by Eden Laroux
Seeing Is Believing
By Eden Laroux
Published by Publications Circulations LLC.
SmashWords Edition
All contents copyright (C) 2013 by Publications Circulations LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, companies and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
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Chapter One
"WE'RE ALMOST THERE," Meg announced.
The sullen boy next to her said nothing. Instead he looked down at the floor of the beat-up station wagon, clearly lost in his thoughts. From time to time, his hands would clench within the sleeves of his grey, long-sleeved sweatshirt, a habit Meg had noticed since the first time she saw the boy.
At first glance she knew that she was looking at a boy who had seen too much of the dark side of life far too soon. His brown eyes would always have a hint of a deeper sadness. Sad to say, it was a look that Meg had seen in a few other children she had fostered. And every time she saw it she could feel her rage rise to her chest as if it were a form of heartburn.
How anyone could hurt their own child physically and emotionally on a weekly basis was a mystery Meg would never ever figure out. A part of her didn't want to solve it. To solve would be to understand, and to understand could lead to a form of sympathy. Monsters don't deserve sympathy.
The boy's name was Tony. He was a sweet boy and like every victim of abuse he would be an emotional wreck for a long time. So the silence that was only broken by the occasional question Meg would ask Tony was a part of the drive that one couldn't ignore.
"Tony, you must be really warm wearing that sweatshirt in this heat," she said.
"I'm fine," Tony said, his brown eyes still cast down.
Meg knew that wasn't so. The inside of the vehicle was oppressively hot due to the summer heat. Even with the windows down. She wished she had made that appointment to fix the air conditioner in the vehicle before heading down to pick Tony up. The poor boy didn't need heat stroke added to his list of problems.
She wouldn't push him to remove the sweatshirt though. Clearly it was a form of personal protection to the thirteen-year-old.
Turning all thoughts away from the short conversation, Meg searched her mind for a safe topic of conversation that would interest Tony enough that he would want to engage in it.
"I heard you like to draw."
From what she knew of Tony, that comment was true. His teachers had commented on his love for the art form. They also noted the quality of his work when they would catch him drawing in the middle of class. Something the teachers noted with more amusement than contempt.
"Yeah. But I don't think I'm very good," Tony said.
"Bullshit."
Meg did not hear that remark. However, Tony heard it and frowned at the spot next to him.
"It's true."
Of course Meg noted that Tony was focused on the empty area of the backseat with a look that suggested he thought someone was there. She had been informed of Tony's coping mechanism in the form of an imaginary friend named Bruce. Of course, it was being addressed by a psychiatrist. But as long as the imaginary friend wasn't causing any problematic behavior, Meg wasn't going to say too much on the subject.
If Meg could see the imaginary friend, she would have seen a man in his thirties with scruffy, black hair and wearing a pair of reading glasses that were so large they looked comical. His green eyes had a spark of humor to them. It matched the look about him that suggested a smile could break out onto his face at any moment.
The imaginary friend's limbs were falling asleep, by then. He complained about this condition frequently.
"Are we there yet?" Bruce asked.
Tony attempted to hold back a laugh but failed. Even though Meg didn't hear the joke, she did allow a small smile to come to her lips. At least the young man could still laugh every now and then. For a while, Meg let Tony talk on as she enjoyed the breeze blowing through her almond brown hair.
The moment of serenity ended too soon. Meg almost didn't want to say anything even as the pale yellow house came into view.
"Oh, look! We're here."
She drove up the gravel driveway before parking at the foot of the crab apple tree that was in bloom. A former foster child had dubbed the tree "Oscar" and, since then, that was what Meg called it.
The home itself wasn't something too special. Meg could afford a fancier one, but the three-bedroom house was all she felt she needed. She had gotten it for a fair price due to an uncle's connections in the real estate business. While a bit of a fixer-upper at the time of sale, it was still very much a good deal. Unless she needed it badly, almost all her funds were devoted to the care of her foster children. Deals were something she kept an eye out for because of that.
With the engine cut off, there was another degree to the silence that had dominated the trip here. Bruce took that moment to say something.
"Finally! I thought for a moment maybe she got lost and we were going to someplace like India," Bruce commented.
"You would have to cross the ocean for that to happen," Tony replied.
"I stand by what I said."
"What do you think?" Meg asked Tony.
Tony looked up at the house with his shoulders slumped. His face was tense with worry. Surely his mind was racing with so many conflicting thoughts. Meg knew that look well. After ten years of fostering children that had come from many horrible situations, Meg expected it.
Facing Tony, her face softened with the look a loving parent would give her child. A look Tony hadn't seen in years, if at all.
"You're safe here. I promise you that," Meg said. "No one's going to hurt you here."
Tony nodded, even though the worry did not leave his features. Meg felt no insult at this. It would be a long time before Tony would trust someone again, much less an adult that claimed they were looking out for him.
His father had said he was looking out for him before the fists went flying. Meg would have to earn his trust.
But Tony's trust wasn't the only one she would have to earn.
Bruce watched Meg for a moment. He knew that he would not be able to tell what was in the depths of Meg's thoughts and soul just by looking at her. Such a power would be nice but not one he was gifted with. From what he had observed she seemed to be genuine.
"So far it looks like you've found one of the good ones," he commented, more for Tony's sake than his own.
Bruce knew that Tony wasn't going to reply to him. Not now, anyway. Tony was in a withdrawn mood right now, and talking wasn't something he would like to do in this state.
"It's going to be fine. I'll be here. So you won't be alone."
Still not saying anything but finally showing a sign of acknowledgement, Tony looked at Bruce and offered a weak smile. Bruce smiled back with a grin more positive for the future to come. Never mind the hurdles, both big and small, that Tony would have to tackle in the years to come. For as long as Tony needed him, he would be here.
That was an imaginary friend's job after all.
Chapter Two
IT WAS ALMOST sunset and the sky was turning a pale pink hue. After Meg had helped Tony bring in his bags, she showed him around the house. The inside was as simple but comfortable-looking as the outside. Meg had c
hosen a light blue and white color theme for the walls and flooring.
The pieces of furniture were less uniform, however. At one time, there had been a matching living room set. But after a few rounds with some of the rowdier children she had taken care of, the white couch from before had been replaced with a heartier brown couch.
Even with the unintended patchwork look to the house, the place had a warm, lived-in feeling to it. Like a true home.
Bruce gave Meg points for the home environment. Not that he was keeping score. Okay, maybe he was. But it was his job to want to make sure everything was reasonably good for Tony.
"Let me show you to your room so you can put your stuff away."
Tony nodded again in a distracted way. Bruce wasn't the only one making a mental score. She led them to the bedroom nearest to the living room. It was as patchwork as the rest of the house, but this time it was done on purpose. Each of the children had the option to decorate the room as he or she wished. It was a perk Meg felt helped gave them a small sense of control in a time where they had none.
The last child who had occupied the room was really into dinosaurs-something that showed from the crudely painted mural of a normal day in the Cretaceous period. Meg remembered helping with that particular project. It was fun, even though she was criticized for adding a mastodon to the scene.
So she was now aware of the fact that the mastodon was not a dinosaur but a prehistoric mammal. And that it didn't even exist in the Triassic period. She was informed of all this by a seven-year-old girl.
Bruce pretended to cower from the Tyrannosaurus Rex painted on the wall, even if the carnivore was in pastel pink, as that had been the girl's favorite color. The coloring only added humor to Bruce's acting. Tony chuckled softly at this.
Meg did a quick look around to make sure that she had not missed anything when setting up the room. In preparation, the room had been vacuumed and dusted thoroughly, as well as new sheets fitted on the bed. A fluffy quilt completed the comfortable setting. All seemed well enough to Meg.
"Where's Bruce going to sleep?" Tony asked.
Meg paused to think about how to answer that question. She hadn't considered sleeping quarters for an imaginary friend.
"How does Bruce like camping?" she asked afterwards. "Because I have a sleeping bag he can use if he doesn't mind."
"Sounds good to me," Bruce said.
"Bruce says its fine," Tony relayed to Meg.
"I think the sleeping bag is in the closet in the hall."
Meg had meant to get the sleeping bag herself but Tony dashed off to look for it himself. She decided to start on the unpacking while he looked through the closet. There wasn't much to look through. Tony did not own much-mainly a collection of old and slightly threadbare clothes, some sketch pads, and some pencils.
At the bottom of the bag, she found something slightly out of place.
It was a book. The title read Friends Indeed in bright red lettering and the cover was colorful and obviously kid-friendly-children with big smiles on their faces and odd-looking creatures on it. Picking it out of the bag, she discovered it was a fairly thin book. It was very much a young children's book.
Why a thirteen-year old would have a book that was geared for an age group far younger than himself was a mystery to Meg. She would have to ask Tony about it. She moved to place the book on the bedside desk. A loose page in the book slid out of place and onto the floor.
She quickly bent down to pick it up. The text on the page itself was eye-catching. It was printed in royal purple in a style that suggested it was scrawled on parchment paper long ago.
Meg couldn't help but read a bit of it. What she read struck her as odd, and she found herself reading it aloud in a way to that would reassure her she was indeed reading these exact words.
"Cross your heart and now you take from your mind a thought to make. Hold, think it over twice. Then what you wish for will come to light."
It was an odd bit of writing for a children's book, Meg felt. If she didn't know better, she would think the passage was a spell of some kind. The rest of the book seemed normal enough for a children's book, and gave no sign of any deeper meaning she should be worried about.
"Strange," she mumbled to herself.
Chapter Three
"HEY. DON'T KNOCK it. It works," Bruce commented aloud, though he knew Meg would not hear a word he said.
Though if that was true, why did Meg suddenly look to his direction with wide eyes and let out a surprised gasp?
The book dropped from her hands a moment after the gasp. The fear in her eyes quickly turned to anger.
"Who the hell are you? And how did you get in here?"
Bruce gazed around the room a couple of times to look for the person Meg was talking to. It then dawned on him that she was staring straight at him. He felt an odd sensation as he was used to people looking through him.
"You can see me?" he asked.
"Of course I see you! Now get out before I call the police!"
"Oh boy. Look, there is a reasonable explanation for all this. Well... not so much reasonable as more... say... fantastical. But I promise that there is an explanation and that I am not at all a bad guy-"
The porcelain lamp that had survived a close call during an unapproved indoor baseball game a few years back became a throwing weapon. Bruce missed catching the lamp with his face by mere inches.
"I hope that wasn't expensive." Bruce said.
A considerably less expensive but hard-covered book was the next object hurled at him. It made a fairly sizeable dent in the wall.
Bruce winced at the realization that the dent could have very well been made in his skull if he hadn't been fast enough to avoid it. Thankfully, Meg had run out of things to throw. Unfortunately, though, she was moving towards him with a look akin to an angry mother bear's.
"Hey look, you're cute when you're angry and all but I really think we should both relax here."
Meg replied to Bruce's comment with a punch to the gut. Bruce stumbled back with a gasp of shock and crashed into the bookshelf. Tony came running in to the sound just in time to see Bruce slide down amid some fallen books and Meg going for her cell phone.
"Get out of the house, Tony. I'm going to call the police."
"Meg! Meg, stop! He's my friend!"Tony grabbed at the phone, managing to knock it away.
"Tony!"
"Meg, please! You can call the police but they won't see him. I am the only one who is supposed to see him and no one else!"
Confusion was a natural and proper response to a situation such as this, and Meg was certainly confused. She most likely would have called the police anyway if Tony hadn't seen the Friends Indeed book and picked it up.
"Did you read the poem out loud?"
"She certainly did," Bruce said as he slowly got to his feet again. "Didn't even know anything would happen because of that, though."
Maybe it was all the coincidences. Maybe it was the oddness of the book. Or it may even have been Tony's desperate look. But something told Meg to consider this whole situation at more than face value.
"Wait. Isn't Bruce the name of your imaginary friend?" Meg asked.
"She pays attention. Ten more points there," Bruce commented. "And five more for the fantastic throwing arm."
"It's the same Bruce." Tony said. "He's an imaginary friend."
"I CAN'T BELIEVE I beat up an imaginary friend."
"And I can't believe you threw a lamp at me. Nice gut punch, by the way," Bruce said.
With a cold compress pressed to the back of his head, Bruce sat on the couch in the living room. Tony looked more concerned about the bump forming on his head than Bruce seemed to be. Meg was still trying to make sense of all of these.
"So... what are you supposed to be? Some kind of superhero? I mean, I thought imaginary friends were more like unicorns and talking butterflies."
"I'm a librarian, actually. At least I am according to Tony. Thankfully, it seems about right. I do enjoy
a good book," Bruce said.
"Not many kids think up a librarian as an imaginary friend," Meg commented.
Bruce chuckled. "True enough. But then I suppose I'm thankful for Tony imagining me as I am. I could have been something like a purple kangaroo. I imagine that wouldn't be as fun for me."
"Hmm... that would be a problem. Considering you would be a male kangaroo and you would have no pouch to store things-which would be the single best reason to be a kangaroo, after all."
"Exactly what I'm saying," Bruce said.
Tony smiled as Bruce gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder.
"Either way, I am what Tony wanted. So any behavioral problems you can blame on him."
"Hey!" Tony cried.
"I'm kidding, kiddo. Just kidding."
Bruce took the compress off long enough to feel at the back of his head. He winced and quickly reapplied it.
"Can imaginary friends be hurt at all?" Meg asked in concern. "I mean like, can I give you a concussion?"
Bruce stared into space for a moment as he thought the question over. "I actually don't know. Here's hoping I can't. It's not like there is a hospital that can treat me if I do," Bruce replied. "But I can tell you we can get headaches. At least I can."
Meg couldn't help but feel a bit of responsibility for the headache. "I'll get an aspirin. I mean, if you can actually take one."
"Make that a whole bottle. No wait. How about a whole bottle and some tea if you have it?" Bruce called out to Meg before she left the room.
THE CANISTER OF loose tea leaves was fairly easy to find. Meg often had a cup during late nights and on nights where a child had a bad dream or, at times, a memory. It was good to have something soothing at those times.
More than one night had been spent with her and a child sitting at the table as she drank her cup of Jasmine green tea and the child, oftentimes, hot chocolate.
After setting up the dented metal tea pot, she took out her favorite purple mug and a less favorite mug with a picture of a cardinal painted on the side.
Tony stepped into the kitchen, just as the tea was almost finished steeping.
