Happily Never After

by Kristen Duvall

  Well, Adam was right vexed. He let the wrench fall from his stained and dirty fingers to clank on the cement floor and looked around the big room. It was one big room that was full of other machines, flat on top with rollers constantly moving back and forth as they attempted to make paper. Except for the machine Adam worked on, anyway. He took his cap off and scratched his thick hair, as if he were taking a short break, not that he could really be seen doing so. Still, he had to make sure no one was watching.

  There were very few people working today, like any day. People were quickly being replaced, and only a few—mostly women and children—were working, not that people were happy about it. But you had to do what you had to do.

  So, when Adam saw no one looking his way, he hunched over the gear and frowned in intense concentration. He could feel his mind work, could feel something move as he worked his brain in ways a normal human wouldn’t dare dream of. Adam moved the gear with his mind, his brain pushing the gear that extra inch, then aligning the nuts and screws. He screwed it all in, using nothing but his mind. Oh, he used his hands to help hold the screws in place, but it was just for show, so no one would see him just sitting there and come over to investigate.

  When he was done, he sat back on his heels, wiped the sweat that had popped out on his forehead and smirked. Well, how about that? It wasn’t easy, doing what he did, but damn if it wasn’t satisfying. Except for when his head started to pound, of course, but that was par for the course. You couldn’t do what he did without any sort of consequences.

  Still, Adam thought, rising and wiping his hands again, and bent for the wrench and screw driver, sometimes nothing would do except hard work. Something he wished his little brother would learn someday. In the very near future.

  His shift finally over, Adam grabbed the book he generally hid under the machines when he was working—either fixing old machines or making new ones since the company couldn’t afford to buy them elsewhere—and stuffed it beneath his grubby shirt and the waistband of his pants. Then he put his tools away, grabbed his bit of coin, and walked out of the only door on the first floor.

  Adam didn’t mind the work, not really. It was a bit on the boring side, not to mention exhausting, but it kept food on the table, and it kept them from living on the streets. He tried to study when he could, and tried to force knowledge into his far more excitable brother. Adam kept telling his brother that if he wanted something better, he had to get some learning in him, but Henry never listened, and Adam didn’t know how to make him, other than to tie him to a chair. Satisfying, perhaps, but it wouldn’t make his attention any more focused. Sighing, Adam slumped against the wall of a nearby building, just to catch his breath for a minute. Adam was only fifteen, but already he had become a parent to a ten year old, overactive child.

  When Adam felt he was ready, he stretched, wiped his hands on his coveralls, and patted his pocket, feeling a small smile creep onto his face as he walked down the sidewalk. Today was payday, and he’d been given just enough money to buy his little brother a treat on his way to pick him up. Adam had to admit that he was lucky—lucky enough to have persuaded his boss, Stan, to allow him to work for him instead of another woman. Lucky that neither he nor Henry had to work as a chimney sweep.

  Adam, feeling strangely lighthearted for such a long day of work, walked away from the gigantic factory building, and made his way towards the city center, where the shops were. Once there, he dodged people in a hurry, jumped out of the way of horses and their carriages, and kept his right hand in his pocket to avoid any grimy little cutpurses. He’d seen them at work, had been one of them once upon a time. He knew how good some of them were. And he couldn’t afford for them to take his hard earned money. Not just for himself, or to keep food on the table, but as an example to his brother. The kid needed to know that hard work did indeed pay off, that as hard as he worked now, someday it would culminate in success. His brother didn’t believe him, but Adam had to be a good example anyway. Someone had to show the kid the ropes, show him how to be a real man. Unfortunately, Adam was it. The only one.

  Sometimes he resented it. He was supposed to be in school, supposed to live his own life, not put it on hold. Adam had dreams; he wanted to search for his purpose. But life didn’t always work out the way you wanted. And he would rather this life than a life without his brother.

  At the market Adam bought Henry his favorite treat, and tucked it safely away in his other pocket. Henry had been good this week, and he deserved a little something to remind him that being good reaped rewards.

  Errand done, he hurried towards the sewing factory, where his brother waited. The factory was a great deal smaller than the one Adam worked at, but it was still a big stone slab of a building, with upwards of seven stories. The windows were clouded over with smog from the machines that were taking over their world, and the brick was just as dirty and sooty as everything else in London.

  As Adam reached the building where his brother worked, a cloud passed over him and he shivered and rubbed his arms.

  Adam looked with dread at the shadowy spot where Henry should have been waiting. He was conspicuously not there, the shadows taking up space where a boy half his height should be. Adam’s mouth firmed as he tried to reassure himself that Henry hadn’t been snatched.

  That damn kid, he thought. He never listens. If he had been listening, he’d be sitting there, or standing, fidgeting and getting his clothes, which Adam painstakingly fixed every other day after a long day of work, all dirty and ripped up. He couldn’t entirely blame his brother, as even he would find sitting at a little machine all day torturous, but Henry knew what it was like on these streets, especially when it grew dark.

  He thought back to when he saw Henry after a year away for school, crouching on a street corner, filthy, hungry, alone. Adam didn’t want that to happen to him again.

  Adam forced his heart to stop galloping in his chest so he could think. All right, if Henry were of his own mind, and not snatched, where would he go? Not far, because even Henry would not be so stupid, and he wouldn’t want to worry Adam. At least the boy had something of a conscience, even if he refused to use it sometimes.

  Taking a deep breath, Adam circled the square building in a jog, taking in the deserted places, the shadowed spaces, until he came back to the same spot, right outside the front door. Nothing.

  No, Henry must be running around somewhere, oblivious as usual. There couldn’t be another option.

  Adam wouldn’t accept it.

  What would entertain a ten year old boy? He thought, becoming frantic and angry. He ought to know this. Adam turned around and looked at the other similar buildings around him. Nothing that would attract a ten year old.

  And then he spotted it. Stairs climbed the wall on one side of the building across from him, which stopped about a floor under the roof. A ladder was connected to it, which led straight to the roof, which was flat and open. Perfect.

  Jaw tight, Adam ran over to the stairs and climbed them. Sure enough, at the top Henry stood on the far side, standing right on top of the ledge. His arms were thrown wide, his feet spread, the tips of his shoes hanging just over the edge. Adam’s heart took a dive past his toes.

  “Henry!” he yelled, scrambling up and over the ledge and racing to his little brother. Once he got there he would strangle the idiot.

  Henry turned to him, seeming unconcerned. He smiled and waved, bouncing on his toes, saying, “Hallo, Adam! Look at what I’m doing!”

  Adam, in no mood for Henry’s games, grabbed him by his grubby shirt and yanked him off the ledge. He tried not to imagine what would have happened had Henry fallen, tried not to picture what he would look like lying there on the cold cement, broken and bloody. Dead.

  Heart pounding, Adam shook Henry. “What the devil is wrong with you?” he shouted, the wind whipping his words away. Lord Almighty, if anything had happened to that fool boy…it wasn’t something Adam could accept.

  Henry, looking so young with
his baby face and his long hair falling into his eyes, the brave, fearless Henry for once looked uncertain. “Adam?” he asked, almost hesitantly. His brother was not shy, or hesitant. He rushed headlong into whatever sort of danger or adventure he could find, and he was always sorry for it afterwards, for worrying Adam. But Adam was sorry too, sorry every day that he realized Henry had been alone, and he knew sorry just didn’t cut it.

  Adam gritted his teeth. “You could have fallen, do you realize that? You could have died!” Logic wouldn’t work on Henry—he simply didn’t care. Perhaps Adam was being disingenuous. Henry did care, to a point. He just didn’t care about the risk to his own life.

  “But it was fun, and I was bored sitting in that chair all day. I hate staring at a sewing machine. And besides, I wouldn’t have fallen. I have good balance.” But Henry suddenly looked unsure.

  “But you might have fallen,” Adam insisted. “You would have left me alone and it’d hurt me, do you realize that?”

  That, Henry understood. He looked down, solemn and still in Adam’s hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. But you were late and I was just so bored.”

  Adam’s anger and worry dissipated. He couldn’t stay mad at the little bugger. And that was the worst part.

  Letting go of Henry’s shirt with difficulty, he sighed and pulled out Henry’s treat. “I bought this for you.”

  Henry’s dark eyes lit up and a grin split his face. “For me?”

  Adam lifted a finger and said, “Only if you don’t do this again. Promise me.” But Henry wasn’t listening, already distracted, so he grabbed the boy’s chin and forced his little brother to look at him. “Promise me.”

  Henry took exactly two seconds to think about it, nod, then snatch the treat away from Adam’s fingers. Adam sighed. Well, he supposed that was better than nothing. He grabbed his squirrelly brother before he could move too far away and rubbed his knuckles into his ratty blond hair, using the move as an excuse to hug his brother, to feel him breathing, laughing.

  Henry squirmed away from him. He didn’t need his big brother to watch over him so closely. It broke Adam’s heart a little, though in all honesty he was glad Henry was around to annoy him. Even if he hated it.

  “Hey, Adam, look, no hands!” Henry yelled on his way down the rickety ladder.

  Frustration burst out of Adam in one bellow. “Henry!”

  After he’d chased Henry and wrestled him by Adam’s side, they stopped by their parents’ graves to leave a single flower, a simple reminder that they had been loved. Adam could admit to himself now that he’d taken his parents for granted. He’d used what little money they had to go off to school, because he wanted to do something, be something great. His parents had let him take the money, but Adam still felt guilty. Thought, perhaps, that maybe, if he hadn’t taken the money, if he’d stayed, his mother wouldn’t have gotten sick and died, and his father wouldn’t have died in the mines a few months later. Leaving eight-year-old Henry alone, until one of his old friends spotted Henry squatting on a street corner, filthy and emaciated, and sent him a letter.

  A Goddamned letter.

  That was when Adam realized that family was more important than greatness. But it was a lesson learned too late.

  Adam patted Henry’s head, and he looked up at Adam with such love and trust. Adam smiled and said, “Let’s go home.”

  Shadows blanketed them as they walked down the alley on their way home later that night. The place was usually deserted, but it was later than usual. Their normal route had been blocked by construction, so they had had to go around, and now it was getting darker, and Adam felt more anxious. He knew what the streets were like at night, and he didn’t want to take a chance. Not with Henry.

  It turned out his efforts made no difference.

  A solitary man appeared at the far end of the alley. He stood with his arms crossed, legs spread wide. The man’s face was mostly obscured by shadows, but Adam caught a hint of a smile. Adam grabbed Henry’s shoulder, his fingers like pincers. Henry saw what his older brother saw, and stopped, backing up into Adam, who palmed his dead father’s knife in a sweaty hand. He began backing away slowly, Henry huddling close by his side.

  Two more men stood at the other end of the alley behind them, and Adam knew they didn’t stand a chance. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight. He’d given up once. Never again.

  Lord be with us, Adam pleaded.

  “Hey there, boy,” one of the men called out as the three men began strolling closer.

  “You look lost,” the one behind Adam said. It forced Adam to look at him, to notice his beefy arms and his confident stride, to smell the liquor on his breath and to see his dirty, rotten teeth. Adam turned sideways so he could see all three men. He moved Henry behind him, so Henry’s back was against the wall of one of the buildings. For once, he listened and stayed there.

  “We’re not lost,” Adam said. His voice sounded confident, strong, but Adam felt anything but.

  “Wasn’t a suggestion, boy.” Adam had no clue which one of them spoke. “You’re lost. We can help you with that.”

  “No,” Adam forced out. He brandished his blade in front of him, sweeping it from one side to the other. Adam was more of an intellectual than a fighter, but he’d read how fights were done.

  “Look,” Adam said, digging out the precious coins he’d earned, the ones that would have given them food for the next day or two. He held them out to the man nearest him on his right. “Here are a few coins. Take them. It’s all I have.”

  The man, who was thinner than the other two, smirked and reached out slowly to grab the coins, as if he were prolonging the torture. Adam watched his hard earned money go to someone else, and it made him angry. Here he was, trying to teach his brother the value of hard work, and these older, hardened men—scum, all of them—who should know better were just taking it away, as if it meant nothing.

  “Please, let us go. We have nothing else.” Adam didn’t quite beg, but he came close. He may have had the knife, but he knew damn well these men held the upper hand.

  Suddenly the lone man on his left snatched Henry away from him by his shirt. Adam’s hand shot out, but he missed, and the man dragged Henry a few feet away kicking and screaming.

  “Whoa there,” the man said appreciatively. “The boy’s got grit. Unlike you.” A grin widened on his face, showing off his unhealthy teeth as he glanced down at Henry’s feet. “Well would you look at that. Little un’s got some nice shoes there. My boy needs new shoes.”

  “Just let him go! You can have the shoes, just let him go!” Adam lunged, but the other two men wrapped their arms around him and yanked him back. One grabbed his head, his cap falling clean off. He struggled, but their grip was too strong. The man on his right knocked the knife out of his hand.

  The one who held Henry laughed as he yelled and kicked and punched. Henry was still small for his age, and nothing made an impact. “Well, I reckon I’ll get them anyway.” And he lifted Henry over his shoulder and walked away.

  He walked away. With Henry.

  “No!” Adam yelled, panic and fear twining around his heart and spreading through his limbs. No, he couldn’t lose Henry. Not again. He’d promised Henry he would keep him safe. Adam couldn’t break that promise.

  He jumped in the men’s grip, but their fingers tightened hard enough to bruise.

  The two men laughed at his struggles, and one bent to pick up his knife. Adam watched, stricken, feeling his face freeze. They were going to kill him and Henry both. Just for a few coins and a pair of shoes. And he would have failed Henry. Again. The thought fueled Adam’s anger, stoking the fire until it blazed with heat. The extra something in his mind flexed, and then there was a cacophony of sharp cracks.

  The man’s fingers broke one bone at a time.

  He bellowed, grabbing his hand and falling to his knees, hunching over his broken fingers. Adam felt a fierce triumph even though fear made him sick. His ability wasn’t strong eno
ugh to do that, and yet he had used it that way. The second man stared for a second before yanking his head back by his dark hair. The man’s fingers dug into Adam’s scalp, and Adam shoved backward, using his ability to again break a man’s fingers. The man yowled and let go, falling back, hunching over his hands, body bowed almost in penitence.

  The other man was recovering, and as Adam reached for his knife, he jabbed with a claw-like hand. Adam jumped but was still scored by the claws, and he slashed out with the knife, catching the man’s cheekbone. The slice went all the way up to his eye. Blood poured out of the deep cut, and the man groaned, placing his good hand over the wound. Adam should have broken both hands on this one. Something wet fell on his upper lip and Adam realized it was blood.

  A scream rent the air and Adam whipped around. It was a child’s scream, pure and high-pitched. Terrified.

  Henry.

  Adam sprinted down the alley and outside it, but he stopped, looking around him frantically. Where is he, where is he? Adam chanted to himself. Empty buildings surrounded him. No way to know where they went.

  Adam’s eyes darted around. There, on his right. A door stood open, when it should have been closed, locked. A terrible thought gripped him. He knew what that building housed.

  Adam ran, blind to anything but that door and the shadows that lay inside. He lit a gaslamp and searched the big room with his eyes, calling Henry’s name. The inside was a metal forest, long beams reaching up into the ceiling, trying to puncture it to merge with the clouds and the air outside, while other pieces lay scattered along the floor, next to giant machines still only halfway through creation. Some pieces had been left on the ground, broken or warped or burned, casualties of a new iron-working world.

  And in that rubble he found Henry.

  “Henry!” he screamed, running to fall at Henry’s side. His shoes were gone, the bastard, and a short, thin piece of metal as long as Adam’s forearm had been rammed through his heart.

  “Henry,” he pleaded, picking him up and holding him in his arms. Tears crested, fell. “Henry, say something.”