Madeline Chp 4-5

Chapter 4:

  It was time to go home, and Jim put his books away.  He was reluctant to do so; he enjoyed reading the collective words of The Portent.  He would have plenty of time for reading; finally he could go to a school.  He loved The Portent for giving him a calling. He was even more reluctant to leave the atmosphere of the Muse Academy.  He had been fortunate, for the past hour a group of muses had been exploring the pondering principle in composition.  Their voices weaving in and out of each other had certainly made his study of Portent utterances very enjoyable, even insightful.  Occasionally the music was sorrowful and would give Jim pause, but even that music had its virtues.  Jim walked up and waved to the desk woman.
  “Already punched in your shuttle info Jim, same as always, you must be the only person in the world who catches the exact same shuttle day after day,” the desk woman said.
  “Funny thing is I rarely see the same people on it,” Jim responded.
  “I wish you could still come by once you start divinity school Jim,” she said glumly.
  “From what I have read, divinity students get out of school more often than any other school, so I imagine I will still come from time to time,” Jim said reassuringly.
  “You may not sing Jim, but I will miss the sound of your voice.  I always knew there was something special about you, even if nobody could see what it was when you were born.”
  “Thank you ma’am, that means a lot to me.”
  He continued walking towards the entrance of the academy.  Jim turned his head and saw an initiate holding both his parents in his small arms, soon to be separated.  James envied him, though the initiate surely thought leaving his parents at such a young age was the worst torture imaginable.  He would soon realize the greatest happiness he could find was in the walls of this building.  Developing ones gifts, and sharing them with others who yearned for them, what could be more satisfying?  Jim had waited his whole life watching other children attend a school, always wondering why he did not belong.  Still he felt for this boy, Jim still had his father waiting for him when he got home.  The young boy looked up with his tear squinted eyes and sang a song of memory.  The memory of how much happiness he had had under his parent’s roof.  A song of loss, for he could not tell what lay ahead of him. James had never heard a muse sing a song of that kind before.  James felt the song fly into his mind, and chills reverberated through his body.  He felt warmth and moist wetness slip over him like a hot bath.  Everything that was not right in front of him dimmed into darkness.  Jim had felt this memory before.  He had dreamed of it a few times, but never while he was awake had it become so real to him.  Why did he have this memory, what was it?  He kept walking the short distance to the shuttle, the memory song lingering in his mind.

“You make me glad inside James.”

He heard the voice from within him.  The sound of that voice made him happy.  Jim was smiling as he climbed aboard the shuttle and chose the one of two seats, his being at the back.  Jim sat down relishing the warmness that covered him.  Jim’s vision faded into the peaceful darkness.  Did he close his eyes, or had his eyes turned off?  Jim wasn’t sure, he was not too concerned.  After some time Jim felt something different.  A prick of a dreadful thought began forming at the back of his mind.  Something happens next, what was it?  The warmness stole away and the blackness turned from peaceful to confining.  Around him he felt cold, but still wet.  He heard a sound at a distance at first.  It sounded like somebody yelling at him from far away.  It increased in intensity and volume until it sounded like everything around him was screaming into him.  Jim felt his body tense a lot, and then his legs thrash a little.  His throat began to press together, he felt strangled by the pressure.  He couldn’t breath, but why not?  Jim suddenly saw the inside of the shuttle.  The shouting stopped abruptly.  But the feelings of suffocation remained to a degree.  He saw the shuttle door open and a girl jump in.  The feeling began to swell and intensify.  Jim’s eyes opened slightly wider betraying the concern he was beginning to feel.  He wasn’t asthmatic, he didn’t have allergies.  He pulled hard on his throat feeling the air press through, and yet he felt wheezy.  He didn’t want to draw attention to himself in this shuttle, what is wrong with me? Then as quickly as it had come, the feeling left him.  James then focused on what was in front of him and saw the shuttle terminal flash the next stop.  Jim relaxed his body and just stared ahead, his breaths began to slow.  After a few more minutes his stop flashed on the monitor.  He stood up and looked at the other passengers as his door slid open, fixing his collar as he grinned.  He always bid the strangers on the shuttle a good day; it made him feel almost like he himself was the recipient.  He noticed the girl who had not been on the shuttle when he got on.  Her hair and clothing was disheveled and was that blood on her face and clothes?  James did not pause to fully take in the girl, as he knew as well as anybody that nobody liked being stared at.  He calmly turned and alighted from the shuttle.

         He had never had a dream play out while he was awake.  Maybe they were right; he was going to snap one day.  Jim knew what it was like to be different.  He certainly was not anything special, at least not in the positive sense of the word.  He was a walking disappointment of sorts, and yet people liked him. 
“One day that boy is going to pop, same as the others.”
“The Portent doesn’t know what he is, so he isn’t anything.”
He must have heard a thousand variations of those same two sentiments, and yet here he was walking home from the shuttle, same as anybody else.  He followed the same route as always, through alleys and winding roads.  Detouring through stores because he could save time doing so.  The store proprietors never minded, truth to tell they liked Jim walking through their stores.  One thing, it was a reminder that it was time to close soon, and everyone likes to be reminded of that.  For another, Jim always asked if there was anything that needed doing.  Mop the floors, bus a table, sort the inventory.  If an owner was busy enough Jim wasn’t surprised if he was asked to count the days earnings, or help lock up.  He slipped on a newly cleaned floor and barely steadied himself on the counter.

  “Hey Jim!  I’m surprised your dad never taught you how to walk properly.  Usually people learn how to do that when they are one year of age!”
Jim looked up at Robert the barkeep and smiled,
  “Next time let me do it, and Ill show you how to mop floors people could run on.” Jim responded.
  “Now Jim you know it wouldn’t be right of me to expect you to do something like that, seeing as how I don’t pay you.”
  “You gave me a glass of apple cinnamon cider just two days ago, and that ought to be pay enough for one month of hard labor”
A few patrons looked up slightly interested.
  “Jim that’s a dirty lie, now get out of my store before people start thinking if they lounge around long enough they will get some without paying.  If there is one thing I know it’s that the day I start serving drinks for free, is the day I meet a woman who can stand me, and shuttles become privatized.”
The patrons looked down at their drinks and food again.  Jim knew it was a joke, but he also knew he shouldn’t let the other patrons know how good Robert was to him.  Robert and his father Stuart were friends, ever since his mother had died, and his father had wandered into Roberts bar in desperation looking for a way to cover the pain.  Robert served Stuart some powerful stuff, but Stuart forgot to even try some, Robert kept talking his ear off and asking questions.  Stuart liked to listen to people talk, and that was most likely why Jim did too.  If there were rules about how to listen, the first one would be you can move all you like while talking, and therefore when somebody else is talking you keep completely still.  That was why Stuart never got to his drink. And that suited Robert perfectly because he loved to talk, and let others do the listening.  Peoples’ tongues get loosened when they drink, and that gave Roberts a lot to talk about.  Not that Roberts was a gossip, he just liked finding the gold within a story.  Jim left the store and walked through one more alley and then to his own front walkway.  He opened the door and closed it.
  “Hey Jimmy” his father said over the noise of dinner cooking.
  “Hey Stuart, what are you making this time?” Jim said with a mock tone of horror.
  “I thought tonight I’d let you try it and you tell me what you think is in it,” Stuart quipped.
  “You might not like my guesses.” Jim said as he put his things away. 
  His thoughts drifted to the shuttle.  Why did he wake up and still struggle to breathe?  Maybe it was just his mind having trouble realizing the dream was over.  Maybe he was allergic to something; he just didn’t know what it was.  Maybe he could feign that suffocating feeling again while eating dinner and scare Stuart.  Jimmy laughed out loud just a little as he set the table for dinner.
  “What’s so funny Jim?” Stuart asked.
  “Robert almost killed me by mopping the floor before I walked through there” Jim said lightheartedly.
  “I thought I taught you to walk when you were about a year old Jim.” Stuart said
  Jim laughed some more, and Stuart looked amused and confused at the same time.

Chapter 5:

Madeline watched the young man grin, she could see that he was surprised by her appearance but he turned away without commenting.  Madeline saw a dark shadow on the boy’s neck as he turned away, it looked like somebody had done a number on him.  But if he had the decency not to stare, then she could return that favor.  The shuttle doors closed and the shuttle commenced
  “Here’s a napkin if you would like to wipe your eyes miss.” The man next to her offered.
  Madeline was a little surprised as she turned and accepted the cloth.  She wiped her face clean and handed the napkin back to the man with a smile.
  “Keep it; people might wonder why a sinister looking man such as myself would have a napkin with blood on it.”  The man chuckled, clearly amused with himself. 
  Madeline laughed, she felt better somehow.  The concerns she had just visited seemed locked behind a door in her mind.  Madeline was not used to complete strangers speaking to her especially out of concern.  She looked around and everyone else in the shuttle was smiling clearly involved in the conversation.
  “You ought to see a preserver about that hand!” The man added concerned.
  “I know a good preserver, he will fix it up just like he did before,”  Madeline said reassuringly.”
  “You should ask for Hawthorne, he fixed my son up.  Foolish boy got beat up at school some years ago, told me a girl did it.  He’s been a brawler ever since.  Hawthorne must have pieced twenty shards of bone together to fix his rib cage, but he found a way,” a pleasant man piped in, he seemed unsure what to say next.
  “I am on my way to the hospital.  I guess that boy of mine got in another brawl, maybe one day he will get some sensed smashed into him.  But that Hawthorne is a good man.  You can tell he cares about who he is restoring, takes the time to learn your name even,” The man added.
  Madeline smiled to herself, noting the coincidence that Hawthorne was the very person she had intended on seeing.
  “Why don’t you stop at the bathhouse and clean yourself up, we are coming up on it very soon.” A woman to Madeline’s right suggested with a broad smile.  “I have a token, I don’t need it, here.”
  Madeline was very surprised to see such generosity, bath tokens were hard to come by even if somebody had a lot of money.  Madeline wanted to politely decline, but she knew a bath would be superbly invigorating.  Madeline took the token graciously and smiled back at the woman.  Madeline alighted from the shuttle as the shuttle stopped at the bathhouse.  She was surprised to hear everyone else in the shuttle stop their conversation to say goodbye to her.  The fact complete strangers in a random shuttle had had a conversation that involved everyone was even more strange, yet refreshing.  She politely waved back and walked down the front walk to the bathhouse, she could not help but smile.  Madeline turned in her clothing for cleaning, and selected a beautiful scarlet robe to wear into the bathing chambers.  She felt bad about selecting a private room but the woman had given her a token, she might as well take advantage of it.  Madeline undressed and hung her robe upon the hook.  She slid into the therapeutic bath water and closed her eyes.  Madeline’s dreams over the next hour were all very pleasant.  She was in the Fury House.  She looked around, she was alone.  Her hand throbbed and she looked down at her broken hand.  Madeline saw a table in front of her with a strange metallic glove open on top of it.  She felt compelled to put her broken hand into it.  The glove closed onto her hand, in a moment the pain felt sharp, but then vanished.  The glove though very large moved very easily.  Madeline felt a strength flowing through her arm as she opened and closed the gloves fingers.  She smashed her gloved hand down onto the table and it exploded, splinters flying through the air.  The room faded and Madeline found herself weaving through crowds down the street.  As she darted amongst the people, she heard a distinct swooshing sound every time she flew to the left or right.  Swoosh!  Swoosh!  Swoosh! Swoosh!  She ran faster and still she could dodge with ease.  She saw a shuttle zooming down the street parallel with her.  Madeline ran even faster until she was barely passing the shuttle.  She leaped to her right and performed a graceful leap onto the shuttle.  Madeline enjoyed the view from the top of the shuttle as it weaved down the roadways.  She stood up and leapt straight into the air, she went higher than she was used to, and then the dream faded.  Madeline was in the house of a man she had never seen before yet he felt very familiar.  The man told her how happy he was that she was home, and Madeline was surprised when a small red haired girl ran into the room and jump into her arms.  Madeline felt completely comfortable holding the girl and laughing with her.  She knew this girl, but she didn’t know how.  Madeline felt happier then she ever had in some time.  The scene faded slowly but surely from her mind as the now lukewarm waters of the bath gently reminded her that her time was over.  Madeline climbed out of the water and walked to the robe.  She turned to look at herself in the mirror.  Madeline was very proud of how she looked.  She knew that she was beautiful, her naked body clearly showed the contours of her shoulders, hips, and back.  Growing up she had seen the girls comparing their breasts.  She didn’t enjoy it but she took a special satisfaction in knowing hers while not the largest were very well shaped.  She stared into her own eyes and smiled.  She loved looking at her face, her golden brown eyes staring back at her, her jet black hair reaching just beyond her shoulders.  Not that she was stricken with her own visage; she simply enjoyed doing what the common passerby could do all the time, take pleasure in her face.  She practiced changing expressions for just a minute.  Madeline loved mirrors, they were beautiful to her, and that particular beauty belonged to only her.  The passerby, the acquaintance, the old friend, even the family she had, or one day might have, could only have that beauty if she gave it.  She plucked the scarlet robe off its hook, dressed herself, and her hand began to remind her it was still broken.  She collected her now clean clothes from the receptionist and stepped outside.  The Preservatory was a bit far from The Bathhouse, and it would close in an hour.  Madeline was sure of one thing; she did not feel like having another row with her mother.  Hawthorne would be heading home in about one hour.  Madeline found the shuttle stop terminal and punched in her destination.  The screen displayed a twenty five minute wait for just Madeline.  Traveling while everyone else tried to get home was never pleasant but Madeline knew she could run from the Preservation shuttle terminal and catch Hawthorne as he was leaving.

         Hawthorne smiled as he saw Madeline running towards him, and then frowned when he saw the fabric wrapping up her right hand.
  “I promise I didn’t try to shake hands with a robot arm this time,” Madeline quipped, a little out of breath.
  “It took 5 months to repair your hand when you did Madeline, what happened?”
  “There was an accident during fight practice, we were using weapons.”  Madeline calmly responded.
  “And that’s why instead of real gauze they wrapped your hand up in clothing fabric?”  Hawthorne queried.
  “I’m sorry, I just…I’d rather not talk about it.  It didn’t do anything wrong if that’s what you were wondering.”  Madeline hated lying to Hawthorne, she didn’t know why she had even done it that time.  “My hand really hurts, I don’t like to ignore pain for this long.”  Madeline added.
  “Come inside with me, I’ll see what I can do, you did a good job wrapping that hand.”  Hawthorne said with a hint of praise.
  “Any interesting stories today?”  Madeline asked.
  Hawthorne said nothing as he reached into his pocket for the cabinet key.
  “What wrong Hawthorne, did you lose somebody today?” Madeline wondered aloud.
  Hawthorne turned to her with a look of forlornness.  He kept silence and reached for some medical supplies out of the cabinet.  Hawthorne paused, and then said,
  “A long time ago there was an older boy named Kevin brought in here with a crushed rib cage, and a fractured skull.  I tried my very best to heal him and watched as his body lingered on the edge of death for days.  It was a miracle the he pulled through.  I was sad when he went home, I could see he was so afraid of somebody, and yet he was very angry.  Hawthorne began placing a special glove onto Madeline’s fingers and then continued.  Today Kevin was brought in again with a ruptured bladder, broken nose, and the skull fractured again at the forehead.  He died under my hands within minutes, I did everything I could.  He just couldn’t cope with it this time.  I remembered Kevin’s father, he had been so proud of me when I pieced together his boy, he told me that I was a miracle worker.  I saw him again today and he looked at me in disbelief when I told him his son was dead.”
  Madeline’s throat was tightening, a shudder began to grow within her.
  “Kevin’s father told me how his son had been called a Son of Rage, but because of bad circumstances they only had the money to send Kevin to initiate school.  His father told me that he never knew what to do when he saw the anger in Kevin rise.  He tried to save money so that Kevin could go to the Fury House and learn control, but even when he finally had the money Kevin would not go.  He suspected that Kevin was afraid of something.  Whenever he questioned Kevin about it he would get angry, and so he stopped mentioning it.  He tried his best to find a place for Kevin but he didn’t fit anywhere.  One day Kevin ran away and the last his father heard of him was when he was called today.  It’s hard for me to see somebody that I treated when they were young, die as an adult.”  Hawthorne finished.
  Hawthorne didn’t need to spell it out for Madeline, he didn’t need to tell her that Kevin had been missing a sleeve on his shirt when they treated him, or that the clothing just happened to be the same color as the fabric Madeline had used to wrap her fingers in.  Madeline stared at Hawthorne.  Her expression was frozen in a look of considerable shock.
  “He cornered me, he hit me with his club, I wasn’t fast enough, but before, when he had a gang with him, and today he was waiting for me in the alley.  He wanted to hurt me, I…didn’t want him to die, I - just wanted him to leave me alone.”  Madeline stammered.
  Madeline knew she needed to summon control, and this time as any it was ready in large supply.  She pressed the grief and pain underneath the layers of control.  Madeline fought to keep her emotions inside, she was succeeding.  Hawthorne held Madeline’s gloved hand in his.
  “I know you Madeline; I know that if you ever hurt somebody that way, it was because you needed to.  He drew her in and held her head to his chest.  I’m just glad you are ok.  I hope the only thing you ever need me to heal, are your hands.”  Hawthorne whispered.
Murdaline…
  A tear escaped Madeline’s eyes, but only one this time...