by A Clarkson
Ms Breckinridge’s white curls were pulled tight to her scalp in their customary helmet that followed the contours of the woman’s head. Over her tiny frame she wore a well fitted silk pantsuit and blouse. It clearly paid well to be the headmistress, Ira thought acidly.
They sat in the parlor of her apartment on the top floor of the orphanage. Ms Breckinridge on a small floral loveseat that still made Ira’s skin crawl, and Ira and Magnus across from her in the same chairs Ira sat on as a child. Ira could have been five again, summoned before the headmistress for a perceived wrongdoing. Unlike the plush loveseat where the Headmistress reclined, Ira and Magnus’ chairs were straight-backed wooden chairs, designed to force their occupants to sit rigidly upright. Veronica Breckinridge did not want her visitors to be relaxed and comfortable.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Magnus offered to wait outside, but Ira wanted him here. She felt stronger with him by her side. As though he was the backup she lacked all those years before when facing this woman.
It was just after breakfast, and Ira could hear the sounds of children’s voices on the floor below as they prepared for their morning lessons. She wondered what they were learning. What teachers still remained from all those years ago. Were the bastards who tormented the children still here? Were they still taking pleasure in abusing those too small and terrified to fight back?
“It is good to see you again Irena,” Veronica Breckinridge said, startling Ira out of her memories as she offered Ira and Magnus tea.
Ira wasn’t able to hide her scoff. Yeah, good to see me and put me in my place, she thought acidly.
“It’s Ira now,” she corrected firmly. “As you well know.”
Ms Breckinridge nodded as though admonishing herself, “You are quite right my dear. It is an old habit. You will have to excuse this old woman for her occasional slip ups.” She gave Magnus a self-reproving look, “There have been so many children over the years you see. It is hard to keep track of them all.”
Rolling her eyes, Ira interrupted before this self-pity party went any further, “Cut the bullshit Veronica, this doesn’t need to take long.”
“I would prefer Ms Breckinridge, dear”
“And I would prefer to not be here at all,” Ira hissed. “We don’t all get what we want.”
“It is good to see you,” Ms Breckinridge reiterated calmly, taking a dainty sip of her tea. “I always like to see my children as adults. See what they become.”
“What I became is no thanks to you.”
Ms Breckinrdige merely raised her brows in skepticism and Ira silently fumed.
“What I’ve never understood,” Ira said with venom, unable to stop herself, “is why someone who hates children as much as you chose to work here.”
“I do not hate children, Irena,” Ms Breckinridge said in surprise. Her brows furrowed slightly at the accusation.
“Oh no?” Ira could feel her heart speeding up and the hysteria in her voice rise. “Then tell me why you are so cruel to them? Why do you torment them with such relish if not because you hate them?”
"Because the world is cruel,” the old woman responded sternly. “The world is a cruel dark place where the strong survive and the weak fail.” She turned away, and more calmly continued, “I know what it is to be weak, to be abused and taken advantage of. I make sure these children know that truth too. So that when they go out into the world, they are prepared. They will not be taken advantage of again."
Ira was floored. Did this woman really believe her negligence was helping these children? That she was somehow doing the right thing?
"You're sick,” Ira said softly. “You should not be in charge of anyone’s care. There is something very wrong with you if you think this is helping anyone. These children should be raised in a kind and caring environment, not some twisted sense of the darkest corners of the world. Who does that help? Nobody. It's just a sick way to make yourself feel better at the expense of these children.” Ira shook her head, trying to reign back the emotion now flooding her voice. “All I wanted was a home! A place where I could feel welcomed, where there was a warm bed at night and a glass of milk. That is all these children want. And instead you take everything from them and give them nothing, and expect them to thank you for it."
“You should be thanking me,” the old woman seethed. “I created you! I prepared you for the real world, not some dreamland of milk and cookies from a picture book.”
“This wasn’t meant to be the real world!” Ira could no longer hold back her temper. “This was supposed to be a safe haven from the real world! A place of safety and protection. Instead it was a torture chamber.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ms Breckinridge scoffed. “This was a school and a boarding house. We do not torture children here Ira, we educate them.”
"I can’t believe Clarisse put up with you for so long," Ira said, turning away. This wasn’t why they were here. She had lost her cool, and now needed to get them back on track.
"Clarisse was a fool,” Ms Breckinridge said scornfully. “She got what was coming to her."
Ira couldn’t believe her ears. What was she talking about? “How can you even think that?” she asked in barely a whisper.
“That woman was a liar and a coward,” Ms Breckinridge seethed. “Liars and cowards always meet a sticky end.”
“You know nothing about her!” Ira accused vehemently. “She was the only good thing about this place. The only thing that kept me here as long as I stayed. She didn't deserve what happened to her, nobody deserves that.”
“Are you not listening to a word I have said?” Ms Breckinridge asked derisively. “The world does not care what we deserve, it takes what it wants and spits out the rest. It doesn’t matter how kind or gracious or soft hearted you are. The world does not care.”
“You are so blinded by your hate for the rest of the world that you assume everyone is as jaded and cruel, but not Clarisse.”
“If you knew her so well, then let me ask you this, did Clarisse ever tell you how you came to be a resident of this fine establishment?” There was a mocking glint in the old woman’s eye.
What was she talking about? The night she was left at the orphanage? Why would Clarisse talk to her about that? Surely it was hardly a memorable event.
Interpreting Ira's silence as a refusal, the old woman gave her a cruel smile, “No, I thought not, because Clarisse was a coward. She wouldn't have wanted to share a truth that may come back to bite her.”
“How dare you say that,” Ira seethed. “She was one of the best women I ever had the privilege to know.”
“If she was so wonderful, then why did she bring you here?” she asked mockingly.
“What are you talking about?” Ira felt her blood turn cold. That couldn’t be right. Clarisse worked here, she didn’t bring Ira to this place. She saved her from here.
“I'm talking about the fact that this woman you supposedly knew so well, and loved so very dearly, is the same one who brought you to my door twenty years ago,” Ms Breckinrdige crowed victoriously. “Barely days from the womb she dumped you here like nothing more than a sack of old potatoes.” Sneering at Ira she added, ”So much for your kindness and consideration then.”
Ira was lost for words. This couldn’t be true.
But the old Headmistress wasn’t done, “And to rub salt into the wound, only days later she came crawling back looking for a job,” she sneered. “Not to take you back, or see you. No. She came back because she needed money. So tell me, Ira, was she truly the wonderful woman you made her to be? The idol on your pedestal? Or was she just like everyone else? A cruel and selfish coward, only looking out for her own skin.”
“I don't believe you.”
“No?” she queried mockingly. “That’s fine. Bury your head in the sand for all I care. Hide from the fact that Clarisse was no better than the rest of us.” She pointed a finger at Ira, “But if you really want to know the truth, go look for y
ourself. Go see the admissions book in the entrance hall, and you will see that I speak the truth. Clarisse's name is there, right alongside yours.”
***
That had not gone at all to plan. Ira believed she would be able to have a grown up, mature conversation with that woman, but she was wrong. All Veronica Breckinridge wanted to do was spew hateful words about a woman that Ira dearly loved.
Why did she expect anything different? Ira knew the old bag was a bitter and cynical woman. Why had she expected anything other than venom aimed at poisoning Ira’s thoughts towards the only maternal figure she ever had.
The old headmistress would probably consider it a job well done. Maternal figures likely made you weaker in her mind, and she probably believed that she was doing Ira a great favor by ripping them away.
What a waste of time this trip had been. They came here in the hopes it would shed some light onto Clarisse’s past. Maybe help them understand if she really was involved in some giant conspiracy. But instead, Ira had more questions now than before.
And as much as she wanted to march straight out the front door of the orphanage, without a backwards glance, Ira found her feet leading her through the entrance hall.
She needed to know, had to see with her own two eyes if Veronica lied.
So instead of leaving, she now stood before the Admissions Registry.
In some cruel twist of fate, as though the universe was mocking her pain and ignorance about her own past, the book lay open onto the correct page.
Child: Irena Valvern - Age: 3 Days - Admitted By: Clarisse Donoghy - Relation: None
Ira was amazed that she never looked for her entry before. Most children likely did. It was normal to seek answers about your past, to wonder how you came to be in this wretched home.
Until now, Ira never had. But, with Clarisse’s name staring back at her in cold black ink, she couldn’t stop the questions from flooding her mind.
Why had they brought her here? Why had they never told her? Did Bill know?
Ira had forgotten that Magnus stood beside her until he asked, “Why is your last name Valvern?”
Shaking herself out of her mental spiral Ira explained, “Every child without a family name adopts the name of the city.”
Unable to keep her questions to herself any longer, Ira blurted out, “Why would they keep this from me?”
That was the question that hurt the most. She could accept that there was a reason to bring her to this orphanage. People gave up children for various reasons all the time. But why not tell her? Why not admit that it was Clarisse who brought her here from the start?
“I don’t know,” Magnus responded simply. “People do things for all sorts of reasons. Perhaps they were ashamed. Perhaps they feared how you would react.” He paused for a moment as Ira continued to stare at Clarisse’s name written before her.
“The greatest hardship the dead leave for the living is unanswered questions,” he said softly. “We may never know the answer, and that is a terrible burden to leave you with,” he acknowledged, before more firmly adding, “But it is your burden nonetheless. What you must do is decide how you will manage it. Will you let it weigh you down, crushing you beneath it’s mighty weight? Or will you rise up and carry it with a purpose? Allowing it to make you stronger?”
She turned to him, “How do I do that?”
“You let it give you purpose. You let it teach you compassion and empathy. And most of all you let yourself forgive them.” He looked at her, a great sadness in his eyes, “The dead cannot ask forgiveness from the living. But we are left with the onus of granting it nonetheless.”
Chapter 23
The Visit
“Excuse me Sir, are you General Karimi?” asked a small voice beside Ira.
She turned to see a young boy standing beside her. He looked overly skinny and terrified. Ira resisted the urge to growl, knowing it would only scare him. How could anyone claim this place was helping these kids?
“What’s your name?” Ira asked the boy.
Shying at her attention, he whispered under his breath, “William, Miss.”
Her heart clenched, but she managed to say in the same tone, “I knew a great man named William. He taught me how to be big and strong.”
He looked up at her with the kind of optimistic innocence only found in children. It looked like Ms Breckinridge wasn’t doing as good a job as she thought at crushing it out of these kids, Ira thought with a stab of satisfaction.
“You’ll be big and strong one day too,” she told William. “And this place will be nothing but a terrible memory.”
“You were looking for me? I am General Karimi,” Magnus cut across, interrupting her conversation with the boy, and giving her a slightly disapproving look.
William flushed with embarrassment, and stuttered slightly as he said, “Oh, y-y-yes! There is a messenger for you in the office.”
Magnus looked alarmed. “It must be urgent,” he said with an apologetic look at Ira. “They would not be here unless it was.”
She nodded, and shooed him along. “Of course. Go on.”
Hesitantly he asked, “Will you be ok?”
Ira huffed a laugh, “Yes I’ll be fine.” Looking around she added, “I can’t stand to be in this place a moment longer though, so I’ll wait out by the stables.”
He nodded and turned to follow William who had started off down the hall before halting, and reprimanding her gently, “You shouldn’t give that boy hope like that Ira. He might not ever be rescued from this place.”
Ira looked to where William disappeared around the corner.
“Maybe not,” she said softly. “But I know I would have liked someone to have told me that when I was his age.”
Nodding in understanding, Magnus turned to stride down the hall after the small boy.
Turning around, Ira made her way toward the courtyard that housed the stables at the back of the orphanage.
The moment she opened the exterior door Ira knew something was wrong.
After the attack on Ira and Margo, Magnus insisted they be accompanied by a handful of his men at all times. Ira knew they stationed men at both of the orphanage entrances, as well as in the stables. But as she moved slowly through the door, both the courtyard and connecting stables appeared empty.
It was the silence that put her most on edge. Ira knew this silence. It was the quiet of the forest when even the birds held their breaths to wait as a threat to pass by.
Standing on the threshold, Ira watched for any movement. Perhaps she was overreacting. She had just been attacked, and maybe she was seeing danger lurking everywhere when there was none.
Magnus had received an emergency message, perhaps the men out here were also summoned away.
But no matter how she tried to dismiss the feeling, her instincts screamed that something was wrong.
Deciding that the safest course of action would be to check around the front, Ira went to move back inside. At best, the men would be out there, at worst, she could get some back up.
She was just pulling the door closed behind her when she heard a deep pained groan coming from the stable.
Dammit, someone was hurt. Now she knew more than ever that she should go fetch backup. But she couldn't.
What if she ran off looking for help and the person died while she was gone? She would never forgive herself. No matter if it was most definitely the wiser thing to do.
Damn Magnus and all these people acting as cannon fodder. This was exactly why she always worked alone. When you were alone, you only needed to worry about your own neck. But with all these people? Ira couldn't keep track of all the necks she was now looking out for.
Hearing a noise from the hallway behind her, Ira turned to see the small boy, William, making his way up the stairs.
"William!" she hissed, "I need you to go fetch General Karimi straight away!"
The boy blanched. Clearly not wanting to head back down to the offices where the messenger waited.
"This is really important William, I think someone is hurt. Tell him Ira needs him urgently."
Hesitantly William nodded and scampered off.
Ok, Ira thought, backup was on the way. That would have to do.
Ira padded into the courtyard on silent feet, and carefully withdrew her bow.
Notching an arrow she peered around the door into the stable as another groan sounded from within.
Knowing that the person responsible for those sounds was not doing well, Ira took a deep breath and peaked at what was waiting inside.
The two guards who had been stationed in the courtyard lay prone on the ground.
One was already dead. Ira could see from where she stood frozen in the doorway that a large gash opened his throat from ear to ear. The blood had already stopped flowing, and his eyes had taken on that glassy sheen of death.
The second was the source of the groaning Ira had heard. He appeared to be struggling to move, his legs and arms frozen in awkward angles as he squirmed under the pressure being placed on his chest by a large boot.
The boot belonged to a third man who stood between the two guards, knife wet with blood as he held it point-down at the squirming guard's throat.
“Ah, how good of you to finally join us Ira,” said Brian Wick.
He looked different from the photo on his ID card. Somewhat older, and definitely more shabby. His clothing was torn and filthy, as though he had been wearing the same set of clothes for weeks. His beard had been cut back slightly, but he obviously hadn’t had access to a razor in some time.
“Being on the run doesn’t agree with you Brian,” Ira said as she moved further into the doorway to get a clearer angle with her bow.
She wouldn’t move fully into the room, not wanting to risk that he had another weapon he could throw at her. But there was no point in hiding either. He was clearly waiting for her, so here she was.
“Drop the arrow or I’ll put this poor fellow out of his suffering,” Brian ordered.