See part one here
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| Art by Andy Norton |
Four
Jack stood staring at the vanity. The Mom sat there for
hours every day preforming her magic act. Transforming the person only he ever
saw, the beat up used, addicted, hooker into a queen who any man will pay
anything to be with. At least this is what he was told. He didn’t understand
any of it but this was the only place she sat for any length of time so he
could spend time with her. He often waited by, not really waiting for her, but
for the moments he longed for, the connection.
He slowly climbed into the chair, it was old and torn, and
creaked as he fought his way up. The desk was old too, befitting an heirloom
that is passed down thru the ages only to be abused by the careless “Next of
kin”. Above the desk were the magical
instruments used to lure men and their money. Here were the paints and tools
that kept the woman who birthed Jack, the woman who leaves or yells, in one
spot calm and poised.
He put out his hand and carefully picked up each item
examining them, trying to remember what each did. He pressed an insidious
looking devise up to his eye, like he had seen, and remembered it was for
curling eyes so he threw it down. It knocked over a bottle that spilled a fine
white power. He took a sponge and padded it to his arms and face. He looked at
his self in the mirror and smiled. He looked like a ghost from Scooby do. He
found a pencil but it was more like a crayon, Jack liked crayons but this one
draws on the face. So, as he had seen, he drew large circles around his eyes
and his mouth.
The lip stick was next. He knew it painted the moms lips so
he pressed it to his and smeared it to the edges of the pencil line he drew. He
smiled, he liked where this was going. He knew the mom would be home late. She
always was. He knew she would sleep all morning. He also knew that she wouldn’t
notice the mess he made until she sat down to preform her magic trick. He
picked up tubes of…anything and slowly squeezed them out one by one right in
the center of her vanity. He liked where this was going. she never noticed him,
but she would notice this; then she will
remember him, spank him, scream, cry, then hug and talk while she fix’s her
self-up for the night, which was magic to him.
He soon became bored and plopped down in front of the
blaring TV and fell asleep excited for their ritual to begin.
Bruce zipped around the nursery proudly displaying his
brand new super hero cape. It was blue outside with purple inside. “I’m the
Phantom! He boldly announced, whilst brandishing a skull ring replica of his
favorite super hero. He bounced from high spot to high spot while the new nanny
chased him around trying to make sure he wouldn’t hurt himself.
He knew she couldn’t catch him. He zipped across the room
“zoom!” and bolted up a bookshelf.
“Master Bruce!” the young tired woman pleaded “please be
more careful!” she barely had time to catch a flying attack from above.
He was caught by the Nanny Lady, but the phantom always
escapes; he wiggled and writhed until he realized he might not escape, so he
bit her.
“Ouch!” she screamed letting him go
“Zoom” the phantom
was free to zip around the room, armed with his newest weapon the chop of death;
nanny lady could never stop him. She ran in front of him to head him off, and
he decided she really was a bad guy and ducked under her grabby arms. Then the nanny
lady did something he didn’t count on. She ran to the wall and pushed some button,
it was the tattle button. He stopped running and stared at her, breathing heavy
from running. “I’m the Phantom!” he screamed in anger. He wasn't doing
anything. He was just playing. He
couldn’t understand why she was telling on him so he screamed and ran at the
mean nanny with all of his 4 year old might.
He had a lot of weapons, the chomp of death, the claws of
death, the punch of death, the head butt of death, the kick of death; and he
used as many as he could as fast as he could in an outburst of anger that he
couldn’t control nor understand. He gnashed and kicked and looked wilder then
he felt it did. Still screaming he hit her over and over again. He didn't care
now if he was in trouble, why should he care? Mommy and Daddy didn't care
anymore. They didn't spend as much time with him as they used too. They get
nannies and Teachers to spend time with him. In his young memories he recalled
that he was never away from them. But now....he cried inside as he raged
outside; until strong hands and a loud booming voice startled him
into reality.
“That will be quite enough young man!” Alfred said. All the
fight fell away from Bruce as he was scooped up and marched down the hall. He
started to cry as he went completely limp. He wasn’t the phantom anymore in
fact he couldn’t even remember that any of that had happened. He just felt so
lonely and scared.
In a moment Bruce was placed on his bed and Alfred was
sitting on the edge. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“I want mommy” was all he said.
“I know” Alfred sighed. “And she’ll be home soon enough. Is
that why you attacked your nanny?”
Bruce stared at the floor for a moment then turned and looked
up at Alfred with tears pooling thick below his eyes and with a quivering lip he
said “I want daddy” as the pools broke and fell quickly down his checks.
Alfred gathered the sad boy up into his arms and held him.
Bruce melted into Alfred’s chest which always smelled like peppermint and lemon
cleaner. He didn’t know when daddy or mommy would be home but Alfred always
made him feel safe, Alfred hummed an old war tune and rocked Bruce, who sat up
like a bullet and turned briskly facing Alfred! grabbing his cheeks firmly in
his hands.
“Alfed!” he said like a light bulb lit above his head “I luv
you!” he finished sternly. Then he snuggled back into a shocked Alfred.
They both were silent, yet Bruce had no way of knowing that
Alfred had just recanted on a promise he made to himself before coming to work
for the Wayne’s. He had shunned violence after his last military tour, but now
realized he would do anything to protect this little man.
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