The Girl in the Garden

Chapter 3

The first days of Ben's time at Wexley House were slow and difficult. Mr. North had promised him chore duty for his supposed offense against Dylan, and it was not an empty promise. Most of the boys went to school during the day, but since he hadn't been registered to do so, Ben stayed at the house all day scrubbing floors and cleaning cobwebs from corners.

More often than not, as soon as Ben finished a chore on his list and went to get Marion to assess his work, Dylan was sure to undo everything. Muddy footprints appeared in seconds, crisscrossing clean floors, and organized shelves had their contents spilled on the floor. Dylan was quick about it, too, making sure that nobody saw him in the act.

"That's how he doesn't get incident reports," Jeffrey told Ben one day, "He's sneaky. Sometimes he blackmails one of the others to do it for him, and he never gets caught, so everyone thinks he's an angel."

Even though Dylan was persistent with his abuse, Ben didn't let himself get as angry as he felt on that first day. He still didn't understand what burned Dylan's hand, but the more people insisted it was his fault, the more he started to believe it. He didn't want to experience that mysterious blackout again, he wanted to stay in complete control of his actions to avoid any more trouble, but that didn't stop him from remembering the fire he felt in his veins with fondness. It was more than just burning anger; it was strength.

When the feeling did return, though, it didn't make Ben feel as glorious as before. Marion told him to organize the small storage cupboard under the stairs, which was so low he had to crouch to fit in it. When Ben was peeking into the small dark closet, he felt a foot land square on his back, and it sent him tumbling forward. He heard Dylan and Simon laughing on the other side as they edged the sliding lock into place. "Hey!" Ben shouted as he pounded against the door. "Let me out! Come on, guys!"

Ben listened to the boys as they ran up the stairs overhead. A shower of dust rained down on him, and he started to sneeze. In the darkness, he tripped over a squashed cardboard box and stumbled, hitting his forehead against the underside of the stairs. Ben touched his head, and even though it was too dark to see, he knew there was blood on his fingers.

"Help!" He shouted, feeling defeated and scared. He pounded on the door and cried out again and again, but nobody came. He found a spot on the floor to sit down and pulled his knees up under his chin. As he began to resign himself to the idea that he was trapped, he felt sparks start to fire off deep in his stomach. The sparks built up to flames, and he felt his body temperature rising.

Ben closed his eyes and in a last-ditch attempt to be rescued he let out a pathetic scream. He looked up when he heard the lock disengaging, and realized that flames were spreading across the wall. The door opened, and Ben saw Jeffrey on the other side, looking shocked at the sight of the flames. He grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair in the hallway and put the fire out with it.

"What was that about?" He asked, looking at the charred underside of the cushion.

"I don't know," Ben said, "Dylan locked me in here and... and I don't know, he set it on fire somehow."

Jeffrey didn't seem convinced. "So you're saying you didn't burn Dylan's hand--"

"You said you believed me about that!"

"I do, honest, but now I find you lighting a fire in the closet?"

"I didn't do that either."

"Right, I believe you, but we can't let Marion know." Jeffrey examined the pillow with a more critical gaze, then put it back down on the chair with a hesitant motion, as if it could still light the chair on fire if he wasn't careful. He seemed pleased with that and turned around to look at the burn marks inside the cupboard. "I bet if you moved those boxes over here, she won't even notice."