The Lost Daughter of Thaumaturgy

The Lost Daughter of Thaumaturgy - Chapter 8

8

            For about an hour now I’ve been sat on the chaise Typhon dumped me on, just staring at the painting. There’s no doubting it. That is my mother, sitting in a large brown leather arm chair with 3 men surrounding her, two on each arm, around 18, 19. Both with shoulder length jet black hair and identical features, twins.

The 3rd, an older looking man, in a pale grey, three piece suit, and glasses  stood behind them, with a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders, looking intently at me. Mother was sat quite elegantly, posing with her hands folded in her laps. The look on her face was amusing, a look that says ‘hurry-the-fuck-up-or-you’ll-be-in-pain-soon’. 

Suddenly I was shook and my eyes snapped up to see the same man from the portrait looking down at me, much the same as his copy in the painting. I shrank back a bit, his eyes were moving over my face many times, looking as if to see where he knew me from, and not quite getting it.

“Good evening young lady,” he said in a heavy Scottish accent sticking out his hand, the back of the chaise getting closer to me as I shrank away from the stranger. My mother might have known him, but I sure as hell don’t.

“Didn’t you know it’s impolite to ignore people, especially when being greeted?” The man said irritation thick in his accent. His hand remained outstretched, and it didn’t look like he would be retracting it any time soon.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat at the thought of touching this stranger. I’ve always had this problem. I hate people touching me, or demanding me to do so. It was worse when I was a child, I’d end up in a ball on the floor screaming in the middle of a train station, just because a stranger had brushed past my bare arm.

After a few trips to the local therapist during our time in Oslo, Doctor Baranova identified that I had Aphenphosmphobia, which was the technical term for a person with a phobia of being touched.  Since then, mum and I would work on it together, making me handle raw meats, then later, encouraging me to play with the other children. I hated socialising; people annoyed me, even as a child.

Slowly, my hand rose to meet his and I swallowed the lump in my throat, audible clearing it, before he reached out and took it, shaking it vigorously and forcing a smile.

As soon as he let go, I didn’t linger in rolling over the back of the chaise and retreating to the wall, pressing my back up against it, never taking my eyes from the older man in the suit.

“My name is Adalric,” He announced as if it were of such importance I could die if I didn’t know. When he noticed my indifference his eyes narrowed a little and turned to face the fire. “You are here for a reason miss O’Rourke.”

“I’m here,” I said interrupting whatever he was saying, “Because that ass clown over there nosing around in your desk,” Typhon stood quietly and moved away from the desk as Adalric glared at him, clearly he should be elsewhere, “Kidnaped me and brought me here, dumped me on my ass more times than I can remember and pretty much broke it since there’s a huge crack in it now!”

Adalric chuckled under his breathe, “So much like your mother.” That stole my mirth immediately. This guy knew my mum. I mean, I guessed he must know her by face, since they’re both in the painting. But the way he said it, made it sound as if he knew all her little quirks, the little things she’d do that made her who she was.

He turned to face me again, his hands folded behind his back, his face business-like. “Now then miss O’Rourke. You are here for a reason, as I was trying to say before you so rudely, but entertainingly interrupted me.” He started, peering over the top of his glasses at me. “I understand this is new to you, this place can be scary if you’re new. But you’re here because it’s where you belong.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, noting Typhon moving towards me, flipping through a book but not stopping to read any of it.

“This is to be your new home Miss O’Rourke,” he explained, waving his arm about his head as if it explained away everything.

I stared at him, looking pretty much like a tool, but nothing this guy is saying, makes any sense to me.

“Why is my mother in that painting?” I asked, watching his face as his train of thought pretty much de-railed, rolled 5 times and exploded.

His features hardened and he stared at me like I’d killed his cat. “Why do you think she’s there Miss O’Rourke?” he asked in a clipped tone, raising his eyebrow. I just stood there waiting for an answer, too tired to bother playing along. He huffed, “Your mother was one of the strongest students ever to cross the grounds of this school.” He started, walking over towards the fire place resting one hand on the mantle. “It truly was a sad day when she ran.”

His head lowered for a minute, before he regained his composure and turned to face me.

He noticed the change in my expression and gave a short chuckle. “Perhaps a tour of the grounds would help to un-confuse you Miss O’Rourke?” he said walking towards the door, opening it and motioned for me to lead the way. “You may find it a little… different.” He said, smiling to himself as if what he said was funny.

I just stood their staring at him, aware of Typhon getting closer still.

“Gabe,” I said after what felt like hours of idiotic staring.

“Excuse me?” Adalric said, his eyebrows raised quizzically.

“My name, It’s Gabe. I hate being addressed like a child.”

He looked at me much the same way as he had been, and slowly nodded his head, “I can appreciate that,” he said, “I was much the same in my youth. Too eager to grow up, hated being demeaned by my age, my height.” He continued, seemingly getting lost in his own mind.

Typhon cleared his throat behind me, which scared the shit out of me and seemed to snap Adalric out of his trance-like state. He shook his head, clearing it and smiled at me.

“This way mi… Gabe.” He said, correcting himself when he saw my glare.

I inched my way towards the door, keeping my back to it the entire time. I’m sure I looked like some bad espionage agent with a James Bond complex, but I really didn’t care.

When I reached the door, I slid around it, keeping my eyes on Adalric the entire time, and as soon as I was out of the room I took off running.

I ran as fast as I could, my heart beating like a crack whore on meth for the first time. I got to the bottom of the corridor, before Typhon stepped out from around the corner.

“What the f…” I trailed off as I slipped over my own feet, trying to stop myself before I ran into him.

He held out his hand, not in a way to insist I take it, but as if he were choking someone, Vader style. I stopped in an instant, my limbs freezing in place. I tried moving but nothing was functioning. My heart beat was still thumping, but it felt like I was being numbed by a freezing phantom breeze.

Designer shoes came clicking down the marble floor. “Like I said Gabe,” Adalric said passing my frozen body, “It’s… a whooole lot different.” He chuckled under his breathe and carried on walking. He stopped to pat Typhon on the shoulder and then continued around the corner.

Suddenly, my body thawed and I fell to the floor. I sat there, blowing my fringe out of my face and glaring at Typhon, desperately trying to cling onto my sanity and convince myself what just happened did not happen. However, the look on Typhon’s face, made it crystal clear, that it had.

Note to self: Scream into a pillow and count to ten... maybe a hundred...