Vivamus, Moriendum est (Rorschach x oc)

4. Behind Brown Eyes

October 31st, 1952

The roof of the Charlton home being stone had been a saving grace. Otherwise, the driving rain outside would have a sound akin to bullets. Still the rain was violent tonight and the force of it turn the usual soft pitter-patter of droplets into more of a pounding. Could be worse. Could be a tin roof. Wasn't horrifying, perhaps more of an annoyance.

Even more of a disturbance; the steady drip coming from the ceiling. Like a leaky faucet the drip fell consistently. Every few seconds. Each droplet joining their brethren in the growing puddle on the floor. Joining their accomplices, their mission seeming to be driving me out of my mind.

Admittedly, I should have been asleep. Though my mind was racked with anticipation. The kind that kept you wide-eyed at night, you know things would move along faster if you just went to sleep. But that excitement keeps you awake. Eating away at you until you feel you couldn't wait another moment lest you combust.

Though I suspected my anticipation was not the only thing to keep me awake this night. The driving rain and leak in the ceiling enough to grate away my peace of mind. Standing guard and refusing my entrance into the dreamscape.

Instead, I appeased my growing irritation by waiting up for the return home of my adoptive father Jared. Calmly sketching to pass the time.

I imagined Jared stepping out of his car, his tall lanky form slightly hunched as he shuffled to the door. His broad rimmed fedora flopping at the sides. Covering his tufts of permanently disarrayed milk chocolate hair, which I imagined would be plastered to his face and the sides of his head. His large circular framed glasses fogged, hiding his thoughtful hazel eyes.

Jared had been at a conference in Washington D.C. for one of his science things. In a letter from earlier in the week Irene had informed me that he'd be home tonight promptly at midnight.

I took a chance glancing at the clock once more. 11:27 pm. Soon. Thinking of his arrival and how he'd look upon it, I found myself sketching Jared himself. Arriving at the doorstep of the Maddox apartment back in New York City.

I wouldn't be there in the flesh to welcome him home. Being stuck in the Charlton home of New Jersey. But I stayed up nonetheless in solidarity and to welcome him home in spirit. I hoped that he'd keep the word my adoptive parents had given me. That no matter what time they arrived home or from where, no matter how tired that they would open my letters I sent them from school. There'd be a letter from me on the dining room table at his seat. Waiting for him. Or at least there should be.

A substitutive noise to the ceiling leak came drawing my attention away from the sketchbook. I had become accustomed to the ceiling's incessant drip. Its accompaniment had been the creaking of the large wooden door to the girl's dorm. The door which creaked open.

Two nuns strode in. The imposing figure of Headmistress Lilian and the stoic one of Sister Jane. I frowned. There'd be no time to snuff out the candle I'd been using to draw by. Nor was there time to feign sleep. Ours eyes had met. Headmistress beckoning me to them. Sister Jane nodded as if to further encourage me.

Slowly I closed my sketchbook. My brown creased and I didn't take my gaze off of the two sisters as I slid off of my bed. Who had told on me? I scoffed at myself. Louise Halter. Had to be. Who else?

I started to speak as I reached them. Readying a defense for myself. Though the headmistress hushed me, and I was ushered out of the dorm. Odd. Usually, they had no qualms in reprimanding me publicly. Even if our audience was trying catch some rest.

Silently, I followed after my two escorts. Trying my best not to step on their flowing bath robes. Their expressions hadn't occurred to me until we reached their office. The expressions not matching their usual characteristics and demeanors.