Summer 1936
The steamy afternoon summer heat radiated down Harry Peters' extremities. Creasing his eyebrows, Harry scratched at the collar of his threadbare uniform, the coarse cotton itching the hollow of his throat. Sweat flowed in small rivulets down his body, staining his clothing.
"Come on," Harry murmured, leaning forward to inspect the deck of cards laid out on the rickety wooden table.
Reaching out to his pile of downturned cards, he flipped over a queen onto the center pile. Slap! His hand hit the deck, Tom's hand landing on top of his a second later. He grinned.
Ignoring the sting in his hand, Harry crowed, "Yes! A double!"
He added the pile of cards to his deck and waited for Tom. But as Tom flipped his card over, a sharp poke on his shoulder caused him to whip his head around. Harry resisted the urge to scowl.
Figures it would be Billy.
"Can I play?" Billy asked, pointing at his deck of cards.
Like a persistent mosquito in the lazy summer heat, Billy Stubbs never learned to leave him alone, no matter how many times he was rejected.
Irritated at what felt like the tenth interruption, Harry rolled his eyes.
"Go away, Billy. We're busy." Tom retorted before resuming, placing down a jack. Tom's mouth curved in triumph as he slapped the deck. The giant pile containing half of the deck went straight into Tom's hand. Harry groaned.
"Interference! You distracted me." Turning to face Billy, he said, "Go away, Billy."
Billy's cheeks flushed red as he crossed his arms and scowled at Harry. "Tom, can I play? I'm better than him."
"No. You're worse. I'd win in two minutes if I played you," Tom replied, never taking his eyes off the deck as he flipped his card down on the table.
"Just leave already," Harry snapped, glaring at Billy. Glancing back, he watched as Tom slapped the deck and collected the joker. "We don't want to play with you."
Flustered, Billy's neck and cheeks reddened. He stomped his feet and spat, "Nobody wants to play with you freaks anyways. Why do you think it's only you two that ever play together?"
Harry snorted, "At least I have someone. You switch friends like Mrs. Cole switches bottles of gin."
Billy yelled incoherently, his words garbled into a mess of unintelligible noises. He reached over and snatched Harry's glasses off of his face, dangling them by the earpiece.
"Give it back," Harry shouted. Reaching out for his glasses, he missed by a few inches.
Billy sneered, dangling his glasses out of reach. "I don't think so, ungrateful freak."
As Billy dropped his glasses, Harry surged forward to snatch them, but to his horror, he fell off the bench. Billy's foot stepped on his glasses with a loud stomp.
As the crunch of glass resonated across the harsh concrete, Harry glanced around wildly at the rest of the deathly silent orphans, feeling his face flush as everyone stared at him, his back throbbing and palms screaming.
Billy started roaring with laughter, pointing at Harry and doubling over. As tears flooded his eyes, Harry struggled to his feet, unable to ignore the pain and humiliation. One by one, the orphans followed Billy's lead. A chorus of snickers, giggles, and laughter filled the room.
"You-You!" Harry spat, his eyes burning.
Harry launched himself at Billy. He sidestepped his attack, grin growing smugger as Harry fell down, his hands and knees hitting the concrete. Harry couldn't help but grimace at the stabbing sensations in his palms. Flexing his hand, the splinters pushed deeper into his flesh.
"Think twice before you refuse me again, freak!" Billy taunted.
Harry glared at Billy with all his might as he carefully plucked the larger shards from his palm. As Billy sauntered away like a cat boasting its latest kill, Harry smoldered.
The rest of the orphans dispersed from the area, uninterested now that Billy had one upped him. Harry curled his lip.
I hate you!
His vision was tainted red. His hands shook as he stared at the broken bits embedded in his skin, from anger or pain or both, he wasn't sure. His lenses had shattered into jagged shards, the tiny pieces of glass coarse, rough, and irritating as they bit into his palms. The rim had bent inwards, while the end pieces warped unnaturally. The nose pads had fallen off.
"How dare he!" Harry seethed.
Now, there was no way he'd be able to see ten feet in front of him. Of course, Mrs. Cole would never buy him another pair of glasses.
She hates me! Harry despaired, tensing his shoulders. For as long as Harry could remember, she had always sent him disapproving and irritated looks and snapped at him no matter his attempts to please her.
Oh god, she's gonna make me clean up the glass in front of her. She'll call down the orphans so they can watch me as she lectures everyone about how I'm a stupid, bad child.
Harry's cheeks burned with the thought of his impending public humiliation. Turning frantically to Tom, he exclaimed, "Tom, what should I do?"
Tom regarded him coldly as he pushed his bench back, stood up, and walked away, his head held high. He never looked back.
The bastard.
Harry gnashed his teeth and crouched back on the ground. Anger and humiliation clawed at his insides, leaving a trail of bloodied and battered flesh in its wake as it struggled to erupt through his skin.
The edge of the glass shards cut deeper into his palm as he clenched his hands. Crimson blood welled at each wound site.
God, I wish this never happened!
Billy had publicly humiliated him. Worse, Tom had shunned him in his moment of need. What was next? Getting kicked out onto the streets? The next few weeks were going to be hell. If only he could find a way to fix everything...
He closed his eyes, avoiding looking at the sight of his failure and shame, feeling it taunt him through the flimsy barrier of his eyelids.
Please... I just want everything to be better, Harry begged.
"How did you fix it?" Tom's voice bordered on a hiss, startling Harry into opening his eyes. Tom was uncomfortably close to his face, his brows scrunched in anger and shock and disbelief. Harry shrank back, only noticing that Tom was frantically gesturing to his glasses.
On the ground, Harry's glasses were fixing themselves. The curved rims slowly unbent as the nose pads reattached to the pad arms. Large glass shards slowly rose from the floor and tiny glass shards from the insides of his palm and fitted themselves neatly into rims, like a puzzle coming together.
A smile spread across his face, and Harry forgot all about Tom. He cupped his repaired glasses with gentle fingers, avoiding touching the newly fixed pair to his bloodied palm. His anger faded, replaced by a fluttering warmth that blossomed with each reverent breath.
"Tell me how!" Tom hissed, his expression fierce and dumbstruck as Harry's eyes snapped to Tom.
An itch grew at the tip of Harry's tongue, spreading through his mouth and along his tongue, down his throat and into his gut where it finally stopped and festered. His hands tingled and his eyes watered. Harry wanted to scratch himself all over, shrug off the feeling, shake himself out, but he found that he couldn't. He was stuck in place as a pressure on his throat appeared, his tongue growing heavier by the second. Panic flooded his system, and Harry felt as if he were internally flailing without having anything physical to show for it.
"I-I don't know how!" Harry choked out, his voice finally slipping past his teeth. As soon as he spoke, the uncomfortable feeling faded. He doubled over from the effort, barely suppressing his coughs. As he caught himself, his body calmed—his stomach settled and his muscles relaxed. The tingling in his hands faded, and his eyes cleared.
Still, his unease and alarm remained. Unsettled, Harry lowered his head to gaze at the glasses in his hands—anything to look away from Tom. A closer inspection proved that his glasses were truly fixed, gleaming under the light and as spotless and squeaky clean as he'd ever seen them.
"I suppose you really don't," Tom muttered sullenly, trailing off at the end.
"Look at me," Tom demanded. Compelled by the same strange itch, Harry felt his face rotate upwards until he was unable to escape the intensity of Tom's eagle-eyed glare.
Harry felt himself shrink at Tom's expression, wishing it would stop. He hated the way it made him feel like he was suffocating in his own skin. However, as Tom continued to glare at him, the pressure in his body began abating.
His continued silence only increased Tom's outrage before his face cycled through a long series of emotions: shock, anger, jealousy, greed, and joy before settling on something unnameable.
"You're like me. You must be," Tom said forcefully, staring at Harry. Now quieter, Tom muttered, "You must have the Special Power like I do."
"What is this 'Special Power'?" Harry asked.
Tom frowned petulantly. "I thought I was the only one."
"What is it?" Harry snapped, impatient at Tom's unresponsiveness.
Tom blinked once and slowly smiled, revealing his signature Cheshire Cat grin. Chills ran down Harry's back and goosebumps rose on his upper arms in spite of the stifling heat.
Tom beckoned once with his index finger. "Follow me."
Knowing better than to disobey, Harry slipped his glasses in his pocket and followed Tom into their shared room, hunching his body and ducking his head to avoid the gazes of the other orphans. He gritted his teeth, feeling dread set in. Getting Tom to give up information voluntarily was harder than pulling teeth and twice as painful. And he had no idea what Tom wanted from him.
As Harry stepped through the doorway, the wooden door slammed shut behind him. The whoosh of wind hit his back, cooling his sweaty clothes that clung stubbornly to his skin. He shivered, goosebumps rising and dotting his skin as chills raced down his back.
Neither Tom nor he could have shut the door.
"What was that?" Harry asked, feeling his dread intensify.
Tom bared his teeth in his savage smile. "The Special Power."
"Oh God," Harry whispered, his posture straightening as his shoulders tensed. Fear and shock clutched at his trembling body, their harsh fingers squeezing his heart painfully. "You."
Tom's smile widened, exposing more sharp teeth. "Me," Tom agreed, eyes glittering maliciously. "I can do more than slam the door. I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without any training."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. "So it's true." Sweat slicked his already clammy palms. "The rumors are true."
Tom spread his arms out wide, still grinning. "I make bad things happen to those that annoy me,'" he whispered, the expression on his face electrifying. "I hurt them if I want to."
Harry's heart pounded rapidly, as if it was hoping to escape the confines of his chest by beating furiously.
In the moments that seemed to last an eternity, Harry couldn't find his voice. Finally, he gathered enough strength to say, "Will you hurt me?"
Tom's face instantly returned to a neutral mask. "You know the answer to that," he said matter-of-factly.
If Tom wanted to hurt me, he would have done so already.
Slamming the door was a threat and warning, not an attack. Harry slowly exhaled in relief, careful not to look directly into the cold, burning gaze observing his every expression. He said nothing for the next few minutes, familiarizing himself with Tom's arched brows, smooth forehead, and straight nose.
As the silence stretched on, Harry asked, "What do you want from me?"
Tom cocked his head. "Guess. You only get one answer."
Harry thought hard, his brows furrowing. Tom had found someone like himself in Harry, and he had extended an invitation. But why?
Keep the competition close. Control them to the best that you can.
"Can I do other things with the Special Power like you?"
Tom grinned again─all sharp teeth and the threat of violence. "A question, not an answer. Of course you can."
Harry jolted, wondering why he didn't figure it out earlier. The answer was clear as day.
"You want to teach me."
Tom nodded, his lips relaxing into a pleased smile, evidently satisfied with Harry's cleverness.
Harry scrutinized Tom, searching for evidence that Tom was lying. There was none, only Tom's relaxed, confident posture and enigmatic half-smile.
"What is the Special Power, exactly?"
"The Special Power is something you're born with. It lets me do impossible things. Unexplainable things."
"But I'm not special," Harry protested, scrunching his eyebrows. He couldn't have fixed his glasses. It must have been a fluke. "I'm not..." he trailed off.
Tom chuckled. "Who else could have repaired your glasses?"
"You," Harry stated confidently. "You have the Special Power. I can't possibly have it."
Tom sneered. "I relished watching you suffer because you were weak. You were nothing. But you proved me wrong." Had to prove me wrong went unsaid.
"You are special, just like me. Don't you see?" Tom said, taking three steps forward and holding his hand out, his eyes dark and electrifying, pinning Harry to the spot.
Tom's words echoed in his head. Don't you see? And Harry saw. He saw it all: old memories flitting to the forefront of his mind─his uniform fitting him snugly after it hung loosely over his limbs, his hair growing two inches longer following the morning Mrs. Cole cut it, his body inexplicably warm when Mrs. Cole left him outside in the pounding rain, his glasses fixing themselves. He couldn't deny it any longer, not to himself and much less to Tom.
"Teach me," Harry whispered, feeling shivers run down his limbs.
He was overexposed, drowning in a sea of uncertainty, enticed by the promise of stability and solid ground, lured to the clashing rocks by the siren song of a too-clever child's words. It was too much. He wanted nothing to do with it; he wanted everything to do with it.
Harry met Tom's gaze steadily as he shook Tom's proffered hand without any traces of hesitation.
A deal with the Devil couldn't feel so right—as if it was always meant to be, could it? When would it all come crashing down around him?
"The first lesson is to move objects without touching them."
Tom reached into his closet and pulled out a small wooden box, grabbing something from within. When Tom walked back to Harry, he sat down cross-legged on the floor and uncurled his fingers. In his palm was a glass marble swirled with different hues of blue.
"Watch me," Tom instructed, closing his eyes as he did so.
A moment passed, then two, then suddenly, the marble rose to two inches above his open palm. His fingers curled slightly inwards as it hovered there, then accelerated up to a height of a foot above his hand.
"Wow," Harry breathed, entranced by the sight of the marble as it began bobbing up and down, then moving left, then right, then back to center.
Tom smirked, his eyes still closed, twitching his index finger the slightest bit. The marble flew across the room, landing in the little wooden box.
Harry's words died in the back of his throat.
"This is the Special Power," Tom gloated with a smug face. He snapped his fingers, and the marble zipped from the box and back into Tom's palm.
"Now you try," Tom instructed, placing the marble in Harry's palm. "First, think intently about how you'd like to raise the marble before raising it. Just as hard as you had to think to repair your glasses."
Harry squinted at the marble. He concentrated on his thinking, closing his eyes.
Rise, rise, rise into the air!
When he opened his eyes, the marble lay flat in his palm. Disappointment washed over him.
Tom tsked. "You need to want it to rise. You need to want it badly," Tom said passionately.
Harry took a deep breath and curled his fingers around the marble. He relaxed his mind before focusing back on the marble laying in the center of his hand. This time, he kept his eyes open.
Rise, rise, RISE!
As furiously struggled to make it move, the marble lay unmoving. It gleamed under the soft incandescent light bulbs, as if taunting him of his failure.
Harry grated his molars before relaxing his strained muscles once more.
One more time.
Again, he repeated his efforts and emptied his mind until it was his will and the marble, having blocked out every thought that wasn't related to his single-minded drive to raise it.
Rise into the air. You MUST rise!
He grinned as the marble floated slowly off of his palm and wobbled an inch above his hand, dipping up and down erratically.
"Well done. But don't verbalize your thoughts."
Startled by Tom's words, his concentration broke. The marble plopped onto his palm.
"I did it," Harry said, feeling wonder and joy consume his body. "I really did it."
I really have the Special Power like Tom.
Tom raised his brow, looking at him expectantly. "Of course you did. Now do it again, but this time, raise it higher and keep it steady. I don't want to see it wobble."
Harry pouted but resumed, unable to keep a joyful smile off his face as he practiced.
When Harry wore his glasses to dinner, Billy's eyes widened, then quickly narrowed as to conceal his shock at seeing them repaired. Harry stared at Billy unblinkly as he sipped his soup until Billy looked away.
In their room, Harry whispered to Tom, "Thank you. Really, thank you for teaching me the Special Power."
"I know," said Tom smugly.
Harry rolled his eyes halfheartedly, glad that Tom couldn't see him.
Maybe Tom isn't as bad as the rumors make him out to be.
The next few weeks consisted of heavy-duty practice and strenuous sessions with Tom. Slowly but surely, Harry mastered the art of moving objects. At last, he was as good as Tom: he could move the marble as slowly or as quickly as he wanted, fling it in several directions, and got rid of his involuntary hand movements and his tendency to verbalize his thoughts. He also learned how to move other objects, including the wooden box, books, and even push the wardrobe a couple inches after Tom demonstrated for him.
As Harry continued learning, he mulled over what Tom had told him a few days earlier.
"The Special Power, at its core, is a matter of will. Weight has nothing to do with if you are able to move the object. If you don't believe you can move it, then you won't."
That Saturday, Tom pulled Harry aside and told him he'd finally move Harry onto more advanced lessons. Harry had pestered Tom for more details for weeks beforehand but to no avail, as Tom had said he'd only reveal his plans once he felt Harry was ready.
Now, Harry eagerly sat down and waited for Tom to begin.
Tom clapped once. "The second lesson is to learn how to use the Special Power against other people," he said, something unholy gleaming in his eyes.
"What if Mrs. Cole catches us?" Harry asked.
Tom sneered. "Oh, come on. Mrs. Cole of all people? Harry, she's drunk half the time! She's as blind as a bat. Hell, she can't tell me apart from Billy seventy percent of the time."
"If you say so," Harry said, wary of Tom's eagerness to hurt people.
Like you said weeks ago, the rumors are true. And you were too stupid to admit to yourself, Harry internally berated himself.
"—And anyways, what's the point of the gift if you can't use it to help yourself?" Tom challenged.
Snapping back to the present, Harry pointed out, "Most people don't think using it against others is 'helping yourself'."
"Don't you want revenge against Billy?" Tom asked, cocking his head. "He'll never bother you again if you do it."
"Tom, I don't know about this," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck, unable to meet Tom's eyes. He hesitated before blurting out, "I'll be a bad person if I do!"
Tom slowly exhaled, visibly frustrated at Harry's stubbornness. Harry felt himself wilt inside.
"Tell me, Harry," Tom began in a deceptively calm voice, "is Billy Stubbs a bad person?"
"Yes," Harry replied unthinkingly. "Of course he is? How could you ask that—"
"Then he deserves it," Tom interrupted, his voice harsh.
Harry pressed his lips together and met Tom's gaze. "As much as we all do," he said bravely. Inside, though, his guts were churning.
Tom shook his head once before meeting Harry's gaze head on with a fevered intensity. "But don't you see that we're better than him?"
Harry shook his head, but looked away from Tom, unable to hold his stare.
Tom ignored him, continuing, "Besides, doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good."
Harry squirmed, growing more and more uncomfortable under Tom's penetrating gaze. "It shouldn't. It doesn't."
Tom grinned sharply. "Oh, don't deny it," he cooed. "Stop being a big baby and just do it," he hissed.
Harry gathered what remained of his courage. Even though Tom tried to entice him, he knew he had to stand up for what was right—for what he believed in.
"I can't. It's wrong," he stated. "Wrong to use skills they don't have against them."
Tom's nostrils flared. "You think he's fair?" Tom sneered. "You think anyone in this goddamned orphanage is fair?"
"The world isn't fair, but that doesn't mean I need to be unfair," Harry said, hoping his voice didn't tremble as he spoke.
Tom's eyes flared angrily. "Don't come crying back to me when Billy beats you up. You're naive and stupid," he sneered, two faint spots of color appearing, dotting his pale cheeks light pink. "Just a stupid freak!" Tom yelled, turning away with clenched fists.
As Tom opened the door to leave, without looking back, he spat, "I wish I'd never taught you, Peters."
Tears welled in Harry's eyes as the hurt spread through him, silencing him more effectively than any one of Tom's glares could have.
As Tom stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, Harry stood up, wobbled over to his bunk bed and collapsed. As he buried his face in his pillow, he began sobbing, clutching his sheets for dear life.
It's better this way, he tried to console himself. It's not my way of doing things and it'll never be my way.
Still, it didn't heal the hurt that tore at his heart and hands. Harry spent what felt like an eternity crying into his pillow, trying his best to stifle his cries but failing miserably, and ended up just giving in and sobbing until his throat was hoarse and eyes swollen.
He had wanted to run to Tom and apologize profusely multiple times, but he knew his window for begging and pleading had passed. Tom would only have hurt him further in any way he deemed an acceptable punishment for refusing his help.
Harry had stuck to his principles, but at what cost?