n i n e
"Factum fieri infectum non potest." - Terence, Phormio 5/8:45

WHERE IS SHE?

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At this late at night, the Tube was the perfect picture of a murder scene before the actual crime. Bright, fluorescent lights scattered the grey walls, one flickering every so often. Few people scurried past him, heads lowered and coats pulled tight to their chests. William stepped out onto the platform, heart beating in his chest.

Normally he'd be excited, happy even, to return home and to be making this trip, but the problem was he was making it entirely too soon, which meant something was wrong. Mary wouldn't have sent that note unless she truly meant it; she'd never asked for William to step in before when things got bad, so why was she now?

So, here he was, hailing a hackney carriage, the black sleek car taking him from the London Underground towards his home. William didn't know what he'd do if he hadn't snuck Tom's money into his pocket before heading to the Academy as Summer had been coming to an end. He'd have walked if it came down to it.

By the time William made it home, the crescent moon was high in the sky, a sheet of clouds shielding it from view. He handed the old man driving the black cab his money, then slung his single bag over his shoulder and slammed the car door shut.

There, hidden in the shadows of the night, stood his foster parent's house. It was fairly large, bigger than the average house, yet not huge. William knew Tom was well set off-his parents had old money, and in turn, Tom worked for his parents company, that is, when he wasn't drunk off his mind.

In the darkness, it was difficult to get a good look at it, though William knew what it looked like nonetheless. He eyed the black slate roof and the grey stone chimney. Moss climbed up the side of the brick walls from the abandoned garden, splitting off in different directions and winding up as if it were simply a green snake frozen as it slithered upwards.

He marched past, striding toward the front door. Without hesitation, William knocked on the front door without cease as the autumn winds nipped at his bare skin. About two minutes later, the door swung open, revealing Tom in all his non-glory.

He stood, short mud brown hair with grey strands sticking up in different directions, a single beer bottle dangling in his hand as he squinted at William with narrowed, hazy eyes. He appeared older than he actually was; years of nonstop drinking had robbed him of his youth.

"What're you doing here, boy?" he slurred.

William pushed past him and into the house. "Where's Mary?"

Tom coughed loudly-once, then twice. "Out," he wheezed, then wiped his mouth against his sleeve. "I don't know."

William strode into the kitchen, straining to see as all the lights had been turned off. Tom was right behind him. "You're lying."

"Don't question me, son." He took a swig of his beer bottle, only to find it empty. He let it drop carelessly in the sink. A loud clink sounded as he turned away and reached into the old refrigerator. "Why are you here?"

"Where is Mary?" William repeated.

He let out a loud sigh, leaning against the chipped vinyl counter. "Go home, William. You're wasting my damn money by skipping school."

William took a step forward, glaring daggers at his foster father. "Where is she?" he seethed.

"Oh, for God's sake, son." He lazily lifted the bottle to his lips once again. "She's out. Did I not say that?" He paused, glancing up. "No, I said it."

"Tom," William said. "Where is she? Where is Mary? She's always home. Always."

"She's out," he spat. "She's out. How many times must I say it? She's out!"

William reached forward, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer with a sneer. He reeked of alcohol. "Where the fuck is she?" he snarled. "Tell me or I swear to God, I will kill you."

"You'll kill me, will you?" He burst out laughing, and William dropped him as he bent over clutching his stomach. "Oh, you're funny. As if the Court of Chancery would let that slide. A boy with a criminal record and suddenly both of his foster parents are dead-" He choked on a laugh-"You'd be sent to prison right away."

William froze. "What do you mean both of my foster parents would be dead? What did you do? Where the fuck is she?"

He waved a hand nonchalantly. "She fell."

"She fell?" He let out a crazed laugh. "She fell? Where is she, Tom? Where is she?" he bellowed.

Tom took another swig of his drink. "The hospital," he said. "She fell down the stairs the other day, hit her head real bad, and now she's in some coma." He paused, then set his beer bottle on the counter. "What a shame. House is a little boring around here now."

William lurched forward, pushing Tom into the counter. He easily went back, stumbled even as he slammed into it.

"I'll kill you."

Tom was laughing, even as he tumbled to the floor, clutching his side in pain. "Do it," he said. "Ruin the rest of your fucking life. I don't care."

William was shaking. He glanced down, peering at his hands. They shook nonstop, so he clenched them, fingernails digging harshly into his palm.

"She's not dead," he said, "if that's why you're here." Tom laughed. "The stairs aren't that high up."

"You pushed her, didn't you?" Will questioned, his voice quiet. "You did it."

"I did no such thing," he cried, climbing up from the tiled floor. "Mary is my wife. Why would I push her down the stairs? That's ridiculous!"

"You pushed her," he repeated. "You pushed her. You pushed her."

"No-"

William rose his fist into the air. "You pushed her," he said, pushing past the growing lump in his throat. "You put her in that hospital."

Tom grabbed his beer bottle, lifting it up. "So what if I did? There's nothing you can do about it. Who will believe in a criminal? I have an alibi anyways. Did you know that apparently my father saw me at the company last Friday-the day she fell?"

"You're a monster."

Tom laughed again, then took another sip of the amber liquid. "I am." He paused, then took a threatening step forward. "And you'll keep your mouth shut like a good little boy. You'll go back to the academy, and if you don't. . . if you get expelled-" He offered William a cold smile-"I'll kill her for real this time. And then I'll send you to that conversion camp, got it, boy?"

William didn't know what to say. "You can't-"

Tom burst out. "You will do as I say," he slurred, raising his glass bottle. "You will-‪‬"

"Go to hell-"

Tom stumbled forward and slammed the glass bottle onto Williams's head. He fell down immediately as blood and alcohol poured down his face. Stars filled his vision as he lay motionless on the floor, his head throbbing.

He sat up slowly, hands flying towards his face, finding the source of the blood. Shattered glass lay all around him and William peered up, mind numb. "Ouch," he mumbled.

Tom was crouching down in front of him, pointing a bony finger at him. "You're going back to the Academy tomorrow," he said, "or else," he warned with a smile as he stumbled away, but not before reaching into the refrigerator once again, grabbing another beer bottle. He stumbled out of the room, and William listened as the couch springs creaked slightly.

Williams's hand fell down to his lap, blood coating it. He stared at it, motionless before climbing up from the kitchen floor, grabbing a towel and pushing it towards the cut on his forehead, which ran from the edge of his hairline and down to just above his eyebrow, where another tiny scar was located.

Hand pressed against the bleeding cut, William made his way toward the washroom, head throbbing. I should go to the hospital, he thought as he stared himself in the mirror. To be brutally honest, he looked like complete and utter shit.

William groaned quietly, then grabbed his backpack from the kitchen. He needed to go to the hospital: to see Mary and to possibly fix his bleeding face.

---

Stepping out of the black cab, William handed over even more money, already wishing he'd stolen more of Tom's while he'd been at the house. He couldn't even think straight really.

His head was the only thing he could focus on and Mary, too.

Inside the hospital, the white and bland walls were adorned with cheap, old picture frames and plastic vases filled with fake flowers littering the tables and counters. Every surface was pristine, dustless.

William hated it; he hated hospitals. It felt stuffy inside as if the walls were closing in on him, which was weird-if anything, the air reeked of cleaning supplies. He also didn't like staying in a place where the sick and even sometimes the deceased resided.

He watched as two nurses rolled a trolley by, stacks of medical supplies scattered across the smooth surface. Stepping past them, William made his way to the front desk, where an old lady with wired glasses and grey hair tied into a low knot at the back of her head sat alone. Her nails tapped mindlessly against the marble counter, yet stopped instantly as she peered up at William with a frown.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I'm here to see Mary Oliver," William said, resting his blood stained hands on the white surface. "I'm her foster son."

The old lady frowned, glancing down at his hands, lips turned downwards. "I'm afraid I cannot allow that."

"And why not?" William questioned.

"Only immediate family is allowed to visit," she said, glancing at the large boxy computer. "And, I'm afraid there's no mention of a son on my records. No visitors."

"Please," William said. "I just, I just need to know if she's okay."

"Mr.-"

"Brown."

"Mr. Brown," she said in a clipped tone, "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to visit that room. So, if you'll please exit the building."

William opened his mouth the speak, but the old lady glared at him, raising a single finger, so he turned away with a scowl. Yet, an idea popped into his head, and William turned back around with a grin.

"Mr. Brown, I've already said, no-"

"I'm here to see a doctor," William said politely, then pointed at his head. "To get my forehead checked out. I'm afraid I might need stitches."

She stared at him, paused, then rolled her eyes. "Very well. Take a seat. I'll send someone to bring you in."

"Lovely," William replied, stepping away from the counter and sitting on the plush, scarlet seat.

About three minutes later, a woman in her forties stepped out from a door, pushing it open and calling Williams's name. He followed behind her, taking note of the different signs on the hallway.

"Take a seat inside, Mr. Brown," the nurse said. "I'll be with you quickly."

"Yes, thank you."

William did not take a seat inside. Instead, he waited a few seconds, then opened the mahogany door to sneak out, the metal handle cool against his fingertips. He needed to see Mary.

He followed the signs hanging from the ceiling, head lowered, hoping no one would question the lone boy with blood coating his hands and forehead, walking down the hallway. Luckily, no one stopped him, and he eventually found the room Mary was kept in.

When he tried to open it, the door wouldn't open; it was locked. Just as he was about to go search for a key, a nurse from inside the room filed out, flipping through a stack of papers, head ducked down.

William made a dash for the door and managed to slip in unnoticed. There, motionless lay Mary, her blonde curly hair flat against the bedsheets. Her skin was pale and blanched of any color, a large purple bruise formed on her bare arm, and a small one on the right side of her jaw.

His heart plummeted, shattering as it sunk into his chest. He stared at his foster mother with a broken heart and tears falling from his face. He couldn't believe it. She deserved better-deserved to be happy with someone who wouldn't treat her like this.

Angrily, he wiped at the tears and drew closer to the bed. He pulled a chair to the side, and sat there for what felt like not enough time, simply watching the rise and fall of her chest every other couple of seconds.

Before he knew it, the nurse came back and William was shoved out of the room. Left alone in the hallway, he slid down the wall and fell to the floor, sobs racking his entire body, numb and empty.

He sat there, back leaned against the wall, knees pulled to his chest as he finally let himself cry.

It should've been me, he thought. It could've been him if he was there to help her, but instead he was at the Academy, probably failing another test. And now, now he had to go back and pretend like everything was okay.

Though, it's not as if William had anywhere else to go.

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an // William ): my heart hurts for you, love. hope you guys liked the chapter!!! we'll be back at the Academy!

let me know what you think!! like it? hate it? love it??

-Mg