The Orphans (Orphans Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

After a half
hour of silence, Charlie lifted his head from his lap. He opened his eyes and gazed expectantly at the stairway. He didn’t anticipate his parents calling up to him; their former habit had been completely lost with their words, and was no longer something Charlie even associated with them. Instead, he imagined the door to his room—of which only the top inch was visible to Charlie—flying off of the hinges, the wood frame splintering as Terry’s men busted through. Charlie pictured a smirking Terry hovering over him while his bodyguards did the same thing to him that they had done to his parents and Walter.

Charlie kept waiting, anticipating that it would all go down. Only it never did. Another uneventful half hour passed before Charlie finally concluded that Terry and his men might not be coming after all. All of the pent-up fear and anxiety that Charlie had bottled up began to release from his body. It created a void, one that Charlie filled with anger.

Charlie went off on Walter. For sending him the drive. For thinking that he needed to know the truth. For thinking he could even do anything with the information.

After Walter, Charlie’s parents caught his ire. Why did they have to get involved with Terry? Why did they have to do whatever they did, to make him decide to go after them? Why couldn’t they have just given in to Terry’s demands?

When he ran out of reasons to be upset with his parents, Charlie aimed his rage at Terry. After all, he was the one who had targeted his parents and Walter. He was the one who had taken them from him. And now he was the one who was taking his sweet time, toying with him. What had happened to the man who acted quickly, decisively, and frequently?

Charlie rose to his feet, empowered by his overflowing animosity. He yelled to Terry as if he were in the room or might somehow hear him. “What are you waiting for? Just come and get me already!”

Charlie’s chest heaved as he waited for a response. Seconds passed, and none came. It remained completely quiet, save for the gentle rustling of trees outside.

“I got an idea!” Charlie shouted, his rage reborn. “How’s this? You let my parents and Walter go, and I’ll sign your damn contract!” He was no longer speaking to Terry, nor had he thought his promise through. He hadn’t thought at all. His temper had a firm hold of him; it was the one making the decisions.

Charlie went to grab the contract from his pocket, but his fingers met his Moleskine notebook first. Unlike every other time, he found no solace in his plan. It had been rendered obsolete and did nothing but add to his aggression. He yanked the notebook from his pocket and began ripping the pages out and throwing them in the air. Once he had plucked every goal-filled page, he chucked what was left of the notebook across the room.

Charlie retrieved the contract from his pocket. He glared at the ancient words, then balled up the sheet and threw it in the same direction that he had thrown his notebook.

He dropped down on to the corner of his bed and buried his head in his hands. His breaths became longer as his anger subsided. The ensuing adrenaline crash, combined with the lack of sleep from the night before, took its toll on his body. It wanted to shut down, but Charlie refused to let it. He knew what was in store: more dreams and more lost memories of his parents.

Charlie’s eyelids began a gradual descent. He realized what they were up to and caught them with his fingers, keeping them pried open. Unfortunately, his hands were no match for the rest of his body or mind. It was already eleven o’clock. He’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours straight, and thirty-nine of the last forty. He was physically and emotionally exhausted. Even with his lids jimmied, his vision faded to black. His hands fell to his sides, and his body collapsed back onto his bed.

◆
◆
◆

Charlie’s eyes shot open. He scanned the rest of his room from his bed, unsure if he was caught in a dream or if he had actually woken up. He checked his clothes. They were the same as when he had conked out. According to his cell phone, it was shortly after seven in the morning and a brand-new day. Charlie had jumped through nightmares of his parents vanishing for the past eight hours, which qualified as the most continuous sleep he’d had in years, but this wasn’t a dream. It was only a return to his harsh and uncertain reality.

Charlie did his best to recall the dreams he’d had during his deep slumber, but they had mostly turned to lost memories. Only the last dream, the one he’d woken up in the middle of, left even the slightest trace. Most of it was fuzzy, but Charlie vaguely remembered it involving a family dinner on the night that he had faked playing in his first junior-varsity soccer game.

At the dinner, Charlie had told his parents that he had not only started, but that he had also scored the game-winning goal. In reality, he had just stayed in the library and worked on his assignments. Throughout the rest of the meal, Charlie’s parents couldn’t stop talking about how proud they were of him. With each compliment, Charlie would grin and nod, but beneath his joyous exterior, his stomach twisted into tight knots as the guilt of accepting their unearned praise compounded.

Charlie had held onto his guilt ever since that night. But when his parents disappeared from the dream, so did any memories of their adulation, and so did his guilt. As Charlie reflected on what he still remembered of the evening, his lies no longer bothered him.

Charlie swung his feet off of his bed and was about to get up when he noticed something on his nightstand that did bother him—so much so that it caused his heart to skip a beat. It wasn’t what Charlie saw that was particularly frightening, it was the fact that it hadn’t been there when he passed out. At least, he was fairly certain that it hadn’t been.

As he cautiously craned his head to get a better view, Charlie did his best to cast doubt on his certainty. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it had been there the whole time. In which case, all of the other suspicions swirling in his head as to what exactly he was staring at and how it had gotten there were unwarranted.

But as his eyes finished digesting what they were seeing, Charlie discovered his concern was very much justified. This discovery sent a chill from the top of his spine all the way down to the tips of his already-tensed extremities: Resting on the nightstand was the contract.

No longer balled up in the corner where Charlie had tossed it, the contract had magically moved. But the physical location of the document wasn’t the only thing that had inexplicably changed. The original Hebrew script was gone, replaced with English, and there was an addendum at the bottom of the page. The addendum stated that in return for signing the contract and pledging his soul, Charlie’s parents and Walter’s souls would be set free.

Charlie swallowed hard as he read the words. The Devil had heard him and agreed to his terms.

In the heat of the moment, Charlie would have signed the deal without hesitation. But that heat had long since cooled, and he was no longer buoyed by rage. Charlie swiped the sheet and skimmed over the details as he lumbered to his desk. Other than the additional condition releasing his parents and Walter, the language was identical to what the rabbi had said.

Charlie sunk into his desk chair. He laid the new contract out on the desktop and grabbed a pen from a souvenir glass that doubled as a penholder. He rapidly clicked the pen as he read the stipulations once more and tried to decide what to do.

It was apparent to Charlie that he only had two options: He could sign the contract or not sign the contract. If he signed the contract, he would lose his soul, but he would save his parents and Walter, and he would also probably get everything he ever wanted in his original plan. He would be successful like Terry. If he chose not to sign the contract, he’d not only doom his parents and Walter for eternity, he’d almost certainly end up just like them when Terry finally came for him. And Terry would. Sooner or later, he would find out what Charlie knew, and that would be the end of him.

With his options and outcomes clearly juxtaposed, there was no real choice for Charlie to make. He had to sign the contract. He clicked the pen once more, exposing the ballpoint, and lowered it to the paper. He was about to start the first letter in his signature when a faint voice inside his head told him to stop.

Charlie slowly peered up from the contract. The first thing his eyes met was the framed photo that sat on his desk next to his monitor. In the photo, a fourth-grade Charlie proudly displayed his first-place ribbon from his school’s science fair. Alan and Mary stood at his side, both of them smiling.

Charlie unhooked the clasps on the back of the frame and removed the photo. On the back of the picture was a handwritten note from Mary. Charlie read his mother’s words:
you worked so hard. we’re so proud of you. as long as you give your best, we’ll always be proud of you. love, mom and dad
.

Charlie read the note over and over. He focused on one part in particular: give your best. That’s all he ever had to do to make his parents proud. Even if he didn’t remember them saying that, he had it in writing. Give your best. He could hardly say that was what he was giving now. The truth of the matter was, he hadn’t given anything at all and was in the process of giving in, giving up.

Charlie considered the contract again. His eyes shifted back to the photo. He could see the looks of joy on his parents’ faces. He knew that his parents wouldn’t want him to agree to the Devil’s pact, even if it meant saving them. He knew that they wouldn’t want him to give up. They would want him to give his best. He also knew that there had to be a third option, and there was—he could fight.

It wouldn’t be easy. Charlie was certain that it would be the most challenging endeavor that he’d ever undertake. But he knew that he had to, for his parents and for himself. And so instead of submitting, Charlie clenched his fists, determined to fight. He would put a stop to Terry and his men.

Charlie stashed the contract in his desk drawer. He crossed his room and retrieved his battered Moleskine. He turned to the first page and wrote with purpose:
save my parents and walter.
That would be the objective of his new plan. Once it was achieved, he would return to his old plan.

Charlie knew that if he were going to stand any chance against Terry and his men, he would need backup. He also knew that there had to be more kids out there who were just like him: kids who had lost their parents and all memories of their parents to the Beasts, kids who had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He just needed to find them. So Charlie added to his notebook the first step toward executing his new plan:
find more orphans
.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Eddie Harper waited
in one of the padded wooden chairs that were positioned outside of the principal’s office at St. Francis High School. He flipped his mess of blond hair away from his eyes and slumped down in his seat, increasingly upset with himself. It wasn’t getting kicked out of class that had Eddie peeved—trips to the principal’s office had become a daily staple of his education after his mother passed away—it was the fact that he had gotten the boot from Miss McCallister’s history class only seconds before the period ended. Because of his poor timing, he was stuck waiting for another one-on-one with Principal Daniels while the rest of his classmates were partaking in Eddie’s favorite class: lunch.

Eddie’s round belly rumbled, as if it were disappointed in him, too. “You growling at me?” he said to his stomach in his best Robert De Niro impression. He gave his stomach a pat. “Lucky for you, I always come prepared.”

Eddie grabbed a Twinkie from the box in his backpack, tore open the wrapper, and stuffed it into his mouth whole. One Twinkie wasn’t enough for Eddie or his stomach. He was still chewing the last of his first snack cake when he snagged a second package from his bag and gave it the same treatment.

His sugary cravings satisfied for the moment, Eddie retrieved his smartphone and snapped a picture of the principal’s office door. He smirked as he uploaded it to all of his social media sites with the caption:
principal visit 2,125
#hardworkpaysoff
#blessed
.

Eddie was certain the picture would garner a lot of “likes”; all of his pictures did. Just like all of his little quips got laughs from the other students. Of course the teachers at his Fairfax, Virginia, Catholic school were a much tougher crowd. They would only tolerate so much of Eddie’s disruptions before sending him packing to Principal Daniels’s office.

Eddie closed the social media app and opened his phone’s web browser. He went to a popular Internet forum called themessagebored.com and clicked on the new posts.

On the top of the page, only three seconds old, was a post that practically jumped out at Eddie. He immediately clicked the link; however, he barely had time to skim over any of the details of the posting before Principal Daniels poked his head out of his office.

Principal Daniels let out an exaggerated sigh when he spotted Eddie. “I should have known it was you again.”

Eddie didn’t respond. He just sat in his chair with a thousand-yard stare. He was completely blown away by what he’d read so far and how it related to him.

It had been a little over a year since Eddie’s mother, Claire Harper, had passed away. As an investigative journalist, Claire had committed her career to uncovering all forms of corruption. She considered herself an equal-opportunity exposer and despised others in her field who would sit on stories that “threatened” their personal and political interests.

On her investigation before her death, Claire had dug up dirt on government officials who had profited from the previous housing collapse and subsequent bailout. Her feature story never hit the presses—it didn’t even make it to her editor’s desk.

The night janitor at
The Washington Chronicle
discovered Claire slumped over on her desk. The coroner would confidently chalk up her death to cardiac failure, which he hypothesized was likely the result of a poor diet, job-related stress, and an extreme lack of sleep.

The file for Claire’s feature was found open on her computer. The Word document was as blank as the look on Eddie’s face as he sat across from the frustrated principal. And much like Eddie’s face, the document hadn’t always been that way.

Principal Daniels noted Eddie’s disconnected look and shook his head. He was painfully aware of Eddie’s
adhd
diagnosis. But of the many students in Eddie’s boat, Eddie gave him the most trouble by far. “Well,” Principal Daniels said, growing tired of waiting for Eddie’s attention to shift, “are you gonna come in, or do I need to drag you myself?”

Eddie robotically got up, made his way into the office, and took a seat in his usual chair opposite the principal’s desk.

Principal Daniels plucked the dismissal slip from Eddie’s hand as he passed by, and then sat down in his desk chair. He skimmed over the dismissal slip. “It looks like Miss McCallister thought you were being disruptive,” Principal Daniels said, “which, of course, is nothing new.” He laid the slip on his desk, grabbed a pen from his pen jar, and tapped it on his desk a couple times while trying to decide how to handle his wayward student. “I don’t really see any point in reading you the riot act for the hundredth time, and I’m sure Maura Taylor is tired of hearing my voice.”

Maura Taylor was the mother of Eddie’s best friend. Eddie’s father had never been in the picture, having walked out on his mother before Eddie was even born. When Eddie lost his mother, he lost everything he had. Fortunately, the Taylors took him in. If not for their kindness, Eddie would have spent his last year of legal childhood in foster care.

Principal Daniels waited for Eddie to offer an explanation for why he had been acting up. Eddie always had a reason for his behavior, and it was always someone else’s fault. But if he had an excuse, Eddie kept it to himself as he stared straight ahead.

“Are you even listening to me?” Principal Daniels asked.

Eddie nodded. Listening was one thing; actively paying attention was another. Eddie was trapped in his thoughts of what he’d read. His
adhd
had cranked up to its highest gears.

“Great,” Principal Daniels said, accepting the nod as confirmation. “Then what I want to talk to you about is your grades.” He made a couple keystrokes on his computer and pulled up Eddie’s records. “When I look at your transcript over the last year, I see nothing but Cs and Ds. Well, mostly Ds.”

No surprises there. Eddie had never done particularly well in school or anything that involved a lot of thinking or concentrating. When he started forgetting things about his mother, Eddie just chalked it up to not being smart enough. Memories weren’t something you could cheat on, unlike tests, which Eddie had attempted to cheat on after his mother passed, but that just led to more visits with Principal Daniels.

“Do you know what that means?” Principal Daniels asked.

Eddie didn’t say a word or move a muscle.

“Edward Harper,” Principal Daniels snapped, and then cleared his throat with the force of a garbage disposal.

Eddie finally jolted out of his trance.

“Straight Cs and Ds,” Principal Daniels repeated. “Do you know what that means?”

Eddie put his previous thoughts on the backburner and took a moment consider the principal’s question. “I’m not making honor roll?” he said.

Principal Daniels wiped his face with his hand and sucked in a deep breath to calm himself. “Yes. You are definitely right about that. Honor roll is not likely in your future. And there’s a pretty good chance graduation isn’t, either,” he said. “If that happens, you can forget about even junior college, too. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Then you need to start taking things seriously.”

“You know what?” Eddie said, suddenly inspired. “That’s a great idea. I’ll get started on that right now.” He slapped the principal’s desk for emphasis, and then popped out of his chair and strode toward the exit.

“Mr. Harper,” Principal Daniels said, stopping Eddie in the doorway. “You’re not getting off that easy.” He scribbled something on a detention slip, got up from his desk, and handed it to Eddie. “Your presence will be required in detention for the next two periods. And I seriously hope you take my words to heart.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me, not at least until I prove myself, but I already have. And thanks for not giving up on me. When just about everyone else did, you didn’t. That means a lot.”

Principal Daniels had never imagined that Eddie was capable of such sincerity. Flustered by it all, the principal replied, “Of course. I mean, it’s my job.”

Eddie gave Principal Daniels a pat on the back and then continued out of the office. He smiled back at the principal, waved, and then watched him close his office door. As soon as it was shut, Eddie balled up the detention slip and tossed it in the nearby garbage can. He had played the principal like a piano. It was too easy.

Eddie retrieved his phone and reread the title of the post that he had yet to finish. It stated:
looking for orphans
. Eddie carefully perused the rest of the anonymously uploaded message. His awe increased with each sentence. All of the issues mentioned were things that Eddie had dealt with over the past year. He wasn’t sure if it could actually be real, but he was sure that he had to find out more.

Without hesitation, Eddie hit reply.