The Demon Boy

Day Three - Afternoon

     Alicia's surprised to see the boy. From the moment he's at the door, her expression wavers between shock and distress. He hasn't done anything, so why is she upset?

     "Jeezus, kid. I thought you had more sense in you than to come in this weather... Well don't just stand there! Get in, get in!" She ushers him inside to the crackling hearth.

     The boy gratefully plops beside the coals. He sets his shoes out to (hopefully) dry. Even if they're still wet by opening, by his eviction, they'll be warm for a few sweet seconds. He points his pruned toes hearthwards and relishes the feeling coming back into his frigid feet. Hands hover above feet, also enjoying the heat, though it makes the sores on his fingers ache in new ways. He's comfortable until Alicia places a gentle hand on his shoulder. He recoils at the unexpected touch. Her hurt look convinces him that she didn't mean anything by it. Satisfied, he goes back to staring at the hearth. He hears Alicia sigh beside him. He hears her go to the kitchen. He hears her ask Gerry to be generous with the servings.

     The boy smirks. It's not everyday he gets to be doted on. He savours the feeling while it lasts. As happy as he to laze about the hearth, he has a job to do. He rubs his hands in front of the fireplace one more time and gets up. It's time to earn that meal.

     Alicia begs to differ. "Oh, no, no, no. You are staying put there, by the fire, until you are dry. I am not having you drip all over the floors, working yourself 'til you catch your death because you've been out in the wet and damp doing... doing god knows what."

     Her distress hasn't waned. It takes a moment and the worry etched in her brows for the boy to put two and two together. What he sees there aren't her emotions per se; they're reflections of what she sees in him. How sentimental. If she thinks this is bad, she should've seen what he looked like at the workhouse. She's nice, but too damn nice. She's asking to be deceived and the boy's sorely inclined to try... No, better not. Sentimental she may be, but she's no moron. She'll catch on. Moreover, he wants to stay honest with her. He likes her too much to play tricks. But if that's what it takes to get away from Myr...

     He returns to watching the fireplace. He doesn't know what he'll do because he doesn't know what it'll take to do it. If it means hurting Alicia... He glances at her. She's polishing off the tables, doing his job for him. She shoots him the odd worried look when she thinks he's not looking.

     He turns his attention back to the crackling hearth and wrings out his shirt and hair to stop himself from thinking too much about her. Alicia's right about him catching his death; staying soaked like this is like asking to get sick. He pauses, the fabric of his shirt caught in mid-twist. He's still thinking about the person he explicitly decided not to think about anymore. Fat load of good that's doing. It's like trying not to think of a song that's stuck in your head. Doesn't matter if you do or don't, it's lodged between your ears and there it'll stay as long as it pleases.

     Speaking of things stuck in people's heads, here comes the lady herself. Seems like she's done with the tables. She must be coming over for one of her poorly disguised interrogations. The boy watches her so he won't get spooked again, then he goes back to watching the coals burn. He waits for Alicia to work up enough nerve to begin her inquiry.

     "Boy." She wrinkles her nose at the word, grimacing at how wrong it sounds. "Kid." This address fits better. She's called him that already, may as well stick with it. "Why are you really here, kid?"

     The boy knows exactly what to say. He turns to her, full eye contact. No more spying glances. "I came because I promised I'd be here." He doesn't mention dinner, his motivation for keeping the promise.