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The call came in on an otherwise mundane Saturday morning. The early rising sun already shining through his apartment window in orange hues, ushering in the beginning of spring. The ringing pierced through the silent rooms. He didn’t recognize the woman on the other end, for having never meet her in the first place, but her surname was one he had been accustomed to.
The caller, revealing herself to be the sister of the woman he had meet over a decade ago, informed him about her sisters passing. Not an unusual reason to call but it did raise the question why he received it. The knowledge of not having stayed in contact with the peculiar scientist posed a discrepancy.
A letter to him that had been in her will was the answer. Through asking around the colleagues of her late sister, she managed to get a hold of his number to inquire about his address to send it over. He gave her the one for a postal station downtown, knowing better than handing his own over so easily.
It took all of four days’ time for the letter to arrive in an unassuming envelope. Paper already yellowing with age and the glue doing a very limited job at keeping the contents sealed. He waited until he returned to his apartment to open it, unwilling to allow any wandering eye access to the matter.
Sitting on his black leather couch, letter in hand, he slowly pealed the crackling glue apart, pulling out the paper from within. His eyes skimmed over the page, again and again.
Not once in his life has his mind been unwilling to absorb new information. Books ravished for their knowledge contained within, experiments brought to the most farthest extends, just to acquire a bit more of that precious resource it presents, but now…
Now he stares unseeing onto the fading ink of the letter before him. The words start to let a cold feeling of dread rise up in him. He examines his own reaction. The shake of his hands, fingers clutching the paper in a tight grip, hearth beating unsteady against his ribcage.
Albert Wesker is a man not accustomed to surprises. Not anymore. Every decision he makes now has the knowledge of his self-build network behind it. He hadn’t spent the last few years in the Army just idling about, after all. No. He made contacts, put himself on the radar of agents that will serve nicely in future endeavors. All to break the chains he so foolishly had found himself bound in, when the former boy he had been, blinded to the mechanisms of the world, accepted the position into Umbrellas clutches.
And now… This.
His first thought is to merely disregard the contents of the letter. The knowledge within is now his alone and inaction would cause no significant change. He would be able to go about his future endeavors as planned, start his new position in the R.P.D. without interference and provide Umbrella with the internal aid they needed, while furthering his influence and skill.
His eyes flicker over the page again. Elegant handwriting curling about in black ink. It doesn’t ease the ugliness the single word glaring back at him carries. Orphanage. Its mere repetition in his mind leaves an unexplainable stale taste in his mouth. For all the comforts and educational benefits his own stay in one had provided, he preferably forgoes to spend his waking thoughts on this place.
Sympathy is a foreign feeling to him, but the only explanation as to why he has not thrown the letter away. Even now two weeks later, it is still laying on the couch table. Silent in its existence as the rest of the space around it.
The drive would be a matter of a day’s trip. He had not been able to resist the urge to look the position up on the map, route memorized in his mind. Even the phone number has already been found and written down on a piece of paper in his office. With the amount of work he has on his hands, his daily hours will be cut short as is.
The nagging thought, residing in his head and deciding to become louder the more days go by, notifies him of its existence again.
‘What if someone else gets to him first?’
Could he allow him to wander the world, knowing he might waste potential? The Orphanage could be equated as being the bottom of the barrel. What academic success could they offer, aside from a nugatory high school diploma? No library, no private tutors. Fallow land for an inquisitee and curious mind. But does he even possess one?
It was the cause for more than one night that he lay restless in bed staring at the ceiling in deep thought. It is rare that his mind would contemplate a decision for so long and remain uncertain of the best outcome.
He calls it enough when he finds himself looking at flyers for potential schools in Raccoon City that would be more adequate. He does not even know if he has the intellect to be worth of a position in a private school. And still his gaze lingers.
It would be a high risk to throw him into the bowls of one of Umbrellas’ most influential hunting grounds, but he has enough connections to keep him under his wing until he can figure out if he is worth the effort. Sergeis’ footmen will know of him in no time anyway. If not through Albert bringing him into the city, then surely if they follow up, why one of their researchers has him in her will. They would find him and then… what?
Put him in a school program of their own? Maybe he inherited even a fraction of superiority, mentally or genetically. Would it make him prone to being regarded as a test subject? He knows of more than one researcher that ended up in a tub themselves through various reasons. They can’t have Albert, due to being too successful in the work he does for them. Would someone thereby be willing to go to the closest thing in line?
A silly thought, really. Of course they would. Their business is to walk over the morals that society raised as law for the lesser minds to adherent to.
He gave a last glance at the letter collecting dust upon his table. The guest bedroom, that has never seen use, was fully equipped to house a person. The nearest potential school could be reached easily by bike, in case the bus was out of order, and the provided after-school activities would keep a child busy till the majority of parents clocked out of work. He knows of three different doctors in the closer proximity that are not affiliated with Umbrella and one even specialized in child’s care.
Albert looked at the clock. 7pm. If he called now and inquired what paperwork he needs to bring along, he’d make it there in the afternoon, able to take a look at what he was working with and if he would be of use. The stores are open tomorrow. It would allow for the acquiree of clothes and other necessities. He opens and closes his fists at his side, idle standing in the kitchen. The clocks tick, tick, tick filling the room.
Like an unseen start signal he’s pulled into motion. His feet carrying him into his office, phone taking from its holder before his mind could express further doubt. He types in number after number. Expectantly awaiting a voice on the other end, as the ring begins.
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The once bluish paint is peeling off the facade in sizable flakes. A lone shutter thuds against it in the slight breeze. Dark windows looking out over the small dried-up courtyard like gaping maws. Albert draws closer to the front gates, gravel crunching beneath his dress shoes. The stone steps are worn down in their middle, cracks sneaking their path through them in thin lines. The bell to the right of the door has a faded sticker of a sun on it. Only the washed-out eyes and toothy smile remaining on the plastic exterior.
A small buzz resounds into the air as his gloved finger presses the button.
The silence enveloping for a while makes him all the more aware of the tense feeling welling up in his chest. Unwilling to examine it at the moment, he ignores it in favor of letting his gaze trail over the courtyard again. Nothing new reveals itself to him, but that was to be expected. One does not survive in the field if an area isn’t instantly surveyed upon entry.
The faint clicking of heels upon wooden floors draws closer to the door, making him turn towards it. It opens with a ghastly creak, revealing a brazen looking woman in the door frame. It is rare that Albert comes face to face with someone of his height, even rarer that they are of the opposite gender. And yet here is an example of such a case, hindering him to survey the room beyond her with her large frame.
“Yes?”, she cuts through the silence, rough voice spat out into the air.
“Mrs. Roberts, I presume? I’m here in regard to a child currently inhabiting your facility. I made an appointment with Ms. Bennett regarding the matter.”, he tells her in an even voice, watching the roaring of her eyes behind his sunglasses.
“You have a meeting with her?”, she asks him, as if he had not just said that a few seconds ago. It makes his eye twitch. He forgot how straining talking to the lesser members of society was.
“Yes. And I disdain to have kept her waiting longer than necessary.”
Her eyes flit over him once more, unimpressed. A wet sniff comes from her nose as she pulls whatever filth might be stuck there up again, before moving to the side, allowing him entrance.
Matching the unkempt state of the exterior, the entrance hall is of a truly poor state. The wallpaper curling into itself near the ceiling. The wooden floor covered in scruff marks from overuse. The woman leads him down the corridor to the right, making them pass door after door, with the faint sound of children shrieking in play hanging in the air.
“What brings a stuck up like you here?”, Roberts asks him, once they turn down into yet another corridor.
“An Ethan Winters, about eleven years of age. His mothers will elucidated his stay with you. Due to my unawareness of his existence a sooner acquisition of his person into my household was not possible.”, he talks as if the fact is a pain-stricken affair. “A true travesty of her. One I shall redeem if possible.”, he finishes watching the others face closely for any changes in expression.
A rough laugh, fading into a mild coughing fit is his answer. “What? Wanna meet him, go to a park or something? Acting as if you’re gonna keep him for longer than a few weeks, before bringing him back. God knows that happens often enough. Boy’s ain’t worth the trouble anymore, better look for another one. There are enough kids here that we’d need double the beds, but what you gonna do, eh? One mouth less, even for a weekend is at least some relief for the budget, you know?”, she says, walking along a corridor to the right. The word ‘office’ hanging on a tilted plate by the door comes into view.
It opens with another shrieking creak, revealing a small shoe box for an office. Paper stacks lying on every available surface, a fan whirring in the corner and another woman behind the desk. Her big round glasses sit crooked on her nose, her attempt to push them up upon their entry merely postpones the inevitable of having them slip down again.
“Hello S-S-Sir.”, she squeaks out, eyes darting wildly between her two visitors, but avoiding their faces like the plague.
“Susan, don’t forget to close the yard door this evening. Again.”, Roberts says, door rattling as she slams it shut behind herself.
Bennetts fingers wildly drum upon her desk. “You can s-si-sit down here, S-sir.”, she stammers out.
Then next two hours of his time are spent sitting in the cramped office while forms upon forms are being thrown at him. A signature there and another here. And yes, that formular is also still missing, I will find it in a minute, Sir. And this quiz is mandatory, so we know if you are fit for the care of a child, sorry for the inconvenience.
He doesn’t miss the way her eyes light up as he pulls out the folder with various documents, as if it is a novelty that someone actually brings them. Bennett seems to be nearing tears as she goes through them. Everything needed right at her fingertips. Her pen flies over the documents, explaining to him the further steps required for a successful adoption process.
“I ho-hope this isn’t too fast a pa-pace for you, Mr. Wesker. I’d hate to s-sc-scare you off.”, she tells him, followed by a hesitant laugh.
“I prefer efficiency and would not be here if it wasn’t a certainty to adopt, preferably as soon as any legalities allow for it.”, he soothes her jittering. No need to inform her of his lack of commitment if the boy turns out to be like the rest of the loud children scrambling around in these walls.
“And please ex-excuse Mrs. Roberts rather… lackluster behavior. S-She just has been running on fu-fumes since the last budget c-c-cuts went through. And ah… kids over twelve tend to s-stay with use till they are… grown up. And I know this is-isn’t an ideal environment in the slightest, but I’m s-sure Ethan can handle it for a while longer!”, Bennett tries to placate her assumption of hard feelings. They are nonexistent, but he lets her ramble on anyway. Getting a clearer picture by the minute as she continues.
“A-An-And he is a really s-sweet boy! Knows how to do cho-chores and all. D-Does well in school. No yelling or anything, too.”
“Surprising. Your colleague mentioned a repeated return of his person, by what I assume have been foster families or attempted adoptions?”, he states, watching her face crumble slowly. A rather delicious sight. Her eyes return to the flickering they abonded half an hour ago, face now paler than ever.
“Ah… w-well…you s-see…Ethan is…ah. How to sa-say this…”, she reduces her voice to a slow mumble, eyes looking at him pleadingly to ignore the topic. He merely raises an eyebrow in inquire. “He… is a bit wild s-sp-spirted.”, she finishes, gaining both raised eyebrows. “S-some may s-say stub-stubborn and with a l-love for the outdoors.”
All Albert takes away from that is that the boy seemingly got his temperament and avoids the social hierarchies in a shared household by extracting himself from it. An easy fix with the right handling. He had made strong headed soldiers and scientist dance to his tune, what opposing force could a child present against him?
He leaves the office with a new additional stack of papers, a pamphlet about childcare and grateful eyes thrown his way, for apparently not running out of the room with a change of mind, before all the paperwork was through.
Albert walks down the corridor from earlier, having memorized the way with ease. Passing by faded wallpaper and a few stains in the wooden boards. The foyer opens up before him. Roberts waiting there with a relentlessly tapping foot, a child, no older than five, resting on her hips as it gets rocked through its crying fit.
“Susan said you wanna see the boy. Ain’t letting you speak with him yet, no use giving hope where its misplaced.”, the woman rumbles, turning sharply and leading the way. Yet again. Albert wordlessly follows along, noticing the uptake of toys occasionally scattered along the floor.
Roberts comes to an abrupt stop before him, standing in front of a window. Behind it lays a bigger room, filled with small tables and matching chairs. Various atrocities of brightly colored posters hang on the walls, together with paper chains. Toys scatter about the mix of actual floor and foam mats. And all-around various children. Some playing together, board games or with figurines, while others settled themselves more secluded on the sides of the room.
And the unvoiced question in his mind, as to why there has been not a single doubt to his legitimacy of parentage, is answered.
Like a carbon copy of his younger self, if the few and far between pictures in existence of his own childhood are to be believed, sits the boy, his son, on a green plastic chair on the furthermost wall. The glaring resemblance is rather striking. The same hair, only in a wild disarray on the boy, the slight beginning of an elongated stature, just before puberty takes full claim. Only his eyes, trained onto the pages of a book as they are, differ.
It is a marvel of genetic code, and certainly not without a hint to his superiority towards the rest of humanity, that the boy’s semblance to his mother is near nonexistent.
He doubts that Ms. Winters desired mark on the world was meant to be limited to a singular child, but alas… even that task is now handed over, just as her work surely will be finished by another cog in the machine that Umbrella hides behind its pharmaceutical façade.
He mulls over the possibility to acquire intel about her research, curious what the European branch might engineer. Nemesis Alpha had been an essential part in the creation of the G-Virus, surely William could be bought out of his childish tantrum by waving additional research before him. His mood had been unendurable ever since Albert ceased communication with him in favor of pursuing his career in the bowls of the Army undetected.
He is pulled from his musing by Roberts not so discreetly tapping against the glass.
“The one at the far back. I’m sure you know which one. Susan will probably send you the ‘Hello letter’ the boy will fill out by next week. It’s standard procedure with us for upcoming adoptions or foster parents. Got to know who you take into your house. I suggest you read it, Susan likes to ask questions about it, if you have intentions of coming back.”, she drawls. Albert listening to her words but finding his focus more on the occupant of the room ahead.
Curled up around the book in his lap as he is, the discrepancy of Alberts personality and the boys at his age present a stark contrast. His tutors had ensured he would not be seen with anything less than a perfect posture and demeanor.
He silently watches on, ignoring the bustling of activity in the rest of the room. Solely focused on the boy. His boy.
A gravely rasp tears him out of his focus. His glare well hidden beneath the dark shades.
“Well now you have seen him. I’m busy and still have lots to do, so if you don’t mind.”, Roberts exclaims motioning with her free hand towards the direction they came from.
Albert rears in the whipping bout of rage at being dismissed in such a disdainful manner, before he can lash out. He still needs the woman to think him an uptight man who is in over his head, or she might find a few choice words to say to the right people before the paperwork is even finalized. He can live with her ignorance and simple mind, if it helps avoid hindrances for himself later on.
Glancing at her receding form, he gazes through the glass one last time, finding the bright eyes of a certain boy directly staring at him. He turns and walks towards the exit. He has enough bureaucracy ahead of him, no need to waste it by waiting around.
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The walls present themselves in their run-down appearance still, now at his fourth and last visit to the Orphanage. The other one’s having been for formalities only and today marking the end of the array of paperwork cluttering his office desk. The legality, after the confirmative paternity test, had run its course smoothly. He will not have to set foot inside this building again. A pleasant thought.
He does the boy and Ms. Bennett the curtsy of letting the click of his heels become audible, making the mop of disorganized blond hair shoot up. Brown eyes stare as he draws nearer through the open office door. The woman across from him finally stops her relentless drumming on her desk.
She rises from her chair as he enters, holding out her hand to shake. He takes it to ensure his appearance is upheld.
“E-Ethan that is your fa-father, Albert Wes-Wesker. Mr. Wesker th-this is Ethan.”, Ms. Bennett says with an exited chittering to her voice. Overly extravagant with her hand motions.
“Albert Wesker. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ethan.”, he tells the boy and reaches out a hand in greeting.
His aversion to the mere idea of having to touch the mostly filth covered hands of a child set aside for a brief moment, in favor of making the boy accustomed to him. He already expects an adjustment period of at least a month. Children surely aren’t that different to dogs in that regard. They have the same tendency to slobber anyway.
The boy’s eyes dart to his hand and back to his sunglasses, slowly reaching out, shaking his hand.
“Nice to meet you, too.”, the boy responds in a timid voice, retracting his hand back, as soon as it is released from its hold.
“Well, the paperwork is nearly done, ju-just two more things to s-sign and of course having the two of you collect Ethan’s be-belongings together.”, she exclaims, fingers flittering through a drawer at her side. Skimming over papers till she pulls two stacks out of it. “There you go.”
Taking up the pen, his gaze flitters over the pages, before setting his signature at the bottom. He offers the pen up to the boy, who slowly reaches out, taking it. He leaves his name next to the curling signature with blocky letters.
Bennett claps her hands, Albert noticing the boy jump in his seat at the sudden sound, before taking the papers back.
“Wonderful. I will s-se-send you two off to get your th-things then, Ethan. And don’t for-forget to s-say goodbye to the other kids that you might haven’t already talked to!”, the woman chatters away. “I will wait at the front desk to s-see you off once you’re done, al-alright?”, she inquiries, but forgoes to await a response before turning towards the shelves lining the walls.
Noticing the dismissal for what it is, Albert stands up again, motioning the boy to lead the way. Small holey trainers hit the floorboards, before starting their way out of the room.
The boy remains silent for the duration of the walk, no excitement to be found. A state Albert already suspected. He had been informed over the boy’s extensive history of previous foster homes in great detail by Ms. Bennett. And the ‘hello letter’ the boy was made to put together spoke for itself.
They entered a room, void of decoration, with eight beds filling it for the most part. Toys and drawings are cast across the floor. The boy kneels before a bed in the corner, pulling out a black trash bag from beneath it.
“I got everything, Sir.”
Albert regards the boy before him again, assuming the black trash bag between his hands to be his luggage. It unexplainably sets the motion of irritation through him, upon realizing that he had not accounted for the possibility that a proper suitcase would not be provided. He had left his orphanage with two sleek black trunks and a suitcase provided by the staff.
“My car is out front. I’d suggest we head out soon, in anticipation of the evening traffic, we will most likely reach our destination after midnight. Is there anything else that needs to be brought along? Or children that need to be conversed with?”, he inquires, watching the boy idly drum his fingers on the soft plastic.
“No, Sir.”, comes as answer and as much as he is used to the title, it would be a hindrance to his endeavor of creating a more familiar environment between the two. He has to learn more from the boy, to be able to sort him in as a waste of time or a useful future asset.
“I do not require that address from you, Ethan. With a mind to the new nature of our acquaintance, my first name will be sufficient, shall the need to use it arise. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, to the car. We have a rather long drive ahead of us and I assume we will need to stop for dinner, too.”, he tells the boy, watching as he stands up and picks the bag up with the same energy as a prisoner going to his own execution.
“Okay.”
Ms. Bennett, as announced, waits for them in the foyer. Handing the boy a pack of gummies on his way out, with a soft pad to the shoulder in addition to a few encouraging words.
Albert already mentally adjusts himself for a difficult car ride, forgoing to ask the boy if he is required to carry his luggage for him, due to knowing better. It is a decremental knowledge within him that ones own belongings are to be kept safe. Handing all of them to a stranger is a ridicules notion he doesn’t bother offending the boy with. The tight grip around the bag while they walk along the gravel affirms his reasoning.
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The wide array of cartoonish visages stare back at him from between the shelves. What a tiger has to do with the apparent advertising of cereal still alludes him. A baseless attempt at causing excitement in the underdeveloped minds of children, surely. It at least is an appreciative sight to know the boy harbors no interest in such ludicrous imagery, forgoing the animalistic prints, for bottom shelf cartons with simple prints of their contents.
Said boy is currently squatted down in the aisle, seemingly indecisive between a more chocolate based and more honey-based food. Not that Albert would be foolish to believe that there is even more than a hint of the advertised ingredient or their promised health benefits in the package. And yet… they have stood here for more than three minutes. The products occasionally being twisted around in the boy’s hands, eyes skipping over the text on the back. The ‘labyrinth’ on it seems to mock him in its simplicity.
With a small nod of his head, letting a few strands of hair come loose from the hair tie that had posed as an attempt to reign them in, the brown box is set down. An obnoxious yellow one lands in the cart. Right next to his selection of sweet potatoes, chanterelles and a sirloin. Albert pushes the cart wordlessly forward. He knows better than to attempt to argue about the importance of a proper meal in the morning with a child. His information regarding the topic might be biased, with being based solely on two Birkin’s, but alas… he doubts the boy wont fuss about being denied his apparent chosen snack.
They move along, a small hand always griping the side of the cart. A habit surely instilled by one of his former caretakers. At least it prevents the boy from running off or getting lost in the overcrowded store. He will have to make sure to avoid differing from his usual times. The pulsing headache forming beneath his temple being reason enough. Thanks to the flickering glaring lights overhead and the continuation of a screeching child, two aisles to their right.
But it couldn’t be helped. His fridge needs restocking to accommodate two people and after the boy woke up in the afternoon, after having wordlessly crawled into the provided bed once they reached his apartment just before the sun rose, they went on their way for a shopping trip regardless. Heading out separately again to purchase new produce seemed to be a futile endeavor at the time. As yet another wallowing cry tears through his eardrums he doubts his past self’s thoughtfulness.
He continues to mentally catalogue necessary requirements for the upcoming week, despite the irritations. Purchasing the boy a few sets of appropriate clothes is already crossed off from his mental to-do list. The clothes chosen being selected to be more a variety of lighter fabrics and colors. Suitable for the ruthless summers in the city. While the boy had been hesitant at first to even touch a singular fabric, after some encouragement and well-placed hands to conceal the price tag Ethan always eyed, the boy claimed some reasonable options. Despite that, he still, even now, takes to wearing a washed-out hoody. Holes adorning the hem at his hands were his fingers tug ever so often. Despite his musing, he still notices the repeated glances of the boy towards the freezers.
“If there is something striking your interest, it is required of you to voice it.”, Albert tells the boy, the sudden conversation making him startle and whip around to look up at him. His eyes divert just as fast as they meet his.
“Ehh…”, is the meager answer he receives in return, followed with another gaze towards the aisle. “Could… could we get some ice-cream?”
Alberts grip on the shopping cart tightens momentarily, before he reminds himself that he did indeed agree to having this boy in his possession and therefore must have his basic needs meet. Like keeping a plant from wilting, so that it may reach enough growth to bloom one day. Gazing at the wriggling figure before him, wringing his fingers between each other, he realizes that it’d be a shame to have him dwindle away without seeing his potential come to fruition first. Was this not what the creation of children is about? Molding something to fit one’s own imagination of what it could become.
So, he pushes the cart wordlessly into the aisle, knowing the boy’s grip won’t waver from its position.
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The light of his bedside clock blinks out again, taking its yellow shine with it. It leaves him alone in the black room. The curtains too thick to let any moonlight pass through.
Ethan reaches out again. The light of the clock floods the space beneath the blanket in yellow again with a soft click. The hands still in the same position. He draws his legs further up, farther away from the edge of the bed. The air in his makeshift tent already feels moist and stuffy. Better still, than what might await him outside.
The image of the thing moving in the corner of his room still playing behind his eyelids. The yellow light vanishes again. All alone in a room makes him an easy target.
Click.
He really wishes for a print on the covers instead of the plain blue sheets. He had one with dinosaurs at one house. The T-Rex with its open mouth, baring its teeth had made him feel better than the blue blanket. A dinosaur can scare off whatever might be in the room.
Click.
He really would like to go back to sleep. But every time he closes his eyes its back. A sniffle leaves him, followed by more. The wetness rising to his eyes makes his vision swim. Whatever he tries, he can’t get his heart to stop pounding in his chest. It had never been that hard to keep calm when the other boys were with him in the room.
Click.
He doesn’t know how long he is awake for. The room keeps silent around him. He swallows a gulp of fresh air from a small gap he makes in his tent, quickly closing it behind himself. Maybe he could… no, he already tried that before and that landed him back with the stupid witch Mrs. Roberts. Albert had made it clear anyway that he didn’t want to be woken up in the middle of the night before going to his own room.
Click.
But the thing doesn’t know that. If he goes there, surely it will leave. Albert is a tall man, that must be as scary to a monster as a dinosaur. He slowly reaches for the clock, unwilling to leave it behind, and grabs two edges of the blanket with the other hand. Inching towards the edge of the bed in his cocoon is a slow process. He can’t risk accidentally having his leg out.
Click.
He turns the clock around, illuminating his way ahead, through the small gap by his face. The wooden floor makes it easy to scoot along it, like a caterpillar. Only the reach for the doorknob has him leave his hideout for a brief second, arm returning back into cover immediately after.
Click.
The yellow shine brightens the corridor, long shadows stretching along the walls. Twisting and flickering as he moves closer to the door next to his. Eyes fixate unto his door, waiting for something to come out. It remains slightly ajar. Is the monster perhaps out already? He whips his head around. Where is it? Is it truly gone?
Click.
His hands feel clammy. He really wishes he was back in bed, but the shadows are everywhere. Maybe he could knock? But that would wake Albert up. He doesn’t want to go back to his room alone. Ethan stares at the doorknob, shaky hand reaching up and carefully pulling it down. The door opens a crack, enough to slip in with his blanket pulled tight around him.
Click.
He gives the corridor one last glance, feeling as if something is waiting in the shadows. Are the ones by the living room not a bit darker than the rest? He barely reminds himself in time not to throw the door close, pushing it until it gives a soft click. His yellow light goes out, but the curtains in the room aren’t fully drawn, so when he turns around and comes face to face with a figure staring at him from the bed, he screams. It takes a moment to realize that the monster couldn’t be here, but he had already pressed himself against the door.
Everything is so still that Ethan can hear his own breathing and blood rushing in his ears. The figure on the bed merely brings its hand up and rubs it over its eyes. It leans to the side, towards the bedside table.
Click.
Bright yellow light fills the room, putting his makeshift flashlight to shame. The figure, now rather clear to be Albert, continues to stare at him from across the room.
“I believe to have made myself clear that nightly interruptions are wholly unwelcome.”, he tells him, voice a bit scratchy.
“Yeah.”, Ethan only brings out, already feeling his rapid beating heart slow in his chest.
“Then I fail to understand as to why you are standing before me.”
“There is a monster in my room.”, he gives back. Surely, he can see the reason behind that. The eyebrow being lifted at him, more clear than ever due to not being hidden by his sunglasses for once, makes Ethan doubt that thought.
“I can assure you that I would be aware if any monstrous creature roamed within these walls. The opposite is the case. So, you can return to your room and go back to bed. Your worries are wholly unproportionate and most likely a result of a new unfamiliar environment.”
Ethan scrunches his nose up at the idea of leaving again, now that he finally isn’t alone. He buries himself deeper into his blanket by his place at the door, crossing his arms.
“No.”
“No?”, Albert repeats, tilting his head to the side, as if it surprised him. “If my statement would have been formed as a question, I would have ensured you would have perceive it as such. You will go back to bed and there will be no further argument.”
“No.”, he mumbles, returning the glare send his way. The small voice in his head pipes up that Albert is sure to return him now that he is being difficult but Ethan really can’t bring himself to face the monster again.
Alberts jaw moves, seemingly to grit his teeth, as his eyes glance at his own clock. A silent breath leaves him and he rubs his eyes again.
“Will an inspection of your room convince you of its clearance from any monster?”, he is asked to which he can only shake his head. Obviously, that wouldn’t work since the monster has already moved to a different place in the apartment. He makes sure to tell Albert as such. The man slowly blinks at him. Finger tapping against the mattress. He sighs.
“Take the right side. No kicking. No complaining. And I expect not to find drool on the pillows in the morning.”, he huffs out, already moving to lay down again.
Ethan hurries to stand up from the floor, bare feet tapping against the ground. The mattress dips beneath him as he settles on his side of the bed, giving the pillow a few measured hits to the side, like he knew grownups always did. He tugs the blanket close around himself, wriggling once, twice, before settling down.
Click.
Despite the dark Ethan is sure that the monster wouldn’t appear this time.
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Having another person living within his vicinity is not a novelty, having occupied the same dorm and lab space with William a seemingly lifetime ago. It still is perplexing to see the boy sitting at the coffee table in the morning. Shoulders hunched forward, nearly curling around the bowl of cereal that he picked out. Children surely enjoy such needlessly over-sugared concoctions.
Even more questionable is the mere fact that the boy is present in his apartment at all. He’d deem it a failing of basic mindful thought and reason if it had happened to anybody else, but to him? It still sets off an irritating feeling in his chest that he refuses to further examine at present.
A stare, hidden behind a few strands of uncombed hair, pulls him out of his musings. The boy’s gaze is set on him, bowl empty before him. Albert raises a brow. If he desired to talk, he should do so unprompted. He isn’t going to start pulling every request out of the boy’s head, merely because he is, as Ms. Bennett put it in her appeasing talking, ‘shy’. He holds the gaze unwavering.
He easily recognizes the insufficiently veiled fear behind those searching eyes. Surely waiting for the other shoe to drop after having disregarded Albert’s order in the night. He has to admit that it had been unexpected to see the boy in his room that late. Not for being unable to fall asleep, but rather for seeking him out in a moment of perceived danger. Naturally, there was none. Only the imagination of the child whispering into his ears.
His new job as an undercover Umbrella security officer starts in exactly a weeks’ time and he has yet to fully organize appropriate accommodations for the boy. Summer vacation will only start in a few weeks and it will leave even more weeks until the boy will be busied by the school, into which Albert enrolled him in. Thanks to a former employee at Umbrella, who has taken to teaching and still owned him a favor, the matter has been smoothly dealt with. The school bus stops at a nearby corner and the distance is manageable by bike, too. He still has to decide which exact model to give to him. The books required can be picked up a week before the next school year begins and he has already transferred the various pamphlets to the boy’s possession. A lackluster assortment of after-school activities and clubs.
The eyes pointing at him finally divert back to the bowl, flickering around the kitchen once before returning to the unchanging scene that is his finished meal. The small form wiggles on the chair, surely unnerved by the undeterred gaze still resting on him. Albert merely brings his coffee cup to his lips. Still finding himself curious as to what the boy might do next. The fingers on the spoon tighten and loosen in an uneven rhythm. The silent air is broken by the small voice leaving from behind an insufficient protective layer that hair naturally poses in a soft whisper.
“Is there any-…anything that we are doing today?”, the boy inquires.
Albert very much takes notice of the ‘we’ in the question and is not foolish enough to believe the boy to be accustomed to his environment or his presence already. An attempt to diverge his attention perhaps? Still the thought of being seen as a collective unit, perchance even being confused with something as lowly as a family, makes something beneath his skin itch. He was never in the requirement of companionship. There is nothing as freeing as self-sufficiency, after all. A shame humanity instills the opposite into its youth.
“I have work to continue in my office. Lunch will be at one pm. You may knock shall an important matter arise, but not for trivial things. The books on the shelves can be read at your leisure. Ensure they remain intact.”, he informs the boy, rising from the chair.
The pair of eyes follow him till he rounds the corner. He truly cannot waste more of his precious time this morning on pointless possible arising conversation. There are still things to be prepared to flawlessly start his first day as Captain of S.T.A.R.S. and he will not have it be compromised by idle activities the boy might propose. As hindering for the building of reliance on him as a parental figure as it may be, his plans are his priority, no matter who takes residence in his household.
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He is bored. It feels as if his brain is about to seep out of his ears, so bored is he. Not even laying upside down on the couch helped. At least it had gotten a comment out of Ms. Bennett whenever he did it.
‘Keep it up and the tomato head is there to stay.’
A crooked smile appears on his lips at the memory. Falling away just as fast. Ethan’s eyes sting again but he promised himself not to cry again. His sniffle rings through the silence of the living room. He sits up, listlessly staring at the white walls surrounding him.
There is nothing here that he could do. The books are filled with words he doesn’t understand. Only the reminder to keep them tidy keeping him from throwing them down in frustration. The remote for the TV is nowhere in sight, and he thinks the noise will not be appreciated. There is no radio in the kitchen to quietly listen to, no toys…
He looks at the clock. 11 am. He grits his teeth, letting a noise of annoyance rise within his throat. Something akin to a snarl leaves his mouth. Ethan pushes himself from the couch, stalking along the apartment. It is on his second rounding of the kitchen island that he sees it. A magazine on the sideboard. That will do.
A few opened drawers later, now with a newly acquired pen, he settles back onto the couch. The magazine open before him. He is uninterested in the articles, the writing is too small and too much to have him even bothered to try. But that isn’t of interest to him anyway. He brings the pen to the paper, a small grin forms as he puts the first monobrow on some doctor’s face.
»»»»»»»»֎««««««««
The cover of the folder snaps back close. Casefiles now hidden away behind the unassuming grey plastic. Albert listlessly stares ahead for a minute.
It was the first usage of his position in the RPD to conceal Umbrellas tracks. A simple matter that merely required him to use the overcomplicated system implemented by Irons for the sorting of files to be used effectively against any potential snooping nose. A cold case that some over motivated rookie in the RPD thought worthy to prove himself on. The copy before him presents itself to be rather informative if one already has knowledge of the bigger picture.
He gives his office one final cursory look for the day after putting the folder into his briefcase. Finding everything in order and ready for a seamless start the following day, he rises from his chair.
The gleaming lights of the setting sun drift into the empty S.T.A.R.S. office, Valentine having wished him a good evening when she left as the last one an hour ago. He strides towards the exit downstairs, giving out the occasional nod towards a passing officer.
Albert knows that their suspicion and doubt finally starts to settle, having already proved his effectiveness with a successful rescue mission in the mountains two weeks ago. Still, a few remain wary of him, for being the perceived reason that their beloved Marini was denied the position. He could not care less about their lesser opinions, as long as his team follows only his decisions and does not defy them.
Pulling his car key out of his pocket he opens it and settles inside onto the black leather. The engine coming to live with a deep purr. With the set speed limit as a mere afterthought he is able to arrive back to the apartment in a timely enough manner to ensure that the boy will receive a proper meal for dinner.
That the boy’s idea of adequate comes in the form of dino shaped nuggets and half a package of frozen potato slices was an experience that he rather not come home to again. The boy had seemed to be of the illusion that his pocket money had been well spent at the corner store on the way back from a day spent out in the nearby skatepark. It gives a rather grave picture of what his caretakers must have fed him on the regular if he is that accustomed to the process to not see anything wrong with it.
Arriving at the garage he collects his belongings from the trunk before walking up the stairs to his front door. Noticing the lack of sound from within. Ethan had made it a habit of his to leave the normally unused TV running in the background, even when he himself was absent from the living room. Having grown up till now amidst the whirlwind off noise that dozens of children confined to a singular building would produce on the regular, he failed to see sense in scolding the boy for that.
With Williams chatter having always rung into his ears all day, he himself found some solace in a room not entirely devoid of sound. It thereby makes for an odd feeling upon entering.
But logic wins over feelings any day and he thereby assumes the most likely case. Ethan is still outside. With the knowledge that a child without entertainment or something to keep them busy tends to come up with rather… ill-fated ideas, he has no intention of keeping the boy locked up in the apartment, till it is time for him to pick up school again. From the new bracelet the boy sprouted, he supposes that the attempts of making acquaintances at the park were met with success.
Putting away the documents into the secret compartment of his bookshelf inside his office leaves him with nothing that requires his immediate attention aside from dinner. Moving towards the kitchen, a cursory gaze throughout the fridge reveals that the boy’s sustenance intake is on a scale that leaves much to be desired.
The next hour of his is spent in practiced motions, actions precise as he has taught himself to be. There is never enough room for any mistake. In the timely framework of employment or in his leisure time.
The apartment door remains closed throughout his time in the kitchen. No footsteps pattering through the stairwell. No obnoxious chatter. Nothing. The mutual agreement that a return to the apartment shall not happen after eight pm, with a pointed look at the clock, is now effectively disregarded by half an hour.
A low simmer of anger twists inside his chest. He already has to handle a bunch of loudmouthed imbeciles at work, the least he could expect is a fulfillment of basic decency and respect at home. Avoiding the huff about to leave his throat he collects his jacket and steps out into the cooling night air. Ignoring the other feeling clawing its way into his mind that appears to similar to concern for his liking he makes a turn, heading towards the park down the road.
The rumbling motors of cars pass him by, headlights blinding even behind his shades. It makes his lips set into a firm line, at last the first wildly arranged trees emerge from between the artificial light the streets lamps have been giving off for the last five minutes.
His expectation to find a clump of teenagers here and there is squatted upon his entry, rather is his gaze meet with clusters of varying members of society. Students from differing years, parents and elderly. His walk turns to more of a careful stalk along the edge of the huddling body masses.
Paper chains connect tree branches overhead. Cut into rudimentary visages of the human body. Not to mention the poor artistic depiction of skin color that had been chosen to include the entire color spectrum the human eye can perceive. Why anyone would feel the need to partake in the creation of a specimen of neon green color must be far below his ability of comprehension, for he could not come up with a sensible conclusion to it.
His ears pick up a sound that makes him halt in his strut across the parameter.A certain laugh he had heard pierce through the silence of his home countless times already, accompanied by a badly composed joke from the early morning children’s program, reaches him. Alberts gaze snaps to the right, the concrete structure of the skate compartment in the park jutting out from the ground and falling into his line of sight.
He walks closer, rounding a corner until he sees the boy. Sitting on the ledge before the drop with two other children by his side. A girl with a jeans jacket that seems to be composed out of more patches than its base material and another that appears to introduce a new form of ventilation to her sportswear by adorning it with holes on her pants.
Albert brings his fingers to his mouth, a sharp whistle piercing the music filled air. More than the intended individual turn their heads but he is not bothered by the additional attention as the boys’ eyes rest on him. He watches with surprisingly rapt attention the pupils of his eyes fill to black in surprise. Slight tint in his cheeks rising from, what he presumes, embarrassment.
Ethan grabs a skateboard from behind himself, head turning left and right before he drops in and rolls towards him. His companions looking after him, heads turning to whisper to one another. The boy comes to a stop before him, skateboard picked up and held tightly beneath his arm. Gaze lowered to the ground. So, he can acknowledge to having done something wrong. But it still is not enough acknowledgment for Albert’s taste.
“I was under the impression that the church’s bell has the routine of chiming at eight pm sharp every day. Have they decided to change it spontaneously for today?”, he inquires, noting the small tingle at watching him squirm with discomfort. How unusual not to feel delighted from it.
“No…”, comes the whispered response.
“Then I fail to see a reason for your severely delayed arrival at the apartment that as of now…”, he glances at his wristwatch, “…is overdue by nearly an hour. Because if you were able to perceive the agreed upon signal for your return home it seems that mulish intentions have kept you here.”
“I’m sorry.”, the boy mutters out meekly.
“Ethan.”, he says, tone stern enough to have the boys’ eyes flitter up to his face. “I do not care for your apology. You decided under full consciousness that you will forgo our agreement and rather stay here at an unreasonable hour for a child of your age.”, he scolds, seeing the glistering of tears spring into the boy’s eyes.
“I-I just lost track of time.”, he tries to defend himself, grip turning white knuckled on the board.
“Spare me your excuses.”, he waves him off.
The boy’s posture goes rigid, fear finding its turning point and delving into anger. “But it’s true!”, he voices louder than necessity would demand for its understanding.
Albert lets his gaze wander, away from the shaking form of the boy before him and to the two children, now having moved from their prior position and closer to them. Their eyes are filled with pity as they glance towards the boy. He meets the gaze of the older girl, her back straightening, determination forming in her face as she steps closer the rest of the way.
“Ethan’s right!”, she proclaims, as if a multitude of the same opinion turns it true all of a sudden. “We really didn’t notice the time! And…and…”, she halts seemingly thinking of a better reason to sway him with.
“The music is really loud!”, the other girl chimes in, making the three children nod in unison.
“Yes!”, she says, “It makes it hard to hear the bells, and the streetlights are hard to see with all the lights hung up.”
He watches as Ethan shoots the two a thankful look, his shoulders slightly sagging from their earlier tension. Brown eyes look at him pleadingly, anger vanishing as the chance of an out from the situation presents itself. While Albert holds no qualms about setting their group straight about the consequences of disobeyed instructions, he is also aware of the hardships a newly moved child potentially faces. Having his Alpha Team operate as a unit requires occasional compromises from either side. Looking at the three children before him, with their bodies clustered together in unspoken support, he decides that a too tight rein on the boy’s leash would merely make him prone to lashing out.
“Then I shall not panelize your actions but we will still return back home now. An adequate sleep schedule is to be upheld.”, he tells them, noticing the poor attempts at hidden smiles from them.
Albert watches as Ethan returns the older girls skateboard to her possession, agreeing to meet them tomorrow again before waving goodbye for an unreasonable amount of time as they distance themselves from the commotion.
Their walk along the street passes by in silence for the majority of the time, Ethan glancing up at him ever so often.
“I really didn’t mean to be out for so long. Promise!”, the boy tells him while they walk the last few meters to the building.
He stops in his step to look at the boy, the flittering eyes and drawn away gaze. Unsure now that his acquaintances cannot provide back up.
“I do not enjoy repeating myself. Your apology is of no value to me. You have shown that you knew of your own wrongdoing, unrelated to what your friends might claim. If you want me to believe in your regret towards your actions, you will ensure it does not happen again. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then let’s head inside. I will have to warm up the food again.”
“You made dinner?”, the boy asks in a small voice from behind him as they climb up the stairs.
“Naturally. You make it sound like an uncommon event.”
He steals on last look at the boy before unlocking the door, seeing him wipe at his face with the hem of his sleeve.
“I really am sorry.”, he hiccups out.
Albert, unable to suppress it, sighs upon hearing such repetition. “I know.”, he offers, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
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Ethan, for all his hesitance to hope for a permanent home, really starts to like Albert. Even if the man sometimes barks a snaky comment at him, veiled beneath so much fancy words that he only understands half of it. Like last week when he did the very reasonable thing, in his opinion, of inspecting how many blankets are needed to make a proper fort out of the kitchen table. He still has to find out why a brain eating amoeba would starve in his head and what that even is, but it sounded like an insult.
He stands up on his tippy toes, trying to get a better look at the gummy drops on the shelf. Ms. Edith, the woman that handles the register three days a week, has told him that they got a new flavor he could try. Grabbing through the bags to grab a different colored package he pulls it out, soles landing back on the ground. Sour apple.
Not something he really likes, but Meryl seems to like them. Grabbing another one that tastes nice he makes his way down the aisle. He places them on the counter, watching as Ms. Ediths pink bubble of gum grows bigger before popping. She chews and pulls it back into her mouth, eyes lifting from her magazine.
“Is that all, hon?”, she asks between chews. Ethan thinks Albert might get that twitch to his eye again if he ever has to talk to Ms. Edith. He doesn’t seem to notice it himself but with his smaller vantage point Ethan can see it beneath the sunglasses whenever the man is upset.
“Yup! Or… OH! Three of the sour candy too, please.”, he tells her pointing at the little paper label taped to the glass.
“Flavor?”
“Uhh… lemon?”, he gives back, unsure. Emma only ever talked about them and how cool they are. What flavors do they even have of them?
Ms. Edith grabs something from beneath the counter, three drops plopping onto the gummy bags.
“Something else?”
“No, thanks.”
“That’ll be 1.25.”, she tells him, after hitting a few keys on the register. A small peep following each press of a button.
Ethan fishes for his wallet in his backpack. It was fully black only three weeks ago when Albert bought it but Meryl had offered him a few nice patches for himself. It certainly shows that he doesn’t know how to sew but at least they still haven’t fallen off. Opening his wallet and pulling a few coins out, he gingerly places them on the counter.
Albert had started to wordlessly hand him twenty bucks at the start of each week. Ethan didn’t even know if he was allowed to use it at first or if it was meant as a test, so after further investigation he believed it to be actually all for him. Most of it is still currently hidden beneath his bed, laying between mattress and bedframe. Still… he feels bad to always take a handful from the others sweets, even if they allow it. Surely they won’t get mad if he brings some for them too, as repayment.
With the treats and receipt secured in his bag he ventures out of the corner store, the door closing with a chiming of the bell behind him.
The streets are lively, people running around, some even pushing their way through. A car honks ever so often and Ethan makes his way to the next crossing. Unwilling to risk running over the street with that much traffic. Its way more than he is used to.
He watches a cluster of pigeons fight over a piece of bread as he enters the park. A big one standing out with its large frame. It reminds him of a baby cuckoo in another bird’s nest. It brings a small chuckle to his lips, remembering the giggle fit his classmate had upon seeing the picture in the biology book. The teacher didn’t enjoy their interruption as much.
“Ethan!!!”, a shrill voice calls for him. The girl, four years younger, sitting on top of the green benches rest.
“Is school already out?”, he questions, unsure why they might be here so early in the morning.
“Summer vacation started, you dork.”, Meryl yells from her place on the quarter. “Thought you could have the rink all to yourself again?”
Now he notices the way the skatepark is certainly more filled than usual. Not only with teenagers but a few smaller kids with their parents too.
“Nah, I look better with Emma fumbling around on her skates behind me!”, he shouts back, now nearly in front of them.
“HEH!”, the girl calls out, arms folded over her chest. “At least I didn’t face plant the ground last week.”
Ethan goes to scratch the back of his head, letting a shaky laugh slip out. That certainly wasn’t something enjoyable to remember.
“Well, if you two are done telling everybody how wonky you roll, I wanna try myself out on the flat rail. Can’t be that hard.”, Meryl tells them, brushing a stray dread lock from her face.
“Tell us how the concrete tastes like, will ya?”, Ethan yells after her receding form. Emma tries not to laugh to obviously behind her hand.
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Ethan, out of the corner of his eye, could see the twitching beneath the sunglasses again, just as the baby across the room draws another breath to scream again. The little boy next to him sniffs his blob of snot back up and proceeds to cough without putting his arm up. He decides that inching a bit closer to Albert might be alright if it keeps him away from being in the radius of whatever the boy is sick with.
He really doesn’t want to be sick if it means letting Meryl and Emma hanging. Now that they have more time, he really wants to spend it with them.
The page swishes as Albert turns it to a new one. Some science magazine, again. Now that Ethan thinks about it, there are a lot of them in the apartment. Books, too.
He had caught some voice on the telephone saying ‘doctor’ to the man… if he was one, couldn’t he have given him the vaccine shot without having to sit here?
Ethan dodges another plastic block being thrown his way from the two girls sitting in the play corner. Their mother still too deep in conversation with another to notice. He starts to kick his legs forward and back, hands idly tapping his knees. A faint sniffle comes from the reception area as a new kid joins the waiting room, an oversized teddy bear clutched beneath her arms.
His head turns to look out of the window but aside from the red brick wall of the neighboring house his sight is limited. The clock on the wall keeps ticking away, hands moving along. Tick. Tock.
A muffled outcry pierces down the hallway, making his neck hairs rise. Ethan glances up at Albert again. Still unwilling to take note of him. Heels click down the hallway to the doctor’s rooms and a woman appears with her crying daughter held high in her arms. Face red and mouth stretched wide in a scream. A man in a white lab coat follows her, he takes a quick look at the clip board in his hand to call his next patient.
“Ethan Winters.”, the rough voice calls out into the waiting room.
He gulps, looking at Albert again, who merely rises to a standing position. His fingers dig into his knees. The man turns to look at him, a blond eyebrow pecking out from beneath the shades.
“Come along now Ethan.”, he says before turning and making his way across the room. Dodging scattered toys as he goes while clearly expecting to have him follow.
With a last desperate look towards the exit he stands up, trailing behind the two adults down the hallway. He tries to talk some courage into himself with the promise of ice cream if he behaves still dangling over his head. He can do it.
Stepping into the office, he is faced with a wall to the right full of pictures. Drawings of other children, so many that they even start to cover each other up. Some dangly thing hangs over the exam table, the colorful butterflies swaying in the warm breeze from the cracked window. He takes a seat next to Albert in front of the desk. The little figurine of a racoon smiling brightly in their direction.
“So, I see that you haven’t been here before, Ethan.”, the doctor says, glancing into his folder. “But not to worry! We’ll be taking good care of you here. I’m going right with the wish for a checkup and a vaccine shot?”, the man questions Albert, smile seeming a bit strained. Ethan’s not worried, the other always looks like everything is inconveniencing him.
“Yes.”
“Alright. Now, Ethan I’ll first be taking your height and weight. And we’ll look how your balance is faring, good?”, the doctor asks him. He only answers with a short nod.
After a few minutes it really starts to get boring for him. The check up on him is done but Albert still has to answer the questions the doctor throws at him. How much is he eating? How long does he sleep for? Does he move enough per day? All things Ethan could have told him, too. He really doesn’t understand why Albert has to answer them.
With the doctor finally leaving to get the shot, Ethan lets out a sigh. The other man looks at him for a brief moment before returning his gaze straight ahead.
“The next doctor to try out requires us to drive there. Not a hindrance, if your preferences with this particular one are not met.”
“It’s fine.”, Ethan tells him.
“I believe I already mentioned my desire to cultivate honesty between us. What is the cause of bother for you?”
“That sounds like you have some, too.”, he whispers towards the man, noticing the sidelong look he gets, with the smallest quirk of the corner of his lips.
“Let’s focus on your experience for now. It is your appointment, after all. That their unprofessional hygienic standards would have most of my former colleague’s faint is to be ignored under such line of inquiry.”
“Mhh… I don’t mind him. I still could have answered the questions he asked.”, Ethan says with a bit of displeasure to his voice. He always got to talk about his problems himself whenever he was sick enough to warrant a trip to the doctor with Ms. Bennett.
“Would it be easier for you to write your complains down?”
“Like they do at jobs?”
“Similar but yours will certainly not end up unread in a bin.”
“Okay.”, he agrees, just in time with the doctor entering again. Excusing the delay with the reasoning of one patient having had an ‘accident’ by the door to the lab. Ethan is glad he spares them the details. But not so much as he is asked to sit on the examination table.
With his arm already bared due to his T-Shirt the doctor has ample access to it. He grabs the disinfectant and a few wipes. The needle glints menacingly from the tray, making Ethan’s heart jump in his chest. He doesn’t notice the paper on the cushion wrinkles under the strain of his wiggling. Shooting a glance at the needle before trying to stare at the opposite wall makes him come face to face with Albert, still sitting on the chair. Only now turned slightly towards them. Observing the doctors doing.
He jumps when the cool wipe is dragged over his arm. Fingers digging into the pollster, arms shaking despite his tight grip. The doctor says something that just won’t reach Ethan’s ears. He tries to focus on it, but to no avail.
He always hated the days the doctors came to give them their shots at the Orphanage. Easier to do it in one go and on site, than drag all to the doctor’s office, Mrs. Roberts always said. One after the other as they all lined up. His arm always hurt afterwards, the feeling off the metal sinking into his skin makes him dizzy even if he just thinks about it. He tried to avoid it for the past week since Albert told him they would be going, but now with the blue gloves picking up the needle, uncapping it… his put-on bravery to be able to do it, simply leaves him.
Between the teasing of the other boys and the giggling of the girls, Ms. Bennett had advised him to simply close his eyes and he really tries to do it now but his eyes are drawn to the pointy tip. Closing in on him. Pointing at him.
Goosebumps rise all over his arms. The doctor’s hand stops right before his skin, his eyes trying to meet Ethan’s, to no avail. He can’t tear his gaze away. His vision becomes wobbly the longer his focus is fixed onto it. Tears threatening to spill, as his breaths draw not enough air into his lungs. That the needle is sat down back onto the tray only appears in an afterthought inside his head. His hand shooting up to grip the front of his shirt, fearing his heart might escape through his ribs.
Through his gasping breaths goes the conversation between the two adults unnoticed. Only when a tight pressure around his hand appears, he is pulled from his spiral. Fluttering eyelids blink up at the expressionless face of Albert, standing beside him. Even hidden behind the sunglasses, his eyes don’t look down on him, stare facing straight ahead through the window behind the doctor’s desk. His hand is squeezed once and the unrelenting knocking of his heart eases slightly.
Ethan’s gaze darts to the moving form of the doctor, only to have it torn back to Albert as the man begins to talk to him.
“Were you aware that the ‘ollie’ was invented by an Alan ‘Ollie’ Gelfand?”, he asks him with the same monotone voice he seems to always harbor.
“Uhh… I didn’t know but I think I saw his name on a magazine before.”, he tells him, mulling over if a memory might still come up about it. Albert squeezes his hand again, a bit harder than before. Making Ethan look at it.
“So!”, the doctors says next to him, a triumphant smile on his face. “All done.”
What? Ethan doesn’t process the sentence for a second before seeing the empty needle being put down onto the tray. The doctor grabs for a band aid from the tray. He looks down, a small droplet of red welling up from his skin before it is being concealed by the colorful band aid a second later.
His mind still feels dazed as they leave the doctor’s office, his hand idling on the plastic foil of the gummy package he got from the doctor before leaving the room. His other one still hasn’t released its hold on the man’s fingers, merely venturing to only grip tightly around his pinky.
Albert lifts his free arm, gaze locked onto his wristwatch.
“We’ll need to hurry if your desire for ice cream still persists. The afternoon rush will certainly begin shortly and I’d rather avoid another bout of unruly children.”, the man tells him, not slowing in his strut.
“I-I’m…still allowed to get s-some?”, he hesitantly inquiries. Eyes gazing up through a few loose strands of hair.
His arm aches for a brief moment when Albert abruptly stops, unable to slow his half run down fast enough.
“Naturally. What behavior, in your opinion, has been displayed that would warrant a denial of that reward?”, he asks, finally meeting his gaze. Eyes still obscured by the dark shades.
“I-I… made a-a… made a fuzz.”, he stammers out. Surely it had been obvious with the way he hindered the doctor’s job.
“Really? If you were to see a friend of mine whenever he received a shot, you would notice that your behavior could be categorized as very timid. You have yet to throw an instrument tray at someone’s head. The bar for something qualifying as a misconduct is thereby relatively high.”
“They threw something?”, Ethan asks, now hurrying after the man’s wide steps again.
“Oh, certainly. It is surprising to learn of the number of tantrums that he was allowed to partake in without chiding. A shame it never really eased in his adulthood. He is just as childish as all those years ago.”, the man tells him, surprising Ethan a bit. He had doubted that the man actually had friends.