Page 33 of The Black Lotus
When her parents got caught, they fought back and were killed. At least mine were smart enough to surrender and are locked away somewhere safe.One day, I’ll see them again.
The car pulls up and I feign annoyance through my curiosity as a little girl hops out, her hand held tightly in one of the teacher’s, looking around with wide, terrified eyes. Her hair is in lopsided pigtails, her dress fit for a princess, and she wheels a unicorn suitcase behind her.I hope she’s not attached to that.We make brief eye contact as she passes, and I look away, uninterested in catching her attention. She can give it to someone else in this hell hole.
Making friends with anyone is a death sentence that means more beatings and less of a chance of being taken away from here. Not that I want to be picked. I'd rather wait out the next eight years here than somewhere else that could try and change who I am. Becoming close to anyone can make you soft, and I’ve seen kids here protecting one another firsthand, it only led to them getting punished even more.
I am the monster they say I am. I learned to keep my beast at bay, but one day that woman will be repaid tenfold for what she has done to me. I swear, the bitch gets off on torturing me, and most of the time it’s unprovoked. I glance at the end of the line of people where she stands, my jaw clenching as I fist my hands at my side.
I haven’t even been here a year, but everyone knows who my parents are. Cynthia and Adam Balcom. Salem’s feared Patchwork Killers. They treat me as if I was the one doing all of the killing. I was meant to be their prodigy, but now everything is ruined and I’m here slowly becoming the slayer they fear I am, in a place that wishes I were dead.
We walk back inside in a single file line like a trail of worker ants never straying from our course, until we cross the threshold, then the children split apart to their respective classes.
I walk in and take my normal seat in the back corner away from everyone and out of Crumbwell’s view as much as I can get. Slouching in my chair, my peace is interrupted by her grating voice introducing the new girl.Kelsey. She tells her to take a seat and make it quick. I stare at the ceiling, already counting the seconds until our first break of the day, when I hear the seat next to mine creak. My jaw clenches.The tiny thing decided to sit right next to me.She’ll learn quickly that I’m someone to stay away from.
I turn my attention to the front, but I can feel Kelsey staring at my face. I ignore it, I ignore her, and when the bell rings, I jump up to go back to my room.
Several days go by, and, to my surprise, Kelsey hasn’t tried to talk to me.She’s smarter than she looks. She seems content just watching me from the corner. She thinks I don’t know, but I do. I feel her everywhere. Her stare causes irritation to rise in me and I want to confront her, but that would mean speaking to her and that is not happening. I wish she would just leave me alone. I don’t want her obsession bringing unwanted attention from Crumbwell. It’s weird though; I haven’t felt her presence today.
Strolling down the hall munching on a granola bar, stale and tasteless, but a boy has to eat. I’m stopped by a huge circle of kids huddled around someone crying on the floor. It isn’t until I hear the chant ‘clown killer’ that I stop and turn around to peer through the gaps and see a sobbing Kelsey with her face smeared in clown makeup that I care. Seeing her like that takes me back to when the kids teamed up and bullied me and I was just like Kelsey, until I grew a backbone and struck somuch fear into them that they finally left me alone. Afraid of what I would do if they pursued me again. Now they have a new victim and as much as I don’t want to get involved, I know exactly how she feels.
Something inside me snaps, and I push through the kids to get to her. Her tears become sniffles as I kneel beside her and wipe her face with the back of my sleeve. I glare at the mob surrounding us. “Unless you want me to show you how creative I can be with a fork, I suggest you all leave.” A collective gasp echoes around the hall as feet scurry away in all directions.
“Thank you,” she whispers, staring at me with a small smile.
I shrug and plop down next to her. “It was nothing. Want to tell me why they were all picking on you?” I turn my head, resting it on the wall behind us.
“They found out who my parents were.” She sniffles, swiping her nose with her sleeve and avoiding my eyes. I guess not everyone here eavesdrops on the teacher's conversations like me.I wonder how they found out.
Nodding in understanding, I look around the empty hallway. “You know my parents are like yours.”
“I know who you are.”
Of course she knows.Standing up to leave, annoyed and not wanting to hear anymore of her pity, I feel her little hand grab my sleeve, stopping me. A single strand of her wavy brown hair has fallen in front of her face, and something compels me to move it behind her ear. My fingers tingle from where I brushed against her cheek, and I chalk up that feeling to my compulsion to make sure nothing is out of place.I hope I grow out of that one day.
“What have you heard?” I growl.
She looks around, as if she’s scared someone might overhear, and drags us to the girls’ side of the house.
“Boys are not allowed on this side,” I whisper, planting my feet and frantically looking around, hoping a teacher doesn't see.
She pulls me harder and I fall forward, catching myself before I run into Kelsey. “It’s fine. No one will find out.”
They will if they catch us.When she finds out what they do to the naughty children, the ones who don’t follow the rules she will be sorry. I should run away, but curiosity outweighs my fear of getting caught. Hesitantly, I follow behind her, curious about what she wants to tell me about myself that I don’t already know.
We stop in front of a white door, my brow furrowing. Strange; the girls side has white doors instead of black. Maybe it’s to show one side is the girls and the other is the boys or maybe to show girls are more pure than boys. On her door is a plaque similar to what boys have, her name written in cursive across the worn brass. The one thing I like about this place is each child is given their own room. I think they separate us so we can’t plot to escape, or in my case, team up and kill them all. What they’re too stupid to realize is I don’t need a partner to kill them. The only reason they’re still breathing is because my actions could lock me away and then I’d never get to see my parents again.
She looks back and forth before shoving me in her room, popping her head out one more time, then quickly shutting it. Her room is bare, nothing but a bed and single dresser, the girls' uniforms laying on a stack at the end of her mattress.
“You’re the Patchwork Killers’ son.”
No shit, Sherlock.“Yeah,” I mutter, sitting down on her bed.Is this seriously the reason why she brought me back to her room? To tell me what everyone else already knows?I already know why I am labeled evil in their eyes.
“My parents told me stories of the Patchwork Killers and how they had a little boy who was just like me.” I sit up, intrigued to hear more. “They said they were teaching their son to be just like them, to fulfill their legacy if they ever got caught and carry on the family name.”
My head dips, the memory of that day making my heart ache. “They did get caught though, and I’m not out there doing what I was meant to do. I’m stuck herepretending. Pretending every day to be someone I’m not. Hiding the monster my parents created.”
She sits beside me, placing her hand on my thigh. I move from under her touch and she brings her palm back to her lap.We may have killer parents in common, but that doesn’t mean she has the right to touch me. Dragging me was different, plus she was gripping my sleeve, not my hand.
“For now.” She stands and places her arms behind her back, looking out the barred window. “When we get out of here, we can show everyone whose children we are'.”
