The Pain in My Heart [Completed]

Chapter 8

"MR. GRIFFIN! I NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOU!" I bang on the rickety door of Griffin's Art Livin. "MR. GRIFFIN, THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT AND I WOULD APPRECIATE IF YOU COULD COME OUT TO TA—

"What is all this racket. You're going to wake up the neighbors." Mr. Griffin walks out striped pajamas, the cotton looking old and frayed. He rubs his eyes, squinting them in the darkness.

"What neighbors, Mr. Griffin?" His eyes un-squint to roll in annoyance.

"Is this about what I think it is?"

I look him up and down. "I don't know. When exactly were you planning on telling me that this slave mark is practically a death sentence?"

He takes a deep breath while rubbing his face once again. "I knew you would come back here eventually. I just had hoped it wouldn't be one a.m." He sighs dramatically as he gestures inside. "Come on in."

I step carefully into his shack being mindful of my step. Knowing my luck, I would knock over a whole bunch of glass bottles in the dark. Mr. Griffin fixes that problem quickly, turning on the stain-glass lamp on his side table. He sits down on a cushion that seemed to be charred around the edges.

"I'm assuming you read the pages I bookmarked," he states gruffly.

"How much does Lucy know?" I counter.

He leans back in his cushion. "Lucy is a smart girl. I must say I don't know the extent of her knowledge when it comes to slave marks. She probably knows what Lumbridge wants her to know about it."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you implying the king and queen are lying about the slave mark?"

"Not implying. I know that they're keeping it a secret." I guess my face showed my disgust because he quickly throws his hands up with stopping me. "You must understand. It was only a few years ago Lumbridge ever had to worry about anything like this. Some things are best kept from civilians. The last thing they need is an uproar from their own people."

"So, they fabricated a story about slave marks? What does everyone else know?" I pick at my nails absentmindedly.

"They think of the slave mark as a more literal "slave mark." They believe that if that mark shows up on them, they must serve whoever placed this "curse" upon them. But before you ask, no. They know nothing of what the actual curse carries."

"Has anyone in Lumbridge ever gotten a slave mark?"

He sighs, but this time it is not from sleepiness, but a whole different tiredness. "Only one," he says.

"What happened to them?" I whisper.

"He almost died..."

A shiver runs down my spine as my heart skips a beat. No. This can't be our fate. "...But...?"

He goes on. "It was a close call. I don't think most could have gotten out of that situation.

A heavy silence falls over us. Only the chirping of nighttime critters can be heard. "What was the cure?" I ask. "How did he escape?"

"I... I'm still not quite sure."

I nod my head letting reality sink in. I have been stupid to think that Lumbridge was some fairytale. I've been a fool to think that I could escape all my troubles by living in some castle, because the truth is there is no escaping reality.

"But there is hope. Right?" I ask hesitantly.

He gets up and faces the wall of all his ingredients turning his back to me. "There has to be."