Would You Bargain With Hell?

“Please,” I spoke through gritted teeth “Don’t tell your mom.”

“OOOH, that’s really an appealing thought. Why who was it?” She was behind me, I was sure she was staring at the back of my head. She probably noticed my hands trembling at my side.

I turned. “Mason Connors.”

“We-,” In the middle of Celine’s sentence Grace walked in, having been yelled for moments ago.

“What’s wrong little dove?” Grace’s eyes flicked to me, but only temporarily, as she stared lovingly at her offspring.

“Nothing mother, me and Rayder were just playing a game, sorry to have bothered you.” I turned, Celine eyed me cynically.

“Oh, that’s quite alright. See you at supper.” She pivoted, “You too Rayder.”

Once Grace had left earshot Celine called for me to sit in the chair adjacent to her. It was a large red armchair. I sat and leaned back.

“Who’s Mason Connors?”

“He’s a friend; he just helped me get home. Please don’t make this any bigger than it is.” I pleaded rubbing my hands against themselves.

“I would never! All I have to say dear Rayder is don’t piss me off. I have dirt on you now which means; delicately I own your ass.” She smiled, her eyes cunning. “You can go.”

I stood and walked as fast as I could without it being awkward back to my room. I collapsed on my bed. I was content feeling threatened, content feeling like nothing. I’d never really felt any different than that. Being threatened was just normal for me. That’s not what bothered me. I had no reason to trust Celine. She probably would tell her mom anyway. That’s what scared me.
Grace, knowing I used her daughter’s cell-phone to call for help, would freak out. In her mind she would know that whomever I called would have figured I was being mistreated at home. She would fear they’d call the police. It wasn’t like she couldn’t wiggle around law enforcement, she wasn’t fazed by that either. It was the bad publicity. If this got out, which it would. I was sure she’d send me to Africa, or maybe even heaven.

I shuddered, I never thought of grace as I very violent person. Certainly she had quite a way with words, but she never really laid a hand on me. Pushed right, I could see fire blowing out her ears and maybe she would swat someone.

I shook, I shouldn’t have thought about that.

I looked up at the Shaun Cassidy poster. I tried to smile, but none came out like they had with Mason. I blushed.

I never liked someone before, so there was no way to tell that’s that what I felt. I liked being around him. I didn’t want him to go. I felt…safe. And that another foreign emotion to me. I was always bewildered by the idea of a real relationship with someone. I’d seen them of course in films as well as on the streets. But I knew people are never as happy as they seem. It’s so much easier to put up a happy bravado than actually let people see how damaged you really are.

Those thoughts led me to think about my real parents, I didn’t know anything about them. All my Greg was allowed to tell me was, “They loved you, and they did what was best.”

I always imagined my parents in the worst light. Like my father being a cocaine user and my mother a drunk. I guess that made it easier to explain to myself, why they had left me. I had always wondered if they searched for me. Or even if they found me and were too intimidated to do anything about it because of the Tamerlane’s. And there are days I imagine maybe they’ve passed away. Maybe they’re gone and I’ll never know who they are.

I sat up, digging through my piles of clothes. I grabbed for a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater that had the classic “I heart New York” screen printed on it. I opened my door. I walked across the hall. I crawled over the billiards table, and pushed myself out the window. I didn’t know where I was going, I knew the destination, but I didn’t remember how to get there.
I jogged, it helped clear my mind. I passed a few telephone booths but they weren’t functioning. I finally stepped inside one and called information.

“Where is the destination you’re seeking?” The woman asked flatly.

“Manhattan.”

“What is the place called?”

“Gregory Abbots Orphanage.”

The phone beeped a few times.

“Gregory Abbots Orphanage has been shut down. Can I find you something else?”

“Uh, can I get Gregory Abbots address?”

“I’m obliged to ask why?”

“He raised me. I was one of his orphans a while ago.”

She gave me his address, so I headed to the subway. I hadn’t used a subway in ages. Grace thought it trashy. I sat on the underground train, afraid someone would recognize me, or since I left in the daylight that Grace would notice I was gone.

The train stopped and I leaned to the nice woman sat beside me “Is this the stop for downtown?”
She nodded, and I followed her onto the platform. I walked up the stairs into the muggy air of downtown Manhattan. I coughed and checked the house numbers. I walked staring mindlessly at the houses, crowded things.

I saw ahead number 432, a small door beside a Chinese takeout place, I walked in and tugged on the rusty door handle. It didn’t move. I looked around seeing a much more street version of graces intercom hub. I read the worn names beside the buttons.

“Abbot” I pressed the button. A moment later the door cracked open.

I scaled another flight of stairs. The hallway was reminiscent of a hotel. Each door along its wall housing a small peephole. Some of the metal numbers were only hanging on by one last screw, some were completely gone. I looked for A7, no sooner did I find it.

I took in a deep breath and knocked.

I heard something being unlocked beyond the door, and then the door opened.

“Rayder?!” Greg spoke, astonished.

“Hi Greg.”