Day Thirty

 

     Smith’s place. Sometime in the morning, while it’s too early for Myr to barge in and most (if not all) of town is still in church. Coming from Smith, this whole arrangement may as well have come complete with an engraved invitation and fanfare. Casper should be happy. Hell, he should be ecstatic, skipping his merry way down the hill at first light.

     He’s not. If anything, he feels sick thinking about it. He’s been dragging his feet all the way through his morning routine, but he can’t put it off forever. There’s no point in staying at the house anyhow, with Balor cooped up in his attic, busy doing whatever, and Casper too afraid to set foot onto the second floor to follow. He’s only making matters harder for himself, unnecessarily so.

     But, hey. That’s the story of his life, isn’t it?

     He hopes Myr won’t run into him again. He hopes his recently uncovered status as one of the manor residents won’t change how people see him too much; if they were uneasy about him before, well…

     Casper hopes for a lot of things. Like that ‘new beginning’ he was promised.

     He sighs and starts the trek to town. He’ll still get that new beginning of his, a new one in a different place where nobody knows him and he hasn’t irreparably screwed up. Maybe he’ll stand a snowball’s chance in hell this time.

     But just because he hopes with all his heart, doesn’t mean it’ll come true.

     Dodge the sermon crowd, twist through this side street, then turn left at this alley. Casper’s done this so many times he could do it in his sleep. He’s at Smith’s very own back door before you know it, and in good time too. The curtains in Smith’s office are drawn closed. Try as he might, Casper can’t see so much as a sliver into the room; that’ll be where today’s business will be taking place then. A few minutes to collect himself and a sharp rap on the door has Casper staring up at Smith.

     “You’re late,” Smith says.

     “If you wanted me here at six bells sharp, you shoulda said,” Casper rolls his eyes. 

     “Yes, yes, fine, get in,” Smith waves. “I’m on a tight schedule this week,” Smith adds by way of explanation. Not that Casper understands anything, oh no. Heaven forbid anyone take a moment out of their day to tell him what it is they’re so damn busy with all the time.

     “Hope my gettin’ the fuck outta here figures into it somewhere and I ain’t here so you can tell me you’re pushin’ back the date even more.” Casper leads the way into Smith’s office and straight into some guy. Tall-ish fellow, non-descript clothes, vaguely familiar. “Who the hell’re you?”

     “This,” Smith claps a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, “is Tony. You might’ve seen him around. He works for me.” That explains the familiarity.

     Casper sizes up Tony, Tony does the same for him. All in all, he seems like a likable down to earth kind of person. “That’s great ‘n all, but what’s he doin’ here?” Casper asks Smith, but his eyes are locked onto this interloper.

     “Oh, not much admittedly,” Smith drawls. “I was sitting around yesterday, thinking to myself what a fuck up it’d be if my friends nabbed the wrong boy on their jolly way out next week, so I figgered you two’d best meet.” He smirks and Casper wants to kick him, the cheeky sonuvabitch. “Tony, this is the one I was telling you about. Boy, this is Tony.”

     “Does he have a name?” Tony asks.

     Smith raises a brow at that. “I wouldn’t know. Never asked.”

     “’S Casper,” Casper mumbles.

     Smith does a double take. Casper smiles innocently. Tony’s looking between the two of them, vaguely baffled.

     “Right…” Smith recovers. “As I was saying, when you come down next Sunday, you’ll be taking… Casper here out with you. He’ll be waiting for you already at the drop point- that’d be the court in behind the post, but you knew that already, didn’t you boy?” Casper flinches at the unsaid accusation, but isn’t terribly surprised. “Anyhow, he’ll be waiting for you, so don’t go bothering running around to search for him.”

     “And if he isn’t there?” Asks Tony.

     “Leave him.” And the words twist like a vice.

     There it is. His last chance. If Casper screws this up, he’s not getting another. This is his best shot out by far. He fails here, it’s over.

     “You understand, boy?”

     Casper swallows down his heart in his mouth and nods grimly. “Crystal, sir.”

     And with that, the meeting is adjourned. Smith double checks Tony’s got everything he needs for next week’s delivery and, though Tony looks askance at Casper’s lingering presence, he assures everything’s in good order and yes, he has the list. Out Tony goes on his merry way to wherever, leaving Casper slouching in the corner and Smith pointedly holding the door open.

     When it becomes apparent that Casper has no intention of leaving and is, in fact, trying his damnedest to become one with the wallpaper, Smith closes the door and, looking put upon, trundles back to his desk. “Don’t suppose you’ll be staying for tea then.”

     Casper shrugs and curls into himself further. Smith makes a non-comital sound and makes a great show of shuffling papers on his desk, scratching tallies and numbers into a pocket ledger.

     “Myr’ll be coming down later today,” Smith says. Poor subject for a conversation starter.

     “When?” Casper asks sharply.

     Smith’s eyes snap up from his quill and onto Casper. “Whenever he gets around to it. Likely in another hour or so.”

     Casper relaxes back against the wall. An hour, eh? That’s fine. He still has time. 

     Smith considers him. “If this were a week ago, you’d’ve hightailed it out of here the second I mentioned his name,” he comments.

     He’s not wrong either. All that hanging around the manor with no one but Myr for company has either made Casper a fair sight braver or reckless. A funny thought, given Casper’s still too afraid to show his face. And yet here’s Smith, looking a hair shy from outright demanding why Casper’s dead set on taking up residence in his office.

     “’M bored,” Casper throws out there by way of answering. A partial truth, because the whole of it is simply too pathetic for him to give voice to.

     “Go run around in the fields or something. Make a nuisance of yourself with the other brats. I don’t care what it is you get up to in your free time so long as it isn’t here.” And so saying, he pulls out what looks to be yesterday’s newspaper out from somewhere or other, blocking all sight of his face.

     Casper huffs a dry laugh. Can’t tell someone to go away much clearer than that. He shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor, anything to avoid the wall Smith’s put up between them. “Don’t think the guy’s’ll be willin’ to play ‘n all, what with me livin’ in the wrong place.” He wasn’t talking loudly to begin with, but his voice shrinks to a whisper the more he goes on. “’Sides. The gang disbanded for the season. Dunno if they’ll be back at all a-fore ‘m leavin’ again…”

     Smith audibly stiffens at that and Casper catches him peering over the top of his newspaper at him. The top of his head disappears back behind the newspaper, but it doesn’t take long for him to drop the charade with a heavy sigh, taking the paper down with it. “I don’t know what the hell you’re expecting me to do about it kid.”

     Funny thing is, Casper doesn’t either. At this point, he’s happy to hear the sound of another person’s voice, to have someone to talk to again. But he can’t say that, now can he. So he shrugs and slumps further into his corner, Smith watching him disinterestedly.

     “Go home, boy,” Smith shakes his head. “Take the scenic route back or do whatever it is you feel like, but go home. It’ll all be over with in a few days and you can forget all about this whole mess like a bad dream.”

     Casper’s composure cracks because it’s never been that easy. A broken sound escapes him, something between a laugh and scream. He gets a hold of himself a mere instant later, takes that fractured part and shoves it back where he buried it with his other skeletons. It’s too late by then, of course. Smith’s staring at him like he’s on fire and yeah, no he should leave before he messes up even more.

     At least Smith got what he wanted. He wants Casper gone? Fine. Casper’s good at disappearing. It’s one of his few redeeming qualities.

     Besides. He needs air. Needs to clear his head and why does it hurt so much, this feeling…? Maybe Smith comes after him, maybe he calls for him and by name no less, but it’s not like Casper cares. Not like he’s listening. Smith would never call him by name, hell, he didn’t know Casper had one. No, Casper’s mind must be playing tricks on him. His imagination can be cruel like that. And it’s only by coincidence that he’s chosen to waste his time on the opposite side of town from Smith’s bank.

     He hunkers down in a cranny to the side of the market square, tucked between the grocer’s (damn her eyes) and the carpenter’s: the perfect place for a good sulk. Perfect, that is, until church ends for the day and the floods of humanity fill the streets again, after which Casper has to make himself scarce, lest he be a blemish to the public eye.

     This stinks.

     It feels like he only closed his eyes for a second before the slap of quick feet on cobblestones rocks him out of his doze. Church done already? But no, who else does Casper see running pell-mell down the main street than Curly and his churlish friend, what’s his face.

     It’s a bad idea in the making, but hell if that hasn’t stopped Casper before. Naturally, he’s on his feet and waving them down, first thing he does. Curly seems enthused to see him. He’s certainly not running away, which is a good sign, though him barreling Casper straight into a bear hug was… unexpected to say the least. Casper hefts the solid weight of him and hugs back. God be damned and the devil too, Casper missed the little guy. Curly’s friend (come on, you know his name, it hasn’t been all that long) follows along grudgingly, but forgoes the hug.

     “How you been doin’ Curly? Haven’t seen you in ages. An’ you brought-“ he stammers, “you brought Paulie here too!” Casper knew he remembered that name.

     “I’m Henry! Not Paulie!” Henry grouches.

     Casper mentally kicks himself. “Oh. Right. Sorry ‘bout gettin’ you twos mixed up, what with you lookin’ so similar ‘n all.” He goes for his best placating smile, but Henry’s not having any of it.

     “We don’t look a thing alike!” And suddenly Casper remembers why he never liked Henry.

     “What about you Curly? What’re you doin’ out here?”

     “I-I saw you come from up there while e’eryone was goin’ into church,” he points towards the hill.

     Casper sucks air between his teeth. Well shit, if today wasn’t getting better and better. He’s getting careless. “Didja think anyone else noticed?”

     “Nuh-uh.”

     “What about Henry here?”

     Curly looks at Henry, then back at Casper. “Uh, I said I had to go pee so I could go out ‘n look for you, but he wanted to go too, so he came.” Well. That’s a bit of a relief. “But that’s not important!” Curly shakes his little head. “How’d you get away?” He asks, dead serious.

     Casper can only assume he means from the manor. “Uh, it’s not like they threw me into a broom cupboard an’ threw the key away…”

     “But you got caught didn’t you?”

     Casper has no idea what he’s talking about. Henry’s not offering any kind of elaboration either, perfectly content to burn holes in Casper’s skull as revenge for the whole name mix-up. “Uh… Caught?” He ventures. 

     Little Curly, bless his heart, nods emphatically. “Heard shouting one day and saw you go to the post shop, but when you left, it was the Smith-guy who was takin’ you to the hill and then everyone was saying we couldn’t see you no more and-“ his breath hitches, Curly growing increasingly emotional throughout his monologue, “-and I knew, I just knew they fed you to the devil-monster, but then I saw you this morning and you aren’t dead!” And so saying, Curly buries his face back into Casper’s shirt only to pull away and add: “You smell bad. You need a bath.” 

     Casper blinks, trying to process the last fifteen seconds, but he laughs. Laughs at the absurdness of it all, be it the reality of his situation or the garbled mess of understanding that could only come from a little one who can’t tie his own shoes yet. 

     “Stop laughing!” Curly yells. “I was scared an’ you’re not supposed to laugh.” Oh hell, Casper’s gone and done it this time. The little guy’s breaking out the waterworks.

     “Whoa, whoa, whoa. S’alright now.” Casper placates. “Nobody’s laughin’ atcha. We’re all friends here, see?”

     Henry’s face twists even more. “You’re not our friend!” And Casper has to do a double take because he didn’t think it was possible for someone that young to speak with so much venom. 

     “Shut up!” Curly screams, this time upset with Henry.

     “But it’s true! You don’t know ‘cause you didn’t see what happened, but they called him,” Henry points and glares at Casper, “they called him a witch!” You could hear a pin drop, what with how quiet it is all of a sudden. 

     The spell breaks when Curly launches himself away from Casper and straight at Henry. “You’re lying!” 

     He snarls and knocks Henry to the ground.

     “Am not!” They grapple, rolling on the hard-packed earth, intent on tearing each other apart. 

     “Are too! You say bad stuff about everybody, even if you make it up!”

     “Am not!” They redouble their efforts, leaving Casper wondering how it got to this point and how to best split them apart.

     He manages, but is isn’t easy. Curly has a busted lip and Casper’s pretty sure Henry has a sizable goose-egg on the back of his head from when Curly knocked him down. It takes no little amount of smooth talk to convince them (mostly Henry) that this whole witch business is just one big misunderstanding, completely blown out of proportion. According to Casper, he showed the druggie some slight of hand and, no matter how he protested otherwise, the druggie simply couldn’t figure it out, even when Casper tried to walk him through it. And, now that they’ve established Casper isn’t a witch after all, it wouldn’t make sense for him to be teaming up with the bad guys. So, that decided, Casper was indeed captured and then subsequently escaped, just like Curly said. Naturally, the little guys are quick enough on the uptake to avoid making such a silly mistake about Casper’s allegiances, now aren’t they? They’re certainly quick about insisting they’re too smart to be fooled, though it slips their minds to ask how, exactly, did Casper manage his daring escape.

     They break for the day when they hear the thrum of the crowd pouring out of church. Both Curly and Henry simultaneously wince at the realization that their mothers are not going to be happy about them skipping out on mass. Casper smirks and wishes them luck before disappearing himself.

     Despite his recent bad press, it looks like Casper might still have a few friends in town. Maybe he hasn’t ruined everything just yet.

END OF DAY THIRTY.

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