Fall 1936
Three months later, when Billy finally succeeded in beating him up, Harry could say with complete certainty that his separation from Tom hurt more than any physical wound could.
Billy Stubbs had always hated Harry, and Harry hated him right back. Even though they had always despised each other, Billy and his gang had never attacked him before─probably because they were too afraid of Tom to chance his wrath.
However, Billy and his little gang had noticed Tom's cease in protection and shifted gears. They bullied Harry with taunts, pranks, and malicious harassment. They ripped his clothes, broke his glasses, and stole his possessions, but Harry always fought back with his smarts and the Special Power. He had boundaries, and they were consistently being crossed. Every time Harry used the Special Power though, guilt inevitably flared up. He had something that they didn't, something magical and special and beautiful. How could they fight against something like the Special Power? And as much as Harry needed to protect himself, he didn't want to become like Tom.
However, Harry did wonder how much more of this he could possibly take before the guilt would drown him. Tom ignoring his existence only furthered the tipping of the scales, his cold disdain a stark cry from their past interactions.
Before Harry had learned he had the Special Power, he had lived by the motto "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil"— an unspoken agreement to a truce between him and Tom, a necessity born out of the fact the overcapacity at the orphanage meant Harry shared Room 27 with Tom. Until Harry fundamentally changed his worth in Tom's eyes, the truce had been the law of the land for the past seven years. Harry followed the truce's one rule religiously: he never, ever bothered Tom. He turned a blind eye to all the terrible, heinous deeds Tom conducted, content to abdicate all responsibility in righting wrongs to maintain a comfortable and consistent peace.
Tom's side of the bargain was that he would return the favor. In those seven years, Tom had never once bothered Harry: neither taunting nor terrorizing him. The downside of this arrangement was that Tom never reached out either, choosing to just ignore Harry whenever the latter tried to talk.
In that time, they had never grown closer than mutual acquaintances. Prior to the change a couple months ago, Tom was still as unapproachable and aloof as Harry remembered for all their time spent together, even when they had no opposing morals prying them apart. Now, Tom had chosen a newer, more tortuous route of pushing Harry over the edge: he denied Harry access to his collection of books and ceased their somewhat arbitrary yet enjoyable games. Harry had taken to spending his afternoons without a single companion.
In the past, Harry had never needed another companion beside Tom due to his sheer clinginess. Without Tom's possessiveness, Harry knew he could have easily made many friends: he wasn't unsociable or unkind. Tom's feared reputation made it so that the other orphans had no choice but to withdraw entirely from interacting with Harry.
Harry was truly alone, and he was miserable. Tom abandoned him, Billy bullied him, and the orphans continued ignoring him.
Thankfully, Tom did not use the Special Power against him, but Harry would have preferred that over the continued charade of silence. The hurt was fresh each time. It whittled away at the fiber of his being.
The one mercy Tom allowed Harry was that they'd walk back together to the orphanage after school ended. Harry had no idea why this was the only occasion where Tom turned a blind eye, but he was quite grateful for it. He took anything and everything that Tom would allow him with greedy hands.
The school day began like any other. But that Thursday, after class ended, Tom stuck around for a few minutes to ask the English teacher a couple questions. Harry stood at the corner of the school grounds. He closed his eyes, waiting to hear Tom call out his name.
Suddenly, meaty hands grabbed Harry's shoulder and left side and dragged him across the corner, into the narrow alley. Harry fell, unable to balance himself, but caught himself on his hands and knees. He dodged the first kick, but couldn't stop as the punches rained upon his vulnerable position, along his back, shoulders, and head.
Harry blindly tried to turn himself so he wasn't facing the dirty ground of the alley, but his assailant didn't let up. He flailed his legs, hoping to get a few strong kicks into his attacker. The grunt he received was also met by a brief period of respite from the flurry of blows.
Somehow, Harry managed to stagger back to his feet.
Billy. Of course it's Billy.
Enraged that Billy would be stupid enough to ambush him, Harry yelled as he struck forward again and again, landing multiple jabs on Billy. The sweet music of Billy's groans and grunts as Harry's fists met his chest and gut fueled Harry further.
Between their bouts of punches, Harry knew he was at a disadvantage. He had taken the first hit, weighed less, and was shorter than Billy. As they fought, Billy slowly edged Harry back farther into the alley. It was inevitable.
Harry was confident that he could escape the alleyway unharmed by taking a complicated route back to the orphanage, but he refused to let Billy turn him into a weak coward that fled at the first sight of danger.
I'm not a coward. I'm not.
And in any case, he wouldn't let Billy think he ever had a chance of winning. Harry packed more force into his punches, landing a satisfyingly solid haymaker on Billy's solar plexus. Billy lurched backwards, gasping for air as he collapsed on the ground, curling into a fetal position.
What a baby.
Harry scowled at the sight. Breathing deeply, he heard loud, hurried footsteps getting louder and louder. He turned his head and seethed at the sight.
Reinforcements.
Eric Whalley, in all his meaty, piggish glory was charging straight towards him around the corner of the alleyway.
It's not fair! Harry wanted to scream. I won fair and square!
The fight should have been over, if Billy had any honor or integrity. But he didn't.
If Harry hadn't incapacitated Billy when he fortunately had, he would have undoubtably been beaten into a pulp by both of Billy and Eric's combined manpower.
Harry skirted around Billy's prone form, retreating deeper into the alleyway, forcing Eric to sprint to keep up with him. Once he was a suitable distance away from Billy, Harry stood his ground and waited for Eric.
Both boys circled each other, wary of being the first to throw the first punch. Harry bared his teeth at Eric.
"You can't touch me, you stupid twit," Harry taunted, mouth drawn in vicious lines.
It was enough to spur Eric into action. Eric bellowed and sprinted blindly in Harry's direction. Harry evaded Eric's attack by sidestepping him and ducked to avoid his second jab. While crouching, Harry delivered a punch of his own right back to Eric. Eric doubled over, wheezing from the hit to his gut, and Harry seized the opportunity.
Harry kicked Eric to the ground, and began smacking Eric wherever he could with his school books. Who knew his mathematics textbook could be so useful? Amidst the litany of pained moans, Harry gritted his teeth, unstoppable in his tirade. Eric's pleas for him to stop went ignored. He had no mercy for someone that would have done the exact same thing if their positions were reversed.
However, Eric grappled with the textbook and managed to wrench it free from Harry's grip, slapping his forearm with it. Hissing from the sharp sting of pain, Harry reared back and whipped his head towards the increasingly noisy footsteps. Billy had gotten back up and was running full speed in his direction, his stance indicating he was intent to tackle Harry to the ground.
With a mighty cry, Harry jerked the textbook back at the last possible moment. He ran.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Running was his last option. And he hated every second of it. He hated that Eric and Billy made him into a cowardly dog, tail tucked between his legs as he sprinted.
As his feet carried him through the narrow walls of the alleyway, Harry approached a Y intersection. He smiled, knowing that the right turn was the way back to the orphanage.
I'm going to make it!
Harry's racing heart pumped even faster from the prospect of total victory. He was finally going to outsmart his attackers and it was going to work.
Blocking out the yells and grunts of his pursuers, he sprinted past the right corner, made another right turn, then a left turn.
Oh, fuck.
A dead end greeted him. All his exhilaration transformed into dread. His luck had run out. Fear clutched him, causing his already thunderous heart to begin pumping even faster.
No, no, no, I was so close!
This was the worst possible outcome. Billy and Eric were going to catch up to him and take their sweet, sweet time with him. The walk back to the orphanage would be the ultimate walk of shame. Although, Harry would be lucky if he could walk by the end of it. Already, Eric and Billy were closing in on him quickly. He spun around and braced himself for the incoming blows, determined to give his last stand his all. All in all, it had been a good run.
God, how I wish I could be anywhere else! Anywhere but here.
He shut his eyes as a whoosh of wind hit his face. Just as Harry heard the shouts round the corner, they vanished just as quickly as they came. Unnerved by the sudden and abrupt silence, Harry frowned and opened his eyes, body tense as he expected nothing but cruel tricks.
Rows of dilapidated apartments and bent street lamps spanned the entirety of his vision. Looking down, he saw he was standing on the school roof. It was the ugly view of Bethnal Green from atop the school.
By God, I did it!
A brilliant smile spread over Harry's face.
Tom was standing near the streetlamp closest to Harry, a harsh scowl etched across his face. Harry's breath caught in his chest. He scrambled down the side and sprinted to where Tom was waiting.
"Tom!" he panted.
"You're late," Tom snapped, staring scornfully at his disheveled state and heaving form.
Through uneven breaths, Harry gasped, "No I'm not! I appeared on the school roof after Billy and Eric trapped me in a dead end!" Harry waved his hands wildly, not comprehending the situation in the slightest but immensely grateful for it.
Tom narrowed his eyes. "Tell me everything," he demanded.
In a rare act of benevolence, Tom added Harry's book to his stack and braced Harry's hobbling walk on the way back. However, it was probably because Harry looked like he couldn't walk another step. Tom's actions were humiliations meant to highlight Harry's weakness and force him to acknowledge it. But Harry hoped that there was a tiny piece of Tom that genuinely wanted to help him.
As the adrenaline faded from his system, his aches and pains grew, especially the throbbing pain in his right ankle which increased to an unbearable stabbing sensation.
Harry took great care to relate exactly what happened, detail by excruciating detail to Tom, trying his best to ignore the pain.
"... And finally—craziest part—I appeared on the roof!"
"What?" Tom hissed.
"I don't know how. I remember being so scared and wanting to be anywhere else. And suddenly, I was standing atop the school."
Harry grew more and more puzzled as Tom remained silent, keeping his eyes straight ahead. When Tom eventually spoke, he said, "You will teach me that." The words came out of his mouth stiffly. Evidently, Tom was hung up over the fact that Harry could do something he could not.
"You're still better than me," Harry reassured Tom, rolling his eyes. Vindictively, he said, "I'll teach you if you teach me the second lesson."
I want revenge. Billy needs to learn that ungrateful freaks like me fight back.
Tom was right. The world wasn't fair, and it was useless to try. Fairness only caused Harry pain. The nice orphans that reciprocated his kindness and fairness were few and far between, and common bullies like Billy and Eric were a dime a dozen. Every time he tried to be fair to Billy, Billy repaid it by hurting him. The truth stung, but life lessons were always painfully true.
And even if he still felt uneasy about the whole prospect, well, Billy had started it. It was only fair to return the favor.
Tom shot him a smug look. "Deal. It was only a matter of time before you came to your senses."
In their cramped room, Harry and Tom discussed plans for revenge. They argued back and forth before deciding on the perfect plan: on Halloween, they would kill Billy's rabbit. It was a flawless plan in terms of timing, as waiting a week would lower Billy and Eric's suspicions. Just when they'd thought they'd gotten away with their ambush, Harry and Tom would strike.
"Let's hang it across the rafters," Tom said.
Harry pursed his lips. "That's a little much. I don't want to traumatize the other orphans, just Billy and Eric. This is my revenge, so let me decide what to do."
Tom raised an eyebrow.
"Why don't we hang it in their wardrobe?" Harry suggested. "They won't know how we did it. They'll be terrified."
"You'll have to let me take a rabbit foot then," Tom replied.
"Why do you need the foot?"
A nasty grin slowly spread over Tom's face. "I'll stick it on Billy's pillow."
"And how are you gonna do that? Cut it off?" Harry scoffed, quashing his queasy feelings.
Tom gazed at Harry, silent and straight-faced. Harry groaned; his stomach rolled.
You can't be serious.
"Come on, don't do this," Harry pleaded. "That's taking it way too far. Just hang the rabbit and we'll be done with it."
Tom crossed his arms. "Was it 'taking it too far' when Billy ambushed you with Eric?"
"Yes. But what you're suggesting is too much. This is my revenge, not yours," Harry said finally, clenching his jaw. He was terribly conflicted: his thirst for vengeance screamed for him to sate his primal hunger while his morals pleaded with him to stand firm and not give in.
"I still haven't forgotten the time Billy spilled that disgusting gruel on my best white shirt," Tom said.
"That occurred at least two years ago!" Harry exclaimed. "You made his life hell for the next month—you already punished him for that!"
Tom sneered. "And? Is that supposed to mean anything?" He sighed, clearly annoyed that Harry didn't understand. "In any case, I'm going to cut off the rabbit's feet. You can't stop me. They say a rabbit's foot is lucky, so why not keep one lucky charm for ourselves and give one to Billy?"
He paused, waiting for Harry to laugh at his joke.
Only you could be this cruel. To give Billy a rabbit's foot, cut from the body of his beloved dead pet.
Seeing that Harry wouldn't laugh, Tom sneered again. "It's a good quality of a man to make his own luck. Which I do, unlike you."
Harry remained silent again.
Tom narrowed his intense eyes at Harry and said matter-of-factly, "You'll change your mind, I just know it. Nothing compares to the feeling of well-planned revenge."
"Revenge just doesn't feel that good to me," Harry said honestly.
Tom cocked his head, his eyes never straying from Harry's own. Harry felt pinned to the spot, unable to move under Tom's all-consuming gaze. "It does. But you just refuse to admit it. Revenge is the purest form of euphoria; the high of utter satisfaction at a job well-done floods your body and overwhelms you in all the best ways."
Harry blinked at Tom. He wasn't sure of how to respond and even if he should respond.
What have you gotten yourself into this time? A little voice whispered in Harry's mind.
Frustrated, Tom gave a little huff and added, "You already know exactly what I mean, but you simply refuse to admit it. I don't understand it at all!" He let out another huff.
"I'm not like you," Harry said, because it seemed to be the kindest thing he could say in the moment. "And I won't ever be."
"You will be," Tom promised, his tone ominous. He smirked, and Harry shivered at the barely concealed nastiness in his expression. "But don't take my word for it, take Billy's word for it. He'll tell you that you're exactly like me."
Realization dawned on Harry. Two years ago, Billy had come to him, begging Harry to tell Mrs. Cole to not pair him and Tom together, as Mrs. Cole changed room assignments at times. Billy had practically prostrated himself at Harry's feet, saying he couldn't bear to be paired with Tom. It was around the same time that Billy had spilled his breakfast porridge on Tom's favorite white shirt.
Good God, I've already accepted that we're going to kill the rabbit. Perhaps I really am just like Tom...
Harry swallowed. "Billy begged and begged me that day without explaining why. He said that he'd do whatever I wanted so that he wouldn't be forced to live with you. So that I would convince Mrs. Cole to not change our room assignments."
Tom laughed, something ugly and vicious. "That day, I taught him to never, ever, bother me again," he said, his tone triumphant. "If you try, you can do it too."
A sort of finality settled over Harry, and he pushed away the last of his resistance to Tom's plan.
I can't let that Thursday happen again. I won't.
If that meant letting Tom mutilate the rabbit's dead body, that was the price to pay for it.
"Okay," Harry said softly.
On the night of Halloween, Harry and Tom waited well past the witching hour before making their move. Both crept across the floorboards, as silent as mice as they approached Billy's room.
Harry tried turning the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. He stepped back, and Tom glared at the doorknob. A few moments later, a soft click echoed down the hall. Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself for what they were about to do—what he was about to do.
What lines he would cross. Forever.
Once both boys slipped inside Billy and Eric's room, Tom wrinkled his nose at the absolute mess of clothes and books strewn across the desk and floor. The rabbit slept in its cage in the far corner of the room, its cute, furry face pressed against its front paws, eyes closed even as two predators stalked nearer.
As Harry stared at the rabbit, he bit his lip.
You'll be dead soon.
It wasn't fair that the rabbit had to die. This spat was between Billy and Harry, not the rabbit. It was so peaceful and innocent, blissfully unaware of its fate in its little cage. The small animal twitched under the blanket, a section which must have been ripped from Billy's own blanket, given that both blankets were the same hideous off-white color.
But it was too late for any second thoughts and much too late to back out. Tom had made up his mind. Harry had too.
"Come on," Tom muttered impatiently, waving his hand.
I wonder what you'll look like when you're dead.
Harry gathered the extra bedsheets he'd brought with him and began cutting them into long strips with the knife Tom had stolen from the kitchen.
While he worked, Tom opened the cage and stuck his hand through the door as he concentrated on the rabbit. Earlier, Tom had told Harry that he could put animals into deep sleep if he wished hard enough. Because Tom didn't have enough time to teach Harry this skill, he said he would do this step alone. Essentially, Tom had explained the process as imagining "coaxing the rabbit to sleep deeper".
The rabbit began breathing slower and slower. Eventually, it stopped breathing. It was so still and silent.
It's not fair, Harry thought again. He swallowed and pushed down any feelings of unease.
Tom pulled the rabbit out of its cage and placed it on top of a pile of bedsheets. He motioned at Harry, and Harry handed the knife to him carefully, almost reverently. Grabbing a leg, Tom placed the knife right above where its foot began and pressed down. Blood seeped from the cut and dripped down the side of its leg, staining the bedsheets a dark color that was visible even in the dim moonlight. Harry swallowed as Tom methodically moved the knife back and forth, the repetitive noises of sawing flesh and bone so loud in the silence.
Not fair, not fair, not fair, a voice chanted in Harry's mind. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Suddenly, a scream pierced his ears. It sounded extraordinarily similar to a rabbit.
Oh God, the rabbit is screaming, why is it screaming, it's supposed to be dead! Harry thought frantically.
"Did you hear the scream?" he whispered to Tom, his body trembling, heart racing. Tom shot him an irritated look and shook his head.
"Are you sure?" Harry whispered again. "It sounded like a rabbit..." he trailed off.
Tom shook his head again. "You're hearing things," he whispered back, definitely irritated now. "Just shut up."
It's not real, Harry tried to tell himself. I'm just hearing things like Tom said. There's no way it could scream, it's dead—
Another scream pierced his eardrums. Chills ran down his back. Then another scream echoed. Again. Over and over and over and again and again the rabbit screamed, pure agony in its voice. Harry curled in on himself, clapping his hands over his ears.
Tell me you hear it, please, tell me you hear it—
"I'm done," Tom whispered. His voice cut through Harry's panicked thoughts, breaking him out of his terrified daze. His eyes snapped to Tom.
Oh God!
The light of the full moon illuminated Tom, who was holding the dead rabbit up by the neck in one hand, his other hand clutching two severed feet. The black sheen of blood gleamed in the moonlight. Splatters of blood had gotten everywhere, staining Tom's shirt, the bedsheets, and the concrete floor. The rabbit's body was coated in droplets, and the legs that Tom had mutilated, now two shorter stumps, were drenched in blood.
Still, the rabbit screamed.
"Help me clean up," Tom ordered.
Harry swallowed and crept forward, helping Tom string the strips of cut cloth around the rabbit. They carried it over to the wardrobe, which Harry opened. He pushed the clothes to the side and helped Tom attach it to the wooden bar until they were certain it would hang unsupported in the wardrobe. As they worked, Harry noted that the screams had gotten fainter. The body was cooler to the touch than Harry expected.
They positioned the dead, mutilated rabbit so that its drooping head, missing hind feet, and limp, bloodied body would be the first thing Billy saw.
Harry wondered how it would have felt to watch the rabbit fight back, squirm and wriggle against the cloth, desperate to find a way to escape its inescapable bounds.
At last, the screams had stopped. Harry grabbed the towel he'd brought with him and wiped the blood from the floor and walls. Tom patted his shirt with his own towel and placed one rabbit foot on Billy's pillow, right next to his head. He slipped the other rabbit foot into his pocket.
As they cleaned religiously, Harry couldn't bring himself to look away from the dead rabbit. They erased every trace of blood and fur, scrubbing the floorboards and disposing the bloodied bedsheets. When they finished, the room looked exactly as it had when they had entered.
The sky had grown lighter; the sun was beginning to rise.
They exited the room, locked the door, and crept back to Room 27.
In his own bed, he heard the rabbit scream one more time, and Harry found that it didn't bother him as much as it initially did.
Maybe I really am just like Tom.
The next morning, breakfast was an eerily silent affair, as the orphans were too fearful to speak after finding out about the incident. They'd correctly pinned it on Tom and Harry, as most wouldn't meet Tom and Harry's eyes and the ones that did snuck quick glances at them. No one dared disturb the peace by talking. As for Billy and Eric, they were absent from breakfast and weren't seen anywhere in the orphanage for the rest of the day.
That night, Harry dreamt of a screaming rabbit. When he looked down, one hand held the knife, the other holding the rabbit's foot in place. He was the one sawing the foot off. Slick, slippery blood stained his hands as bone gave way under the knife.
The following day, Mrs. Cole took pity on Billy and Eric and excused both from Sunday Mass. However, Tom and Harry weren't. They were forced to sit in the front row at church, rolling their eyes as the bishop preached fervently about denouncing the Devil and his holiday, Halloween. Eric and Billy made their first appearance at dinner. Both were subdued and refused to glance in Tom and Harry's direction, their eyes red-ringed and puffy. Harry and Tom ate normally, both pretending that they didn't know anything was different.
I've truly burned my bridges now.
Now, there was no way that Harry could talk with the other orphans after they'd figured out Harry had worked together with Tom. The fearful glances at him made Harry uncomfortable, but it was bearable. Getting used to the way Tom was treated would take some time, and it wasn't like Harry had any other option.
Moreover, Harry was startled by the pleasure swept over him when Eric hunched in on himself after Harry stared at him. The obedience, the submission that Eric and Billy granted him and Tom...
I didn't know I could feel like this. That I could be pleased by submission.
Tom was right: doing bad things to bad people felt good.
I don't know what to think anymore.
Once dinner ended, the orphans allowed Harry and Tom to be the first in line to return their dirty dishes. The orphans lowered their heads, shrinking in on themselves as Tom and Harry passed them. Tom preened at their obedience.
Back in their room, Harry climbed into bed, his mind swirling with a million thoughts. He didn't want to be reminded of his failings. He didn't want to be reminded that he was a bad person. He'd always tried to be good, but being good was so, so hard. He wanted to forget that he was conflicted about being happy that bad things happened, bad things that he had caused.
I don't know what to think anymore. I just don't know.
Harry stared at the cracked ceiling, eyes wide open. If he focused hard enough, the rabbit would scream again, continuing its rapid shrieks even though no one had come to save it. He shut his eyes tightly and tossed and turned, trying his best to tune it out so that he could sleep. But he remained awake, unable to ignore the cries of the rabbit. As chills raced down his spine, he prayed that something, anything would quieten the noises.
"I can hear you," Tom said evenly.
"Sorry," Harry croaked. "A lot on my mind."
Tom sniffled. "I'd like to sleep, if you don't mind."
The screams stopped abruptly, and the silence that swiftly replaced the screaming was entirely too loud. The eerie stillness of the night taunted him with its unearthliness, and the absolute darkness of the room enveloped Harry, engulfing and digesting him. He buried himself deeper under his blankets, curled in a fetal position.
Is this what death feels like?
He had been so eager for the rabbit to stop screaming, but the silence was all-consuming. Harry wanted the screaming back—it would break the terrible silence that grew larger and more insurmountable by the moment. The preternatural silence draped his body like a second skin, suffocating Harry under his blankets.
Harry remained wide awake, wholly petrified—haunted—by the demons that lurked in the utter nothingness. At last, the first rays of sunlight at dawn peeked through the blinds, and Harry let himself close his eyes.