A. H. Wong

Chapter One

 

 

February 20th, 2012

 

Early Afternoon

 

The sun shone, but it felt like it shouldn't. Sorrow hung about the halls of the buildings, as if there was something alive inhabiting them. Something dying.

 

The people inside tried not to feel it, but anyone who looked close enough at their eyes could tell something was not right. There was something cold, something heartless, something scared, and something alone in each and every mind. This wasn't a place populated by people who know how to smile, or how to laugh, or even how to cry.

 

The sun's glimmered off the warm, red brick and glowed on the cheerfully-painted walls. The murals that bore inspiring images and inscriptions seemed almost ethereal in the sun's full light. The hardwood floors in the halls, and the soft carpet in the bedrooms, bore the weight of easily over a few hundred people or more. Even more people were housed in newly-erected dorm room buildings scattered around the property, each building cleverly decorated in its own style.

 

Each floor of every building was manned by a resident psychiatrist, and a medical room could be found in every building. Group therapy sessions were mandatory for all residents, as were the classes found in the main building. Runaways, and other people who life left behind, walked from door to door; all armed with the latest textbooks.

 

Among them were those who have a darker past. The ones who people naturally steered away from, didn't look at, pretended don't exist—the girls and boys who lived on the seventh floor, in the wing simply called The Plucked Feather.

 

In a building where the other wings are called things like Rose, Sunrise, or Garden—this name says all that needs to be said about its residents.

 

These girls and boys, whose ages ranged from just under ten to mid-twenties, were—rumors had it—the reason this place had been created.

 

Naturally, the rumor mills didn't know the truth.

 

Master John wouldn't let them.

 

He was too smart to let the rumors out. He'd been running this place since it opened—the place called The Agency for Unwanted Children.

 

The place Beatrix now called home.

 

She stood in her room, and looked around her. It was a far cry from anything she'd known recently—in fact, it looked something along the lines of a dorm room. It was about eleven feet by eleven feet, with barred windows set against the outside wall. The bare walls were painted a soft green, and she'd already been told by Maverick that these walls were hers to decorate.

 

Beatrix was overwhelmed. Her brown eyes flicked over the walls, looking for anything out of place. Her senses, honed by a life of fear, were shouting at her to get out of this place.

 

But she was here to stay now.

 

She didn't have a choice.

 

She'd already signed the contract, and agreed to keep the Agency's secret. Beatrix sat down on her bed, and hoped she wouldn't regret it.

 

At least she had fresh clothing—clothing that fit, too. It seemed like the Agency just kept clothes of every size on hand, just for these occasions; the second she had been assigned her room was the second her clothing sizes had been found.

 

Less than ten minutes after she sat down in her room, a knock had sounded, and Janelle had appeared with clothing.

 

More than enough, in fact, to give her a wardrobe.

 

A knock sounded at the door. Beatrix glanced up from her hands, and called: "Who's there?"

 

A voice came back, almost amused: "Relax, newcomer. My name's Taylor. I'm your floor's psychiatrist."

 

Beatrix shrugged to herself, before she bit her lip and walked to the door. She opened it, and gazed at the tall man that stood before her.

 

Taylor was easily above six feet in height, and topped with a head of permanent-bedhead brown hair. He was long and lean, and appeared younger than she expected—he must only have been five or six years older than herself. He glanced down at her with a small smile, but she could see some form of cold in his eyes—his eyes were calculating.

 

She folded her arms across her chest, and calculated him right back. Taylor looked at her in silence, before he asked, "How are you liking it here, young miss....?"

 

"A—....Beatrix. Call me Beatrix. And it's....I like it here. It's warm."

 

He didn't fail to catch the stammer, but he moved on nonetheless: "Just warm? Well, I suppose that's better than nothing. Don't forget, dinner's served at five, and my office is down the hall, take a right, and it's the third door on the left."

 

Without further ado, Taylor departed from her sight, and Beatrix gazed after him for a moment longer.

 

She then closed the door, thought for a moment or two, and decided she just might like it here after all.

 

<3 <3 <3 </3 <3 <3 <3 </3 <3 <3 <3 </3

 

February 20th, 2012

 

Mid Afternoon

 

Beatrix swore to herself, flooded with the knowledge that she couldn't stay in her room for much longer. She gathered up what strength she could, and stepped out of her room.

 

She walked right into a man.

 

He grabbed her by her shoulders, and stared down at her. "Annabelle?"

 

She flinched in shock at the use of her real name, and looked up at him. "Martin...."

 

He nodded, before he wrenched her to his chest in a bear hug. She flinched again, almost pulled back, but his grip was too tight for her to escape. Finally, she gave in and wrapped her arms around him as well.

 

When he felt her arms wrap around him, he sighed: "I'm so glad I found you. Do you know how long I've been looking for you?"

 

"You've....You've been looking for me?"

 

"Every day, ever since I couldn't find you anymore. I've been following rumors ever since we separated."

 

She nuzzled into his chest, and inhaled his familiar smell. He'd taken a shower recently, too, so this was one of the first times she got to smell him instead of dirt. "We split up...two years ago, didn't we?"

 

He nodded, and his chin brushed the top of her head. "Two years ago."

 

"I...."

 

A cough, polite and soft, interrupted her. Martin let her go from his grasp, and she turned to find Taylor watching them. The man raised his eyebrows at them questioningly, before he asked: "You two know each other?"

 

"I've known her for years, ever since I ran away from home. Her and I totally hit it off in....In New York, I think, a couple years ago. Traveled together for a couple years, but we lost each other two years ago." Martin replied, talking quickly. "I've been looking for her ever since—who knew I'd—"

 

Taylor cut him off. "Yes, how fortunate you'd find her here. Now, please, both of you have already met with Master John, correct? If not, I need to take you to him now."

 

Beatrix blinked, as she found the word 'Master' an interesting one to use in this situation. Taylor didn't seem like the kind to open up, however, so she decided to ignore her questions. "I haven't met him yet."

 

Taylor nodded. "And you, Martin?"

 

"Met with him yesterday, when I got in. First thing I did after signing the contract."

 

"Then, come with me, Beatrix. You'll be able to talk with Martin again after you meet with Master John, and then with me."

 

Beatrix found Taylor earth-shatteringly polite, but that didn't stop her from following him as he led the way down the hall. As they walked, he barely spoke—he limited himself to casual questions about her day, her plans for life after the Agency, and the like. He didn't ask her about her past, and Beatrix was glad for that.

 

He took her to the staircase, and down three flights of stairs. They walked together towards the center of the massive building, where Master John kept his office. Taylor rapped upon the dark wood of the door, thrice, before calling: "Taylor here, Master. I come bearing the newcomer Beatrix. May I enter?"

 

Within seconds, the door was swung wide, and Beatrix found herself grasped—for the second time that day—in a bearhug strong enough to cut off her breathing for just a little while. In the midst of the hug, Beatrix could barely move—the man she assumed to be Master John was a lot stronger than she was.

 

"Beatrix! Welcome!" Master John cried, before he released her. He held her at arms' length, and regarded her with a bemused stare. "Don't look so shocked. It's not like I—or anyone else here—am going to bite."

 

She looked up at him, before she shook her head. "You....Everyone here's weird."

 

Master John grinned. "Yes, it may certainly seem that way—do come inside; and Taylor? Please, join us. I think I will need your company for this meeting."

 

Before she was able to blink, Beatrix found herself in Master John's office, seated in a comfortable office-style chair, and offered 

coffee. An offer she refused, as she couldn't stand the stuff—it always made her feel antsy.

 

Master John seated himself behind his desk, pursed his fingers beneath his chin, and just stared at Beatrix in utter silence. She looked right back, refusing to be cowed, as nervous as she was.

 

He wasn't going to get to threaten her.

 

No one was, not ever.

 

Finally, Master John speaks again. "Your name is Annabelle Morris, correct?"

 

"Yes."

 

"You killed your father, correct?"

 

"After he molested me, yes."

 

"Do you regret what you did?"

 

"No. Not often."

 

"Are you curious about why I know these things?"

 

"No. You seem to be very...well informed."

 

"And....You don't care to know why?

 

"No. You don't interest me. As long as I have a safe place, here, you could be a werewolf. I wouldn't even care."

 

"A werewolf? Now....Wherever would you have gotten that idea from?"

 

"She's a member of today's pop culture, even with her...former life circumstances. It's interesting that she stayed up-to-date enough to include werewolves' fame." Taylor broke in for the first time.

 

Beatrix looked at him, silently, before she shrugged. "I always liked the idea of...."

 

"An animal inside. I can imagine, what with your past and all." Taylor responded, cutting her off once again.

 

She could almost feel how much she wasn't going to like him.

 

Taylor didn't seem to realize that as he reached over to touch her hand. "You will be just fine here, Beatrix. Don't worry about a single thing."

 

She shook her head, before she decided it wasn't worth resisting. She forced a smile to come to her lips, before she sighed quietly.

 

Before she could speak to rebuke Taylor for his assumptions, Beatrix was cut off—something that appeared to be happening a lot today—by Master John. "Tsk, tsk. Taylor, that was a tiny bit rude to assume so much. Also, Taylor, you—by rights—shouldn't even admit to knowing about her past. The poor little waif just arrived, after all."

 

Taylor sighed, looking at his boss with an expression of disapproval. "Just because she just got here doesn't..."

 

"Mean she's excluded from your vast store of knowledge. Please, Taylor, do shut up. I need to talk with Beatrix, not bicker with you."

 

Taylor tensed, before rising to his feet. "Well, then I suppose I had better be going. Beatrix, it was truly lovely to meet you, and I wish you luck at the Agency," Taylor nods to Beatrix, before turning to Master John. "John, I trust you will bring her to my office when you're done with her. Am I correct in this assumption?"

 

Master John nods, before making a shooing motion in the direction of the door. Taking his silent order, Taylor sweeps out of the room, leaving behind a scent of the woods and ash. When the young man is gone, Master John speaks up: "Beatrix, I truly apologize for his behavior. He is usually not so...harsh. I think he...."

 

"Just doesn't like me."

 

Master John purses his well-trimmed eyebrows at her. They appear to be golden horizons over the sky-blue of his eyes. "Now, don't go quite that far. Taylor is a...curious case. He doesn't get along with two many people, so I would try not to take it personally. Honestly, he usually is this abrasive to everyone."

 

"So....Why is he here, then? Forgive me....Forgive me for saying this, but you seem very well planned here. I don't see how having someone like Taylor's helpful."

 

"Taylor's helpful because he, quite simply, is very much the best," Master John smiled softly. "I can't say I enjoy his company much, either, but to be very honest, there's a lot of people here who owe their lives to him. He's talked many here out of suicide, as well as handled most of our most difficult cases."

 

Beatrix nods, frowning. She, personally, had a problem seeing just how he could be so successful. She decides that that would be a question better left for later, and moves on. "Why am I assigned to him?"

 

Master John leaned forward, looking at her. "Because you're going to be one of our difficult cases."