Black Mist: Seedling

13. Belt, Bra, and Stalking

Rose had lived with Walter Avery in the quiet dust of his red brick home for two weeks in August without incident. But the day before school was to begin, Rose made a mistake. Avery's boss had come for dinner, and Rose answered his questions politely, but reticently. She was generally distrustful of people, especially strangers, but the man was friendly, so she allowed her defenses to slip. And for that, she was beaten. Whipped with Avery's belt. And Rose had made her way into school that day five months ago, blood and pus oozing through her shirt, shaking and grateful to be away from him.

Now, it was pure unfiltered fear that made her step into the director's office and sit down next to him. She knew what he was capable of, and she really didn't want to experience it again. At best, they would send her back to California if she spoke up. He had treated her worse than any home there, but she had fallen in love with magic, with the school. She didn't want to leave it, to go back to where everyone thought she was crazy. No. Never. So she shuffled straight-legged into the room and sat gingerly on the edge of the empty chair next to Avery, ready to bolt if need be.

"Very well, thank you for giving up your time to come in today, Mr. Avery. Rose is an outstanding student. She has made excellent grades since coming to Whitman."

Avery patted his pudgy belly. "Well, well. That's nice to hear."

"I'm told she stands out in English and math as a top student. Her Arts teacher is equally impressed. Indeed, she seems to have a love for learning that we as educators yearn for from all our pupils," Olivier continued.

Rose stared out the window behind the director's head while he spoke, her eyes trailing a pair of old ladies walking by. She kept her face impassive. Hearing praise directed towards her was rare. But she was confused. A top student in English? She had earned a B last quarter, not exactly a nerd. Nevertheless, Rose appreciated it, valuable and priceless all at once. And it set her a bit more at ease. She released the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"We do have some concerns about Rose we'd like to share with you, though," the director gestured at Dean Whitley to take over. Rose clenched the wooden arms of chair. Did they know? Alastair must have informed them about her injuries, she realized. He would have to as a student officer. She steeled herself for what was coming.

The dean cleared her throat, "Yes. Well, as Dr. Olivier said, we have some concerns. For one thing, it has been extremely cold, and Rose has no winter coat. Secondly, we have noticed that her uniform and street clothes don't fit, as you can clearly see. We feel that her basic needs are not being met."

Rose flushed with relief. It seemed obvious Alastair hadn't told them, or they would have led with that. But now she wanted to crawl under the desk and never come out. Was there anyone who hadn't noted her awkward, ill-fitting wardrobe? She flinched as Avery answered.

"Well, I'm not sure how much Rose has told you," his voiced dripped. His clammy hand came to rest on Rose's arm, "but..."

Rose wanted to retract her arm, but she was frozen in place.

"Wait, she speaks with you at home?" interrupted the director. "It is my understanding that she is unable." He frowned down at a manila file that Rose assumed was her record. He fluttered through the pages, then looked up expectantly.

"Of course, she doesn't speak," Avery cast Rose a triumphant, satisfied glance, his grin sickening her. "I merely meant, I didn't know how much she had communicated to you. You see, Rose has only been in my custody since late July. I have been a good guardian in that time, haven't I, Rose?" he patted her arm.

Rose nodded stiffly. Her stomach was boiling, bubbling. Saliva flooded into her mouth. She wished more than anything in this moment for him to move his hand.