Not About Angels (A Tom Riddle Story)

Chapter 5

All they did was sit there, and stare into the moon-lit horizon. What was beyond those dark waters, they did not know, nor did they care. There wasn't much conversation, but Abigail didn't care. Even years after, she still remembered that night. She etched the moment into her memory, where it permanently dwells. Even after the terrible things he would do, in her mind, he was still the boy who sat with her, in the moonlight.   

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" Freak," Ralph whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Tom Riddle to hear. Ralph was Tom Riddle's roommate, just the two of them. As there were an unequal number of boys and girls in the orphanage, the boys could share two a room, while the girls cramped at four to five a room.  

Tom Riddle bit his tongue. He wanted to hit the boy. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted him to regret ever calling him that. But he held it back, instead, met Ralph with a smile.  

A smile is the best mask.  

Ralph shoved the younger boy into the wall, and walked out of the room to join his friends playing ball in the hallway. Tom Riddle groaned slightly, as his shoulder hit the concrete wall. The wound was still fresh, and the impact was enough to make any child cry. But he bit it back. Tom Riddle did not cry. 

Tom Riddle stared at the horizon, dreading sundown. Today was Wednesday, the day of Thomas Lind's return. The very thought of this filled his veins with black dread.

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Miranda dabbed the perfume onto her wrists. Rose, with subtle hints of vanilla and jasmine. With precision and perfection, she glided the red lip paint onto her lips. A beauty looked back at her. She was so beautiful, so beautiful she could make a man fall to his knees. 

Blue eyes that belonged in the queen's collection of gems, set against peaches-and -cream velvet. The woman in the mirror did not belong in such a place. She should not have to dirty her hands for survival. She belonged in a manor, a castle, a villa. She belonged on a marble balcony, smoking thin cigarettes in the arms of her lover. She should not have to pleasure desperate, repulsive men for her next meal.  

She cried. She cried for lost innocence, she cried for misery, she cried for the girl in the mirror. Why her, of all people? What did she do to deserve a life of imprisonment and poverty?  

She hopes Abigail is doing fine. She went down to the orphanage the other day, only to turn away because she knew she would break down if she saw Abigail again. Miranda reassures herself that Abigail is in good hands. After all, orphanages are government-owned and funded operations. Surely, their treatment of children cannot be too shabby. 

As always, Miranda wiped the tears from her cheeks, and powdered them again. She must look her best, for today is the day that will change her life. She was to meet a man that could change her life. He was rich. Filthy, stinking rich, and hopelessly wealthy. 

She had seen him the other day, riding in his automobile. It was Mason Erdem, one of London's wealthiest men. She stared at him, arriving in the distance. The sudden impulse to get his attention plagued her, and she paused in the middle of the road. The car halted, inches away from her. The driver's eyes widened with shock, and jumped out of the car. Miranda stumbled on the pavement, and fell to her feet. The white-gloved driver pulled open the back door, and Mason Erdem stepped out. An older gentlemen dressed impeccably in a black suit, extended her a hand, looking down at the breathtakingly striking young woman fallen beneath his polished shoes. 

Her eyes were so wide, so innocent, with a tinge of fear carved into them. 

He pulled her up, and patted her hand. 

" Are you alright, miss?" He asked, marked by his aristocratic manner and accent.  

She blinked, and lowered her eyes. She blushed, using her strategic courtsy to assure him of her feminine charm. 

" I am, thank you, sir." She replied, keeping her voice coy.  

" I apologize, miss, for any inconvenience." He said. 

" Its alright. Mr......"

"Erdem." 

" Mr. Erdem." She said in a soft voice, almost whisper. " What a lovely name." 

"And you are?" 

" Miranda. Miranda Livingstone."  

" A pleasure." He said, raising her hand and kissing it. He smelled the rose perfume. It smelled pleasant, but cheap, like a wildflower in the fields. He examined her. Worn winter coat, dull shoes, but a undeniably alluring face and beautifully contoured figure.  

" Miss Livingstone, please allow me to take you to lunch, to give you my sincerest apologies in disrupting your peace." He offered, knowing that a girl like her would take it up like fish to bait. 

" Oh no. It is too much, Mr. Erdem, to waste your precious time." 

" Your confidence in your charms is so low? I think not, Miss Miranda Livingstone."  

" If it would please you." 

" It most certainly would." He replied. "My driver will pick you up, tomorrow at noon." 

"But you do not know where I live." She told him. 

" But I do, Miss Livingstone. Elm Street, 23019, Madam Toussville's, is it not?" 

Her mouth opened. How did he see through her disguise so quickly? She tried her best to impress him as a well-bred lady of proper upbringing, but he saw right through it. 

His driver, Edward, picked her up at exactly 12:00. 

She had never ridden in an automobile before, with its smooth leather seats and lacquered paint. Her hands glided across the dark, buttery leather, having never touched such a luxurious leather.  

She was filled with hope. 

Edward opened the door, to reveal a smiling Mason Erdem, offering her his silk-gloved hand.  

She smiled. 

A smile is the best mask.