Healing - Book One

eleven

His hands are trembling, the palms are red raw and already blistering. I'm frozen to the spot - completely unsure of my next move. He still looks at me, eyebrows furrowed and his eyes are squinted as if he was very upset. A moan escapes his mouth and he throws his head back, wailing.

"I'm coming Enoch!" I hear Olive cry, and not long after her screeches I'm pushed from the doorway as she bustles back in. She clutches a bowl of water, the liquid sloshes out of either side with every step. She slams the bowl down on the table and stands to one side as Enoch's hands dive beneath the shallow pool.

Sounds resembling liquid extinguishing a flame turn my blood cold. However Enoch's agony-ridden cries decrease in volume gradually. Olive retrieves a dustpan and brush and begins to clean up the broken glass on the floor and dab at the strange substance with a cloth. I exhale deeply - fatigued just by watching the dramatics before me.

"Are you alright Violet?"

Olive's looking up at me, eyes wide. I gather myself from my thoughts and nod. My head movements are so fast and forced, I feel as if my brain has been rattled afterwards. The boy with the burnt hands turns his head towards me - his expression has morphed from pained to, once again, irritated and gloomy. I scuttle from the doorway when his eyes squint at me - I sense I'm no longer welcome, not that I ever was anyway.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I begin to prepare sandwiches at the order of Miss Peregrine. I closely examine a list of everybody's preferred fillings before severing slices from the white bloomer on the cutting board. The chosen fillings of my fellow housemates range from conventional choices such as cheese to odd combinations like tomatoes and honey (obviously that was of Hugh's choosing.). I go to retrieve the honey jar from the pantry.

Beside the pantry door is a table on which rests a telephone and a pile of papers. Intrigued, I cannot resist having a shuffle through the pile. Besides, anything private would have been collected by now.

My fingers shuffle through torn-out pages filled with telephone numbers, addresses and odd combinations of words which normally would not be seen on the same page. I think nothing of it and continue snooping. However, just when I think I won't find anything interesting, I feel a thicker section of the pile. Upon further inspection I realise they are envelopes. The first one I come to is addressed to Enoch.

"What are you looking in the scrap for, Violet?"

To my surprise, I turn to see that Fiona has appeared by my side.

"The scrap?"

"The scrap." She nods to the papers in my hand. "We put things there which will get thrown away." Her shoes click as she slips away, not allowing me to enquire further. Why would somebody have put a letter to Enoch in line to be disposed of?

"I'll take it to him." I mutter to myself, however my good intentions take a sudden turn when I take a look at the remaining two envelopes.

I'm engulfed in rage when I realise the letters are the ones I'd given to Enoch to post just yesterday. Gripping all three envelopes in hand, I march angrily from the kitchen and storm upstairs; you must have been able to hear my footsteps from miles away.

The perpetrator's door is shut, so I launch my arm at the wood and force it open. A little astonished at my own strength yet still overcome with anger, I step into the gloomy room with such force I almost lose my footing. Enoch himself turns to face me abruptly, his shirt a few buttons away from being fully buttoned and his hands are in bandages. His whole body slumps as he sighs irritably.

"What do you want?" He snarls as he finishes changing. His words only fuel my fire. In a machine-like movement, I raise my forearm and present the letters.

"I want to know why you haven't posted these!" My body shakes with rage. "I saw you go into the village this morning!"

"Calm yerself, Doré. More to the point, why have you got one of my letters - you know - addressed to me?" He approaches me, talking with his bound hands in addition to his husky voice. His cold tone begins to become intimidating, and I watch my anger dissolve into nothing before my eyes.

"I-I think you should be thanking me! It was in the scrap!" I grasp at straws, trying to defend my case.

"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps it was me who wanted it gone?" With every step he takes towards me, I take one back towards the door. "Besides, why would you be snooping?"

He has a point. I'm now stood outside the doorway.

"I think you should open it." I squeak, before pushing the letters against his chest. I wait before him as he takes them and pries the first seal open. His blistering fingers scramble to pull the letter from its envelope and he squints at the written side. I watch his expression closely, and witness the moment it softens ever so slightly.

"What is it?" I ask, before I can stop myself poking my nose in again. His eyes flick from the writing briefly.

"Nothing - just family." He mutters, shoving the paper in his pocket. I nod, and slide from his gaze before I can pry into matters any more. As I walk away back to the stairs, I wait for the sound of the door shutting, but it does not arrive.

"Doré?"

I spin back around, surprised.

"What is it?"

"Thank you, for bringing the letter." His tone is unusually timid, especially for somebody as miserable as him. I let a tiny smile linger on my lips.

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you at luncheon."