Again, her actions struck him as strange even for her, with sudden interest, he peered closer at her and the weirdest thing happened... their eyes met for a moment.
He looked into hers, while she looked into his. A normal event if they had been two normal people, but the mouse wasn't anything close to normal. And what he saw in her eyes was a bit of a shock as well. She clearly didn't like him, or trust him for that matter, the knowledge made him blink away first from their locked gaze and at that moment he realized that she was indeed guarding over her puzzle box. On a certain level, she knew that he had been the one who had taken her love letters and now she was afraid he would take the puzzle as well, or...
Or the love letters were in that box.
He was suddenly sure of it. And he was sure as well, the paperclips would be right there with them. As far as he knew, she hadn't opened that box since the day he had discovered the letters were missing from his possession. She had only sat over it like a mother hen.
For the first time since he had lost the paperclips, excitement flooded his body and he began to think hard about what he had to do. Step one was to clean up his mess, and stifling a groan, he got up heading for the kitchen, giving a timid look up the stairs as he passed. In truth, at the moment, he felt far from timid, therefore he masked his true feelings and gave Matt the expression he had expected to see.
Once in the kitchen, he ignored Miss Feanor, who ignored him right back, despite his being covered in blood, and he went to the cabinet low down on the right where extra cleaning supplies were kept. Reaching over about a dozen containers of comet, he grabbed a roll of paper towels and then a bucket, which he filled with hot water. In a minute, he was back in the family room, noting the mouse hadn't budged. He began cleaning and became so absorbed in it that it was a few seconds before he noticed movement to his right.
Paul stood in the doorway, cleaning the smear of blood that Curt's hand had left. Seeing this stunned Curt and he only sat watching his one time friend clean, soon the blonde boy with the dull grey eyes finished and came over to Curt.
Kneeling down, he began to clean the drying blood as well, "I'm sorry," the boy said softly under his breath. "I can't seem to help it...the voices, sometimes just take over." The last word came out in a strangled choking manner and Curt saw Paul's tears intermingling with the blood on the floor. Paul cried and cleaned, while Curt only sat near to him feeling sorrow for the boy. Greater sorrow than he had felt over anything and when Curt finally bent back over to clean again, his own tears dripped down as well.
From then on, they worked in silence and when the mess had been cleaned, the two boys looked at each other. Curt smiled a swollen lopsided smile at Paul, hoping to convey the fact that even after all that had happened Curt still liked the boy...at least when he was like this... like Paul. The blonde gave him a half smile in return while his right eye went through a series of twitches, a reminder to Curt that though he sometimes liked Paul, he could never trust him again.
Curt left a few seconds later, and saw that since Matt still lingered outside the bathroom upstairs, he would have to use the forbidden powder room to finish cleaning up. The forbidden rooms weren't precisely forbidden, he had found. Curt could go into them and stay for a while, just as long as kept all motion or noise to a minimum. If he didn't, he would the feel the annoyed hanger-over like anger of the house build quickly. It did that morning as he cleaned himself up, and he did his best to hurry, however this proved difficult, there was a lot of blood, caked and dried all over him. Underneath it, Curt found a boy he barely recognized.
His face felt shaped like a potato. The right side was indeed swollen, large, even to his eyelid which stuck out about half an inch and was the color of a grape. His nose, which at one time was small and slim, was now puffed up and looked too big for his face, a little like an old man's nose. But the scabbed over teeth marks were the worst.
They made him shiver as he gawked at the size of them and for a second, the scared child in him wanted him to forget the paperclips and the insane risks that came with them. He buried the frightened voice in his mind, deep within him and when he finished cleaning off the blood, he looked past his injuries and into his own blue eyes. They were not the eyes of a thirteen year old. They were hard, surprisingly so, and filled with hate and anger, emotions that prior to the last month, he rarely felt.
But the look in his eyes couldn't match the feeling of the house, the anger of which was stirring the air about him. He had made too much of a commotion and had over stayed whatever small amount of welcome he might've had in the powder room and left as soon as he could.
Now he would be tested in one of the few areas in which he didn't excel. Patience.
With no more noise than a sighing baby, Curt slipped into the living room and ducked behind one of the couches. Positioning himself so that he could see into the hallway, he got comfortable, thinking he might have a long wait on his hands.
He was waiting on the mouse, knowing that she would have to leave the family room at some point. For what, he didn't know, perhaps to get a drink, use the bathroom or even just take a stroll. In truth, because he had labeled her as crazy, he hadn't ever given her much thought. The other children's patterns and routines, he knew fairly well, but other than her fixation with the cat puzzle, he really didn't know her or what she did with her day.
It turned out to be a long wait. It seemed being crazy was a time consuming endeavor. At first, Curt spent the time planning on how he was going to get into the attic, but his plan was so simple that he got bored mulling over the same thoughts repeatedly. Then Curt spent quite a bit of time worrying. What if he got caught? What if Miss Feanor sicced the creature on him? What if he got up to the attic and found there weren't any windows or glowing swords or frothing potions? What if all that was up there, was a bed and some cobwebs? What if Amber was in trouble right at that moment, being raped by Matt, perhaps?
He sighed and blew the tiniest particle of dust across the floor, where it scampered out of reach, deep under the couch. Amber was going to have to take care of herself, at least for the time being. It hurt for him to even think this way, but it would be pointless for Curt to get beat around again for nothing. Besides, he was pretty sure that she hadn't moved from the bathroom, and by staying there, she was providing an excellent distraction for Matt, keeping him out of Curt's hair.
These were not his only worries, which were almost beyond count, but it was what he dwelt upon for the most part, before he entered the third phase of his long wait. The napping phase.
Judging by the size of the drool puddle in which he woke, Curt guessed he had been asleep for at least an hour. But despite that, he came awake in an instant, his eyes flying open in alarm. The floor under his face had vibrated as if someone was moving in a stealthy manner along it.
3
His first instinct was to run to his bed, and his nimble young body tensed, preparing to spring up, however just then, he saw the mouse go by. The sight stopped his muscles from contracting and he laid there, motionless, listening as she went up the stairs.
Though he felt a terrific desire to dash to the family room, he forced himself to count slowly to ten and then did so again, before he pushed himself up. With only a slight wobble as he stood, Curt listened for a second and then moved in his graceful way, with far more silence than the mouse had, sliding to the unoccupied family room. There he wasted no time and was at the puzzle box in a matter of seconds.
The love letters lay atop the jumbled pieces, and beneath them, mixed with the jig-sawed picture of a happy frolicking cat were four paper clips. The sight of them caused him to breathe in sharply with excitement and in a near reverential manner, he pulled them one by one from the box.
Seconds later, the box was back exactly where he had found it and he was slipping noiselessly up the stairs...or almost so. Crrrreik!
When he had left the family room, he saw the bathroom door sat ajar and neither Amber nor Matt was in sight. His
heart knew a touch of panic and worry for his girlfriend, and this had caused him to hurry up the stairs faster than he wanted to and he misjudged the step. Goose bumps flared across his skin at the noise but he threw aside any fear he had for the creature and slid as fast as he could to Amber's room. The door stood closed and it caused Curt's heart to thump all the harder in fear as he pictured the horrible things that Matt was doing to Amber. Without thinking of the consequences, he burst into the room, ready to fight Matt again if need be, yet the scene which greeted him drained all feeling from his body and all the blood from his head so that he staggered and held to the door for support.
Amber and Matt were locked in a deep kiss, which they ended with a jerk the second he charged in.
'Get out and shut the door,' Matt gestured casually, not at all angry for the interruption. His arrogant look had Curt coming back around and he began to see red. In a jealous rage, he stepped into the room but Amber hopped up quick and put herself between them; her face was crimson, but also blotchy with her guilt.
'No,' her hand was out to stop him and she pleaded to him with silent tear filled eyes. He stopped as she wished and could only shake his head in misery and confusion, as he felt great shards of his heart break off and fall into the pit of his stomach.
Amber turned and motioned something to Matt, who only gave a small thin lipped smile and wagged his fingers at her in dismissal and then pointed at his wrist and then to the bed, 'Go, but be back quick.'
She dragged Curt bodily from the room and once the door was closed behind her, she pressed herself close to him, "I'm doing this for you...he promised not to hurt you anymore if I do it." He could feel her tears wet his cheek as she whispered the dreadful words.
"No, I don't care. You can't let him..."
She interrupted, "You saved me last night, now I'm going to save you." He started to protest, but she pressed her lips to his to shut him up. They kissed for only a second and when they separated, she said, "I think I love you, Curt."
Stunned by the words, he was easily pushed back and with a last look, she went into her room where his hated rival eagerly awaited her, and shut the door behind her.
Chapter 21
The Thief's Punishment-2
1
In a daze, he stood there, unable to make sense of his emotions, his thoughts or even his life. He was aware of dreadful pain and his body ached and so too did his soul. His heart had been beating at a thunderous pace, but as he stood there outside the closed door, it became slower and slower; so slow that he felt each individual beat hammer cruelly within him. He began to hate that thumping organ and he wished it would stop all together.
Curt sank to his knees, with such an empty feeling that it was as though he were deflating and soon even kneeling felt like too much effort and he laid down upon the cool floor. There was nothing more than he wished but to close his eyes and follow a dream into another world, however the house was aware of him. Their quiet voices had beckoned its petulant scrutiny. It was so hateful that Curt found he couldn't lay his head down for very long and soon he sat up with the question of killing Matt on his mind. There was no choice in the matter for him and the sooner he did it the better.
But it wouldn't be easy. There were no weapons in the house, not even knives and without something, Curt knew it would only mean another beating for him...or worse, he thought of the terrifying creature and what had happened the night before.
The stake!
Excitement stirred within Curt as he suddenly remembered the shard of wood, he got up and began sliding down the hall but the more he visualized the thing, the slower he went. It was a pathetic weapon, especially against a bigger opponent like Matt. He could count on only a single strike with it and if it wasn't a fatal one, there was a good chance the older boy would simply take it from him and then Curt would be on the receiving end of it. This thought stopped him completely and his disappointment drifted into depression.
But then he remembered the paperclips.
Seeing the empty bathroom had sent them straight out of his mind, now he dug in his pocket and yanked them out. They were a dull grey and the slim twisted metal barely gleamed, yet to Curt they were wonderful and he balled his fist around them as he slid back down the hall. The attic door stood directly across the hall from Amber's room and Curt cast a long look in that direction before dropping to his knees and peering at the lock within the door's knob. This was where his hope laid waiting for him, this was where he could find something to defeat the monster and escape with Amber.
He forced the painful thoughts of what was happening just a few feet behind him out of his head and concentrated on picking the lock. Unfortunately, he knew only a little about the process.
Within a lock such as this one, were pins, which sat on tiny springs. In order to pick a lock, he'd have to push each of the pins down and then twist the clips as he would a key. Curt had seen it done once before, or rather, he had seen the back of a boy's hands as it was done but all the same, it had seemed an easy thing to accomplish.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he took each of the paper clips and bent them at the tip into the shape of an 'L' and then he went to work digging away at the lock.
It wasn't easy at all.
Again and again, he reached in with the tiny tools, feeling things move within the lock, but never did it turn. After a few minutes, sweat began to trickle from the wild tangle of his thick hair and he had to pause frequently to wipe it from his face. After ten minutes, he was no closer to opening the door than he had when he first started and he paused to collect his thoughts. He worried that each pin could only be depressed to a certain depth and that if he pressed down too far, or didn't press down far enough, it would keep the lock from turning.
Just then, a soft cry of pain came from Amber's room.
Curt grimaced and groaned in misery as tears sprang to his eyes, he felt her pain, it was a keen knife in his chest and it overrode the dull ache of his many injuries. It brought with it a sense of hopeless defeat and he sagged in front of the defiant lock, crying. It was minutes before he mastered his emotions enough to make another try at the lock. This time, he took a different approach. Part of his problem lay in the fact that he had no clue to the number of pins that were in that particular lock and so he took only a single clip and placed it into the keyhole.
Closing his eyes and breathing lightly, he gently went back and forth, pressing at the pins, feeling them move up and down. In this way, he mapped out the interior of the lock and decided that there were five pins within it. For a second he sat wondering where he could get a fifth paper clip, but then he saw the answer was right in his hands. There was enough of the twisted metal for ten picks! Swearing at his own stupidity, he took one of the paper clips, straitened it out fully and went to work bending it back and forth until the metal weakened enough to break. He then formed it as the others were and stuck them all into the lock.
Another ten minutes passed and the door remained locked.
Curt wanted to scream out his frustration. Nothing was working. If he had the pins depressed to the correct depth, he had no way of knowing, and he discovered a new problem, every time he attempted to turn the 'key', all of the paperclips would shift out of place. He lost count how many times he had tried and each attempt ended in failure and each failure weighed him down.
Again, for the fiftieth time, he leaned back and blew out a heavy blast of air. His fingers hurt and he had to pee. He needed a break.
Going to the bathroom, he mulled over what he would need to turn the lock. Simple, a slim piece of metal. Of course, if he had one, he wouldn't have needed the paperclips in the first place. His mind went over every aspect of the house wondering what he could use, but nothing came to him. After he urinated, he looked under the sink, and saw nothing useful, then he went to the cabinet where the cleaning supplies were kept. The answer was right in front of him.
"Oh my God," he whispered.
The lid to the c
omet cleaner was made of metal. Simultaneously, he wanted to jump for joy as well as kick himself for being so stupid. The means to form a crude set of lock picking tools and been hiding in plain sight since he had arrived. Snatching up the container he studied it for a moment, the metal was perfect, even better than the paperclips, since it was a slightly heavier weight and wouldn't bend so easily. But for now, he wasn't going to attempt to fashion anything more than a shim, which would act as the barrel of the key and allow him to turn the lock easier.
Fiercely, he strained at the lid until he tore it off, he then went to work bending the lid this way and that until he had broke off a small piece. Unfortunately, the bending left a curved lip to it, which would keep it from fitting into the lock. This proved difficult to bend back flat, and after tearing his fingers to ribbons, he was forced to use his teeth. The vague taste of comet and the feel of the metal on his teeth made for a most unpleasant time.
When he was done, Curt zipped back to the attic door, and he was so focused on what he was doing that he didn't even look around for any of the other children or Miss Feanor. It was a terrible breach of operational security, something that he prided himself on, but he got lucky and no one was about.
The piece of metal from the container went in first, he kept it high in the lock and applying a light amount of pressure, in a clockwise direction, he then inserted the paperclips and he had barely begun fiddling with them, when to his astonishment the lock turned slightly to the right. Lightly, he jiggled at the clips attempting to get the pins depressed correctly and the lock turned all the way.
The Punished Page 27
