Sanctuary's Fiend

‘Got it!’ I shouted to Richard.

When I turned around he was right behind me.

‘Got what?’

I showed him the picture I’d located in one of the moving boxes.

‘Who’s that?’

‘I’m not sure. Just some old lady. But she looks vaguely regal.’

‘Fine. All right. Anyway, which one should I wear?’ he asked, holding out two different ties.

‘Honestly? No tie.’

‘But… I want to make a good impression.’

The eternal question a father faces. Should I tease him about his obvious crush or not.

‘Trust me, Richard. No tie.’ No teasing today. I let him off easy. He was already dressed up more than usual. He must be nervous.

He ran back up the stairs. I hung the picture on the wall to make sure Reliquiae saw it. Some would call this childish or a waste of time. I’d agree, but that wouldn’t stop me. I’m late-thirties, not dead.

Still, couldn’t have a dirty house with a guest coming round. Even if she was a sixteen year old girl. Did they care about cleanliness? I had no idea. I took the rubbish out of the bin and headed for the door.

Richard was standing in the reception hall looking gormless. Poor chap. ‘Go and sit down. You don’t want to seem too eager.’

He made a face at me but walked into the living room anyway.

I opened the door and…

‘Oh!’ I shouted, putting a hand to my chest. She had scared me half to death. Why was she just standing on the porch? ‘My, Reliquiae, you gave me a shock.’

I felt uneasy. It had been a very long time since someone had snuck up on me. How peculiar. Still, it was a reminder to try and keep myself sharp. Stop slacking. ‘Did we not hear you knock?’

I looked around outside. Maybe she hadn’t snuck up on me and it was just my gut feeling telling me something wasn’t right.

‘No, sir. I...uhh, I just arrived.’

Curious. Was she nervous? And Richard was too. I see.

‘Well, do go in. I was just marking your test, in fact. Richard’s in the living room. Not to worry, I’ll be out of your hair all night. A teacher’s work is never done!’

‘He prefers Rick.’

‘Pardon?’ He’d never asked me to call him Rick.

‘Nothing.’

‘Right. Well, enjoy.’

I walked round to the bins and got rid of the rubbish bag. Yes, this would be a good thing for Richard. He’d need to learn to fit in here. I’d already told him that the American football team was a good idea. Americans loved their sports, after all. Show some team pride and he’d fit right in, I was sure. Then Reliquiae had offered to tutor him. I would have just turned her away, Richard doesn’t need help academically. But I had remembered that Richard had mentioned her more than anyone else. It could have just been coincidence, but I gave it a shot. If how awkward and nervous they were both acting was any indication, maybe I should change career and become a matchmaker.

As I strolled back to the house, I could hear Richard groaning. Ahh, that was the ultimate approval any father looks for when he makes a joke. The flag and picture must have hit their mark.

I chuckled to myself as I entered the front hall. ‘I’m sorry, Reliquiae, I simply couldn’t help myself.’

‘Okaaay. I’m really lost though.’

I stopped my laughing and looked at Richard. He was trying to tell me off for embarrassing him. I supposed I shouldn’t take the joke any further. Time to confess.

‘Yes, sorry. I suppose the joke doesn’t translate well. I put up a picture of the Queen and our flag. Just teasing a bit. No offence was intended.’

‘Oh. I just assumed that was normal.’

I shuffled awkwardly. Rick cleared his throat. Well, this had turned from an amusing and ironic joke into an awkward ignorance of state customs.

‘I’m afraid not. The British are rather more conservative about showing our… umm, national pride.’

‘I see,’ she said. ‘I guess the tea selection is a joke too?’

Tea selection? Had I put that out. I turned to the kitchen. Sure enough the tea rack was there. She had very sharp eyes. But tea was never a joke.

‘Not at all. That’s just our tea selection.’ Rick cleared his throat again, giving me a meaningful look. ‘Anyway, I’m off to mark more papers. Enjoy yourselves.’

I walked upstairs. I took down the picture of the old lady, and pulled the Union Jack down.

I entered my study, folded up the flag, and placed it on my desk. With nowhere better to put it, I put the old lady’s photo next to the flag. A bit odd having a random person staring back at you as you marked papers. It was a nice frame though, very sturdy, and sharp. I’d use it for something else.

But right now, I had a cup of tea that was still steaming, waiting to help me get through grading these papers.

Why on earth had I chosen to be a teacher again? So much homework. I could have been a plumber, or a carpenter. Lord knew I wasn’t teaching for the pay! Still, a teaching job gave you a sort of acceptance in the town, and an instant source of gossiping colleagues and kids to… interrogate about events.

I sat down and stirred my tea, breathing in the steam. My guilty pleasure. This was my reserve stock I’d brought over from England. I didn’t tell Richard I had this. He wouldn’t approve at all. But this was the good stuff. And I took it with plenty of milk and sugar. To the point where it was barely tea at all. Oh yes, Richard would definitely not approve.

Still, I was an adult. His adult, even. What he didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him. If only I’d been a bit wiser when he was younger, and known that then.

Oh well. You can’t change the past. And it was all down to me now. I’d keep him safe. He could be a normal teenager here. Join sports teams. Date girls - or boys. No need to be reminded of the past for him. For me though...

I rubbed my forehead. ‘Getting sentimental in your old age,’ I muttered to myself.

I took a sip of the tea. Oh, I was a bad person. It just tasted like syrupy hot milk. This wasn’t even tea!

‘No. This is your fault, old friend,’ I said, looking at the tea. It was reminding me of the past. Maybe I’d have to kick the habit. Still, it wasn’t my worst one. Not by far.

I placed the cup back on the saucer, picked up my pen, and twirled it in my fingers like a dagger. Practice makes perfect. I looked at the pile of paper in front of me. Time to get to work.

Or not, it turned out, as I started admiring my pen. I’d had it specially made. I had decided that regardless of the job one was doing, one could always use a good pen by one’s side.

It was fashioned from a British oak, worn smooth by my fingers over the months. The pensmith had assured me that the wood was from the heart of the tree and had been prepared exactly as I’d requested. Simple on the outside, but all the innards, and the visible nib, were a silver alloy. Some top of the line stuff, the man had claimed.

I liked the metaphor. Old and time-tested on the outside. New and cutting edge on the inside.

Delightful.

Anyway. That was enough procrastinating. On to the marking.

I checked my phone. Nothing. Damn. I really would have to grade the papers.

I knew who’s was first. Reliquiae’s.

At least this would make it an easy start to the session. I might have only been here a month, but I already knew who would be worth keeping an eye on. Reliquiae was definitely one of them. She was smart, and engaged with what was being taught. Just the type of student any teacher looked forward to having in their class. But… there was something else about her.

No. I must be trying to procrastinate again. I forced myself to start marking. Oh dear. She had put the wrong date.

A bad start, but we all had off days. And… the first answer was wrong too. Okay, not every test could be a winner.

Second answer, also wrong. On the plus side, it was good that I was managing to challenge such a bright student. Job well done, me!

Third answer wrong. Okay, she must have just been feeling bad in today’s class.

I heard Richard shout.

Then the door slammed shut.

Perfect! A reason to not mark the papers.

I stood up and went downstairs. Richard was standing in the living room looking lost, holding Reliquiae’s school bag.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. She just ran out!’

Oh dear.

’Richard. Did you… say anything to her? Do anything?’

‘What? No! God no, of course not.’

I held up my hands to calm him down. ‘I just had to make sure. Tell me what happened.’

‘I don’t know. I made her a marmite sandwich–’

‘That explains it.’

‘Father!’ he chided me. ‘It’s not funny! Then we sat down and started talking and she seemed fine and I was telling her about the football team and cheerleaders but then I must have slipped or fallen or–’

‘Slow down, Richard. Take a breath.’

He looked up with the same boyish eyes as ever, and I thought he was about to cry. I knelt down in front of him on one knee. Standing, we were the same height, but it made him sit back down on the couch. I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring way.

‘Richard. Is it possible that she didn’t like you talking about other girls? Perhaps she likes you, and you hurt her feelings?’

His mouth flapped open a few times as if he wanted to argue.

‘I didn’t mean it like that though. I don’t like them.’

‘Well, maybe you didn’t make that clear enough?’

‘I… I suppose that’s possible.’

‘And she left her bag.’

‘Should we look through it?’

‘What?’ Clearly, I hadn’t taught him everything he needed to know about girls just yet. ‘No. No, you never look through a girl’s bag.’

‘But just to find out where she lives, I mean. To give it back to her.’

‘Don’t worry. I can get her parents’ number from school files. I’ll do that tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’

’And then you can go and give it back to her. With an apology.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’ I could see there was no point trying to get him to do anything productive with his time now, so I’d let him get on with whatever it was he did when I wasn’t around.

I went back upstairs to get on with the marking.

I sat down, musing at how fun it must be to have girls be your biggest problem. Oh yes, those were the days.

And what luck! In the time I’d been talking to Richard, I’d received a text. Perfect time-wasting material.

I picked my phone up and looked at it. A thrill of anticipation ran through me as I saw her number pop up. Claire.

One of only three numbers I’d already known when I moved into Sanctuary a month ago, Claire was the local chemist.

Her text was a simple “It’s ready”.

It had been too long. Who knew the damage that waiting a month had done. I pushed to the back of my mind the thought of how many people I might have already failed by having to sit idle.

I got up, left my bedroom, and walked to the guest room. I kept the door locked, and the key always in my pocket. I opened the door. It was empty apart from a bed. I walked to the closet. It was almost a walk-in closet, ideal for this purpose, instead of the closet in my room which was far more modest.

This was definitely one of the benefits of moving to America for someone in my line of work. Well, my previous line of work. In England, this had involved a lot of logistics, and keeping a contact at the local police station to tip me off if someone might be doing a search. A lot of hiding places around the house. But here? No problem.

I stepped into my armoury. I kept the guns up high. That was a reflex from being a parent with a small child. Of course, Richard could reach these now, but old habits died hard. Below that were a collection of weapons ranging from baseball and cricket bats, to katanas and broadswords. Even a Gladius. Name a material, and I could probably find a weapon made out of it in here. Everything had a use.

At the back was my old uniform. I didn’t plan on wearing it again, but you never knew.

My phone buzzed and I looked at the screen. It was Claire again.

“You coming, hunter?”