The Black Bag (Part 1 of 2)

Confession Time ~ 04

Late 2006, Age 10

"Easy now, Rich. Try not to wink, okay?"

He nodded, struggled not to flinch as he sat at the sink while his father wiped at the corner of his left eye with a damp hand-towel. It has been a little more than a week since the incident, but his eye kept bleeding whenever he rubbed it too hard or blinked too much. The only good thing that came from this was that he now has an excuse to not come to school, which was what he least wanted to do nowadays.

"How is it now?" His father asked, positioning his small face so that they were seeing eye-to-eye.

"Can you see me with that eye?"

He nodded a little, felt another thin line of red trickle down his cheek.

"It's a little blurry, but I can see. ...Well, close enough, I think."

His father hummed approvingly at that. 

"Sounds a little better from a few nights ago, thank goodness. But even so, we may need to visit the ophthalmologist again this weekend. We don't want to have any infections. ...If that boy wasn't so panicked to the point of apologizing like a broken record, I would've made the family reimburse tenfold."

He winced at the sourness in his tone. It was not like he could blame him for feeling that way though. It really did hurt a lot. The only thing he hadn't expected was for John to freak out or even apologize at all, especially since that kid had one heck of an ego.

"I'll be okay, Dad."

He said, wrapping his bare arm around the man's neck in hopes of diverting his vengeful attention. 

"It's not too bad now, at least. The most that could happen is that I'd have to wear glasses or something."

The man was still for a moment. Then he nodded and looked up at him, calmness having returned to his face and muscles.

"You're quite the forgiving one, Richie. But you're right, I can't get too knotted up about it. I just hope it doesn't get worse, that's all. ...Oop. Hold still, there's more."

The silence resumed as the cleaning continued, until...

"By the way, Rich...?" "Yes, Dad?"

"...Can you tell me about that girl? The one who was there with you last week?"

His heart seemed to fly into his mouth. "Um... What girl...?" 

...That didn't work...

"Heh heh. I'm sorry, son, but you can't hide too much from me. Those boys were muttering about her outside the infirmary, and I heard it all through the door."

Actually yeah... He should have remembered the many times office workers came to his father's clinic to get a medical slip as a ready-made excuse for skipping work or just to avoid getting in trouble for being late.

Also, now that he'd thought about it: she'd told him to keep it a secret, but she didn't really count on the others keeping her in mind, did she? After sneaking into the border and stepping in like that, anyone would remember.

"I... I can't really say that I know her much, Dad. I haven't seen her before either, she was just there..."

As much as he'd wanted to leave it at that, he was rattling about everything that had happened as well as when the girl showed up. He kept on and on until his father finally interrupted him:

"Hold on, son. Where did you say she was from?"

" Um... 'SCWI'? I don't really know where that is, though... Dad? Do you know what it means?"

"'Sinclair Wayward Institute?' But that's the orphanage..."