The Beginning.
Clarissa smiled down at the Barbie doll, detangling its hair with her tiny fingers. She'd always loved the beautiful dolls, but Mummy wouldn't let her buy them. She had said that they were plastic devils who were sent from hell to turn young girls into sluts and whores. Clarissa didn't know what a slut or a whore was, only that her Mummy liked to use those words a lot. Sometimes the words were directed at Clarissa, but mostly they were used at other people. Once or twice Daddy had called Mommy a whore, but only when he was angry at her. Clarissa didn't mind too much when Daddy got mad at Mommy, but sometimes he'd be mad at her too and it was very scary. "That's the other good thing about modesty," Mummy had once told her, whilst she was helping her pull a shirt over her bruised arms. "It keeps all your secrets." Being modest wasn't very much fun, though. It meant being too hot to play every summer, having to watch in jealousy as all the girls in their shorts and skirts played in the sun. Not that she was taken outside very much these days.
She heard the apartment door open, and quickly shoved the doll down the side of her bed. Daddy never came in to check on her, but Mummy would, and if Clarissa was caught with the Barbie doll she would have to be punished. Not only were dolls not allowed in the house, but they might guess where she'd gotten it from, and stealing was even more sinful than Barbies. The Bible said so.
If her Daddy wanted to punish her, he'd just hit her. She knew that lots of Daddies spanked their children, but she wished it didn't hurt so much, and didn't leave bruises in so many places. But if Mommy caught her, the punishment would be worse. Once Mommy had run a bath with water so hot that it made Clarissa cry. She'd had to get in with her clothes still on, while Mommy read from the Bible. Mommy loved her Bible, but Clarissa didn't like it much. The words were long and there were no pictures.
But then there was some yelling, and Clarissa realised that whoever came into the house was definitely not Mommy. She was happy. That meant she could keep playing. She frowned. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do with the Barbie next. If she had any other toys, she could make up a game, but she didn't. She could do what she'd done with the last three- scalp her and rip her head off. But that was getting boring.
Clarissa was startled by a loud bang. It sounded like the fireworks on the 4th of July were going off, only it was much closer.
A little nervously, she opened her door to investigate. Before she knew it, a gun was being pointed at her chest. She only knew what a gun was because of the games she'd seen boys play in the park. But they only played with their fingers. This wasn't the same thing.
"Oh jeez," the man holding the gun groaned. He smelt funny and had a bit of an accent. Clarissa thought it might have been English, but she wasn't sure. "Luke! There's a kid."
A much taller man came to join him. He was hairier, but definitely looked cleaner. He walked strange too, one leg dragging slightly after the other. "Jesus Fucking Christ," he muttered.
Clarissa had heard a lot about Jesus, but she'd never heard his middle name before. These men didn't look too religious either. In fact, they looked like people her parents would hate.
"Where's my Daddy?" She asked. The men looked at each other uncomfortably.
"Are you Jocelyn and Valentine's daughter?"
"Yes. Did you kill Daddy?"
The men seemed too shocked to speak. Clarissa hoped they didn't feel too bad.
"It's okay, I don't mind. He wasn't very nice," she told them.
The man holding the gun gaped at her. "What the fuck? What's wrong with you?"
"Mike! She's just a little kid. You don't need to keep that gun in her face."
Mike looked sheepish. "Right. Sorry," he apologised, lowering the gun. "Look, kid, is your mother home?"
"No, she's confessing her sins to the priest so Jesus will let her go to heaven. Why? Do you need to kill her too?"
"Fucking unbelievable," muttered Mike.
Luke crouched down, looking at her kindly. "Is Mommy not very nice either?" He asked. She shook her head. "What's your name?"
"Clarissa Adele Morgenstern."
"That's a long name. Do you have a nickname?"
A nickname. She'd heard of those. "I don't know. Do you?"
"If you'd call it that. My real name's Lucian Garroway, but everyone calls me Luke. Michael Jonathan Wayland over there's always called Mike."
"Jesus, Luke," Mike snapped. "Why don't you just tell her our addresses as well?"
Luke rolled his eyes. "What are you worried about? That this six year old's gonna be the one to take us down?"
"I'm eight," she corrected indignantly.
"Of course you are," Luke smiled. "I should have realised." Clarissa liked Luke, she decided.
"Can you give me a nickname?" She asked.
"What about Red?"
She shook her head vehemently. "No, not about my hair."
Mike rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous."
"Okay. What about…Clary?" Luke suggested.
Hmmm. "Clary." She tested it out. She liked the way it sounded. "That's good."
"Great. Now we know what we're calling her, may I ask what the fuck we're gonna do with her?" Mike demanded. The word 'fuck' kept coming up. It was a very angry word, but she kind of liked it.
"We'll have to take her with us," Luke decided after a few moments thought.
"What?" Mike gasped. "We're just… what?"
"Well, we already know that Jocelyn and Valentine have no contact with their family. So what, are we gonna drop her off at the police? Knowing what she knows? What choice do we have?"
Mike sighed. "Fine. Kid, when does your mom come home?"
"She'll be here soon. I thought you were her when I heard you come in. Can I see my Daddy?"
Luke looked stunned. "I- no, sweetheart. You don't need to see that."
Clary didn't understand why, but she didn't want to make them angry at her. If they decided they didn't like her they might decide leave her behind.
She could hear the front door opening again. "She's here." Clary told them.
Luke motioned for her to shush, and then whispered something in Mike's ear. Mike nodded and shoved Clary back into her bedroom, closing the door behind them both.
"What did he say to you?" Clary asked him.
"He just wanted me to bring you back in here so you wouldn't have to see your darling Mommy get shot in the head, or have to watch any of the cleaning up." Mike looked down at her, with a mixture of confusion and amusement. "Not that you would have cared, right? You don't care at all that your parents are dead- or, will be anyway- do you?"
Clary shrugged. "I told you, they aren't nice."
Mike laughed. "I've seen a few battered kids in my day, love, but none who'd learnt to hate their parents so young. Good on you, is what I say." He took out a cigarette, along with a lighter. Clary had never seen a cigarette lighter in real life, and watched the flame in fascination. Somewhere in the house, another gunshot was fired.
"Can I make some fire?" She asked.
"I'm not gonna let you burn this building down, kid. Sorry."
Clary sighed dramatically and started rummaging behind her bed for the doll. The plastic expression stared back up at her.
"Won't you get into trouble?
"From who? The police?" He chuckled. "Nah, we're gonna make it look like they helped knock each other off. They're pretty well known religious nuts- no offence- and the police will just assume that it's something to do with that."
Mike was very different to Luke, but Clarissa liked that too. He didn't act like she was just a dumb kid. He spoke to her like she was a grown up.
"Okay, we're done," Luke popped his head in after a few minutes.
"Where exactly are we taking her?" Mike asked.
Luke shrugged. "To Camille, I guess."
Camille. The name sounded beautiful. It reminded Clary of a picture of the French seaside she'd seen once on a postcard.
"If she hates it, I'm blaming you," Mike said grimly.
The car ride had been a long one. Longer than expected. Clary wished she'd remembered to use the bathroom before leaving, but she didn't want to annoy them. Occasionally Luke would make small talk from the driver's seat, but mostly he seemed deep in thought. Mike stayed silent the whole ride, except to ask if they could go through the McDonald's drive through. Clary had never had McDonald's before. It didn't taste like real food, but Clary liked it anyway.
Finally, they stopped off at a cluster of apartment buildings.
"Listen," Luke said to her as he helped her out of the car. "Camille has the tendency to be quite…temperamental."
"What does that word mean?" Clary asked.
"It means she might get angry sometimes. The important thing is not to cry. She hates crying."
"I never cry," Clary insisted. But she held on tighter to her Barbie doll for comfort.
The lobby of the building they entered was quite plain, but very clean. Other than the three, there was nobody in sight.
They got into an elevator, and Mike pressed a button. Clary gasped. "She lives all the way at the top?"
Luke grinned. "All the way at the top."
The elevator doors opened and Clary's eyes opened wide. The entire floor had been turned into a single apartment. All over the walls were tapestries, portraits, and pictures, so many that you could barely see the colour of the walls underneath. The carpet was white and fluffy, and there were little multi-coloured rugs thrown everywhere. There was no apparent colour scheme in the apartment; the furniture, the walls, the drapes and the rugs all clashed in a way that was somehow beautiful.
"Mr Garroway, Mr Wayland," a female voice drawled from another room. "If you wouldn't mind stepping into the study for a moment."
The study was an extreme contrast from the rest of the place. The bare walls were an ugly shade of green, and there was a bookshelf that went right up to the ceiling. The single desk in the room was organised impeccably, not a paper out of place. But the woman standing behind it was what Clary couldn't stop staring at. She was tall, taller than Luke even, and had blonde hair that went right down to her waist. Her skin was as pale as Clary's, although while Clary's looked sickly, hers looked radiant. Although they were indoors, she wore dark sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat that looked like something out of the nineteen fifties. Her white dress hugged her curves tightly. Clary had always been lead to believe that women who showed off their figures were stupid and in need of attention, but this woman didn't look like she needed anybody. Over her dress she wore a coat that matched the carpet in the rest of the apartment, and she wore a different coloured ring on every finger.
"Miss Belcourt," Mike looked like he was going to bow, but then apparently thought better of it. "Mr and Mrs Morgenstern have been disposed of."
"Wonderful." The woman who must have been Camille smiled. Even with her glasses covering half her face, Clary could see how the smile lit up her face. Suddenly, she seemed to notice an added presence. "Who's this?" Camille asked, taking her sunglasses off and squinting at Clary. Her eyes were a striking green.
"This is their daughter, Camille," Luke explained. "We didn't know what you wanted with her, so we took her with us."
"It was his idea," Mike quickly informed her.
"How odd," Camille murmured. "Why had I never been notified that they had a daughter?"
Luke shrugged, Mike looked petrified.
"Tell me, girl," Camille spoke to her directly now. Her voice was as sweet as honey. "Why have I never heard of you?"
"I- I don't know, ma'am." She'd never called anyone ma'am before, but it felt right.
"Do you not go to school? Or go on outings?" She pressed.
"I'm home-schooled, by my Mummy," Clary explained. "Mummy and Daddy don't like me leaving the house much. I used to go shopping with Mommy, but she doesn't let me anymore. All I do is play in the apartment building. But only two other kids my age live there, and one of them is a boy."
Camille smirked. "Quite. Even so, I absolutely cannot believe that this has slipped our knowledge. This is unacceptable. Luke, you will find who made the error and have them dealt with." Luke nodded. "You two can go. Leave the child with me."
They nodded, never looking her directly in the eyes. Clary could see they were both scared of her, Mike more so than Luke. She didn't know why. Camille was lovely.
"What is your name?" Camille asked.
"Clary. Well, it used to be Clarissa Adele, but it's Clary now."
"I like Clary much better," Camille reassured her. "Did Luke and Mike frighten you?"
"No. Mike was a bit scary with the gun, but that wasn't for long. I wasn't sad that Mommy and Daddy died. They were bad. Even though I was supposed to love them, I knew they were bad. They hurt me and they didn't buy me toys."
"That's very perceptive of you," Camille didn't sound particularly shocked or pitying. She sounded impressed. "To realise that your parents were bad. But if they didn't buy you toys, what's that in your hand?"
"I sometimes took them from the girl upstairs," Clary admitted. "Even though stealing is a sin, I didn't think it would matter because she had so many toys and I didn't have even one."
Camille stepped out from behind her desk to close the distance between them. Clary could see that that most of her height came from her high heels. "How did you manage that?"
"Mostly I'd take them from her backpack when she was coming back from school. She'd put it down for a second and I'd wait and snatch it. Then she stopped putting toys in her bag so I had to go to her home. I told her Mommy and Daddy that I was from school and I needed to drop off something for English, and I took this from her room."
"Did you feel guilty?" Camille asked.
"No," Clary said honestly. "I didn't." She stared up at the woman who towered over her. "Why didn't I?"
"I'll tell you why, Clary dearest," Camille, realising ridiculous height difference, kicked her shoes off dismissively. "Because you aren't weak and apologetic like everybody else. You're strong. Just like me."
Strong. Clary liked that. After years of being told that she was heartless, evil, damaged by the devil, this was finally a word that fit.
"Clary, darling, I do not like children. I find them whiny, stupid, and insufferable. But you aren't that way at all, are you?"
Clary shook her head, nervous, but excited.
"Like I said, I dislike children. But for years, I have dreamt of having a protégé."
"What's a protégé?" Clary asked.
"Darling, consider expanding your vocabulary. A protégé is someone to teach, somebody to take under your wing, as it were." Clary could hardly breathe. "I would be honoured, if you would allow me, to take you in as my daughter and protégé."
"Yes! Yes, of course!" Clary didn't know how to agree hard enough.
"Excellent, darling," Camille beamed. She swept Clary into a giant hug, lifting her slightly off the ground. It was the first hug she'd had in years. Clary held her tight, breathing in her floral perfume. It didn't last too long, however, before Camille put her down and frowned. "Oh, no, this is going to make me even busier than usual. I need to call my friends in the police force and make sure they aren't quite as thorough in the missing person's investigation. And I'll need someone watching the news, of course. And then I'll need to get you some clothes that make you resemble a little girl, rather than a potato sack. No offence, love, but religious parents make the most awful clothing choices-."
Camille kept up this babble for ages. Clary liked listening to it. She could probably listen to her speak for hours, but at ten thirty seven, Camille insisted she go to sleep. Although there were many other bedrooms in her household, Clary asked if she could sleep on the big couches outside the elevator. Camille seemed amused, but agreed. There she lay awake, until she was positive that Camille wasn't going to emerge. It was then she slipped out of her covers, careful not to make a sound.
She tip toed out to one of the fire escapes, and took Mike's lighter out of her pocket. A slow smile spread over her face. All that practice with the dolls had turned her into an excellent thief. Holding up her Barbie to the sky, she set the very tip of its hair on fire, watching in fascination as the fire consumed the whole body. She watched the orange and yellow flames dance in fascination. Not even Camille Belcourt could look more beautiful than this, she decided. Not even Camille.
A/N: So! Um, what did you think? This was a bit of an experimental upload, I just had this idea that I couldn't shake and decided to give it a bash. If you like, please review and let me know you want me to continue, because I'm not a hundred percent sure about this one.
I know some this might seem confusing, but don't worry, explanations will be coming if I continue.
The next chapter will be a fair few years into the future, so this'll be the last you see of young Clary. Fortunately, teenage Clary's equally, if not more, entertaining.