Day Eleven - Afternoon

     The Glenholm Boys are loitering about the road again. Not as many this time as there were last, but no matter. Casper sneaks his way around them, pondering whether it’s worth the hassle of approaching them. He’s already suffered his share of unpleasant encounters this morning and the other boys tend to be a bit… much.

     No, they aren’t worth the trouble. Casper isn’t feeling up to the task. Some other time perhaps, but not now. Not today. He just…

     He turns his back on the other boys. He’s not sure what he wants right now, uncertain as to what made him come to town in the first place, but it’s not to play until his worries go away. This isn’t the kind of thing that he can ignore and wish away until the storm blows over. He really screwed up this time, went and blew his top and spouted off to Glenholm’s very own infamous witch-man, of all people.

     What was I thinking?

     He had a good thing going for him. He’d do the occasional errand, wouldn’t ask too many unnecessary questions and Balor’d watch his back (as much as cared to), grow stuff he could eat, and occasionally grab something more for him at supper. Yes, there were problems. No, it wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns and “new beginnings” with a happily-ever-after at the end, but that’s life in a nut shell. And now, he’s made things a hundred times worse because he couldn’t keep his shut his fucking trap for all the ten seconds it would’ve taken him to suck up like he should’ve.

     Why does he keep screwing everything up?

     He ducks onto a side street, off the main road and out of view. There’s a tightness building up in his chest and it’s got nothing to do with the city smog that used to gum up his lungs. He knows what’s coming next and the last thing he wants is for somebody see, make a spectacle of him like a goddamn circus monkey. When the inevitable hits, he’s as well prepared for it as can be expected. Panic and Despair and the walls close in around him and suddenly he’s gasping just to breath, teeth clenched tight so he doesn’t scream. Afterall, there are no work whistles here to drown him out. He better not disturb the neighborhood, and such a lovely place it is too. Nobody here wants to hear him.

     Nobody here wants him.

     Is it any surprise then that he winds up knocking at Mr. Smith’s very own back door? Smith isn’t pleased to see him, about ready to close the door in his face as a matter of fact, but the sight of his puffy, red eyes give him pause. He raises a disinterested eyebrow at him. “Didn’t I say only on Sundays?”

     “Uh…” Casper sniffs. “Somefin’ ‘long those lines, yeah.”

     “And what, pray tell, is today?”

     The question speaks for itself. Casper doesn’t speak for a long time. He asks anyways. “Can I come inside?”

     Smith doesn’t say anything, but then his expression says it for him. Are you shitting me right now?

     “Please…?” The word rests tired and ragged just above breathing. Casper expects Smith to slam the door then and there.

     Smith’s a better man than he’d first taken him for. He leaves him hanging for a good while, but, after a longsuffering sigh, “Keep your snotty fingers where I can see ‘em and don’t go touching nothing.” He steps clear of the door.

     Casper blinks up at him a few times, takes a while for it to hit him. A small part of him expects Smith to change his mind and punt him right back out onto the streets, even once he’s made his way in. “Thank you.” For what, he doesn’t say.

     Smith gives a non-committal grunt. “Come on. This way.” He leads the way to his office. Casper, for lack of any conceivable alternatives, follows. Smith’s seated in his big, comfy chair behind his big, old desk. The curtains are drawn, leaving the room in washed out, half light. Casper loiters by the far wall, fiddling with the hem of his too-large shirt. Smith leans forward, elbows on the desk top. “What’s this all about then?”

     Casper stands silent. He looks at his shoes instead. Doesn’t know what to say, how to explain, much less what he’d be explaining. He shrugs.

     That doesn’t cut it, not in Smith’s books. Discontent comes off of him in waves, Casper can feel it, hear it in the way he clicks his tongue, doesn’t (dare) need to look to know. “You’ve come down the hill,” Smith draws out, “over to my humble, little place of business here, in a state, in the middle of a weekday. If something didn’t happen, I’ll eat my hat.”

     Casper comes just shy of laughing. What he wouldn’t give to see that. He flicks a glance up Smith’s way, enough to see he’s not actually mad like he thought, then back down.

     “Something must’ve happened,” Smith continues, “I know it. You sure as hell know it. Let’s stop beating ‘round the bush and cut straight to the chase then.” Casper hears the chair creak as Smith leans back. “What’s brought you here to my door?”

     Deep breaths, Casper, deep breaths. Too big shoes shuffle obtrusively as he fiddles on the spot, back against the wall. “I messed up. I messed up real bad.” The words catch in his throat and come out streaming. “Now I can’t go back, ‘cause if I do he’s gonna kill me, or maybe Balor will, and that’d be worse’n anythin’ else, so now I gotta leave, but I dunno how ‘n everythin’s wrong somehow and-“

     “Woah, woah, woah. Breathe, for chrissakes.” Smith rubs at his face while Casper draws his arms around his thin frame and fights back hysteria. “Start from the top. And remember to breathe this time. Think you can do that?”

     “Y-yeah, um.” Breathe. “I pissed him off, I think.”

     “Pissed who off?”

     “The old man- Balor,” he corrects upon seeing Smith’s baffled look. “He- I-I blew my top in front of him and it got bad, like real bad, and I don’t even know what to do anymore.” He slumps down the wall, right to the floor. A pile of too large clothes, knees, and elbows. “Every time I think I’ve done somethin’ right, turns out I’ve been doin’ it wrong the whole time and- It’s like ‘m in a hole and, whatever I do, I keep diggin’ deeper and deeper and I’m way in over my head as is.”

     “You’re not the only one,” Smith adds wryly. “Believe me, boy, it’s not nearly so bad as you’re making it out to be.”

     Casper rolls his eyes. “Sure, it ain’t. ‘N I’m the prince of Egypt.”

     “Hey,” Smith barks. “None of that cheek with me or else you can show yourself to the door.” Casper huffs, but sits quiet. “Now I know for a fact that you can’t have screwed up all that much because if you did, do you think there wouldn’t be someone breaking down my door this very second?” Point taken. “Can’t see how anyone’d get the better of the old devil anyhow. Too smart for that, methinks. Mind, asides from Myr- and now yourself, of course- I’d never seen anyone brazen enough to try!” Smith laughs at his own joke.

     Casper can’t see what’s so funny. Doesn’t take kindly to the idea Smith’s laughing at him. “Well excuse me if I forgot! I was angry, alright?”

     “You forgot?” That just sends Smith laughing even harder. “What’s there to forget? It’s as plain as the horns on his head!”

     Horns…?

     “…What.” The two stare down and abruptly the laughter stops. “What horns?”

     “Are you blind or stupid?”

     Casper twitches at the accusation. “’M not an idjit,” he hisses.

     “Can’t see how else you’ve missed them. For God’s sakes, they’re as plain as the nose on his face!” Casper’s still staring at him in sick fascination like Smith’s grown horns himself. Smith scowls. “What in Hell’s name is wrong with you? He… You’re not charmed, are you?”

     Casper stands up slowly, gets an escape plan ready. “No idea what you’re on about.” Would Balor do that? To him? No. Impossible. Balor’s the same as he ever was, straight from the first day on; no opportunity there to cast a spell of any kind. Plus, the toff was there and he didn’t see anything either (but that’s not saying much).

     Smith squints at him. “You’ve not seen nothing strange at all since you came here? Nothing at all?”

     Casper heaves a dry laugh. “Oh, I been seein’ some pretty crazy shit,” the most recent being you, Smith, “figgered it came with the territory, y’know? But, then, I ain’t supposed to be talkin’ ‘bout kinda thing, if memory serves right.”

     Smith puckers like he’s swallowed a lemon. Point taken, it would seem. “You didn’t notice nothing, even sharing a roof with them?”

     Casper shakes his head. “Never seen horns on anyone up there, or anywhere else as a matter of fact.” God knows Myr’s earned them with that beastly temperament of his, but, no, not even him. There’s something about what he’s said that’s given Smith some serious food for thought. Casper starts shifting ever so slightly towards the door while he’s distracted.

     “Settle down. I’m not done with you yet.” Smith doesn’t have to so much as look his way. The man just knows. Casper tuts and makes himself comfy against the wall. In his own time, Smith comes to his own conclusions and Casper resumes his place as the center of attention. “I can start to see why he wants out of town so bad.”

     “Don’t suppose you could get me out by tonight?” Casper perks up.

     “So that’s why you’re here.” Oof. He’s sharp. Smith shakes his head. “No can do. My men won’t be here for another three weeks, two at the earliest.”

      Well that won’t do. That won’t do at all. Casper stalks towards the desk. “Why can’t I make off before then?” He stops nose to nose with Smith. “What’s stoppin’ me from takin’ off on my own two feet?”

     “I don’t know. What is stopping you?” He sneers. “Do you’ve any idea where to go? Money for a cab, for a train?” Casper backs off, turns away, bitter, defeated. “That’s what I thought.” Smith straightens in his chair, practically puffs up with overinflated self importance. He may be smarter than your run of the mill toff, but he still dresses like one and, deep down, he’s the same as all the rest. “Now listen, boy, and listen good. The only reason you’re getting out of here at all is because there’s someone looking out for you and they’ve done you the good grace of getting a favour for you. And that’s all that this is: a favour. You turn your back now, you can kiss your chances of getting out of here in one-piece goodbye. You got all that?”

     “Yessir,” the words grit out through clenched teeth. The door out has never been so appealing, but Casper stays.

     “Good. Now here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to go back up there-“ Casper makes to object, but Smith cuts him short. “No. You wanna get outta here, you’re gonna do it my way so you don’t screw it up.” Casper goes very, very silent. He outright glares. “Glad to see I’ve got your attention,” Smith purrs. “What you’re going to do is go back up that hill and keep doing whatever it is you do up there. Don’t go raising no eyebrows, don’t go pissing no one off, and not a word about this to anyone; that goes double for Myr.”

     Myr again. They may as well be going around in circles with the way things keep looping back to either Myr or Balor. “Why’s everyone so ‘fraid of him anyhow? He’s just a mean, ol’ drunk.”

     “Yes,” Smith sighs, “that he is, but he’s also a man who’s sold his soul to the devil and is capable of just about anything you could think of.”

     “Coulda told you that much myself,” Casper sulks.

     “You’re not wrong, boy, but you have no idea what it is you’ve gotten yourself into.” Smith lets out a long, tired breath. “Alright. We’re done here. With any luck, I won’t have to see the sorry sight of you until it’s time to cart you out of here.”

     “Wha- That’s it?”

     “Yep. Now get out.”

     And that’s how Casper found himself unceremoniously punted back out into the backstreet from whence he came. “Jerk.” The insults don’t stop there; they keep him company throughout the short walk to the pub, but they go unvoiced.

     Pa inclines his head his way when he comes in. It’s the friendliest welcome Casper’s had from him yet. It’s nice to see someone’s finally warming up to him. Today’s entrée is bean and pork stew. The broth is thick as gravy and sticks to his ribs. After nothing but leafy greens for the past two days, he needed something more substantial. Contentedly smacking his lips after another scrumptious meal, Casper pulls Alicia aside when he has the chance.

     “Any news?”

     Alicia shakes her head and frowns, arms crossed.

     “Nothing?”

     “Nothing,” Alicia affirms. She shifts from toe to toe. “Look kid, it’s been week already. It’s about time you stopped asking.”

     And just as she turns her back on him, after all she promised, “Did you even try?”

     She stops dead. Turns on him. “Excuse me?” Oh yes, look at you now, so indignant. So very self righteous. You must feel so proud of yourself, of your empty, Christian charity, well done stupid, little girl, well done.

     Casper sizes her up with a dark look a second longer. He turns back to his empty bowl. “Nuthin’.” Nothing she wants to hear anyways. When she disappears back into the kitchen (he pretends not to see the several times she looks back over her shoulder, wary of him), Casper drops his head against the bar counter and groans.

     It was not worth the trouble of coming to town today.

<==Day Eleven-Morning&Midday  ==>Table of Contents<==  Day Eleven-Evening&Night==>