by C. L. Stone
Mrs. Turner pulled the phone away from her face, pale.
The nurse looked between the two of them, unsure.
Jasmine was about to say something else when her own phone rang, a message was coming through. She checked on it. She puzzled over it. “Why are people asking if Victor and Brie are broken up?”
Mrs. Turner’s voice squeaked as she responded. “Because she just posted to her Instagram telling everyone she’s gay, with a picture showing that girl. And her. Kissing.”
Jasmine gasped. “Well? Grab her. Make her delete it. Make her say it was a joke.”
Mrs. Turner started to go to her.
At this, the only time Brie reacted to their talking, Brie lifted the phone, holding it back.
And threw it.
At the window near Victor’s bed.
It broke through and shattered the glass, disappearing beyond, down into the backyard.
Time froze. Everyone seemed in utter shock.
“Fuck both of you,” Brie said. She turned and started to leave. In a minute she came back and she pointed a finger at her mother and then at Jasmine. “And if you put him on that fucking helicopter, I swear every newspaper, every social media site, will know. Where he is. What he’s doing. Even if I have to lie about it.”
She turned again and hurried out, her footsteps heard going down the stairs.
Mrs. Turner and Jasmine took a moment, and then followed her, calling her name.
At that, the nurse breathed out slow in a heavy sigh. “Thank the Lord,” she said, and crossed herself.
Victor, still stunned at what just happened, blinked at her.
She winked at him. “If I couldn’t put them off any longer, I was going to attempt to get you to pretend to have a heart attack or something so you had to go back to the hospital.”
His mouth popped open in surprise.
He should have known.
In the Academy, you’re never alone.
Sempre
(Always)
Victor
It was two hours before he heard anything else. The nurse didn’t make him put the IV back in, but she asked if he needed pain medicine.
“Don’t worry. You’re not going anywhere,” she said.
He would have to trust that. And he did. His mother was just sneaky.
However, Brie and Mrs. Turner didn’t return. He tried to relax for a while.
When his mother reappeared, she seemed flustered and upset.
“Here he is,” she said, waving to Victor in the bed.
Mr. Buble appeared, wearing his usual crisp black suit and carrying a clipboard with a folder on top of it. He smiled. “So, you’re finally awake, yes? Feeling okay? Your delightful mother was telling me all about what happened. It seems I’m here at just the right time.”
He had no idea what was going on. Mr. Buble being here threw him off.
Victor tried to sit up, but his mother came over, pushing gently at his shoulder.
“Don’t sit up,” she said.
“I want to,” Victor grumbled out and coughed.
His mother rolled her eyes and looked to Mr. Buble. “As you can see, he’s very resistant.”
Mr. Buble flashed a smile at her. “Resilience can be a great trait, as long as it’s honed.”
“Mr. Buble has been sent by the local judge to evaluate the situation,” she said to Victor in the tone that told him to behave appropriately.
Victor, in an attempt to play along with Mr. Buble and whatever he had planned, nodded.
“We’re waiting for Mr. Perkins to get here,” she said.
“Thought we’d come up and see how you were doing,” Mr. Buble said with a strange smile, something that was a little too big, a bit too much for the Mr. Buble he knew, who was much more composed.
Victor was told to get dressed, and after some medication, and a stern talking to by his mother to allow Mr. Perkins to do his job, Victor was sent downstairs, back to the parlor.
Victor, this time, sat next to his mother, across from Mr. Buble, where Mitch had sat not too long ago.
But this time, Victor was ready. Mr. Buble wouldn’t be here unless he had something planned.
When Mr. Perkins arrived, dressed in his usual tweed and glasses, he stood aside, having greeted everyone, and directed his questions to Mr. Buble. “So the judge sent you?”
“Matt was very interested in this case that came up, at your request to get it resolved quietly of course.”
The old family lawyer seemed surprised, for once. “You know him so personally?”
“Yes. A friend of mine goes surfing with him regularly. Just off Folly Beach. We’ve gotten acquainted over time.”
Someone within the Academy likely knew the judge, Victor imagined.
“Victor’s much too vulnerable, after what happened,” his mother said. “Maybe we can postpone this.”
“I’m fine,” Victor said. Apart from his nose and a headache, the rest of him seemed not too bad. Just sore. Maybe it was the medication that helped, but he was awake and ready now.
Ready to get out of here.
His mother, however, flashed her eyes at him, a direct, even if silent, request to let her talk.
Victor ignored it. “What did the judge want?” he asked Mr. Buble directly.
“He usually handles a lot of the juvenile cases,” Mr. Buble said. “And he’s agreed that he can take care of the matter… as fit to your liking.” He said this to Victor’s mother.
She beamed. “For us?”
“Under the condition…”
“Here it comes,” Mr. Perkins said. “The conditions.”
Mr. Buble did that bigger smile, the one that looked so strange to Victor. He was trying to win them over. “Just a little one. I think you might appreciate it. He’d like Victor to attend a… facility of sorts.”
His mother’s face tightened. “What’s the difference if he’s in jail or this? It seems the same.”
Mr. Buble held up a single finger. “No, not what you’re thinking.” He turned to Victor. “Under normal circumstances, most underage DUI offenders are presented this single chance to eradicate their crime by attending classes for substance abuse, a course on driving—although your license will be suspended for six months.”
Victor coughed to cover up his groan. Six months!
“Not to mention some community service, if not jail time.”
Victor’s mother sighed heavily. She glanced at Mr. Perkins.
“He’s right,” he said solemnly.
She redirected to Mr. Buble. “And you’re offering better, I assume?”
“The facility will allow your son the same requirements, but alone, and without having to take him back and forth in the public eye or risk any exposure. Instead, he’d stay at a secure, undisclosed location for the duration.”
It was the Academy speech all over again, just rearranged. An elite boarding school, an Academy. Now it was a redemption.
“Juvenile facilities are already private,” Mr. Perkins said.
“You know as well as I do, they are not. And the judge is making this special case only because he is already famous and this would cause problems, for him and other children at their facility. But at this alternative location, he’s taken care of, and completely out of view of the public at all times, even when doing his community service.”
And she was interested in it again but there was doubt. “For six months? I’d have to check with his school.”
“Yes, the academy he attends. I’ve already spoken with them at length. I can make sure he gets homework sent in quietly. He, unfortunately, couldn’t attend the concerts.”
“I’m not sure he’d be very welcome at the moment,” his mother said defeatedly.
“And when he’s finished, his school could actually take him in full time instead of having him stay home. They’ve alerted me he’d be expelled if it weren’t that he was otherwise an excelle
nt student. They’d let him finish his school term if he’ll be under their constant watch, which means staying on campus. Again, he’d be out of the way of the media.”
“So you’re saying he’ll be away until he graduates?” his mother asked, although in a very dark tone.
Mr. Buble eased himself back just a little. “It’s a decision Victor might need to make.” He looked directly at him this time. “Because right now, you’ve left a lot of people very disappointed. But you’re young, and it’s not too late.”
“I could talk with the judge still,” Mr. Perkins said. “It might do some good if Victor is seen doing customer service for a while. They’ll see he is trying to redeem himself.”
“Maybe,” Mr. Buble said. “If he’s compliant, if he works hard, he could, maybe, get the media attention to see some sympathy. If nothing else goes wrong.”
That bit of doubt, the hesitation there, it caused Victor’s mother to shake her head. “He can’t be relied upon.”
Mr. Buble offered a sympathetic smile. “In our facility, he won’t be given much chance to do otherwise.”
This seemed to appeal to her.
She was willing to let him get locked away into a facility.
She didn’t trust him. Her own son. She’d send him off…
Not that he didn’t want this. He was just miffed that his mother would rather send him off than risk anything further. Since she couldn’t drug him, she was tempted by this. Anything to save the reputation. Anything to prevent further damage.
Even now, while she sat there, her eyes, the expressive way she had of making one feel small and insignificant at times, the way she looked at him. She hated this, but if he wouldn’t allow her to take him to Europe, it was a better answer than risking a trial.
“Maybe after a few months,” she said, “they’ll forget.”
“I’ve seen stories where teenagers are sent off to a different school, and then come back to redeem themselves later,” Mr. Perkins said. “Plenty of teenagers are wild in their youth, and then return to bright futures.”
“There would be plenty of options,” Mr. Buble said. He smiled, this time genuinely, at Victor. “You’d have a choice. To return, or to keep under the radar. No one would think worse of you for doing either after a couple of years.”
“And your mother would have all the empathy for her situation, and for doing the right thing by her child,” Mr. Perkins offered. “Making her child seek therapy, to save him from himself. The grieving mother…”
They were pushing her to this. Mr. Perkins didn’t know this is what Victor wanted. His mother and the old lawyer just assumed they were brushing the incident under the carpet.
Falling for the same ‘we’ll take care of the problem’ pitch the Academy always offered to parents.
This was going better than expected. Sometimes it took a few tries.
It just showed how much his mother was wanting to hide any problems… him being a problem.
His mother hesitated for a minute.
He needed to push her.
“I don’t want to,” he mumbled, although he sounded defeated, tired.
He was taking a risk.
At his resistance, her eyes flashed. “You should accept what you’re given. You had your chance.”
Once more, he tried, also faking resistance, “If I go, I’ll never see Sang. She might break up with me.”
That sealed his mother’s interest in the entire offer. “You’ll go through much worse if you don’t.”
He didn’t push again, he just made it look like he resisted, which drove her to agreeing.
Within minutes, Mr. Buble was giving out paperwork to both Mr. Perkins and his mother to read over and to sign. Decisions were made: Victor could collect anything sentimental or clothing that he might be comfortable in, granted by his mother.
He was going away. Possibly forever.
♥♥♥
His mother actually went with him to his room. She monitored while he took just one small bag this time, where he threw in clothes, but he didn’t care because he didn’t think he wanted to wear his old clothes again.
Not anymore.
He wished she wasn’t standing by. He wanted to take a moment. To feel like he was really letting go this time. Before, when he was packing a trunk, he was angry. This time, he was saying goodbye.
But there was nothing to say goodbye to. Maybe the piano.
He went to it. He clearly couldn’t take it.
But the music, the sheets that had been scattered. He picked them up.
“The maid can tidy after you are gone,” his mother offered.
“I thought I might take it with me,” he said, tucking some pages of the music he had written down into his bag.
She pressed her lips tight together, a motion she did when she held back.
Always holding back.
“What?” he asked. He wanted her to talk. He wanted to know. Did she even care he was going?
She said nothing. She wasn’t going to say.
“Where’s Dad?” He realized suddenly he wasn’t even here for any of it.
She very slightly shrugged her shoulders. “I honestly don’t know.”
“You… don’t know?”
“He left before I ever got word about what happened to you. Packed a bag and left.” She breathed in sharply. “He’ll be back.”
Victor wasn’t too sure. Maybe he listened.
Maybe, after some time by herself, maybe she’d see, they weren’t the answer to whatever she was looking for.
Maybe she wouldn’t rely on others to hold to her own ideals of reputation and place in society.
And Victor could make his own decisions.
~A~
Sipario
(Curtain)
The large brick structure looming just off Broad Street in downtown Charleston was… in a word… perfect. At least in pictures.
Mr. Buble and Victor stood just outside the block of homes… condos? Townhomes? Was there a difference between those? Victor wasn’t sure the term. It was previously one large house, broken up into four units and had been rented out, until the two in the middle went up for sale.
Three bedrooms were inside each unit but connected by a large attic space that they could be permitted to build into.
They waited together on Broad Street, on the sidewalk, looking at the dark brown brick and the small steps that went up to what would have been the front door to the main part of the house. Next to it, a sign with red printed letters: For Sale. The unit nearby had a similar sign.
“I wouldn’t have thought to look for two together,” Victor said.
“It just happened to come up,” Mr. Buble said. He smiled at Victor. “Sometimes, that’s how it goes. We got lucky.”
“It’s still a lot of money,” Victor said. “For both. In this area…”
“An investment,” Mr. Buble said. “The money isn’t gone. You can still record it within the Academy as a positive, not a negative, for whatever the value… including future value as prices increase.”
The location was ideal. They were blocks from downtown Charleston and the Academy hospital. While they’d be a long way from the Ashley Waters High School that still needed their help, the location had a lot of potential, especially for the future.
Victor touched the bridge of his nose, where it had broken. A bandage covered it still, mostly to cover the unsightly bruising. His hair had changed, shorter now, and a slightly different color. He wore makeup. His face looked different in the mirror.
Walking around looking completely different than he was used to. Gabriel was an artist, but it was still weird to think about.
Because he couldn’t be himself. The real Victor was away, under lock and key.
“I hate to make a decision without them,” Victor said.
“They’ll still see it,” Mr. Buble said. “It’ll take time between making an offer and closing. I
don’t think they’ll disapprove. They trust you to make decisions.” He shifted, looking over Victor’s shoulder.
Approaching was an older woman, Miss Ruby. She was a wealthy woman who owned a few of the smaller homes around Charleston and on the islands. Wealthy… but you wouldn’t realize looking at her. She wore an old thin sweater and dingy pants. Word was she did all the maintenance herself on all her properties. It was hard to picture her doing that now looking at her, thin and walking slowly up to them, clutching a folder and notebook in her bony hand.
She greeted them with a brittle voice. “Good morning,” she said. She held a hand out to Mr. Buble. “Glad to see you.”
Mr. Buble shook her hand. “Thanks for coming to meet us so quickly.”
“I’m always happy for a quick cash sale,” she said. “Although I’d hate to let these go. I’m just trying to minimize. These are the last in Charleston I have now. Everything else is on the islands.”
“We’re very interested,” Mr. Buble said.
“Is this your son?” the woman asked, offering a hand to Victor. “Hello.”
Mr. Buble didn’t say anything, and while Victor was shaking her hand, it seemed like this was a good way to go. Would it matter later? “Uh, yes, of course. I’m Ken.” He picked a random name as far away from his own as he could, and the only one he could come up with was some jazz pianist, Kenny Drew, that he’d been reading about.
He tried not to giggle at his own choice. Did he like that name?
Mr. Buble didn’t say anything to the contrary. “The location is delightful. The parking, it’s not limited to the street?”
“There are spaces around back, off the side road,” she said. “You’ll get a feel of the layout a bit more once we’re inside.” She reached into her handbag, finding an enormous set of keys on a chain and picking through, squinting at every one, the broader part with each key taped with white paper marked with numbers.
Victor held back a sigh, accepting that this was going to take a while.
Minutes later, they’d stepped inside and were given a short tour. A living room toward the front, a small dining space behind it, a small kitchen behind that on the right-hand side of the house, on the left, a short hallway to a downstairs bathroom, and a rear den area and mudroom. The downstairs den had a door that looked out onto a small concrete patio garden and there was a small gate that led to the rear parking. They were surrounded by large homes, windows that could look in on them… however, with taking up two of the spaces side by side, it wouldn’t look quite so much like a large group lived in one place, and some weren’t even going to be here for a while longer.