The Auburn Prince Page 3

  At school, Clementine told her peers of Marcus Aurelius and his Meditations, but they simply laughed at her. She could barely concentrate in class. The mixture of thoughts about her aunt’s arrival and mom’s odd attitude from last night saturated her mind. When the school bell rang, she sprinted home.

  “Mom! Dad! I need to ask you something,” she said as she entered the house. She ran to the library. It was empty. She ran to her mother’s study. It too stood empty. The garage? The car sat silently. Her father’s study? The room looked as if a windstorm swept through it: stacks of papers littered the ground, a chair lay overturned, and where once sat the great gray linen sheet, stood an immense marble fireplace that resembled a wolf’s maw.

  “Mom. Dad,” Clementine checked every room in the house several times.

  “Mom! Dad?” she yelled when coming up from the basement the second time.

  “Mom! Dad!” she screamed after triple checking the attic.

  “Mom? Dad?” she said as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  After the initial search, Clementine ran over to Miss Jane Hearsay’s house to find out if she had seen her parents. Soon after, the police arrived. Their investigation found no foul play. The whole town was in a ruckus; the disappearance of the Aurelius duo was on everybody’s lips. At first, the townsfolk feigned concern, but once rumors began to swirl about, the answer to the mystery became self-evident. “It was just a matter of time before they split town,” Father Fábula conceded. As with all things, the disappearance faded from people’s tongues and the Aurelius mystery soon became small talk when other topics of discussion ran dry.

  As for Clementine, because no immediate family could be found, for several months she was sorted from one foster home to another. Until, one day, her Aunt, Dahlia Teadmatus, Alice’s father’s uncle’s step-daughter’s cousin twice removed, for whom the Social Services Department had searched for months, appeared—looking unlike herself—at one of Clementine’s foster homes. After the filing and finalization of the paperwork, the duo moved into the house on Vulpes Hill.

  A couple of years have passed since then.

  Time heals all wounds, the saying goes. Unfortunately, that was not to be for Clementine. For every night before going to sleep, the same angry thought crossed her mind: “If you loved me so, why did you leave me all alone?”

  Chapter Two

  A Stranger in a Shiny Suit

  She stood surrounded by night while twisted shadows danced in a smoky haze before her. Cautiously, Clementine walked toward distant embers of light, Meditations clenched tightly in her hand. As she neared the glow, a series of voices began to grow louder, the haze thickened and the shadows darkened, becoming tangible, solid.

  “Sic venti Altero,” a chant swirled about like smoke from a burning incense.

  Frightened, Clementine swallowed and continued toward the glow. Leaving her in absolute darkness, the haze and shadows had blurred out the light completely. The chant grew louder and something slid past her, gently skimming her arm. She jumped back, staring into the blackness.

  “Where’s my Mama? Where’s my Papa?” she said with glistening eyes. The chant stopped and like stars in the night sky, twisted smiles began to appear before her: first one, then two until there were thousands of them, all bright and inviting.

  “Follow us,” the smiles whispered. Clementine clenched Meditations tighter, and just as she was about to take a step, something slithered and circled around her.

  “Follow us,” the voices invited. The glowing light returned. It brightened, clearing a path in the abyss for her to follow. Reluctantly, she stepped forward. The smiles hovered alongside the path while lanky shadow hands dance about like flagella.

  “Follow us,” the voices spoke. A warm chill ran down Clementine’s back and taking it as a sign of good fortune, she bravely walked down the lit path. The shadow hands gently caressed her: some played with her hair, while others delicately touched her face. All the while, a maelstrom of “Follow us” echoed about.

  Arriving at the light, she stood before a magnificent fireplace made of obsidian. Carvings of clouds and landscapes, of forest-draped mountains glimmered in the ember light.

  “How beautiful,” she said aloud as flames began to dance in the ash. Its curves and gentle movements mesmerized her. She felt relaxed while a hypnotic, otherworldly feeling overwhelmed her body and mind. Her grip on the book loosened. The fire grew passionate. From beyond it emerged a giant smile. Unlike its smaller brethren, with their white and square teeth, this one resembled a shark’s grin, its teeth gray and pointy.

  “Follow us,” a whisper spoke into her ear. The shadow hands caressed her further. Some picked at the book, others gently pushed at her back, edging her closer to the flames. The smile in the fireplace widened. Clementine saw infinite rows of teeth expanding beyond the horizon.

  “Follow us.”

  The fireplace carvings began to sway, the landscape materialized before her, becoming a reality.

  “Follow us.” Clementine took a step forward and her arms fell to her side. Just as the book was slipping away from her fingers, a hand gently rested on her shoulder. She felt its weight and turned away from the fireplace to see before her—colorless and shrouded in grays—Alice, her mother.

  “Mom?” Clementine said.

  “Do not be led astray by the smiles of wicked men who wish to confuse your heart with compliments,” Alice said. There was a distant shriek and Clementine watched as the shadow hands enveloped her mother, pulling her into the darkness.

  “Stop!” Clementine shouted and just as she was about to grab at her mother, Alice put out her palm in protest. Clementine stopped. Alice smiled and color swirled out of her mouth. Awestruck by the vibrancy and warmth of her mother’s smile, Clementine gasped.

  “Follow us,” the voices demanded. Alice faded and the haze returned. Clementine clenched Meditations, only to wake up sprawled diagonally across her bed. The alarm clock blared, commanding her to get up.

  “Shut that thing off,” a screeching voice commanded from the hallway. “Now!”

  Clementine did as the voice ordered, but not before the door to her room burst open. In walked a sickly-looking woman with thinning gray hair and an ashen necklace made of tear-shaped beads worn around her neck.

  “Up, you vermin! Off to school,” the woman shrieked.

  “Yes, Aunt Dahlia,” Clementine relented.

  “Well hurry up, you parasite,” Dahlia snapped, leaving the room.

  Clementine sighed, got out of bed, and washed up. After sliding into her worn jeans, she put on her favorite yellow t-shirt—which featured a smiling crocodile along with a factory defect misspelling of crocrodrile below it—and an avocado green hooded jacket. She tossed books and notes into her schoolbag, grabbed Meditations and quickly went downstairs into the kitchen where she prepared herself breakfast: toast, scrambled eggs, and a glass of orange juice.

  As she washed the frying pan, her aunt came in, sat down before Clementine’s breakfast and began eating it. “The eggs are burnt, you rat,” she snapped. Clementine swallowed her fury and made breakfast all over again, this time leaving the dish washing until after she ate. Staring out at the window behind her aunt, Clementine’s mind filled with memories of laughter and her father offering her a second helping of hash browns.

  “What are you looking at, you pest,” Dahlia said, snapping Clementine out of the past.

  “Nothing, Aunt Dahlia,” Clementine said in a whisper.

  “You’re making fun of me,” her aunt said and stood up.

  “No,” Clementine protested. “I was just reminiscing on when…”

  “No, don’t lie! I see it in your eyes,” Dahlia yelled. “You’re laughing at me, behind those serpent green eyes of yours. After all I’ve done for you; you sit there mocking me to my face.”

  Clementine knew what came next: reflexively, her muscles tensed and her eyes closed. First, she felt Dahlia’s fist striking her back, then came the cold
palm to the face followed by a barrage of strikes, jerks and punches, accompanied by the shrieks of, “After all I’ve done for you.”

  When Dahlia had her fill, Clementine slowly stood up off the kitchen floor, to which she fell during most of her aunt’s educational sessions. Taught through experience, Clementine chose not to resist, for when she did, Dahlia used other things besides her fists: cords, shoes, books, dishes and a knife, on a couple of occasions. “Her hands are the lesser evil,” Clementine told herself.

  “Wash these dishes and get out, you leech,” Dahlia said and left the kitchen. Clementine remained silent and calm; she obeyed her aunt.

  After putting on sneakers and clenching Meditations, she left the house and made her way down Vulpes Hill. Mr. Plotka, a neighbor and local gossip enthusiast was painting his garage as he observed her from across the street. When his house disappeared from view, Clementine checked to see if anyone else was around. With the coast clear, she turned into the nearby woods. Free from the prying eyes of her neighbors, Clementine felt a light freedom come over her, like a parachute fleeing a blooming dandelion dome. She stepped over fallen branches, meandered between bushes and swatted away hanging ivy, before reaching a small clearing. She held Meditations to her chest and softly, almost secretly, cried her torments away to the birches, bushes, and birds.

  Once the agony in her soul settled, and her eyes tired of shedding tears, Clementine emerged from her green sanctuary to enter the Dusty Ripple Middle School building.

  “I love learning,” she once told the class during a morning show-and-tell, “but I dislike that most teachers herd us toward what they think we should know. What if we want to know everything?” Mr. Jack Tudatlan, a teacher and frequent brandy connoisseur, promptly gifted Clementine a detention.

  To Clementine, middle school academia was a lengthy yawn. Yes, she completed her homework and always had an answer to the teacher’s questions—not because she wanted to show off, as her classmates assumed, but because she thought it thrilling to know stuff. However, she felt that school did not educate her. Quite the opposite, being told things bored her.

  “Remember this for the quiz, remember that for the test. Where’s the useful stuff? What am I supposed to say to someone who is sad? We should try to learn important things, especially those that Mr. Tudatlan doesn’t know, like what about those American internment cam…”

  “Detention!” he called out, even before she could finish her thought.

  “What is this, Soviet Russia?” she said under her breath. Soon teachers stopped calling on her altogether. They did not like their authority challenged, and they did not have the time nor patience to deal with Clementine’s curiosity.

  While her academic life was stifled, her social life was nonexistent. She became an involuntary jester and pariah, a pastime laughingstock.

  “Hey freak,” Sam Boolee, a local eighth-grade heartthrob, often said. “What kind of hole did you crawl out of today? I know, an asshole.”

  “Hey freak, why did your parents abandoned you?” asked Paulina Seguidor, local eagle-eye for the all things obvious. “Was it because…umm…you’re ugly?”

  “Know-it-all Clementine,” teased Ila B. Umer, Dusty Ripples Middle School’s queen bee.

  At first, Clementine protested the ill treatment, choosing to explain the situation that she found herself in, but as the teasing continued, she stopped explaining and, pretended not to care. Still, each jab tore at her becoming a continuous paper cut on her hope for inclusion.

  “I don’t care,” she told herself, but her heart screamed, “Why are you so mean to me?”

  She spent her lunch breaks alone, re-reading Meditations or indulging in the silent art of people watching, through which she learned more about the world than from any class or textbook.

  “What are you doing freak?” Ila asked.

  “Just watching what the other kids are doing on the playground,” Clementine answered.

  “How creepy. What are you looking for, another freak like yourself?” Ila said, her buzz squad burst into a giggling fit.

  “Just looking at how they act,” Clementine began calmly. “For example, Billy Carver is a follower. He feeds off his friend’s acceptance of him and when they reject him, which they often do, he plays with his sleeve. Joyce Fupil, although really talented on the monkey bars, is always nervous before getting on them. She swallows every time just before doing her rounds; it’s kind of charming. Paul Holland sticks out his tongue when he runs. And you Ila, you’re a funny one. Every time you feel flatulent—when you want to fart—you straighten your posture and look down at the ground. If it’s a nasty one, you blame one of the other girls. I’d wager, it’s the asparagus you eat.”

  “Eww,” said one of Ila’s entourage, making the others giggle. Ila turned scarlet.

  “You’re such a freak,” Ila said before walking away. Her buzz squad not far behind.

  Embarrassing Ila brought Clementine a short-lived joy based on the malicious sensation of seeing an enemy suffer. “Schadenfreude, it isn’t nice,” her conscience began. “How do I feel when she treats me that way? Hurt. Exactly. Before saying something vile, restrain yourself, Clementine.” She sighed.

  The rest of her school day was much like any other: the classes dragged on like glacier-riding snails, while Clementine accompanied the clock’s hands on a journey from a minute to a quarter to an hour, and back again. She daydreamed of reading and spending the afternoon at a nearby park, away from her peers and aunt.

  Exactly a week ago, Clementine had visited Bartholomew Liber’s Bookstore and with the little money that she gathered by finding change in the distant corners of Dusty Ripple, she bought herself a newly published book authored by Richard Adams about a group of exodus-bound rabbits called Watership Down.

  “Just came in,” Mr. Liber told Clementine as she paid for it.

  “Thank you, Mr. Liber,” she said.

  The old man smiled; from beyond his half-moon spectacles, his eyes gave off fatherly affection. “Anytime, Miss Aurelius,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure.”

  Clementine smiled.

  “You know,” he began, “your parents were my best customers. They always ordered quality texts and rare, often out-of-print, editions. Back then, they counted for more than half my orders. Nowadays, people read less, especially the youth.”

  “They don’t know what they’re missing,” Clementine replied. “You have a good day Mr. Liber.”

  “You too, Miss Aurelius.”

  Since then, Clementine waited patiently for a day when the sun would peek out from beyond its overcast bed sheet, so that she may sit below a blue sky and begin her journey through the hedges of her new book. Sitting at her school desk, she counted down the minutes until a final chorus of bells echoed through the school’s halls, freeing her from the bounds of organized education. She gathered her things and placed them in a bag.

  “Hey freak,” Ila began but Clementine ignored her, quickly left school, and walked happily down the sidewalk toward the park. After finding a grassy nook below a trio of oaks near the woods adjacent the park, she laid down her things and took Meditations and Watership Down out from her bag.

  “This is nice,” she said to herself. “This moment right here.” Taking in a breath of fresh air, she became blissful. However, her joy was short lived. Before getting a chance to open Watership Down, Ila and the buzz squad arrived.

  “What do you want, Ila?” Clementine said.

  “No one lies and embarrasses me like you did today, freak,” Ila barked.

  “You don’t need anyone to help embarrass you, you do a good enough job of that on your own,” Clementine said with a forced smile.

  The buzz squad snickered, making Ila furious. To show dominance, the Queen Bee quickly grabbed Watership Down out of Clementine’s hands. “What’s this?” she said, leafing through the pages.

  Clementine attempted to snatch the book back, when Ila stepped back.

  “You’re
reading about talking rabbits?” Ila teased. “You’re so weird; even creepier than those deadbeat parents of yours. My mom said that your mom was the town, how did she put it? Whore!”

  Clementine clenched her fists.

  “She said that your dad was aware of it, but he was a pushover and like a whiny little dog, he ran away,” Ila continued.

  Clementine swallowed.

  “Being free of your pathetic freak of a dad, she left you, so that she could be a whore somewhere else. Both of them were…”

  “Your mom is a liar!” Clementine yelled.

  Ila smiled. “I don’t know if my mom is a liar or not, but I do know that I have a mom. Where is yours, freak? Oh yeah, she’s working a corner somewhere.”

  The buzz squad erupted with laughter. Clementine had enough and swung at Ila. The Queen Bee anticipated the reaction, stepped aside and put out her foot in front of Clementine, tripping her. The entourage exploded with laughter and tears.

  “How pathetic,” Ila said. “For all the words that you know and books that you’ve read, you’re still just a dumb freak.” Clementine lay on the ground; her eyes filled with tears. Defeated and embarrassed, she chose not to stand up; then she heard the sound of paper being torn. She looked up and watched helplessly as Ila tore a dozen pages out of Watership Down and threw them in the air.

  “Fly rabbits, fly!” Ila said, laughing. After throwing a dozen more pages in the air, she tore the book in half and threw the pieces at Clementine, striking her on the face and cutting her lip open. Tears streamed down Clementine’s cheeks.

  “Look at that,” Ila began, “the freak is crying just like her dad cried when he found out about her mom’s talents! You’re just as pitiful as he was.”

  “You don’t know anything,” Clementine blurted out.

  Ila smiled victoriously. Taking in the shower of praise from the buzz squad, she glanced at Clementine’s bag and laid her eyes on the unprotected copy of Meditations. Clementine noticed her enemy’s gaze and darted for the book. Unfortunately, Ila stood closer and snatched it just before Clementine could.