The House Named Claurece

Five

          "𝕳e's only doing his job, he won't do us any harm," Latter's voice came through the door.

          "Are you sure about that? He might be lying about knowing Runcorn!"

          "I agree with Peggy! He's lying!"

          "No Peggy. No Jackie. He's not lying."

          "We have good judgment!" argued Peggy's voice, sounding outraged.

          "You are children!" said Latter. He sounded to be on the other side of the room from the door.

          "We're teenagers!" Jackie's voice whined.

          "Teenagers don't know everything! That concludes this little chat."

           People moved towards the door. Frantically, Paul slid down the drain pipe on the back of the house and closed the window. He's not lying. Did A.B. Latter really trust him? Really? Paul listened to the thumping of feet from the children above. Paul took a second to thank the drainpipe for possibly saving his life and ran off. He almost tripped, catching himself on a nearby tree just as Fort Bragg's orphanage door banged open.

           𝕿he orphanage sitting room was medium sized and warm. Paul felt (and saw) all the children watching him. A.B. Latter was somewhere, he had said he would be back as quickly as possible. Paul didn't know what Latter's definition of 'as quickly as possible' was and this situation was very awkward. Runcorn didn't have to deal with this. He definitely didn't.

            Finally, after what seemed like hours, A.B. Latter finally came back. He stopped in the doorway and surveyed the children. His eyes traveled over the children who were taking up all the seating to Paul who was leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. Paul suddenly became very conscious of the smudge of dirt on his nose. A.B. Latter stood in the doorway, watching him. Paul watched him back, paralyzed. What was Latter thinking? What was he going to do? What is he going to do with me?

           "Your name is Paul, correct?" asked Latter.

            Paul nodded, "Yes,"

            "You knew Runcorn, correct?"

            "Yes,"

            "You are completing his job, correct?"

            "Yes,"

            What is he doing? Paul thought. Latter sighed. Paul blinked. The children shifted. Silence. Graveyard silence. Inside Paul's head, thoughts and ideas were swirling around his brain. Should I run? Should I push Latter to the ground and go back home? Just then Paul remembered he wasn't supposed to know A.B. Latter's name. Jackie and Peggy were glowering at him.

           "You know my name," Paul broke the silence, directing his voice to the man in the doorway. "but I don't know yours."

            A.B. Latter shifted.

           "My name is A.B. Latter," he said, eyes never leaving Paul's face. Paul had a strange feeling that they were focused on his nose.

           "A.B. is a strange first name," said Paul, getting ready to run.

           "It isn't one," A.B. Latter glowered at him. It shocked Paul how much he now resembled Jackie and Peggy. "My first name is Anthony."

          That suits him. Paul thought. Everyone was looking at him, seeming to expect him to say something. Paul had nothing to say or do. He was stuck. Stuck in this room, this life, this job, this silence. And all he wanted to do was go home to his mother.

         𝕻aul lay on the bed in the orphanage guest room, staring up at the ceiling. He could imagine Runcorn in this very room. He could see him, standing by the window, angry. Why was he angry? Then his image of Runcorn turned to face him. Paul almost fell out of bed.

          Paul blinked. Runcorn was not next to the window. There was no Runcorn in the room. It must have been a dream, Paul thought. Just a dream. But was it?

          God, Paul wanted to go home.