Albert Foundling & The Worst Things He Had Ever Done.

Part Four

The oak doors slammed shut behind the man in the black coat with a familiar thunderous boom. The hall that lay before him hung onto the sound for far too long. Despite the years, he knew the layout of the building well. He made his way up the marble staircase and saw a light coming from beneath her door. He was nervous, but after all these years, he was ready. He knocked.
"Come in, Mr. Percy," said a small voice from behind the door. "Are you done cleaning for the night?"
The man in the black coat twisted the knob and entered. The entry room was the headmistress's formal office and sitting room. And after decades, the only thing that appeared to be different were the walls. Where once was art and crucifixes was empty space.
"It is not Mr. Percy," he replied. The old lady sat in a rocking chair, holding a small tissue and watching a small tv perched on what was once her office desk. She stood slowly, smoothing out her nightgown and grabbing her robe from a nearby hook.
"I was not expecting any guests," she apologized. "Do come in and tell me who you are."
The man took a seat on the nearby sofa. He set his leather bag on the ground and laid a small black book on the coffee table.
"I was once a student here. My name is Albert Foundling."
Desdemona looked up from tying her robe. She looked deep in the eyes of the man claiming to be Albert Foundling.
"Is this a joke?" She asked, almost frustrated.
"No, mam. My name is Albert Foundling. Do you remember me?"
She looked again, studying his eyes, and this time she believed him. She wept.
"There is no need to cry, Headmistress Smith." He put his hand on her back. This once tall, powerful woman had been reduced to something small and meek. She wept, still clinging to the tissue in her hands.
"I have come to my senses, Headmistress. This school that gave me this name turned me into something quite unnatural. I now find myself quite wealthy by ill-gotten gain, and now I feel I must pay for it."
She continued crying. Wiping her nose and eyes with her hand.
"When I was young, I found a book that told me all the wrongs I had ever done," he continued. "On the first page was always you. I hated you. I wanted you dead. This little book reminds me of it every day."
He took the book from her table, undid the band from its cover and showed her the first page. It was littered with her name and his hatred.
Instinctively, she took the book from his hands and the words all dropped from the page. Albert knew she would see her own mistakes now. Things she hadn't probably thought of in years. Quickly she was through the book, even more emotional. She stopped on a date and turned it towards Albert. It included his name and an incident he no longer remembered.
"I know how this book works," she admitted. She pulled out the tissue from her hand. But it wasn't a tissue at all. It was a worn page from a journal. She unfolded it and sat it on top of Albert's journal. The torn edge matched perfectly to the leftover edge from when Albert first tore out his sins from this book.
"I have read this page again and again for years now," she said. "I found this piece of paper under your bed after you left the school. It only showed me my wrongdoings until I was seven. But your book here showed me things I wished I would have never remembered."
She cried again. Albert reached a hand to touch her shoulder.
"We do things we hate," he said. "That is why I came tonight. I wanted to use this book for good for once. I came to say I am sorry that I wished you dead, and that I am happy tonight to have found you very much alive."
Albert pulled a pen from his pocket. Taking her torn sheet in his hands, he wrote a note across the page in thick black ink and returned it Desdemona. She looked it over, folded it neatly, and placed it on the side table. She took Albert's pen, and on the first page she wrote:
I forgive you, too.