Part IX: Smoke And Mirrors

Life in the riches can be cruel, but life on the streets will be your undoing.

THE WICKEDLY

By

Louis M. Warde

Part IX: Smoke And Mirrors

            The gunshot echoed through the streets as Rive ran from the warehouse. Even over the sharp echo, he could still hear Victor shouting for him. At the request of Trick, Rive abandoned the person he'd known for the past several months. His gut had told him on many occasions that something about Victor was wrong, and at last, he had his proof that there was a much darker side to the gentleman lurking beneath his skin.

            Though he kept it a secret, a condition for friendship, Rive had known Trick for a good long while. Several years before he got caught up in this mess, Trick saved him from certain death on the streets. He taught him everything he knew of survival; how to hide, how to steal. He taught him how to disguise himself as a commoner or higher class citizen whenever necessary so that he could survive on the streets during the day as well. The boy was taught by the master of subtlety, no doubt as great as everyone on the street had feared. They spent most nights at the junkyard home refining Rive's skills as best they could. They talked often about Emilia and her family. The boy had long since memorized her address. Trick asked on more than a few occasions, if anything were ever to go wrong, he should go to Emilia and he would need only to say one line and she would recognize the sender, granting him immediate allegiance with her.

            Now that time had come. Rive dashed through the streets. Like a blur he weaved in and out of the crowds. He hadn't noticed at all the strange looks given him by the people he passed until he stood across the street from Emilia's home. Several a passerby gawked oddly at him, but he hardly had time to fret about such nonsense. Clearing the road, he stepped through the open picket gate and made his way up the stone walk to the front door. He'd never met her, but he knew stories. Pulling back the knocker, he gulped. If she was anything like Trick had told her, the world would know of no greater beauty ever again. The boy felt as though he was about to knock at the gates of heaven, destined for a meeting with an angel.

            --Clack, Clack

            He'd barely let go of the door knock when it pulled gently open. A small, round woman with a clearly cheery disposition stood in the open egress.

            “Yes?” She asked with a smile, as though she was just coming down from a fit of laughter.

            “I need...to,” Dizziness rattled his mind, stifling his concentration, “I need to speak to Emilia, It's very impor...im...” His tongue felt heavy, and his body was stricken by sudden weakness.

            “Are you alright, dear?” Asked the maid.

            “It's very important that I... speak... to her...” The words could barely be pushed from his lungs. A strange tiredness took him. Rive fell limp in the doorway. The maid, though confused and suddenly frightened, manage to catch him before he made it completely to the ground. Inside the emerald walls of the home, a woman who'd been making her way down the stairs saw the commotion and rushed now to assist the maid. Together they pulled the boy inside, laying him gently along the sofa in the study. The woman sat at his side while the maid fetched a cool rag to wipe the sweat from the boy's brow. Rive stirred for a moment before parting his heavy eyelids. He stared into her glistening hazel eyes, seeing a warmth and kindness he'd never known.

            “Are you alright, boy?” She asked tenderly.

            “Look... kind lady” He said, his voice frail and distant, “the heavens... cry.” No sooner than he finished, did he fall unconscious.

            Her eyes widened in surprise. She had never met the boy, of that she could be fairly certain, but he seemed to know something of her. How he knew this though, she could not have imagined. For now, she would have to wait and take care of the boy.

The maid shuffled back in, bustling over to the boy, rag in hand. The woman took it from her and began wiping down his head and neck.

            “Claire, remove his vest for me would you? The poor boy is burning up.”

            Nodding nervously, Claire pulled up her sleeves. The woman lifted him up gently, holding his head in one hand, supporting his back with the other. As she did, she realized the boy's affliction. They hadn't noticed before, but the young boy before them was bleeding badly. He'd been shot in the back, no doubt shattering a rib on impact.

            “Oh my.” She said sadly.

            Claire gasped as she removed the vest carefully.

            “What should I do Ms. Davenore?” Asked Claire folding her hands nervously in her uniform.

            “Fetch Mrs. Coyle. She knows far more than either of us in this matter.”

            Claire stood quickly and sprinted off for the door, pausing only to save herself from a nearly disastrous stumble.

            Several hours later, Rive woke with a great and sharp pain stabbing into his back. He felt slowly, concerned and confused, unable to recall the presence of such a sensation prior to his passing out. He felt, across his middle, a well wrapped cloth. Confused as to what might have injured him, his mind was a haze, but he quickly regained his recollection of the recent past.

            “What happened to me?!” He shouted, attempting to sit up.

            The slender young woman he spoke with before rushed into the room, followed by an older woman, who's blond hair had long since begun to turn gray. She wore a strange gown that he'd never seen before.

            “Oh thank goodness, you're awake!” Exclaimed the younger lady excitedly as she rushed to the boy's side.

            “You need to stay in bed, young man.” Said the older of the two, rushing to his check his bandages.

            “What's happened to me?” He asked again nervously.

            “You were shot, dear. When you passed out at the door, our maid, and Emilia here,” Said the woman as she waved a hand from Claire, who was only just now reentering the room, to the girl he'd spoken with last,” brought you to where you are now. That is when they discovered your wound. You're a lucky young man, anyone else would have a shattered rib right now, but the bullet managed to go right between them. I've already pulled it from your back, so now you only need to rest.

            “No! I Ms. Emilia, I have to speak to you!” Exclaimed Rive.

            “What is it?” She asked.

            “About what I said before, I need your help. I have a friend who knew you once, he told me you were very close.” Rive tried once more to sit up, but his muscles hurt far too much at the moment.

            “You said something that I recognized,” Emilia's voice got distant, as though her mind was teased with nostalgia of years long passed. “Look kind lady, The heavens cry.” I do indeed know those words, and I remember well who spoke them, but there's no way that you could have known that; yet, you undoubtedly do. Tell me...” She gestured for his name.

            “Rive, ma'am.”

            “Peculiar name,” she said, “Tell me, Rive, how is it you know such secret words.

            “He's my friend, ma'am. He took me in when I was thrown out on the streets; showed me how to survive. He taught me how to hide in plain sight! A real ace, he is!” Rive spoke excitedly about his friend, happy that he could tell at least one person of his existence.

            Emilia looked to Mrs. Coyle, who looked back at her. A strange and sad expression flashed between the two of them.”

           

            “I'm sorry to ask so many questions of you, Rive, but could you tell me what this friend of yours looks like?” Emilia asked.

            “Afraid not,” sighed Rive, “he always kept his face covered, so I never got a good look at him.”

            “I see.” Said Emilia dispiritedly.

            “But I think, if the light was right, that he has blond hair.” Rive added, then paused. His eyes widened, as though he'd fully remembered what had happened. “Blond hair!” He shouted. “Victor!”

            “Victor?!” Emilia, Mrs. Coyle, and Claire all shouted in an almost perfectly harmonizing response to Rive's outburst.

            “What do you know of Victor?!” Boomed a deep voice as a large, rather round, overly bearded man entered the room.

            “He's... He's why I'm here! I was Victor's friend for a while. We stuck together because he was going to help me get out off the streets, he told me he would help me find a family. But he's not who he says! He's caught up in all kinds of horrible things, people have died!” Worry and fear began to climb back into the boy's veins.

            “My boy would never do anything horrible! He may have been caught up in some horrid scandal with that tramp, but I believed my son when he told me he was framed! Emilia and my wife feel the same! And here you are telling me he's responsible for the deaths of other people? Ludicrous!” Shouted the man. “Sending him out on the streets alone was the worst mistake I have ever made. To have him get caught up with trash like you pains my very soul.”

            “Please, sir, you have to believe m--”

            “Enough of this nonsense!” Interjected Mr. Coyle.

            “I agree, Father. It's about time we end it.”

            Victor stood in the open entry into the study. A bloody lip, and numerous bruises eluded to a scuffle that had only just recently taken place. His shoulders hung low, and his breathing was heavy. With one hand, he clutched his stomach. A blot of blood soaked the shirt he wore beneath his coat.

            “Victor? Dear heavens, what is going on?” Mrs. Coyle pleaded. “Victor. Sweetheart. Why on Earth do you have a gun?”