The House Named Claurece

Four

              "𝕾orry, but he says I can't let anyone in," said Grace.

              "I didn't say anything about letting anybody in," Paul said.

              "I knew you were going to ask it," Grace said, keeping eye contact with Paul. "It was written all over your face."

              "Why can't he let you bring people in?" he asked.

             "He says they're unsafe," said Grace, turning around. "Now, I have to go. He's probably wondering where I am right now. Probably won't be pleased to find out I've been talking to you."

             And with that, she walked off. Paul turned back to the beach. He says they're unsafe. Probably won't be pleased to find out I've been talking to you. Pause. How did Runcorn get in? Did he even get in at all? Did they kill him? Did Grace have something to do with it? Paul didn't want to think about it. Got to get in, he told himself, got to get in. But how?

           Paul turned and watched Grace walk through the gates into the orphanage grounds. How?

           "How do you know those things?"

           Paul turned to see a man in a black trench cloak and bowler hat.

           "What?"

           "I said, 'how do you know those things?'"

           Paul knew instantly he was referring to the children from the orphanage.

          "They're not things," he said. "They're children."

           The man stepped closer.

           "But there's that Latter fellow,"

           Paul heard a bit of an Irish accent in the man's voice.

           "Weird bloke if I do say so myself,"

            The man looked over at the distant orphanage.

            "Why do they have to put it here of all places?" he said. "They should have put it at the bottom of the ocean. It would get rid of them faster."

            "I think it's good for them to be here," said Paul coldly, taking the man by surprise. "It's better than the streets. Or a graveyard."

            The man studied him.

            "You're new here, aren't you," he said.

             "So what?"

              The man leaned so close his nose was almost touching Paul's.

             "Here's a word of advice," he said. His breath smelled of garlic. "Don't go doing things around there you would do out here. They don't like us normal people, them weirdos."

             And with that, the Irish man turned and walked away. Paul watched him go, slightly unnerved. Is that really what the townspeople thought of the orphans? Paul thought. How rude.

            𝕻aul had spent an hour brainstorming how to get into the orphanage and had come up with nothing. He kicked the rusty old gate. The sign on it rattled along with the gate.

            𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔱 𝔅𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔤 𝔒𝔯𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢

            𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖐𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖔𝖚𝖙

            𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖉

             Paul sighed. He wasn't getting in anytime soon. Then he remembered something his mother had told him. If you ask kindly you're 90% guaranteed to get what you want. Paul was ready to bet on that 90% chance. And A.B. Latter seemed like the guy who would accept 'please' and 'thank you', no matter what that Irish guy said. Paul grinned and walked off. All he had to do was get A.B. Latter cornered.

            Turns out that was a lot easier said than done.

            

            "𝕻lease let me in," begged Paul. "If you don't let me in, they're going to kill me!"

            "What Hermes does or doesn't do isn't my concern." A.B. Latter said, continuing to walk.

            "Is that what you said to Runcorn?" Paul demanded. "Did you deny him entrance? Is that why he didn't come back? Because you took matters into your own hands?"

             A.B. Latter swung around, face suddenly boiling with rage.

            "I would never use magic to kill someone or something," he hissed. "How dare you accuse me of murder!"

             Paul looked into the mutinous face of the orphanage master and simply lost control.

            "MY MOTHER CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE!" bellowed Paul, not caring if anyone else heard. "DO YOU REALLY WANT MY MOTHER TO BE ALONE FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE? FIRST MY DAD, NOW RUNCORN, AND NEXT ME! ALL YOU SEEM TO CARE ABOUT IS YOU AND THOSE CHILDREN! DO YOU EVEN CARE HOW ANYONE ELSE FEELS? DO YOU WANT THE WORLD TO END?"

             Paul stopped, taking deep, long breaths, and glaring at the man in front of him.

             "I asked kindly," said Paul, voice dangerously low. "I begged you to let me in. And what did you do? Refuse. I should just go back to my grave."

              He turned around and started to walk off.

             "Wait,"

             Paul waited. He heard A.B. Latter start to walk towards him.

             "You sound like Runcorn."

              A.B. Latter was at his left side, looking past Paul towards the gate where the sign swung in the wind.

             "I will let you in, but on one condition."

              Latter turned to Paul.

              "You treat these children well and do nothing to do them harm. Do you understand."

               Paul nodded.

               "I understand."

                Paul looked at the man beside him.

                "I will not hurt them. I will do my job, then go. That's all I need."