The Broken Victory

Chapter 2: "Special" Cases

I stumbled up the stairs in the dark and made my way down the hall. Over the banister I barely heard the muffled whispers and hisses that faded behind a slammed door. The wheels in my mind were whirling and spinning with such force that they seemed to strike electric sparks. At the same time, I had no clue as to what the strange scene in the room below had meant. Blunt's confrontation with the oddly dressed man was perplexing to say the least. The part of me that had first been thrilled to discover my burgeoning power was being sucked away, and an intense fear flooded me in its place. What was happening around me, to me? Mrs. Blunt's voice kept ringing in my ear -'Demon! Demon!' There had been more than mere anger in her eyes. She had been full of disgust, skirting away from me like I was a plague upon her society. But wasn't I?

My eyes focused on the reality in front of me then, taking in the torn rags upon the floor. I walked dully over to the smudged mirror that hung in the musty bath. I stared into it, examining every inch of my face, looking for something -what, I didn't know. All I saw was a tall, scrawny boy, pale by nature and by the confining walls which ensured he saw little sunlight, his hair curly and black while his dark blue eyes seemed to slightly change hue to suit his mood. The latter detail might have been part fancy, but the color did in truth seem to shift at times. Right then they were a dark, midnight color, mirroring the circles beneath. I gazed into myself, staring back, becoming lost in the empty reflection of my eyes, until -

"Looking for fleas?" I knew the voice without even turning. It belonged to Sean Reilly, another lifer at the orphanage. Sean was sixteen and heavyset, though nobody knew how. He was a father figure to most of the younger boys, acting so nurturing it had made me feel sick and envious at the same time. Jealous of what, I had no idea. Emotions rarely made sense, no matter how hard I tried to understand them. Often, I found it easier to ignore them if I could. In any event, Sean and I had an uneasy relationship. For some reason he avoided me, as did all the children, probably due to the Blunts' warnings. When he did speak to me, it was always with a rough edge, as if he had to prove he didn't fear me. And then, in stark contradiction, he sometimes stared at me with a softer gaze, which we both seemed to find equally discomforting. Most often, he stayed away in seeming wariness.

I laughed at the irony. Here I was, scared of myself, yet still inspiring fear in others. Imagine if I actually tried to do so? But I had no desire to make others afraid. Well, maybe Mrs. Blunt... followed by Trevor and all his friends who called me a half-life, spit on me, tripped me, and beat me repeatedly. Oh, and let's not forget the nurse, who wouldn't touch me even when I was sick. I looked at my reflection again, catching sight of the little snake still wound around my hand.

I suppose I had been quiet for a while, for Sean actually asked, "You okay, Riddle?"

I shook my head. Avoiding eye contact, I said softly, "didn't get a present this year."

I didn't know if Sean understood what that meant or not. Either way, I half-grimaced as he then became maternal instinct incarnate. "Riddle, I'm--" He suddenly paused, as if realizing whom he was talking to. He backed away quickly, saying, "too bad. Nothing good anyway."

"I wouldn't know." Instinct overtook me, and I spontaneously decided to face him. I turned my tired gaze towards him, for once not covering it with a smirk or a guarded expression. He was taller than me, and I obliged, tilting my head upwards. I wouldn't cry, but this was as unassuming as I could get. I told myself that I was just doing this as an experiment, to see if he would comfort someone like me. Not that I would allow it--or like it--or needed it-

Sean stared back at me. A moment of silence followed. He seemed torn, but maybe I was superimposing what I wished or expected to see. Finally, his mouth opened, and he let out an indistinguishable noise, then turned and left. I turned as well, back to the mirror. Experiment over, I said to myself, fighting back the urge to choke. Tears came, and I hastily wiped them away. At that moment, little Jiminy chose to enter, and he let out a gasp at seeing me.

I spun around, embarrassment and fury overtaking me. "What the hell are you looking at? Get out, or I'll sic this snake on you!" Jiminy squealed and fled, causing a commotion in the next room. He was probably spilling his little heart out to Sean. I whirled, fuming, letting myself relish the feeling. It helped me to forget the pain and embarrassment. Still, my chest heaved beneath the threadbare shirt as I heard Jiminy's voice. I struggled to calm myself and think logically. There was no way that I was upset over Sean not comforting me. It wasn't his place to, and more importantly, I didn't need it. I was used to this treatment, for it had been always been that way. Trevor and Mrs. Blunt were always kind enough to inform me I was never worth being cared for. The response I always gave myself was that I didn't need their care, repeating it to form a shield with which to deflect their words. Pathetically enough, it wasn't sufficient at that time. I could only hope that one day it would be hardened enough to keep anything at all from piercing me.

I saw my quivering lip, my blazing eyes, and I heatedly smacked my face. It left streaks of prominent red across the whiteness of my skin, but sunk no deeper than that. The action was calming, and I watched its effects as I drew myself back under control. Through gritted teeth I whispered, "Like I want them around me anyway. They're all weak and pathetic - I'd rather have twenty demons in me than go crawling to someone like Sean!"

Immediately my expression changed to steel. An implacable wall now replaced the sniveling, pitiful glaze over my eyes. The small snake had slithered up my arm and was now residing on my shoulder, having watched the transformation. In a low hiss it said, "Amazsssing -"

As I looked at myself, I was the same on the inside as I appeared outwardly. I felt nothing, I was hollow and empty, like nothing could penetrate me. Still, I noted that my hard gaze seemed to be protecting nothing but air, which was a disconcerting thought until I shoved it away. I turned and walked out into the narrow dormitory which was lined with broken beds. A few faces turned toward me, visions of silent disgust. I had spent years trying to decipher exactly what the expressions people turned on me encompassed. The distanced eyes, narrowed and drawn, the mouths curling with repulsion, the nostrils flared, the unconscious movements away from me - many words could be used to describe this phenomenon. By having devoted my time to objectively analyzing them, I ensured that their gazes no longer fully achieved their desired impact.

I was prepared for such a greeting and ignored them, calmly striding to the end where my bed was located. Sean was waiting there with several others, including little Jiminy. They were standing with arms crossed, lined behind the figure of Jiminy on the floor. I sighed outwardly, my hand automatically going to my throat for the chain.

Sean looked as puffed up as ever, a peacock trying to preen in oiled and shorn feathers. "Riddle, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm evil, remember?"

Sean's eyes narrowed. "Not funny." I shrugged, tossing Snicks onto my bed. At that several of the children flinched, which brought me mild satisfaction. Even Sean had jerked slightly, and in response to the flush that he must have felt creep up into his face, he added hotly, "Cute trick, but it didn't work. Why should I be afraid of a skinny little thing like you?"

"Good question. Let's sleep on it."

Sean stepped forward, placing his hands protectively on Jiminy's shoulders. "Apologize to him, Riddle. Now."

I glanced at Jiminy, whose eyes were red and huge. I felt a pang of guilt, but then, it wasn't my fault! If Sean hadn't acted like such a rat to me, I wouldn't have lashed out, I reasoned. Still, Jiminy looked so sad that it was hard to look at him. Pitiful, but sad.

Sean was waiting, looking ready for a fight. My ego was ready, but reason clearly stated that a fight wasn't the way for me to go. As diplomatically as I could, I looked back down to Jiminy and said, "I am sorry you got hurt, Jiminy. Truly." I turned then to my bed, but felt Sean's hand grasp my shoulder painfully, digging into that bony structure.

"That was hardly an apology."

I shrugged, uncomfortable with his touch, but he merely leaned in closer to me. His face inches away, he lowered his voice so that only I could make out his next comment. "Listen, you--you might have been born with a lot of tricks, but none of it's real. You try to hurt one of my boys and I'll kill you before they can throw your arse out."

The look in his eyes was deadly serious, daring me to strike. I shook loose from him, my temper flaring, feeling my lips curling into a mirroring snarl. "That's sweet, Sean. Nobody wanted you, so you feel the need to protect the one place that will have you - an orphanage. But what are you going to do when the last of your litter has been auctioned off like Jiminy here?" I turned to Jiminy, on a roll now. I tried to stop, but I was too heated. "Congrats on that, Jiminy. I heard a really nice couple bought you. Just make sure you don't sneeze or drop anything on the floor, and they might keep you this time."

The moment of silence that fell over the room after the words left my mouth was deadening. I felt every vein in my body pulsing. I didn't want to but I stayed focused on Jiminy, whose face absolutely collapsed. He ran from the room sobbing. I wanted to run after him, to apologize - there was no excuse I could think of for my behavior towards him. More importantly, I realized I didn't want to come up with an excuse for my actions. For a moment, it had been wonderfully cathartic. Yet, as I stared at the door he ran through, shame, guilt and anger at myself washed over me in frightening waves. Never in my ten and a half years could I remember being so vicious to someone who so clearly didn't deserve it. My soul had vertigo.

Sean had backed away, and I thought he was preparing to strike me for sure. Instead, he merely looked sick with revulsion. I couldn't blame him. The feeling behind that look was mirrored within me. In a whispered voice filled with hatred he asked, "Does your heart beat?"

I tried to focus on him. Dully, I responded, "Sometimes. Not enough, I'm beginning to think."

Sean made for the door, leaving me standing there. I don't know how long he was gone, but when he returned I realized I hadn't moved. It couldn't have been that long, for he threw me an angry look as he said, "He won't come back in yet. He's hysterical. I'll give him a few minutes. Hey -" He called this loudly out to me as I left the room, but did not follow.

I found Jiminy curled up against a wall next to the staircase, sobbing into his knees. I felt horribly evil, and desperately wanted to make it up to Jiminy, but I hadn't a clue how to go about it. I was never let in on how to be comforting, or comforted. In truth I didn't want to be witness to a crying child, but I couldn't leave. Perhaps it was ego to prove I could comfort, perhaps concern over what Sean would otherwise do, or just plain guilt - whatever the reason or reasons, I didn't leave. Awkwardly I knelt down in front of him, waiting patiently for his sobbing to decrease. Finally he peeked at me through his fingers.

I took a deep breath, and said slowly, "Jim, I'm - I'm really very sorry. I had no right to say what I did. I was mad, but that's no excuse."

Jiminy shook his head, whispering, "You're right. You're right about it, but only you have the courage to say it."

I stared back at him, dumbfounded. "Right about what?"

Jiminy sighed. "The way we get treated. The fear that if we aren't the perfect sons and students for whoever takes us in, that if we disappoint them, they'll send us back. They'll never be a real family to us, whoever adopts us, will they? The uncond - uncondation..." his brow furrowed a bit there.

Automatically I offered, "Unconditional?"

He nodded, wiping a sleeve across his stained cheek and finishing, "Unconditional love, and all that. The fear will never go away."

No, I thought to myself. "Perhaps," I said lamely. Jiminy was staring at the floor, and I sighed, torn between comforting him and telling him the truth I had come to believe in. "Look Jiminy, I don't know if you'll ever feel secure. I don't know if any of us will." I hated to include myself, but hoped it would reach him better. Giving him a faint, forced smile, I finished, "But if anyone has a chance, it's you. You're exactly what everyone is looking for - you're a really good kid. And the people who come here, they can't all be bad...I don't think..."

Jiminy turned to me, showing some spunk. "But you don't know that, you don't know that they aren't all bad."

I had no answer to that. In my experiences, well, I had yet to be impressed. If people could just dump children like Jiminy in here, leave all the kids having to parade around for families and love, and the children actually following this wretched choreography - no, I was not impressed with people so far.

The floor was getting cold as I knelt in my thin trousers. Somewhere a clock chimed, and I felt a smoothly scaled body slip onto the floor between Jiminy and myself. The look the snake gave me was one of clear disapproval. "Sssay sssomething to him," it hissed.

"I'm trying!" I said out loud, not realizing my mistake. Jiminy looked at me curiously as I fumbled to cover up. "I mean - I'm trying to -" All of a sudden an idea came to me. I looked at Jiminy, pulling him to his feet. "Come with me," I said.

I hastened downstairs, shushing his questioning protests, and sneaked us into Blunt's personal office. It was different than the work office I had been in earlier. Surprisingly cozy. Dark redwood furniture lay about with burgundy pillows, the walls were encased with bookshelves and paintings and family portraits. Nothing in there was new, but it was used and therefore had a welcoming atmosphere about it. I lit a candle and pointed Jiminy over to one of the walls, where a small oil painting hung meekly among its superiors. It was of a small dusty ranch house, with a garden and field before it. On one side the father was raking the fields, while a primly dressed woman was reading to two beautifully cherubic little girls under a hanging. Before her, three boys were sprawled on the ground, tussling playfully. Everyone's expression was serene and lighthearted, earthy and ideal.

I turned to Jiminy who stood mesmerized before it. "What's it of?" he asked.

"It's a painting by Arnold Crevanti, called The Family," I answered. "I read about it in one of Blunt's books in here. I've sneaked in and read everything here at least twice." I kept my gaze upon his face, watching his reaction. In truth, I didn't enjoy staring at the picture. Sometimes my eyes were too drawn to details to examine and pick apart whatever I was looking at. I noticed that the mother seemed poorly dressed; yet, her black hair was appealing to me. On occasion I even imaged she looked like my mother would have, before rebuking myself for such silly notions. The image in the picture was a farce, and such thoughts were pointless. Clearing my throat, I turned my gaze from Jiminy to examine the cuff of my sleeve, saying, "It's supposed to capture a moment of reality."

Jiminy didn't seem to acknowledge me. His eyes were still focused on the painting. "Is it real, though? Is it of real people?"

I shrugged, managing to look sincere. "It must be. I mean, even if these exact people don't exist, something like this must exist for him to have captured it. Some people must have this, a real family. Why not you?"

Jiminy turned to me shyly. "You really think so?"

I smiled at him, feeling a bit of relief. "Sure," I said.

Jiminy looked back up at it wistfully. "I hope so," he said quietly, then turned back to me. "Thanks, Riddle. I don't think you're all evil. I'll do what Blunt tells us to, I'll pray that you get a soul even with demon blood in you. It seems possible, no matter what Mrs. Blunt says."

The smile on my face froze. My heart, which I think had been beating, felt as if it had been sucked out and dropped to the floor. "Thanks, Jiminy. Have a good life."

Jiminy turned to head back up the stairs. "You, too," he said, as sincerely and earnestly as before. He smiled sweetly at me, trying so hard to be good to me, while I numbly waved back.

With a final wave, he exited the room. I sank down into one of the chairs as the snake slithered onto my hand. It was the only thing that had touched me in a non-threatening manner in as long as I could remember. I looked at it, but I could think of nothing intelligible to say.

"Interesting night," was what finally came out of my mouth.

The snake nodded; curling up on my knee with his cold, dry skin glowing. "I'll sssay," it agreed. "One moment I'm minding my own busssinesss in a nice de-gnomed orchard, and them sssome man picksssme up, throwsss me under hissss cloak, and dragsss me here where I get thrown on the floor and meet sssomeone who can talk to me." It sighed morosely. "I hope I am not going crazsssy."

I nodded, a small, empty smile forming on my face. The candle was almost out, and shadows were playing on the wall, their indefinite form as real to me as I felt myself to be. "I'll second that," I agreed. The snake nodded once, then was silent, leaving us to our own separate thoughts.