*** "While memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee!
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!"
Hamlet, Act I, Scene v.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Hamlet, nor anything associated with Harry Potter except my copies of the books and the DVDs I have nearly worn out.
Summary: James Edwards is your average everyday muggle. He's 15, a Goth and goes to a Jesuit-run boarding school called St. Ignatius. But at the edge of his memory are visions of people he cannot ever remember meeting… and his next door neighbor is a witch! When he dreams of a horrifying monster kidnapping his next door neighbor, what will he do?
Enjoy!
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James Edwards aimlessly wandered the streets of Reading, consumed by hunger, pain and fatigue. The swelling in his right wrist and forearm was going down, but he only vaguely remembered injuring it. And were it not for the fact that he couldn't remember anything else, he would have sworn that he had punched something while he was drunk. But he wasn't hung over, and he wasn't still drunk. He had been wandering since at least that morning, and he hadn't remembered anything but his name, which had been written on a piece of paper in his pocket. It was faded and torn, and since he didn't really remember his name, it was only what he assumed was his name.
His feet hurt from endlessly pounding the pavement, and his calves were burning. After one got an excruciating cramp, he collapsed on a curb outside an office building. A light rain fell from the gray skies and his blonde hair stuck to his head and dripped water into his eyes. Running his left hand through his hair, he looked from one end of the street he was on to the other, and tried to figure out his next move. He would need to eat soon, and he had next to no money.
"Excuse me?" a woman's voice asked as he sat thinking hard.
James jumped and turned to face her. "Yes, ma'am?"
"The weather is bound to get worse soon. Thunder and lightning are expected by noon. I realize it's barely nine in the morning, but you should head home," she said, holding a black umbrella over both of them. She wore a gray wool suit, with black high heels and pearls around her neck. Her slim glasses framed a face surrounded by reddish hair.
"You assume that I have one. I don't remember anything before 3 days ago," James explained.
She dropped all pretenses, staring at the teenager in shock. His blonde hair was a shoulder length tangled mess, his clothes were wet and muddied, and his face was pale, gaunt and bruised. She shook her head, attempting to think of what he could be doing there. "Fine then. You're injured. So you are coming with me to the National Health Service clinic just inside, and out of the weather. We can check with the police and file a report on your physical appearance and see what comes of it. But you need medical help and a dry place to stay, before you get sick," she said, standing up.
He sighed, knowing he was not going to win this argument with her. "I don't think that I can…"
"No arguing," she said, pulling him to his feet. "That arm is broken and won't get better without a physician."
He nearly dwarfed the woman when standing. "I suppose a small delay wouldn't hurt. Ms…"
"O'Brien. Dr. Grace O'Brien," she said, extending her left hand in greeting.
"James Edwards," he replied, clasping hers firmly. "I think."
James sat in an exam room shortly thereafter, wrapped in a white blanket as a doctor strode in. His hair was toweled dry, and he sat wearing only a hospital gown, as his clothing was sopping wet. The doctor on the other hand, was dressed in a suit and tie, with carefully styled hair.
The doctor walked to a light board and put up six sheets of x-rays that showed a right hand, right forearm (two views), a head view and a chest series. "Well, James, you appear to have multiple fractures in your right radius and ulna, as well as three separate metacarpals and phalanges. You have four broken ribs, here, here, here and here. And there is a fracture in your left zygomatic. I have to ask this question. Was this done by any of your caregivers?" he asked, rubbing his forehead.
"You want to know if I was abused?" James asked quietly.
"I am required by law to ask."
"I don't remember. I have a concussion, don't I?"
The doctor nodded. "I'm going to get the supplies to cast your arm here and bind those ribs," he said, walking to the door. When he opened it, he turned to Grace, who was waiting outside, talking on the phone. "You can come back in now."
Grace walked in and sat down. "James, I have checked with the police as far away as London. They have no report of a missing boy that fits your description, and there is no record of you in any of the orphanages in the country. I've talked it over with my husband, Liam, and we think that you should stay with us until we can find anything about your family."
"Oh, no, I couldn't impose. You've done more than enough for me today," James said, his blue eyes looking into her green.
"No one has done enough for you in quite some time, James. That much is damn evident, and I am unwilling to let you leave to go back out into that mess. You are too noble for your own good, and I refuse to let you back out because of that sense of chivalry. You are coming home with me," she said warningly.
"My God, you are a forceful woman, aren't you?" James asked with a smile.
"I'm Irish. Irish women get our way."
"Sorry for the delay. Grace, did you find anything?"
"No such luck. But I'm taking him in for a while," she said.
"You're lucky. It's not everyday she takes a liking to someone. Let's have a look at those ribs, okay?" the doctor whispered.
James loosed his hold on the blanket, and let it slip to his waist, revealing a scarred back. Grace uttered a few curse words and resisted the urge to touch the bruises and semi-healed weals on the boy's ribs and back.
"Dr. O'Brien, it's not as painful as it looks," James said, shifting himself on the table, as the doctor began wrapping his ribs with a compression bandage. "I think," he said, sucking in a breath, as he felt pain from the injury. But he carefully hid the cuts on his wrist. He didn't want her to think that he was some sort of suicidal psycho. He knew she was a psychiatrist, and didn't want her to commit him. But then again, for all he knew, he was a psycho.
"James, let me give you a shot to ease the pain a bit, and numb the arm before I start this. Otherwise, you will pass out."
"Will it affect my concussion?"
"It shouldn't. This is a local anesthetic," he said, uncapping the needle.
"Okay," he said, as the doctor injected the medicine into his arm. "Son of a…"
The doctor took the arm, and grasped it firmly, setting it from years of experience. "Done. All it needs is a brace for a couple of days. Grace will need to bring you back after the swelling goes down a bit more so that we can place it in a cast." He pulled a brace out, and placed it around his arm. "Grace knows what to look for when dealing with broken bones. So I won't go into that today."
James had winced, but said nothing as the bones were returned to their rightful place. Sensing that the doctor's visit was over, he pulled a dry jumper from his bag. After putting it on, Grace fitted the sling on his right shoulder, and helped him by lifting his bag. "Come on, let's get you home."
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Reviews are appreciated… I like to feel loved. It takes only a few minutes to make my day… and this week has been hell!
BTW, 'Nepenthes' is a type of drug used in order to forget grief. Yes, there is a reason the story is named Nepenthes.