Rebar in one hand, screwdriver in the other, I combined the two items into one hand, then pulled the fake door closed. My brother and sister were silent, almost in awe with me and I felt incredible as a result. I hurried back into my cell, using the screwdriver to pierce the bag of sawdust that I’d put in there as my pillow. I stuffed the rebar and the screwdriver in the bag, concealing them in the interim.
I turned back to my cell door, closing it behind me, and uttered silencing words for my cellmates. “I’ll explain later. Trust me. He’s close.”
They did. The room was met with silence. I was reluctant to make a move for now, taking in the recent events that left my heart pounding. Minutes once again felt like hours, my heart still racing. I couldn’t tell what was causing it. Fear, excitement, being so close to danger but coming out unscathed? I felt on top of the world.
I felt sorry for Robert mainly. He was moaning out of pain the entire time we lay there, helpless and waiting. Alexia was snoring lightly. Then the distant sound from the thudding of a walking stick could be heard. There was only one person that could be, and I stood up, patiently waiting for him. My only real concern was that I wanted to conceal the tampered lock. I hung my arms out the door, letting them hang loosely over the lock.
The door opened and Father stood there, gazing at us. He looked at a weakened Robert, a frightened Alexia, and a confident me.
“Sebastian, my boy, how good to see you.” He laughed.
I smiled at him. He turned back to the door, dragging in a trolley with food and drinks. I was surprised he was going to feed and water us. However, that was not his intention. It was to taunt us.
“This is what you get when you start to show me some respect.”
He set the trolley just beyond my reach and let it sit there.
“Anyway, it’s late. Sleep well, kids. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He left, but I had two advantages. I knew it was late, and I had a few helpful implements that could help me get us the spoils of war. I could reach out with the rebar and… just open my cell door to get at them. I went for the trolley and my sister giggled.
There was plenty of water on the table, so I told Robert to position himself at the edge of his cell, ripped my shirt off and started to wash his cuts. He grimaced and gritted his teeth.
“Thank you, little brother,” he said, mildly rejuvenated from the care he was receiving. I think most of it was mental, as I wasn’t doing anything to treat the cuts, merely washing them out.
I passed a bottle of water through to him, as well as some of the food from the trolley. Before I passed some to my sister, I dropped some of it on the floor.
“What are you doing?” my sister chastised through the bars.
“I’m making it seem as though we struggled to get to the food. Like I’ve had to use my shirt as a lasso to grab it, with mildly unfortunate results.”
“This is why I love you,” Alexia exclaimed, to the surprise of both of us.
I was quite taken aback with the compliment I received and proceeded to pass through more bottles of water and food to my sister. It was an interesting concept: that she loved me. Being united in our miseries did bring us close, but it made me feel great. It made me more motivated than ever to help get us out.
I partook in some of the spoils before climbing up, bare chested to the vent, using the barrel as a stepping-stone. It was large enough to fit in and was screwed down. Thankfully, like the fates were aligning, I had the tools to do the job. I removed the vent cover and hoisted myself up. I shimmied through the vent, promising to come back for them shortly.
The vent was quite spacious, considering. I was tempted to scream down it to hear the echo and see how far it travelled. It wasn’t worth the inevitable punishment, I just wanted to do something childlike; something to actually make me feel my age, for once. I shimmied further down the vent and started to hear voices. I edged closer to a small outlet that was, largely, for decorative purposes and too small for me to get out on the other side. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
A rather assertive man was quizzing Father and he wasn’t about to back down. The sounds were getting louder, as though they were walking and talking down the hallway.
“I’m sure you aren’t used to these sorts of checks, however, let’s call it procedure. A number of children are under your care and I’m here to check what’s going on,” the man said to Father.
“Absolutely. You’ll find that they are all well cared for. Fed, watered, clothed, and most of all, loved.” His final word hanging as though forced. I felt sick, knowing what I now knew about the cage.
“I won’t beat around the bush; I know who you are, Mr Willoughby. I’ve heard the stories,” the mysterious stranger retorted.
“Is that so? And what do you think? Do you think they are stories?” Father boasted.
“Irrespective of what they are, I’m not about to be intimidated by some lawless runt. In fact, I welcome it. I’ve been incredibly careful about my arrival here, multiple sources know where I am should something happen to me. I’m well connected too, Cyril. Do you mind me calling you that? I figure it’s a mark of disrespect for the man that I’m calling out after all. I’ll call you by your first name because from what the stories tell me, we are far from pleasantries. Anything happens to me, and whatever you have going on will come down like a house of cards,” the man gallantly spoke.
Father grunted and blasted some obscenities at the stranger. Mr Cyril Willoughby was his full name. I couldn’t hear much more, as they were walking away and talking, and it was everything in me not to shout for help then and there. Something made me freeze, not knowing if it was another trick or game being played, something in me stopped the words coming out of my mouth. I felt trapped, scared, and almost afraid of redemption because I’d become a glutton for punishment.
I kicked and flailed in the tight space, angered with myself for my own inaction. It could have ended with one simple word: Help. I pressed on, as the only way was forward now. Perhaps Mallory’s letter reached the right person after all? Someone was prepared to step up to the challenge of battling with Father. Someone was ready to play chess with the man and we were the pieces. A faint glimmer of hope, as I crammed myself further into the space of the ventilation shaft. Sadly, it was the one place I suddenly felt safe. The vent was mildly comforting as they were big enough for children, maybe not adults.
I came to the end of the vent, which brought me out into the reception area. At least it was an area I was familiar with, as we walked past it every time we were marched to the canteen area for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Only this time, I was behind the counter. I didn’t leave the vent. I racked my brain, trying to think about what my next move was.
I felt as though I was left with an entirely blank canvas and holding the paintbrush. Empowered, motivated, and determined, I ventured out of the vent. I had to make it to the nurse’s station, get word to Mallory that we were all okay. The only way I knew how to get there was through the vent and the maintenance room.
I made my way through the orphanage, creeping silently, avoiding any staff members in the process. It was fairly quiet, with few people wandering about. There were a few security guards, but no sign or sound of the mysterious stranger or Father. I opened the door to the maintenance cupboard, carefully leaving it unlocked. I scanned the room for any items of value, or use. I opened the locker I found the chocolate bar in, what felt like eons ago, and fortuitously stumbled across a fountain pen, and a zippo lighter. I placed them in the same pocket. Not really knowing what the zippo was, I figured I would take it, in an act of defiance. I took the same person’s chocolate, why not their possessions to mess with them. I giggled a little, appreciating I was getting some element of childlike excitement out of the endeavour. I shimmied through the vent and eventually found my watch and Mallory’s diary.
I opened the watch and admired my beautiful mother. I wondered what they would have thought, knowing that their s
on was living in a very real hell on earth. Looking at her smile reminded me of Alexia and that she said she loved me. I shed a tear in the vent, realising just how surreal the entire escapade was. I was sneaking around the orphanage, through the vent, afraid of who or what might find me and do to me if I was caught.
I was living by the edge of my seat, and strangely excited by it. Knowing I was contending with devils, beasts, and bastards. I was doing what I was doing for the right reasons. Motivated by justice, motivated by the good in the place. I was spurred on for my brothers and sisters, Mallory, the people who were all hurting and here by a sick twist of fate.
I opened Mallory’s diary, and tore a page off. I wrote a small note to her:
Mallory, I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to look after Robert and Alexia, but we are in a cage in the basement under the Chapel. Robert is really hurt. We need help. Please find us. I’ll protect them until you get here. Sebastian.
Short and to the point. It was the best I could do. I left the vent to place the piece of paper on the gurney I slept on the night I escaped the dormitory. I thought about writing in the diary, but figured that if I did, then left it out, and the wrong person read it, that would only serve to put her in danger, or worse, result in the reader stumbling across the rest of the pages, or my watch.
I crept back through the shaft, evading staff along the way, retreating back to my cage to let my brother and sister know what was going on. I wasn’t spotted or caught along the way, which was useful, but I had hoped I was. I had hoped the mysterious stranger would be the one to find me.
As my face emerged into the cage room, my sister squealed in excitement.
“Quiet, Alexia, you’ll make him come back,” Robert blasted.
She apologised, and I worked my way down from the vent, making sure to restore it to a visibly untampered state, moving the barrel to the other side of the room so as to make it obvious to the untrained eye there was nothing suspicious going on.
“I left Mallory a note to say where we are. Hopefully she’ll get it in the morning.”
“A note doesn’t help us, brother,” Robert stated, still wounded but running on adrenaline.
“It’s the best I can do without putting us in danger. If they knew I was out of my cell, we’d be in bigger trouble, wouldn’t we?”
My brother’s silence felt like an agreement of sorts. I stuffed everything in the bag of sawdust: the rebar, the pen, and the lighter. I closed my cell door behind me. I had messed with the trolley enough to make it seem believable if I threw my shirt at it to pull food off it. Everything was set up perfectly for the next morning.
Despite the recent goings on, that evening was actually quite beautiful in its own way. Robert, despite being in pain, was in reasonable spirits. The rush of energy as we’d gotten away with a literal prison break was magical. We talked like children that night.
I broke the façade of happiness by asking Robert what happened to George. I knew it was tough for him to talk about it. He recounted every sad second of the story of George, a boy who had clearly been down here for a long time.
“He didn’t look real. He was so thin I could see his bones. After that night, I punched our beloved father.” His voice getting sarcastic. My sister and I listened intently, drawn in to the story.
“He dragged me down here by the hair, giving me the occasional punch. I fought back but not as well as I’d have hoped. He took me through to… THAT… room! I was dazed and couldn’t really see what was going on. I must have passed out, as I woke up to the lights being on, blinding me. I remember trying to move, and being stuck to the bed, my arms and legs were strapped down. I begged him to let me go. The lights were turned up slightly which blinded me more, and I couldn’t see who was there. We weren’t alone; I could feel loads of eyes on me. Soon enough, sounds were happening in the background and they said this was a video that would make them quite a bit of money. Before long, George was brought in. He was made to sit on the bed with me and was laughed at. They joked about how they were surprised he was still alive. He looked weak, he looked dead. I only really recognised him because they said his name, and his eyes. I’ll never forget his eyes. Then one of them told him to, touch me–”
Robert broke down in tears. He couldn’t finish what he was trying to talk about, fighting sheer pain. I’d heard enough and felt a tremendous pang of guilt at asking. His sister tried to reach him through the bars to console him and when her fingers brushed against him, he recoiled in horror and shock. He kicked and flailed to the other side of the cell, clearly hurt by that night.
“After it was all over. We must have been there for hours. Loads of different people were gathered around, sitting in some chairs, watching. Father,” Robert spat. “That bastard stopped ‘the show’ and told the men to dig deep if they wanted more. They opened their wallets, they wrote cheques, and promised to pay thousands more if ‘the show’ continued. I was in pain from the beating I had. They laughed as I screamed and asked for help. They told me to scream louder and threatened me if I didn’t. I tried. I screamed until I lost my voice. What happened that night… I wouldn’t wish it on any of you.”
Tears streamed down his face and Alexia beckoned him to her, crying herself. I felt helpless and just watched the scene between biological brother and sister as she comforted him, stroking his head through the cell like my mother used to do to me.
I closed my eyes. I tried to picture my own mother comforting me. So desperate for that moment of bliss, I felt as though I transformed the dire circumstances around me and put myself in my old home. Brighter, happier, and devoid of pain. I could have sworn I felt my mother’s hand against me in that moment, only broken by the sound of Robert talking again.
“We were brought back in here, me and George. He said he was sorry, then started to cry, saying he wanted to die. He said he had given up. So anyway, the next day, that bastard Gardener came down to empty the buckets, saying it was the best kind of compost, fresh and young. When he came back with them, he made George touch him, with his mouth. George bit down hard, making him scream. That’s when it happened. He hit George so hard I heard a crunch. His body was so weak that one hard, desperate hit broke his skull. He took one of those bats on the shelf and hit him again and again…”
Robert was inconsolable by this point. The smell from the buckets, and the story was actually enough to make me vomit. I hadn’t heard anything so terrifying before.
“He beat him so much I could see inside his head. I was made to clean it up. I was let out of my cell to mop up after him. He watched me scrub the floor, back and forth, blood and water meshed up. He laughed at me, Sebastian. He laughed and said that George would make an even better compost and the flowers would come in full bloom with him. I think he’s buried in the garden.”
I’d heard enough. I had to get us out. I wasn’t about to stay put, not act and become the next child buried in the garden. I took the rebar from the bag of sawdust and left my cell. I took it and wedged it between the lock of Robert’s cell and pulled and pulled. That’s when I was interrupted. I heard the distant sound of Father’s walking stick.
“Sebastian, hurry,” Alexia exclaimed.
I hurried back to my cell, closed the door, and hid the rebar in the bag again. In record speed too, as I settled myself, the door swung open and Father’s smug laugh filled the room. The room was freezing but I shivered more at the laughter from Father. I prayed Mallory would read my letter. It was getting unbearable, to live on the edge waiting for an untimely end.
“My, my, Sebastian. You really are a resourceful boy, aren’t you! I knew you were something special,” Father complimented, taking in the sight of our feast.
Knowing what he was, I didn’t take too kindly to his appreciation, but I figured I wouldn’t taunt him any further. He motioned to my brother and asked him if he had learnt his lesson. Defeated and in pain, he agreed and apologised to him, referring to him as Father. He was ushered away and removed from his cell, m
uch to our silent protesting. It wasn’t worth drawing any further attention to us.
We probably spent a few days down there without Robert and I grew closer to Alexia. We survived on the remaining food and water we’d looted from the trolley Father had brought in. We learnt more about each other; about our hopes and our dreams.
I was rather touched, because Alexia talked about wanting to get out one day and have her own family. She thought about having her own kids and making sure they never went through the same pain we did. She even said she would marry me because I wasn’t her real brother. It made me feel good to know I was wanted and cared for like she cared for me. We were close before, but nothing like we were now.
In the darkest of places, we had found a ray of sunshine in our friendship. She was amazing. We hadn’t really been able to speak so freely before; upstairs, you could get in trouble for talking too much. She was incredibly empathetic, and I found we had that in common. She said she felt it when Erin was beaten up, when anyone else was for that matter. I knew exactly what she meant. It was tough to find the words, but I knew.
We tried to figure out our next move, hoping the note I wrote to Mallory was found and something working in the background. We managed to build a story of hope in the dark. We made a pact that whatever happened, we would go on to live. That we would remember what we went through and live happily, and with pride, doing the right thing to make sure places like this would never stand a chance of running. She was the yin to my yang. Together, we were one.
Dancing With Devils Page 18
