell of her body how hot it was getting in the room. The reason for this was the uncontrollable anger that overwhelmed me. The dim light bulb under the ceiling started blinking due to the voltage drop, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment.
"Oh, I'm calm," Mrs. Cole said, and pushed the frail child's body to the floor. Irene dropped her face against the bed and slowly raised her head. Eye to eye. A barely noticeable, negative nod, letting me know to sit in silence. A split second, and her bare feet were already in front of my nose. I squinted a little, trying to see the left heel: it was smeared with coal. I rolled my eyes. After all, she got into this damned coal!
"Mrs. Cole, I don't know where Tom is. I've been in the room all day, just like you told me to."
"Liar," the woman said, kicking the white stone beside her. It flew violently under the table and ricocheted back into the center of the room. "This stone is from the beach. Riddle brought it to you."
The black shoes turned sharply toward the exit. There was a loud slam of the door. There was a deadly silence. I crawled out from under the bed and steadily got to my feet.
"Dwarves always work as miners." I carefully wiped the coal off Irene's pale cheek with my thumb. It wasn't a trick of light after all.
"In fairy tales?"
"In fairy tales," my smile was fake. "The time has come."
The whole room seemed to turn into a cold desert. Irene stared at me with a furrowed brow, and then nodded approvingly. She sat down at the table and immediately began to draw. I headed toward the exit.
"Don't burn the whole orphanage," she said suddenly. "You and I have nowhere to go yet."
I turned around to look at her again: her small feet couldn't reach the floor. It was as if an electric charge had gone through my skin. I won't let hurt what's mine.
The time has come.
Slow steps down the corridor toward the office I'd stopped in front of. My whole being whispered confidently that Mrs. Cole wasn't here, and I headed further into the left wing. There I slowed my step and seemed to float above the tiles, moving silently. A deep breath. Mrs. Cole's room. 'She's here,' my sixth sense kept saying.
All my anger was immediately directed at this room with unimaginable force. It was as if through the door and the walls I could see Mrs. Cole making her bed, twitching nervously over what had happened today.
The boys were never found. And they won't. Because they can't touch what's mine. And you can't either, so your time has come. Apparently sooner than I planned, but you chose it.
The candle on the table burst into a wild flame at the flick of my finger and fell silently onto the papers, neatly stacked. Those, in turn, burst into flames quickly, imperceptibly - and the dancing flames were already flickering over the heavy curtains.
Did you really think you had the right to hurt her?
The anger was increasing. It felt like I was a strung emotion, like a string that could burst at any second, leaving no stone unturned in this rotten place. Of course, I haven't forgotten that punishment situation, and I'll never forget what Mrs. Cole did just now. And I don't care that she was so obviously worried about the boys, couldn't pull herself together, and just couldn't contain her emotions. I don't care. The only thing I've always cared about and always will care about is me and my stuff.
Mrs. Cole shrieked when she saw the corner of the room engulfed in flames. She rushed to the exit, but despite her best efforts to open the door, she was unable to do it. Behind the door was me, and my mind was focused on the single task of keeping the escape door closed.
Mrs. Cole could do nothing. She desperately knocked on the door, and began screaming in panic. How pathetic! Irene never once screamed when she was whipped with a rod, and Cole whimpered and squealed like a helpless pig at the sight of the fire.
Suddenly I felt such a welcome relaxation, and there was a quiet calm. I slowly wandered back to the cherished numbers "3" and "7". Irene was still sitting at the table, drawing nonstop, smearing black charcoal with her fingers, as if she were in some kind of trance. I silently approached and put my palm on top of the girl's small one. Only then did Irene stop drawing, and I immediately pulled her after me. She obediently followed toward the exit, where I stopped. Irene did the same, without asking where we were going, why we suddenly stopped, or what was going on at all. I quickly went back to the bed, under which was a pair of small black sandals, and took them out. I didn't want her to catch a cold! Hurriedly I went back and bent down to put the shoes on the little feet. I touched her feet and felt that they were icy, like they had absorbed all the cold of the orphanage floors. I pursed my lips so that I wouldn't start scolding right here and now, but I couldn't help but look up to give Irene the most disgruntled look I could muster. She was definitely stunned. The fox's cunning eyes were now wide open and staring at me steadily. She didn't seem to take my silent rebuke in any way. What was so shocking to her? I took her by the hand and pulled away.
Closer to the stairs, a scream could be heard coming from Mrs. Cole's room. The doors of the children's rooms began to open one by one, and the sleepy children began to peer fearfully into the dimly lit space of the corridor, trying to understand what was happening. On the stairs, a disheveled Martha in a nightgown bumped into us. She ran as fast as she could towards the noise of the commotion.
"What's happening?"
"Martha, we're scared! I whimpered plaintively. "I heard a scream and came up here!"
My eyes were wet, and I squeezed Irene's hand in fright, who clung to the Martha's hem and began to cry.
"I'm afraid!" Irene was sobbing. The disheveled dark hair in a duet with a pale face made her look even more gaunt and haggard, as if she had just woken up.
"Don't be afraid!" Martha hugged us, hastily patting our heads. "Everything will be fine... it smells like burning!" She hurried further into the hallway, opening the doors, forcing the other kids to wake up. As she walked, she shouted, "Tom, tell Miss Blair to call the fire department! Now!"
I squeezed Irene's small hand harder and hurried downstairs. The room of the third orphanage warden was at the end of a small corridor on the first floor, where I finally stopped. I put my palm to Irene's face, ready to wipe away her tears, but met a smile that looked more like a sinister grin, which sent shivers down my skin. Emotion overwhelmed my gut, and I gave in to the impulse and squeezed the fragile body, which was as cold as my feet.
"You were cold." I took off my worn, dark-brown jacket and slipped it over the girl's shoulders without haste.
Irene was surprisingly light. In the blink of an eye I had her on the sill of the small window at the end of the corridor, to the right of the entrance leading to Miss Blair's room. I raised my fist to the worn door.
"Let them burn," quiet, but confident words sounded right behind me. I froze. "Chris and Tony. They deserved it. Let them burn, Tom."
My fist hung in the air, never touching the wooden surface. A spurt of precisely scalding lava into my bloodstream. I whirled around. Only for a moment did our gazes collide, and I hugged her again with all my strength.
"Irene, they never..." I ran my fingers through the disheveled curl of her hair. There was no trace of the braid I had worked so hard to braid all morning. "Do you hear me? They will never hurt you again. They are not here, and they will never come back."
The pale, haggard face blurred into a faint smile. There was a wave of noise on the first floor: stomping, rumbling, and loud voices. A crowd of awakened kids hurried downstairs. Irene jumped down from the window sill and, taking my hand in hers, quietly headed for the exit.
In the small common hallway, among the crowd of children, stood the redheaded Bella. She was frightened, looking around. Irene ran up to her and whistled with absolute dismay:
"Bella, we couldn't get through to Miss Blair! Please let someone try again!"
Bella nodded obediently. The next second, she was running there with Billy, who looked like a tomato again.
The front door still creaked nastily, but no one noticed as we left the building. The cold, bracing air of London at night was all over my body. I'd never been out this late before. We took our time walking to the old swing set in the corner of the deserted courtyard, ready to fall apart, and sat down. I had absolutely no energy to walk or even stand, because the day was too full. My gaze wandered lazily around the building, languidly waiting to see what would happen next. Irene swayed quietly on the swing, for her feet did not reach the ground.
"Look!" she said softly.
The little finger soared upward. My gaze followed the indicated trajectory, and I saw a single star on the horizon of the night sky. Martha once told me that in the countryside the sky is especially beautiful and always studded with a myriad of stars. To see at least one here was something truly beautiful.
The idyll was interrupted by a crowd of children, accompanied by Martha, who came out into the street. Panic and terror loomed over the orphanage, and it was of no concern to me or my friend. All that really bothered me at that moment was the bright star, beckoning so desperately into the unknown.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone