The Anomalous Existence of Percy Wallace

four: of accusations and nun relations

- - -

THINGS WERE UNDENIABLY TOUGH for Emmy. A few days after Emmy swallowed down the bananas and nuts of her ice cream, she was forced to pull Miss Eloise's death back into consciousness. No, her funeral wasn't held under black umbrellas on perfectly-trimmed grass in a rainy funeral. It was quite sunny through the stained glass windows while it looked only as if regular, forever-droning mass was being conducted. Except that I actually paid attention this time.

"Miss Eloise was different. I remember that, in my youth, I was spiteful towards nuns," the straightest and strictest nun, Sister Carmen, explained.

"Can you imagine that?" I scoffed, whispering to Emmy as glassy eyes glared at me.

"Then I found Miss Eloise, who treated me like her own sweet child. She turned me into what I am now. I am positive she is in Heaven. Not because of prayers, but definitely because of her faith and the life she fulfilled in God's glory," Sister Carmen pulled out her glasses and stepped off the platform, suddenly seeming smaller than she was earlier.

Once we all paid our respects and bid farewell to Miss Eloise — I even had tears in my eyes, which was the slightest bit unusual — and Emmy and I began to head out of the mosaic-covered cathedral, a mousy nun from God-knows-where stepped into our path.

She had an ugly frown twisted on her face and a reddish Potter-like scratch on her forehead. It didn't look far from Potter's scar actually, and kudos to her if she wanted to achieve that.

"You," she pulled up a finger towards me, "are the reason Eloise is dead!"

My eyes widened in surprise. "Wha—?"

"Do you know what she died of? A blocked artery to the brain. The doctors said it was quite blocked from stress, of course! Right after you left, wasn't it? Left her orphanage! I know this one is meek," she pointed to Emmy, then shifted her gaze to me. "And this one is terrible! It's your fault! She could have still been alive blessing souls if not for you! May God forgive you!"

At the last word, her voice broke off and she scrambled away. I was so stunned. All I did was stare at where she stood, a million unseen scenarios and paranoid thoughts raging under my scalp. She could be right. It was too soon for Miss Eloise to die. She could live for ages.

There wasn't any more recent non-routine activity at the orphanage than mine and Emmy's leave. Lord, help me. The nun could be right.

- - -

" NO, IRENE, IT COULDN'T possibly be your fault! And even if it was, it would be mine too," Emmy consoled, pulling a lock of frizzy hair behind my ear.

"No, Emmy, not yours. I was the one who pestered her about getting a house and monthly allowance and — everything! I-I-I was just so a-annoying!" I was numb.

"We don't even know her! She's not a nun at the orphanage — how can you trust her facts?"

"She's Miss Eloise's niece, Emmy. They're close."

"Oh come on, Irene. It's not your fault," Emmy sighed, patting her gently on the back.

"Prove it."

- - -

AT WORK, I READ celebrity news at the station. My voice seemed a bit down, the ends of my sentences missing the sarcastic clip to it. My colleagues didn't mind. Most were veterans and were glued together as friends. It was as if I was some sort of outsider. I wasn't hated or feared; I was simply ignored. I was too young to be part of the veteran circle of friends.

"Hey newbie," a smooth voice called. "You alright?"

DJ Wes, a built surfer in his mid-twenties, asked in concern, lighting his cigarette.

"News was kinda lousy today. Seems you're not okay."

I smiled, trying my best to conceal my dullness. "I'm fine."

I could barely shake the feeling off of me. Altogether like a timeline strung with various events, the face of Miss Eloise and the condescending voice and scowling face of the nun popped into my thoughts as I made my way home.

The narrow road greeted me, its quaint stores lining the sides. Brisk, chilly winds blowing from the longer end of the road slammed at me, pushing my jacket past my shoulders. The first store at the corner, the antique shop, was the only store that was open. There's probably a storm or hurricane forcast. Or you know, a Thorcast.

I smirked at my own joke. Growing up in an all-girls' orphanage rendered the girls lesbians almost by default, so the nuns brought the girls to a partnered all-boys' orphanage. There, I found myself to love superheroes more than the cute brunette that shared me the comics. Okay, backstory over.

I pushed into the antique shop, the familiar scent wafting into my freezing nostrils. Inside, it was as if time was a prisoner locked out of the store. Everything was immobile and eerily quiet. I strode in between the first two shelves displaying engraved paperweights and other interesting trinkets. My fingers found a wooden box that had metal engravings on its corners and on the locking piece at the center. I flipped it open. A carved figure of a ballet dancer spun around as an unknown tune rung from the box.

"Music box," a voice named, making me jolt in surprise.

Percy Wallace appeared next to me, his boyish grin spreading across his pale face.

"C'mon, you know you want it."

"Sorry, tight budget here," I reasoned, shutting the music box.

"Fine. Go take a look at our other things, alright?"

Irene nodded then paused before saying, "Hey Percy, the last time I saw you, you just ran out. Had a phone with you."

"Right. I remember. That was my brother. He got quite ill and I had to send him to the hospital."

"Oh, sorry," I replied shyly but more awkwardly. "Is he okay now?"

"Better. He's still in, though."

"How old is he?"

"He's nineteen. A year older than I am, but he's like my little bro."

"What happened?"

"Biking accident. He's got broken ribs, a collapsed lung, a concussion, and a broken ankle," Percy listed.

"Oh gosh. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for something you didn't do."

"Sorry."

Percy sent me a glare.

"Sorry," I replied instinctively, making the room erupt with Percy's laughter.

I couldn't help but laugh in embarrassment.

"It's alright, love. I do that a lot too," he adjusted a piece of porcelain.

Love. How personal. 

- - -

Author's Note: Sorry I haven't been updating in a while! I still love the idea of this story, I really do, so I won't abandon it (at least for a while). Life outside Wattpad has just been so busy for me, so you guys better expect slow updates. BUT KEEP UP THE SUPPORT! Comments, votes, and reads drive authors to finish their books <3 Thanks for reading, guys! Love you :)