Truancy Origins (39 page)

“How do you do that?” Umasi asked in awe.

“Hm?” The pale drifter abruptly ceased her movements, opening her crimson eyes as she allowed the chain to fall like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Move so perfectly without looking,” Umasi clarified.

“Oh.” The girl looked slightly abashed, though not displeased. “My eyesight's not very good. Sometimes it's easier to rely on my other senses.”

“My vision hasn't been so great since I lost my glasses,” Umasi said. “Which senses do you use instead?”

“Touch, mostly,” she explained, “though hearing helps too. If you practice listening for long enough, you can hear each individual clink in the chain. Then it becomes a bit like playing music, I suppose.”

“You must've been practicing with that for a long time.”

“I've probably had it for longer than I haven't.” She nodded. “It's a part of me now.”

Umasi hesitated in asking his next question, but only for a second.

“How long have you been alone out here? Out on the streets of the City, I mean.”

The pale girl seemed to freeze for a moment, her red eyes narrowing as they stared at Umasi. Umasi tried to meet that crimson gaze but could not, looking down at the pavement as he awaited his sentence. But when she finally began to speak, her voice was not admonishing, but gentle.

“I don't know for sure anymore,” she said. “But I think it was since I was about eight. It's been maybe six or seven years since then.”

“How did you survive all that time?” Umasi asked. “A matter of days nearly killed me. I can't imagine trying to last for so long . . . .”

“For a while it was pretty bad,” the girl admitted. “Eventually, though, I found that most people were scared of how I looked. That kept me safe, so from then on I tried acting as scary as I could, and they'd all run away in the end.”

“So that's how the legend of the Vagrant Ghost got around,” Umasi murmured. “But didn't anyone know who you really were?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Eventually there wasn't anyone I couldn't scare away. For the longest time I was . . . lost . . . in the role.”

Umasi contemplated a life like that, forced into pretending that you were a monster in order to survive, unable to let anyone know that you were human. Umasi shuddered, realizing that he'd gotten off quite easy in life.

“You mentioned that you've only been out here for a short while,” the girl said, her ruby gaze searching Umasi's face. “How did you hear about me?”

“My friend,” Umasi said. “His name was Red. He'd been a vagrant for a long time. When I first settled down here in District 19 he was my only companion. He said that you saved his life.”

“I don't often do that,” she said. “When was this?”

“It'd be just a few days ago, really,” Umasi said. “He had brown hair, and was being chased by a boy with a gun.”

“Ah.” The girl inclined her head. “I remember. I'm glad that he got away.”

There was a heavy silence. Umasi couldn't bring himself to tell her that her efforts had been in vain, that he had gotten Red killed after she had risked her life to save him. Then comprehension dawned in her eyes, and she spoke again.

“What happened to him? Why isn't he still here?”

“He was killed by my brother,” Umasi said bitterly.

“Your brother?”

Again Umasi found that he could not speak. The girl continued to look at him, a gentle wind stirring her snowy hair. There was silence as Umasi lost himself in dark thoughts, and then suddenly the spell was broken.

“You've heard the story of my life, more or less,” the albino said. “Can you tell me the rest of yours now?”

Umasi nodded, having expected the question and already decided to answer. It was only fair, after all.

“It might take a long time,” Umasi said. “But I suppose that we've got plenty of that.”

And so, taking a deep breath, Umasi related his story, from beginning to end, right up until the moment that he came across the girl without a name at his stand. For her part, the girl listened in respectful silence, though at times her eyebrows would rise in surprise, or she would bite her lip in concern, or her eyes would betray visible sympathy. The sun was setting and her eyes were blue once more by the time Umasi finished, but by then he was certain that he couldn't have asked for a better audience.

 

A
fter checking his folder again to make sure that he had the right address, Rothenberg strode up the steps to the doorway of the brownstone apartment and knocked. Resolving issues between foster parents and their children was a mundane Enforcer duty, but that suited Rothenberg just fine after weeks of increasing chaos. From what he'd gathered from the case file, the subject was a fourteen-year-old boy living with a couple that had already made several complaints, though the child's orphanage had vouched for him each time.

The door swung open, and Rothenberg suddenly found himself staring down into a pair of venomously green eyes.

“You must be Edward,” Rothenberg said.

The boy blinked. His emerald eyes made a striking contrast to his short blond hair and long, thin eyebrows. His features were soft and his skin pale. He was clothed in an unremarkable gray student's uniform, which struck Rothenberg as odd since it was dark now, far past school hours.

“Yes, sir,” Edward replied. “May I please ask who you are, sir?”

Even Rothenberg could find no fault in a question phrased so politely.

“I am Enforcer Rothenberg,” said Rothenberg imperiously. “I am here responding to a complaint made by your foster parents. Where are they?”

“If you would please wait a moment, Mr. Rothenberg, I will go get them,” Edward said.

Moments later, two haggard-looking adults stood on the doorstep. Rothenberg introduced himself, and the woman turned to her husband.

“Dear, could you please go keep an eye on the boy? Who knows what he might be putting under your pillow this time.”

The man gave a grim nod and left purposefully. The woman introduced herself as Elli and hastily invited Rothenberg into the sitting room. He accepted the offer of coffee and sat down in a chair opposite her as she began to relate her tale.

“Well, we've had him for a year now,” Elli explained. “But honestly we've been trying to get rid of him for months. The orphanage just won't take him back, they say we've agreed to care for him for the duration and that's that. They also stick up for him every time . . .
every
time.” Elli's face grew furious. “He must've done a good job on those orphanage nuts.”

“So his parents died, did they?” Rothenberg asked.

“Yes, and he was sent to the District 18 orphanage. We thought . . . we thought we'd be doing good, you know? Taking care of a parentless kid. And we've never had children ourselves. Probably never will now, after all this.” Elli laughed bitterly.

“The record says that you've filed over a dozen complaints about the boy,” Rothenberg noted, looking down at his folder. “And that the Enforcer in each case—”

“I know, I know, they always side with him!” Elli said, suddenly looking panicked. “You've got to understand, you have to believe me! He sneaks out at night, breaks curfew to do who knows what, and you wouldn't believe how many complaints I get from other parents about him! He . . . he's even threatened my husband and me!” Elli added, sounding truly frightened. “He's threatened to
kill
us, and we have to leave him alone because . . . well, I think he'd do it!”

“The child seemed respectful enough to me,” Rothenberg said, and from him this was the highest praise.

“You don't understand!” Elli wailed. “He does this every time a visitor comes around! Always a polite act, and sometimes he tells them that we'd been abusing him, and they believe him! We got dragged down to the Enforcer station for an inquiry!”

“
Have
you been abusing him?” Rothenberg asked. “Personally you'd have my utmost sympathy if so, I firmly believe that—”

“No, no, no we haven't!” Elli insisted. “No one ever believes us! Not the
Enforcers, not our neighbors, not even our friends! He's a monster, and a damn clever one too! We keep asking the Enforcers to arrest him, to take him in, bring him back to that damnable orphanage, but he . . . one time . . .” Elli's voice lowered to a frantic whisper. “He actually planted a gun under my husband's pillow! Damned if I know how or where he got it, but he put it there, I'm sure of it, and he reported us to the Enforcers! My husband spent two months in detention for that, and we're lucky it wasn't longer! Do you know what that did for our reputation? Have you asked what people think of us now? I swear I haven't laid a hand on that boy, but sometimes . . .”

At this point Elli seem so overcome by anger and fear that she could not speak, her face puffing up like a red balloon. Rothenberg watched amusedly, unsure of what to think. On the one hand Elli seemed so desperately frantic that Rothenberg found it hard to believe that she was lying. On the other, what she was saying seemed so outlandish, so unlike the boy Rothenberg had met, that Rothenberg had indeed convinced himself that she was lying to get the boy out of the house. Rothenberg shrugged. If they wanted the brat gone that much, he'd oblige them.

“You believe me, right?” Elli said suddenly. “Please say you believe me, Mr. Rothenberg!”

“To be honest, I don't.” Rothenberg frowned as Elli groaned. “However, I don't need to either. I am going to return Edward to the orphanage anyway without interviewing the boy.”

“You . . . you are?” Elli said, a faint note of hope in her voice.

“I am,” said Rothenberg, “because you seem to want him out very badly, and the idea of ruling in favor of a child is repugnant to me.”

“Thank you, thank you so much!”

But Rothenberg was no longer listening. He was staring behind the woman at the flight of stairs, down which Edward was now dragging a packed suitcase, his foster father trailing a cautious distance behind.

“Hello again, Mr. Rothenberg!” Edward said brightly from the stairs. “Will we be leaving now, sir?”

“How did you know—” Rothenberg began.

“Oh, don't be surprised at that, he probably figured you out and what you would decide the moment he saw you,” Elli said bitterly. “Always two steps ahead. He's a bright boy, if only he didn't . . . wasn't . . .”

“Well, I don't think there's any more to be said,” Rothenberg declared as he stood up. “We'll be going now. Good luck to the two of you.”

The couple thanked him all the way to the door, where Rothenberg waited for Edward to catch up and begin following with the suitcase. Rothenberg didn't spare the boy a second thought, and they walked under
orange streetlamps in silence. Then Rothenberg stopped short, recognizing the street that they were on. He wasn't sure why he was so surprised—it was District 18, after all—but he began glancing around frantically at every shadow, for it was here that he had seen the ghost with his own eyes.

When no phantasm presented itself, Rothenberg remembered something that the couple had mentioned. He slowly crouched down so that his face was level with Edward's. Edward had been watching the man cautiously. At such a distance Edward could not help but notice the dark rings under his eyes, as well as a general appearance of dishevelment.

“You out here a lot at night, boy?” Rothenberg whispered.

“Fairly often, sir,” Edward said. “Even when I'm not running errands, I sometimes go for walks myself . . . before curfew, of course.”

“Good, good,” Rothenberg said distractedly, running a hand over his scalp. “Tell me this, then: Have you ever seen a pale girl with red eyes on the streets around here, coming or going to District 19, carrying around a chain?”

Edward wondered if the Enforcer was drunk, or if he was playing some sort of game. Unsure of what answer the man was looking for, Edward decided to go with the truth.

“No, sir.” Edward shook his head. “Haven't seen anything like that.”

At that, the look on Rothenberg's face turned ugly. The next thing Edward knew, the Enforcer slapped him hard enough to send him staggering.

“You lying brat!” Rothenberg snarled. “I've never heard so many lies from a kid before in my life. I'm going to tell the orphanage that you're a lying, thieving, vandalizing miscreant. Maybe that'll teach you.”

Edward winced and rubbed his stinging cheek as he struggled to keep his fury under control. Patience, Edward told himself. Patience. Give him what he expects to hear.

“But sir, that's not true,” Edward protested.

“You shouldn't be complaining,” Rothenberg said. “Be glad that I'm not going to go through the trouble of arresting you for lying to an Enforcer. There's a war going on, boy—hell, you should be happy that I don't shoot you right now.”

With that, Rothenberg seized Edward by the arm, dragging him along. As they walked, snowflakes began to fall from the sky, visible only as they fluttered under the streetlamps. Rothenberg looked more disturbed than ever, casting furtive looks at every patch of darkness that he passed, muttering under his breath about ghosts and war and rebellious children. So self-absorbed was Rothenberg that he never saw the grin on Edward's face, a twisted smile as the boy imagined a thousand horrific things that he would someday like to do to this brutish Enforcer.

Edward did not hate this man, though he did envy him. Edward envied his power and the freedom to abuse it. His various petty misdeeds gave him only fleeting satisfaction; the best he could do was manipulate someone in a position of power. He coveted that position for himself, the constant liberty to treat those under him however he wished. After all, if there was one thing that his unfortunate life had taught him, it was that justice had no meaning unless you had the power to define it yourself.