Wide Eyed

Aga

Aga rested on the kitchen table. Her head lay heavy on her folded arms as the dawn's light bled through the windows, bathing the old kitchen in a ruddy golden light. It fell upon the ageing stove set against the wall, where it sits beneath a rusted metal pipe to carry out the smoke. Aga stirred slightly as the room grew brighter, yet she did not have the will to rise. At least not until a heavy knock at the door finally stirred her from her fitful slumber. She blinked and rubbed the crusted tears from the corners of her eyes, the result of an uneasy sleep on the table after a night of worried weeping. She still held the note she had found.

     Dear Mother, I've gone to return my books. I will be back soon after you are home. Please don't worry about me, I'm taking the same route I always do.

     PS: I still have the knife, I hope I don't have to use it.

     Love, Thomas

Yet Tommy never came home last night. Aga had walked the route that he took to the library, but no one she trusted enough to ask had seen any sign of him. Of course, her first instinct was a fear most primal. She who is aware of the world and its depravity, whose back is scarred by life's lashing, yet brought a child into its senseless turmoil? What else could a mother feel when their child is lost among the dregs?

The knock rang out again, more insistently this time and Aga got to her feet. She could only hope it was someone with news, so she cracked open the door and peered through. She saw four people standing there. Three wore dark blue robes with delicate white threading embroidered in strange patterns. The one in front, who must have knocked on Aga's door, wore the same but with a black thread and a dark blindfold over her eyes. Aga's breath caught and she held the door so that only her face was visible, placing her foot firmly behind the bottom of the door. The blindfolded woman smiled warmly and began to speak while the other three stood silently behind. 

"Hello, ma'am. Are you missing a child?" Aga's heart sank as dread swelled to replace it. She knew these robes, the strange garb of those who reside within the eerie halls of the Academy. Questions that she did not want to ask began to form within her mind, yet fear muted her vocal chords. Instead, she nodded to the blindfolded woman like the scared fool she was. The woman smiled and nodded as if she was not impeded in the slightest by the dark fabric that covered her eyes.  

"Little Tommy, or Thomas if we're asking him." Aga wondered how she had known her son's name, but the woman answered her question with her next statement.

"I've had the pleasure of speaking to your little boy often. The library he visits is mine after all. Such a brilliant child, you must be so proud. Have you seen how many books he brings back here?" Aga nodded, then croaked.

"My boy, he alright?...Been worried near t' th' grave I 'ave. Where is he?" She tried to keep her voice calm, yet it quavered and laid her fear bare between them. The blindfolded woman smiled again and answered.

"Rest assured Ma'am, your son is perfectly fine." Aga wanted to sigh with relief, but Tommy was not among these visitors and Aga's worry did not die completely. Her chest began to tighten and she took several deep breaths to calm herself, though she could not stop herself from fearfully pondering; why had they not brought Tommy here? 

"But I will not lie." Said the woman at the door. "We have come to talk about more than your son's current condition. His future in fact." She added in response to Aga's worried gaze through the crack of the door.

Aga's eyes narrowed and she looked hard at the woman before her. She looked to be in her early thirties, with high cheekbones, and a ghostly pallor. From a lifetime of grave robbing, or strange rituals in the dead of night Aga figured. There could be no denying that she was one of those freaks from the Academy. Her concealed eyes seemed to bore right into Aga's, and she felt like she was being read like a book. All that and the fact she claimed to know where her child was did little to settle her nerves.