It's been a while hasn't it? Well School just started up again and I had to work 60 hours last week just to pay for my text books. W/E that's all done now and i'm just glad my classes are intersting this semester.
Authours Note: The town mentioned in this chapter is a real place in Irealand. I actually had the chance to go there a while back with my family it's a really beautiful place i highly reccomend it to anyone thinking of taking a vacation in Europe
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Warning: this chapter is kinda dark, it deals with a charachtes not so idylic childhood and contains scenes of child abuse nothing overtly graphic, but enough to make even me cringe while i wrote it.
Disclaimer: Still don't own em', still wish i did.
“Oy…get up ya little whelp. Here you are sleepin nice as you please in a bed I pay for…in the house that I keep, eatin the food that I work for, and what is it you do to show you’re greatful? You laze- the day away when you should be out earnin your keep.”
A hard kick to the side woke the small boy from his sleep. His blue eyes opened and then squeezed shut in pain. *Not today please not today* he begged knowing without even looking that his ‘uncle’ was unbuckling his belt.
“I’m giving ya to the count of ten Will, and if you ain’t outa that bed and downstairs helping your aunt with the chores I’ll be laying railroad tracks across you back quicker’n lightning.”
Will didn’t need to be told twice, in a flash he was running around his small almost cupboard sized room gathering his clothes. With a practiced swiftness he slipped his trousers on, and latched his suspenders to the front. His boots lay beneath the small reading desk in the corner, were upon, a worn copy of the prince and the pauper sat. Many was the night that will stayed up reading and re-reading the novel, convinced that someday he would have all the things the prince in the book had, but instead of trading places with some poor sod he’d gladly suffer the hardships of his wealth.
For now he was slated to do his cousins chores, plus his own, while they made sport of him, and generally messed around.
There were eight of them in all. His cousins, of course, all had comfortable rooms’ warm beds, shelves full of books, boxes full of games and toys, more then he’d seen in his entire life. The grand house provided ample room for the children to run and play, but not Will, he was to be seen and not heard. He was the family’s dirty little secret. The bastard child of an English criminal and a loose mother, who’s name was never uttered, for it was too great a shame.
Will had been living with ‘this’ particular uncle for about six months. By far this was the best treatment he’d gotten and that wasn’t saying much. The first set of cousins he’d lived with found it most entertaining to push three year old Will in a wheel-barrow off the great hill over looking the church. His name had been Paddy then, but it was more a matter of course then any kind of sentimental moniker, Paddy broke his wrist his collar bone, and four ribs. He was told by his aunt and uncle that god was punishing him for being a fatherless child. Of course they forgot to mention that god had acted through their own children. In the end they’d gotten rid of him because they couldn’t afford to keep a lame child about the house, his injuries to great a burden for ‘them’ to bear.
The next family to gain custody of little Will was the McNamara’s’. They dubbed him Christian, and quickly established his room was to be the dog shed. The favored sport among his ‘cousins’ was to make him scream as loud as possible and leave as few marks as they could. This lead to many dunks in the family’s duck pond, in mid winter. The first few times weren’t as bad as he’d expected—a quick toss some violent shivering and he was all better. Sensing that his level of discomfort was not as painful as they’d hoped, his cousins changed tactics.
That’s when they started to hold him under. The difference was like night and day to Christian, his lungs would fill with icy water cutting into him like knives. Desperate to fill his chest with air he’d swallowed at least two pints of muddy ice water, and debris. When they’d finally let him up, amidst their shrieks of sickening laughter, he’d vomited non-stop for fifteen minutes.
This ritual was completed twice a week for the next three months. Then spring would come and they had to change torture methods once again. If he hadn’t suspected then he was positively sure now, that their ancestors had been mid-evil dungeon masters. For the spring and summer season they would simply heat flat stones over a fire and press them to the bottoms of his feet. The blisters would then pop painfully as he walked through out the week. A double shot of agony as it were.
When at last the McNamara’s tired of feeding him he was sent to live with another ‘relative’ in Dublin. This time it was Francis Arthur, a pious Minster, who would be the executor of his daily torment. The Arthur’s had no children, but never the less believed strongly in the old adage “spare the rod spoil the child”. The almost daily flaying made the McNamara’s water torture seem like a slap on the wrist. They called him David, and made him work from sun up to sundown cleaning and polishing the church until it shone.
He was eight when he left, and fell out of the proverbial frying pan and into the fire. Or more accurately the fires of Hell.
Liam Troy was a drunk. Plain and simple, and like many drunks he was decidedly disinterested in the things that were going on around him. It was a great relief to Ford—Will’s new identity—that Liam Troy paid no attention to him at all. His wife however was a different story.
Marylyn Troy, or Aunt Lyn, was the one person to date who had succeeded in breaking all of Will’s faith in human nature. Her abuse ranged from out right cruel, to passive aggressive mental agony. Ford single handedly ran the farm, cleaned the house, took care of his adopted sister Mary—perhaps the only ray of light in his hellish tomb--, and cooked all the meals. Aunt Lyn and Uncle Liam were always busy upstairs, doing whatever it was that grown ups did.
If supper was even a minute late Ford was thrashed. If one of Uncle Liam’s shirts had even the tiniest imperfection he went without supper. If little Mary’s cries disturbed his aunt and uncle he slept outside, even if it was mid winter. His aunt was a nurse at the county hospital. She dealt exclusively with the mentally ill. Her tortures reflected her occupation.
On one particular occasion Ford dropped an egg on the kitchen floor. As punishment he was made to get on his hands and knees and lick the raw yolk and shell up. He’d been sick all over the lawn after that. On another occasion Ford was caught reading from the family’s bible with his ‘unclean hands’. As punishment he was forced to wash his hands in scalding water for half an hour. By the time he was done his skin had peeled and his palms were red with blood. Lyn had simply laughed when he tearfully presented his bloodied hands to her.
For nearly two years he’d put up with her insanity. His only respite, was the time he had to take care of Mary, the toddler preferred her adoptive cousins’ company to either of her parents. Nine year old Ford was willing to put up with all his Aunt’s abuse as long as he could be with Mary. Her adoration of him was pure and innocent like only a child’s love can be. She followed him around wherever he went, and cried for him when he was hurt. He in turn doted on her like a big brother. At night he would reenacted some of his favorite scenes from the movies, Robin Hood was her favorite.
His showmanship was amazing, and he could impersonate Errol Flynn down to smallest detail Other nights saw him as Sinbad sailing the seven seas, and fighting sea monsters. Other times he would reenact “The Wizard of Oz” much to Mary’s delight. Her favorite character was the cowardly lion, while Ford preferred the Tin man.
The day Uncle Rupert came to take him away was the first time he’d ever been sad to leave one of his adoptive homes. So distraught was he that his uncle had to forcibly drag him from the house. He cried the whole way to his new home, and didn’t stop till late the next day.
Life with the O’Conner’s had followed pretty much the same pattern as the others, only the hitting wasn’t so bad as before. Most days he walked about with the emotional content of a zombie. He did his chores mechanically, ate and slept when he was told and in general stayed out of trouble. Most mornings found him at some varying level of depression.
Today, though, little Will was more then happy to get out of bed. His uncle was taking him to Rosslare Harbor this morning. Uncle Rupert was an important man in the village; he took note of the town’s inventory, and recorded all incoming goods from England. Of course if a few things slipped by and made him some extra quid on the side, well that was just good luck then wasn’t it?
But, before he was allowed to go on an errand with Uncle Rupert, a rare treat, he was to help his aunt with the laundry. When that was completed he had to cut more firewood for the stove, but after that he was home free.
Today was the day he decided to strike out on his own, to leave Ireland in search of greener pastures. Metaphorically speaking of course, because you just couldn’t get much greener then an Irish field—for months Will had been doing odd jobs for the neighbors saving up as much as he could. To date, he had quite a tidy sum. Enough to last him for a few months at least, he’d get a job first chance he could then rent a flat of some kind. Eventually he’d make millions and move to America, L.A. perhaps, he’d always wanted to see Hollywood.
A mischievous smile played across his face as he folded the last of the linen. His aunt was mumbling something about leeches and freeloaders, but he wasn’t listening. He still had one more chore to complete before he left this house for good, and he was trying to get through this one as expediently as possible.
When he finished his last sheet he was dismissed to do the wood chopping. This only took an hour or so and all too soon Rupert was yelling for him to hurry up and get in the van.
Will dashed to his room and quickly retrieved his stash from beneath the blankets and pillows he called a bed. Next he snatched his favorite cap from the small desk.
“Hurry it up Will, we can’t be late!” Rupert shouted his waning patience getting the better of him.
“I’m coming Uncle!” Will shouted as he stuffed the last of his old movie ticket stubs into his pocket. Assured that none of his worldly possessions were left behind Will ran at break neck speed to the van. He smiled brightly as his the van started up by this time tomorrow he’d be in London starting his new life. In a few years he’d have enough money saved to leave Europe and go to America were he’d make his fortune. Then he would come back for Mary and make everyone who ever was cruel to him sorry.
The sun was bright on little Will’s face as he left his Aunt and Uncle’s home. The light pulling him toward his future and as he finally crossed the threshold of the sun’s brilliance Remington Steele opened his eyes and shot upward in his bed sweat drenching his hospital gown.
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