A Mother's Love
Disclaimer: Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Central Park was known for its beauty; an oasis of lush trees, green grass and a marvelous zoo that brought a touch of nature to this overcrowded city. Beyond the towering walls and artificial lights, there was nothing but concrete and steel, noise, automobiles and pollution. Venturing into Central Park was like entering a different world, one that allowed you to take a step back and enjoy a moment of peace and relaxation. And yet this wasn't Credence's preferred location when he was allowed some time away from home.
There were other places, places that were less crowded where he could go to be alone. For although he craved the warmth and affection of others, he was also nervous and afraid, his head down as he moved throughout the city. Every now and then he would look up, glancing at the people as they passed him on the street. But unless he was spoken to, or found someone who was interested in the material he was handing out, Credence generally kept to himself.
The sound of a small child drew his attention, and as he turned he saw a woman holding her daughter, a smile on the child's face as she giggled and laughed.
Credence paused, the wind tugging on the corner of the leaflet in his hand. His gaze lingered on the mother and daughter before drifting to the stack of papers he was holding. He could still hear their voices, the mother asking if the child wanted to get some ice cream while the child yelled excitedly. Credence inhaled sharply, tightening his grip on the stack of papers. He held them against his chest, clutching them like a child would a stuffed animal, then walked past without a single glance in their direction.
He was supposed to be distributing leaflets throughout the city, but he couldn't bring himself to interrupt their happiness. They didn't need to have some poor, wretched soul covered in bruises and scars approach them with a trembling hand as he offered them news from his mother's church. There was no place for him. And so he kept moving, a lone figure walking through the crowd, until he reached the street adjacent the community garden.
It wasn't unusual for gardens to spring up in empty lots, with flowers blossoming amid the dusty city streets. Credence knew of two gardens that were within walking distance of the church. But this one had a certain charm that drew him towards it, and before long he was standing on the corner gazing at the multitude of delicate flowers, trailing vines and lush, green grass.
There were yellow and white daffodils lining the eastern wall, with fragrant clusters of lavender, roses, and petunias on either side of a tall oak tree. A strawberry patch grew alongside apple and pear trees, with butterflies drifting lazily through the garden.
Sometimes when things were difficult at home and Credence needed to get away for a while, he would come here and sit in the shade of the old oak tree. He felt safe here, surrounded by colorful flowers and dense foliage that gently rustled when the warm winds of summer caressed the treetops. But there was something else that drew him to this location, something that he couldn't quite explain. It was a feeling of love, of peace and tranquility like he experienced in his dreams when he saw her kneeling in the garden, sunlight kissing the contours of her face as she looked at him and smiled.
She would pick him up, lifting him high enough to touch the clouds, and in her arms it felt like he would never fall. He was safe here, protected by a mother's love that lingered in the flowers and trees. And then he would wake up, sunlight streaming through the windows as he rolled over in bed. Credence didn't know if what he'd seen was real, or if he had simply imagined it. The only thing he knew for sure was that there had been a time when every waking moment was filled with wonder and joy, with a love he couldn't find in the place he now called home.
The sound of a car horn startled him out of his reverie, and Credence leapt back, his papers scattering as angry voices pierced the silence. The shouting made him cringe, cowering on the street corner like a frightened animal. He backed into a wall, his eyes closed as he waited for the blow that never came. A minute passed before he opened his eyes, his heart racing as he exhaled slowly. He didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath, his thoughts consumed with painful memories that flashed before his eyes, making him think that he was back home with his adoptive mother. Another minute passed before he began gathering the papers that had blown across the street. He was halfway through picking them up when a gust of wind sent the remaining leaflets soaring through the air and into the garden.
Credence chased the papers into the garden, reaching and grasping as the leaflets were swept away on the wind, but there was nothing he could do to stop them from drifting over the wall. A weary sigh slipped past his lips, his muscles aching from sprinting across the grass. He could feel every bruise, every cut she carved into his skin with his belt. And as he watched the last of his papers disappear over the wall, Credence knew there would be trouble when he went home and told his mother what happened.
He sank to the ground, wishing with all his heart that he could stay in the garden. This peaceful place of pristine beauty, with roses blossoming in winter despite the heavy snows, and trees that never seemed to run out of fruit. There was something magical in the air, something that kept the plants in constant bloom throughout the year. People speculated that it was due to the quality of the soil, or something in the water that caused the plants to flourish. But Credence knew the truth. He knew there was magic in the flowers and trees, but how it got there was something of a mystery.
Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, his head down as the warm winds rustled the leaves. He could feel the wind tugging on his hair, playfully ruffling the dark strands as he sat beneath the old oak tree. This place, with its enchanted flowers and tingling wind chimes felt more like home than the house he shared with his mother and two sisters.
He closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face, his heart aching, longing for the comfort he felt in his dreams. Where was she? Why did she leave her family? Was it someone like his adoptive mother? Did they figure out what she was? Did they... Did they kill her?
"No," he whispered, hugging his knees as he remembered that awful song Modesty sung. "Ma, please..."
The wind chimes fell silent, a chilling wind swirling the leaves at his feet. Credence backed away, his eyes wide and staring as he pressed his back against the trunk of the tree. The wind rose around him, and he started to panic, his heart racing in his chest. He could feel pressure building in his abdomen, his limbs shaking uncontrollably as his muscles tensed, straining against the dark force that threatened to escape.
"Credence," a voice whispered on the wind. "Calm yourself, Credence. It's alright. I'm here, baby."
"Ma?" Credence swallowed hard, his throat constricting with emotion. The wind changed direction, gently caressing the side of his face like hands wiping away his tears. "Where are you?" he asked, still trembling as he looked towards the sky. But the wind didn't make a sound.
He turned around, looking and listening for any sign of the presence he felt in the garden. It was then he noticed a hole had formed in the trunk of the oak tree, a hole which was rapidly growing in size.
His lips parted, a look of astonishment causing his eyebrows to drift towards his hairline. Surely this was some kind of magic. But why was it happening? Was it because of him? Or was it something else?
"Go on," the voice whispered, gently urging him to look inside.
His curiosity getting the better of him, Credence raised a hand and tentatively reached inside. His fingers brushed against the lid of an old cardboard box, its contents shifting as he lifted the box and placed it on the ground in front of him.
He stared at the brightly colored box, his mind trying to work out the meaning of the runes and symbols that had been drawn across its surface. His fingers traced the patterns, moving from flowing spirals to ornately drawn roses, his eyes wide as he gazed at them wonder.
There was a moment, a solitary shard of time that passed before he lifted the lid, revealing an old book and several packets of seeds. Most of the packets were empty, with strange names such as dragon's blood and moon flower. But the object that drew his attention was a moving photograph that had been placed between the pages of the book.
Credence picked up the photo, and felt his heart leap into his throat as he recognized the woman in the picture. She had dark, shoulder length hair, her eyes the same shade of brown as his. When he slept he saw her face, sunlight streaming through the canopy as she lifted him up, her little boy laughing and trying to swat at a passing butterfly. But this wasn't a dream. His mother was gazing back at him from a photograph that had been taken when Credence was little more than a year old.
His gaze lingered on the photograph. And although the woman in the picture continued to blink and move, Credence didn't know nor do he try to understand how the image was capable of movement. He was holding a picture of his biological mother, and that was all that mattered.
When he felt ready to move on, Credence placed the picture in the box and started reading the book his mother left for him. It didn't take long for him to realize that this was his mother's diary, a diary that she started keeping when she was in the hospital. She had fallen ill when Credence was very young, and with only weeks to live decided to start a diary so that when the time was right, her son would find it and have something to remember her by. The last thing she wrote was a poem for her son, and this is what it said.
My sweet, little boy
Though I must leave you behind me
This poem will tell you where you always can find me
When a gentle wind blows, that's my hand on your face
And when the tree gives you shade, that's my sheltering embrace
When the sun warms your skin, that's me tickling my boy
When the rain wets your hair, those are my tears of joy
When the long grass enfolds you, that's me holding you tight
When the whippoorwill sings, that's me whispering 'good night'
Credence somehow managed to smile through his tears, his lips quivering as he read her poem over again. He was about to close the book when he spied a note written on the last page of the diary. The note said that the contents of this box would be protected from anyone wishing to uncover her secret, and that only Credence would be able to see and read the things she had written.
He placed the book inside the box, exhaled slowly, then looked at all the beautiful flowers in his mother's garden. Credence knew this place was special, but it wasn't until he discovered this box of hidden treasures that he realized how fortunate he was to live amongst such beauty, and that his mother's spirit lived on in the essence of nature that surrounded him.