The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 36: Out of the Mouths of Babes, We Tell Ourselves

Chapter 36: Out of the Mouths of Babes, We Tell Ourselves

There were towers of books on the table. Like a small city, they surrounded the witch, along with suburbs made of notes and other opened books, all of it indexed and marked with sticky tabs. In the center of the organized chaos were five coffee cups, an untouched bowl of oatmeal cooling to the consistency of a rock, and the witch's head, her dark brown hair trailing wildly out of her bun. Occasionally her significant other padded in, replaced a coffee cup, took a few away, and rubbed her neck before soundlessly retreating with a mild "work" hangover of his own from the night before.

The witch rose up, a bit of a book page unsticking from her forehead. She blindly reached out for the coffee, took a grimacing gulp, and laid her cheek back down on the book.

"And I assured them this wasn't taking up my life."

Languidly, she rose all the way up and stretched herself, rubbing the crud out of her eyes, then she looked down at the book. The Keys of Solomon. "I'll have to ask for their full names. Ca-rap."

When she started this thing, she never expected the can of worms she'd be opening. She hadn't signed up to become the ultimate profiler. Delving into their lives while they were living them, while they were opening up conversations to each other. She wanted to protect them, but going along for the ride like this, no. She felt like a scientist corrupting data by observing it, touching it, and she groaned.

"And they're my friends. I don't want this power structure with friends."

She folded the book on a marker, and stood up, sipping on the coffee cup and staring out the window. What was it? 8am? She'd started this 12 hours ago.

A gentle rap at her door brought her out her musings. She called to the visitor because she knew only one person would arrive this time of day. And although the door was locked, she knew it would open for him.

Adam walked in, his back pack full, Dog trotting at his side. He greeted her, then sat down at the table. She handed over her bowl of oatmeal, and in his hands it warmed. "I wasn't hungry," she told him, sitting back down.

As he ate, Dog resting at his feet, he commented with a full mouth, "My mum has that robe."

"Oh, really?" Anathema asked dully, readjusting her glasses.

"She likes to wear it most of the morning, I think. But it's gone when I come home from school."

"Speaking of school, shouldn't you be there already?"

He looked at her, confused. "I am."

Her mouth opened to respond, and then she thought better. Way too early for that.

"Adam, you've grown over the summer."

He shrugged, shoveling the goop into his mouth. "Mum loves it, but she cries about it. Why do people cry when they're happy? Dad doesn't care for it 'cause he had to buy more clothes. He's talking a lot about football lately. Keeps asking me if I want to go into sports at school. Says I need to start thinking about grown up things soon."

"You're not even twelve yet."

"And I'm not getting any younger," He spooned the last of the food in his mouth, then looked around at the stuff on the table. "You need a proper desk." Then he pushed away, making Dog raise his head. But the boy bowed his, and regarded his knees. "Anathema?"

"Yes?"

"It's moving."

The witch straightened.

"The bad thing, I mean."

"I know what you mean," she said steadily.

He looked back at her, all earnestness and intent. "It's got a human shape now. Can't move like a human yet. I mean, it can't figure out how to move around in human space."

"It has a problem with linear time?"

"I guess? It just can't figure out earth space, whatever it's called. But it's learning."

"How long can you hide them, Adam?"

"I don't know. As long as it can't move, I can hide them forever."

"But when it can?"

He shrugged, "Another month? And if it happens around October 30 or the first week of November, um, I'm not sure I can." His hands wandered over the books, then pausing by one stack, ran his finger across the spine. The witch got up and looked at the book. She pulled it out, and showed it to him.

"Is something drawing you to this?'

He nodded.

"Do you know what it is?"

Adam's eyes creased, his face working. Then he shrugged. "Book on making things into other things, I guess, down to their little bits, like molecules and stuff. But it's not science."

"No," Anathema agreed, turning the book over, excitement building in her voice. "Adam, this is a book on alchemy. Here, pick a page." Adam took the book and opened it, and handed it back in one motion. Not once did he look at the page. But the witch scrutinized the passages held therein, and she looked back up, beaming. "Unbelievable."

"What?"

She hugged him. "Adam, you genius!" she laughed, pulling away. "I think I'm finally starting to put the pieces together. Crowley's past, and this, it's starting to make sense!"

"What about his past?"

The witch checked herself, then backpedaled," Well...might be too heavy for someone your age to grasp."

"I know bad things happen to grownups," Adam retorted angrily, heading past her toward the door, his canine friend hopping up along with him. "You guys always go in another room when you talk about him. You never include me."

"Honey, it's not that simple..."

"I'll ask him myself if I have to." Adam looked at the door, but he didn't touch the knob. Dog whined. Then he looked down at his shoes. "But I can't do that, can I? He's hurting so bad, he forgot about it for a long time. Now it's like he's living it all over again."

The witch was stunned. She rose, astounded by his insight, and his empathy. "Adam, you can sense all that?" The tween nodded. When he looked back he was all solemn.

"They're like my uncles, Anathema. They feel like they should be, anyway."

"You're breaking my heart."

"Sorry. I guess I better go." Adam turned and opened the door. But he waited for the witch to come up and hug him goodbye. "Are you gonna call them now?" She nodded, and Adam went silent for a second, then, "Anathema?"

"Yes?"

"There's a name for kids who lose their parents, isn't there?"

"Uh....." the witch pensively answered, "Yes. They're called orphans."

"So, what do they call parents who lose kids?"

Her mouth went dry. She stared at him, completely taken aback. At last, she managed, "There is no name, Adam."

"Oh. Well, that's not right at all." He returned her hug quickly and ran out the door, yelling back," See ya!"

And the witch leaned against the doorway, watching him go through tear clouded eyes.