Erin: Wow, thank you again for the wonderful review! I'm so happy that you're enjoying it so much, and I hope you continue to read and review (because it seems like the other people who had been reading and reviewing have gone bye-bye for now o0 ) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next chapter (it's twice as long as the last one!!!) And you meet Quasi's mommy. YAY!!
Disclaimer: I do not own the disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame on which the story is based, or the book on which the disney version is based. I do own Nadya, but I do own how she's portrayed, nor Ammon, but I do own how he's portrayed. I own Charles, Peter Auckland II and III, Walter, and Charlotte. Those are my characters.
Too Many Daggers
Scenes such as that aforementioned played themselves out very frequently through Charles' childhood; too many a night would Charles cry: cry from pain, from loneliness, from rejection, from anger.
As he grew, however, the abuse he frequently received only strengthened his will, desensitizing him to Mr. Auckland's beatings and his brother's cruel words. Instead of shaping him into an obedient coward as Peter and his father had intended, little Charles grew into a rebellious young man, challenging Mr. Auckland and little brother even through his fear.
As the scared little boy grew into a man, he refused to let himself continue to be a prisoner in his own home. Fearing Mr. Auckland less and less as he became stronger throughout the years, Charles risked the punishment of being seen in public, this risk making the thought of leaving the house even more appealing. Taking one of Mr. Auckland's least valuable horses, Charles would leave, going nowhere in particular, and sometimes silently hoped that Mr. Auckland would catch him and know that he was not afraid, he was not a little boy anymore.
It was on one of these perilous outings, when Charles was about 18 years old, that the story really begins, where Charles would meet the woman that would capture his yearning heart.
"Where on earth are you taking me, Mon amis?" Charles' deep British inflection teasingly chided his favorite of Mr. Auckland's horses. Being very unfamiliar with his surroundings, he would usually let this horse take him wherever it pleased. Charles by now considered the old chestnut gelding, who he had named "Mon amis" meaning "my friend," to be his horse, Mr. Auckland all but forgetting that the "nag," as he called it, even still resided in his stable.
Having been gone for nearly two hours, Charles bitterly realized that it was time to go home if he wanted to avoid Mr. Auckland's noticing of his or his horse's absence. Unfortunately, Mon amis had no such notion that it was time to turn back, and Charles was completely subject to his judgment for he had no idea where they were.
"Come now, you silly boy, I enjoy gallivanting about London as much as you do, but we really do need to turn back unless you want to get us both in terrible trouble," the young man playfully scolded, his horse making no reaction except continuing to walk forward.
Charles exhaled exasperatedly, "Fine, do what you want, it's not like I have much of a choice in the matter since you've seemed to have taken me to the middle of…" Charles looked around him, not knowing what to call such a place. Never had he seen such a diverse group of people: chandlers, bakers, blacksmiths, thieves, and every other kind of peasant one could think of resided in this part of London; it fascinated him, yet part of him actually wanted to turn back, to return to where he knew the roads, where he was not a stranger.
Just as Charles contemplated forcing his horse to turn around, the sound of rapid footsteps and distant hoof beats caught his ear. Turning around, he saw a beautiful gypsy girl; her skin, her thick hair, her beautiful dark eyes, and her lovely full lips could only be described as flawless.
She approached him rapidly, but as soon as she looked up into the Englishman's face, high above her mounted atop his colossal steed, her eyes widened in fear. Bolting down an alleyway, Charles stared at the spot where she had been. All of his life he had been told by Mr. Auckland, who hated all non-Catholics with a passion, that gypsies were filthy, evil heathens, and that if made eye contact with, a gypsy woman could cast her spell on any unsuspecting Englishman; the effect this gypsy girl, no older than the age of sixteen, had on the awestruck Charles proved that the latter of these accusations was indeed true.
Breaking himself from his trance, Charles once again noticed the hoof beats drawing nearer, and realized what this girl must have been running from. He had no idea why she was running from the mounted rider; she could have stolen from someone, or even have committed murder. He had never met a gypsy before, so all he had to go by were the terrible rumors he heard from Mr. Auckland and the nobility and bourgeois of London.
Even through these contemplations, Charles decided to aid in her escape; this was not because he believed the girl to be innocent, for what reason did he have to believe that a non-Catholic was being pursued for any reason other than being guilty of a crime? No, this was because Mr. Auckland so hated gypsies and all other "heathens," that helping one would be just another way to rebel against him. Charles' disdain for people who did not follow Catholicism was nothing compared to his hate for the man who had tortured him, body and soul, all these years.
Right as the rider, who appeared to be an officer in the British police, rounded the corner, Charles dismounted his horse. Quickly feeding Mon amis a carrot from his pocket as a way of premature apology, Charles struck the horse's rear as hard as he could, causing him to bolt down the street right as the constable approached.
"Officer! Oh, officer, please help me, it seems my horse has taken off!" Charles cried out to the mounted rider.
"I have no time for this nonsense, boy. I'm after a heathen criminal, so get out of my way before I arrest you, too!" The officer demanded.
"Are you after a gypsy girl, sir? For if you are, I know just where she went!" Charles insisted.
"I know where she went, boy. I saw her go down this way," the constable pointed down the alleyway he could have sworn he saw the gypsy girl run down.
"No, no, my good sir, she went with my horse! After putting a spell on me, the witch scared him off so I couldn't go after her, then ran in that direction," Charles pointed in the direction opposite of the alleyway.
"What? I could have sworn she went…" the officer spoke before being interrupted by Charles.
"She must have put a spell on you, too! Oh, how bloody awful this is! Please, sir, do not let yourself be fooled by her evil ways, and go after her," Charles urgently pointed down the road to where his horse had taken off.
A look of indignation and anger came over the constable's face, and after looking suspiciously down the alleyway once more, he turned his horse the opposite way and galloped off.
Rolling his eyes at the superstitious officer, Charles found himself walking down the alleyway looking for the gypsy.
"I might as well," he thought out loud, annoyance plastered on his face, "I've set loose my only way home…"
Coming to the end of the long alleyway the gypsy had run through, and walking about ten minutes through the maze of different alleyways without seeing the girl, Charles began to turn back. Before he could, however, he happened to notice a strange, purplish light coming from his right. Curiosity got the best of him, and having not been exposed to the dangers the world outside the manor could hold, he walked to the right to investigate. Coming to the light, which seemed to emanate from a crevice in the wall, Charles peered in and saw what may have been the most amazing thing he'd ever witnessed in his life. It was as if a whole other town had been built within this wall, filled with gypsy men, women, and children.
"So this is why I've never seen one before…" Charles whispered to himself, his eyes widened in pure wonderment, "…they've all been hiding here…"
Right as Charles' curiosity had been satisfied, and he began to turn back, a rough hand grabbed his collar, spinning him around. Before poor Charles could react, his arms were seized by two other men, while the one who had grabbed his collar stared at him in anger.
"How did you find this place? Who sent you here?!" the gypsy man said as he waved a newly unsheathed dagger in the frightened man's face.
"W-Wha…nobody sent me here. I'm sorry, I was just taking a walk and I saw a light and…" Charles cringed as the man came face to face with him, putting the dagger to his throat.
"You expect me to believe that you, a rich Englishman, was merely taking a stroll through the alleys, looking for nothing in particular…" the gypsy man's face came so close to Charles' own, that his thick mustache nearly grazed Charles' nose.
"Well, I guess I was looking for someone…but I never tried to find this place I swear! I just happened upon it!"
"Who were you looking for?"
"Well, this gypsy girl…I saw her come this way and I was trying to catch up to her…"
The man's eyes widened in utter anger and rage as Charles realized how his words must have sounded to the man who didn't know the entire story.
"No! Oh no, not like tha…" Charles managed to utter before his words were cut off by a gag tied around his mouth.
Without a word, the gypsy man raised his dagger, aiming for Charles' rapidly beating heart. Eyes widening in fear, Charles tried furtively to pull away from his captors, all the while uttering muffled words through his gag, begging the man to have mercy for he truly did not know what he had done.
As the Englishman braced himself for his bloody end, a female voice screamed out, causing the man to momentarily drop his aim.
"Ammon! What on earth are you doing?!" The gypsy girl Charles' had protected shrieked.
The gypsy man, apparently named Ammon, looked utterly shocked and indignant.
"What do you mean what am I doing? This is an Englishman, for Del's sake! He'll tell the rest and then where will we be, Nadya?!"
Despite his situation, Charles couldn't help but notice how beautiful that name sounded on her.
"Well…even so, Ammon, I can't let you hurt him! I owe…actually, we all owe him a debt of gratitude," the girl called Nadya chastised Ammon as she glanced, annoyed, at the still bound and gagged Charles.
Ammon raised an eyebrow, "How so?"
"An officer was coming this way…I was stupid, I turned toward the camp while he was after me…"
The gypsy man once again glared at Charles, thinking he had been that officer.
"No! Ammon, don't be foolish. This man turned him a different way, away from our camp. If he hadn't, who knows what may have happened?" Nadya scolded.
Going from anger to disbelief, Ammon looked at the Englishman once again, this time with awe.
"Really?" he asked.
Charles nodded his head fiercely, still gagged, praying that this new information would save him from his nearly deadly mistake.
The gypsy motioned for his men to remove the cloth from Charles' mouth, and then asked in disbelief, "Why would you do that?"
Unable to think of a better answer than "I hate my guardian more than I hate your people," Charles merely replied with a shrug.
"Why not, eh?" he asked meekly, a shy smile on his face. Nadya couldn't help but smile at his awkwardness.
Rising from his knees, Charles stood before Ammon, his short stature only reaching the top of the man's chest. Ammon began to say something to Nadya, but for fear that he may have changed his mind about letting him go, Charles decided to speak first.
"Sir, if I may, I can assure you that I will never be able to find this place again for I honestly have no earthly idea where I am, and even if I could, I would die a thousand deaths before I would betray you or your people," Charles made an elaborate bow, assuming that Ammon was the head of this particular tribe, and he sure did not want to insult him by showing any lack of respect.
Bemused at Charles' show of obsequiousness, Ammon relaxed and laughed, roughly slapping Charles on the back.
"Well, boy, I suppose I am in your debt…" Ammon had not yet sheathed his dagger and proceeded to twirl it around in his fingers dangerously close to Charles' face, "…but I suggest you never come here again, for Nadya may not always be here to save you…and we haven't hanged anyone in a very long time…" the gypsy man roared with laughter at Charles' uncomfortable grimace.
"Now, now Ammon, I think he's been through enough without you scaring him half to death…again," Nadya stated, glaring threateningly at Ammon.
The gypsy man released Charles' shoulders and thrust him toward Nadya, "You're right, my dear, and so I think it's time for you to take him home," he smirked at Nadya's horrified expression; it was one thing to keep an Englishman from being killed, it was something completely different to walk alone at night with one.
"Come on, Nadya, have you already forgotten the debt you owe this noble, brave young man," Ammon stated, a sarcastic tinge in his voice, challenging the girl before him.
Looking from Charles to Ammon, Nadya resigned and motioned for Charles to follow her, silently praying that this boy really was as innocent as he seemed.
"So…where do you live?" Nadya asked about five minutes after the pair had begun their trek. She was reluctant to speak to such a man, but where he lived was quite important information if she was to get him home.
"Well…uh…I know I live in London…and I know many nobles live there," Charles stated, embarrassed that he didn't even know the street on which he lived.
"Really…so you're a nobleman?" Nadya stated in disbelief.
Meekly, Charles looked to his shoes and shook his head with a shy smile, "I just live with one…you know, kind of as a friend of the family."
Nadya nodded in understanding as Charles uncomfortably rubbed his arm, the long sleeve of his tunic rising and falling. Curiosity overcame Nadya as she noticed something peculiar on his left arm.
"What on earth is that?" she abruptly lifted his sleeve, staring at a terribly hideous scar that ran from the top of his hand to the top of his shoulder.
Pulling the sleeve down just as abruptly and backing away with horror, Charles faked a smile and laughed, "You know how it is, you're a kid and you run around in a house with…pottery and such…and you're bound to get hurt."
Looking at him with suspicious eyes, Nadya knew that he could not be telling the truth; such an ugly and large scar could not have been an accident, and surely couldn't have been caused by pottery. Only a knife or some other weapon could have left such a mark.
Merely looking at him with sympathy, Nadya realized that there may be more to this awkward man than she gave him credit for.
"Uh…" Charles struggled to change the subject, "So, are you and…Ammon was it?…are you two, you know…" he put the index fingers from each hand side by side "…an item."
Nadya, who had barely smiled throughout this entire ordeal, instantly burst into laughter. Her laugh was as pretty as she was, and made her even more beautiful in Charles' eyes.
"Oh, heaven's no!" Nadya struggled to say through her sweet laughter, "Ammon is my brother! Well, at least, I see him as my brother."
Charles winced at his mistake, "Oh, sorry...I didn't know," he nervously chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head.
Nadya just smiled at him and rolled her eyes.
"So, how about you? Have you ever been in love?" Nadya curiously chided.
Charles smiled, mulling his words over delicately, "No...no I have not...at least, not yet anyway..."
"I didn't think so," Nadya quickly interjected, "I mean, you're so young, and men usually don't marry until they're at least sixteen..."
Now it was Charles' turn to laugh; the British inflection in his laughter sent a shiver up Nadya's spine, and caused her to laugh also at a joke she clearly did not get.
"How young do you think I am?! For I'll have you know that I am eighteen years old, going on nineteen in January," he let out another roar of laughter as Nadya gasped in horror at her mistake and stared at him in confusion, for Charles really did not look nearly as old as he was.
"You cannot be eighteen! I mean...you're so...innocent and naive and...and..." Not wanting to hurt his feelings, yet wanting to get her point across, she put her hand to her forehead, referring to the fact that Charles was a good inch shorter than her.
Dejected that this beautiful girl would point out his most hated flaw, Charles finished for her.
"Short? Hey, you don't have to tell me. Believe me, I know," Nadya looked away ashamedly, hating to have hurt the feelings of the man who had saved her life, as well as her entire camp.
Charles smiled, "Don't feel too terrible about it...I mean, I get that quite a bit...I'm used to it...but..." Charles stopped, a thought occurring to him, "How old did you think I was?"
Nadya shrugged, "I guessed about fourteen or fifteen...of course, I did think you were a bit broad-shouldered and strong-jawed to be so young," she stated, trying to boost his ego by pointing out the qualities in him that, were in fact, quite dashing.
Smirking at the flattery, yet silently appreciating it, Charles suddenly came to a shocking conclusion.
"So your brother was going to kill me, even though I looked like just a boy? Wow, that's scary, I have to admit, that you gypsies would kill anyone, young and old, just to keep them from entering your camp."
Nadya's expression suddenly went from that of apology to one of anger, "Us gypsies?! Well, let me tell you something, maybe we gypsies wouldn't have to be so careful and ruthless if you Englishmen would just leave us alone," groaning exasperatedly, Nadya got in Charles' face and screamed, "I knew it, you're all the same, every single one of you!"
She turned around and continued walking, keeping her back to Charles. Looking down, ashamed at having upset her, yet not truly understanding what he said that was wrong, Charles followed her silently.
They walked for about fifteen minutes in silence before Charles finally gathered up the courage to speak.
"Listen, I'm sorry...it's just..."
"Look, you saved my life and I thank you for it. Alright, I thought that since you did that, you were different, but I guess..." Nadya could not finish her chastisement, for Charles suddenly grabbed her hand and spun her to face him.
"I am different! I'm very different...I don't know what's what in the world...I mean, the first time I ever left home was when I was fifteen! So of course I wouldn't know what and what not to say to a gypsy, or any person for that matter. I'm just learning as I go, and I now know that you do not like it when I lump gypsies together as if they're all the same. So, just cut me a little slack, alright?"
Charles' shoulders slumped, already having revealed more to this stranger than he cared to, but knowing that it was necessary for her to possibly forgive him for his mistake. He found it both ironic and depressing that even through all the abuse and cruelty, he still knew very little about the real world.
Nadya, although still quite angry, so pitied the innocent creature before her that she decided to put her anger aside…for now.
"Oh…well, I didn't know you were so sheltered…" Nadya was interrupted by a disgusted scoff from Charles, not directed at her or anything in particular.
"Nadya, do you like your home…you know, your family?" Charles asked, part of him asking out of pure need to talk to someone about his situation, part of him asking out of curiosity, and part of him asking to stall their trek back to the manor. It was already getting dark, and he had surely been missed already. His hand mindlessly went to his left arm as he thought about what awaited for him when he returned home.
"I love it! I mean, it can get cramped, of course, but I wouldn't trade living in a gypsy camp for anything in the world! And my family, it's like having dozens of families," Nadya gushed, but she stopped as she looked at Charles, who stared at the ground dejectedly.
"What about you? I mean, you live with nobility. That must be nice, right?"
Charles' eyes brimmed with bitter tears, but upon hearing how wonderful Nadya's family life was, he was not so willing to open up to her.
"Well, let's just say that I, unlike you, would trade living where I do for anywhere else, even the streets if I had to," Charles whispered.
Nadya had not expected this answer, and her young mind brimmed with pity for him and curiosity at what made this man's life so horrible.
"Then why don't you leave? You're eighteen, you could leave…" Nadya offered.
Charles laughed bitterly; so many times he had contemplated leaving the manor, that Hell on earth, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Peter had grown to be just as cruel as his father, and how could Charles leave his mother and 8-year-old brother alone in the hands of such monsters?
"I just can't…there are circumstances…but I would if I could bring myself to do it, I really would." he said as they continued walking, nearing the street where Charles lived; he recognized, even in the dark, exactly where he was now.
Nadya suddenly stopped short, realizing with horror where she was, "This is much farther than I dare go…you can get home from here, right?"
Disappointed that the conversation with her had to end and the one with Mr. Auckland had to begin, Charles nodded reluctantly.
Nadya smiled, said her goodbyes, and began to turn away. Just as Charles continued walking, however, she called to him.
"Thank you again for this afternoon. I really hope everything turns out all right for you…" Nadya stopped, realizing that she had not yet asked for the man's name.
"What is your name again? I don't think you've told me."
Charles smiled, relieved that she asked, for it had slightly offended him that she had not cared to know.
"It's Charles."
Once again realizing where she was, Nadya walked backwards away from the street as she called out, "Well, Charles, if ever you do decide to leave, look for me and maybe I can find you a place to stay or something. You know where I live now, so…"
Nodding in understanding, Charles told her that more than likely, he would take her up on her offer.
Saying their goodbyes once again, the pair finally went their separate ways, as Charles braced himself for what was to come.
"Where the bloody hell have you been?!" An all-too-familiar voice bellowed as Charles entered the house. He had planned on sneaking upstairs, but Mr. Auckland had apparently been waiting for him.
"I got lost, sir," Charles said coldly, yet respectfully, as he noticed the three bottles of liquor sitting on the table, as well as the one clutched in Mr. Auckland's hand.
"Why were you even out?! Who saw you?!" The big man yelled at his considerably shorter ward, grabbing Charles by the collar with both hands.
Unshaken by the action, yet terrified that his patriarch was so drunk, Charles looked Mr. Auckland in the eye.
"No one saw me, sir. Even if they did, no one knows about me, so…" Charles said until he was interrupted by a fierce back-handed slap to his face. Reeling and angry, he glared at the cruel man with hate as he touched his burning cheek.
"You mean no one knew about you…I'm sure everyone's talking now… I'll be the most hated man in London if people know that I allow a bastard child to live in my house!" He threw his bottle of liquor at Charles' head, but his drunken state caused him to miss, the bottle only grazing the young man's ear.
"That's not the reason you're the most hated man in London, Mr. Auckland!" Charles yelled angrily…and unthinkingly. Before the sentence was even finished, Peter Auckland II had drawn his ever-present dagger from his belt.
"You're an insolent boy, and even if you're not afraid of my beatings anymore, I can still break you of that!"
The crazed man ran at Charles with the dagger; Charles ran for the door. Sadly for the tortured young man, he never made it, for just as his hand reached the knob, another hand reached out and roughly grabbed his collar and threw him to the floor.
It was Peter.
Using every weapon he could find - chairs, feet, fists - Peter beat Charles on the ground while his father looked on, dagger in hand. Charles could have fought him, would have fought him, but doing so would have been an instant death sentence.
"Pete…" Charles attempted furtively to reason with his brother through his groans of pain, "leave me alone…I haven't done…anything to you."
"You've been a disgrace to this family, that's what you've done!" Peter said as he delivered one more strong kick to Charles' head before coming behind him and pinning his arms behind his back.
Charles' eyes widened in terror as Mr. Auckland approached him with the dagger. Instinctively, the bound man struggled against Peter, almost managing to get free, for Peter's strength was nothing compared to his own.
"Peter…Pete, take this…" Mr. Auckland handed the dagger to his son, "…and give him to me."
As Charles' arms were taken by the man's own hands, Charles realized the futility of his situation. His own strength, although surpassing that of his brother, was absolutely no match for Mr. Auckland's brutish muscle.
Just as the two were deciding which part of Charles' body to mutilate that would teach him the greatest lesson, Charles happened to look toward the stairwell.
And saw his mother.
She just stood there, tears streaming down her face yet not one finger did she lift to help her son.
"Mama?" Charles whispered, his eyes widening as despair swept over him. This scene had played out too many times before, and not once could he remember his mother protecting him, or even comforting him afterwards. The only part she ever played was to cry, weep for her son, but her tears, he realized, meant nothing to him. She cared nothing for him and never had; she loved him as a son, of course, but it sickened him just how much she loved herself more.
Noticing Charles' distress and looking at who Charles was looking toward, Mr. Auckland taunted his ward with insurmountable cruelty.
"What do you think, Charlotte," he cupped Charles' chin in his massive hand as his other held fast onto his arm, "should we do a number on his face…make him ashamed to set foot in public again? Or should we slice up his legs a bit…make him unable to set foot in public again?"
Charlotte, of course, did not answer except by crying harder, sinking to her knees at the top of the stairs.
"Both, you say? Now that seems pretty harsh, darling…" the man mocked Charles and his mother, causing Charles to seethe with anger and tremble in fear.
Finally speaking up, Charlotte uttered, "Please don't hurt him…" from where she sat at the top of the stairs.
"Don't hurt him?! Oh, I won't hurt him…" Mr. Auckland removed his hand from Charles face as forced the back of his head painfully to the floor with frightening force and pressed his knee to the poor boy's throat, inhibiting his ability to breathe.
"Come on, son, teach this ungrateful boy a thing or two about respect," the cruel brute said as he pinned both of Charles' arms above his head with both hands, his knee still bearing down upon the boy's neck.
Peter came toward him with the dagger, "So, father, legs or face? Where should I cut him…?"
Mr. Auckland laughed a cruel, taunting cackle as Charles struggled furtively to both set himself free and catch his breath, "Well, your mother said both…but maybe we should ask Charles…"
Taking his knee slightly off Charles' neck to see what Charles would say to that, Mr. Auckland unwittingly gave his victim a chance to escape. His legs not being restrained at all, Charles kicked out wildly at nothing, attempting to distract his captor and give him a chance to set one of his arms free.
His plan worked; Mr. Auckland, irritated at this mindless thrashing, unthinkingly brought one of his hands to Charles' knees, forcing them to stay still. With only one hand restraining Charles' arms, it was not difficult for the boy to set one hand free, and subsequently punch his unsuspecting captor as hard as he could in the groin, causing the man to double over, freeing Charles completely.
Charles got up, and looked to his brother to see if he would come at him; Peter, with his father incapacitated for the time being and unable to protect him, hesitated to go after his much stronger sibling. Seeing this hesitation, Charles bolted up the stairs, to his mother.
"Mother, leave with me!" Charles grabbed his mother's hand and tried to pull her with him down the stairs, "Go get Walter and the two of you can leave with me!"
Charlotte looked at her oldest son with pity, yet yanked her hand away, "Charles, you know I love you. But I can't take that risk…I can't let Walter take that risk…I'm sorry, I can't."
"Please! Mama, I can protect you! I'll take care of you and…" Charles quickly glanced down the stairs to notice that Mr. Auckland had gotten up and grabbed the dagger from his son's hand. Seething, the man was making his way up the stairs, dagger poised for the kill.
"Oh, Charles, why on earth did you have to come up here?!" his mother ungratefully scolded, as she ran to the next room, leaving her son to face the monster alone.
Now knowing that his mother truly cared nothing for him, and that death instead of injury awaited at the end of his patriarch's dagger, Charles daringly bolted downstairs, risking the chance of colliding with the dagger.
Unfortunately, Mr. Auckland did thrust the dagger at Charles, and although it missed Charles' heart by a mile, Mr. Auckland's drunken aim did manage to hit the center of Charles' thigh.
Wincing and screaming out in pain, Charles limped to the door, his pursuer close behind.
Charles came to door and turned the knob…if he could only get outside…
Alas, the door was locked. Every lock on the door had been fastened, and before Charles could even think to unlock them, a strong hand grabbed his neck and once again forced him to the ground. The dagger in Mr. Auckland's hand was poised, ready to end Charles' unhappy life.
"No! Please, sir, please, I'm sorry. I won't leave again, I promise…I promise, sir…please have mercy on me!" Charles cowered, all resistance futile at this point.
Dagger still poised, Mr. Auckland smirked at the boy's submission, and the sadist kicked his ward swiftly and mercilessly in the groin, causing Charles to cry out an ear-piercing scream, praying for somebody, anybody, to save him from this tragic, premature end.
"Papa," a young, innocent voice suddenly called from the stairs, "Papa, what are you doing?"
The man who had been addressed looked up, and dropped his dagger to his side.
"Walter, go back to bed. This doesn't concern you, son," Mr. Auckland's voice changed from one of cruelty to one of tenderness as he addressed his youngest son, "I'm sure Charles is sorry he woke you…he won't do it again," Mr. Auckland smiled as his son, who had recently taken a liking to Charles, reluctantly went back to bed.
Mr. Auckland then looked to Peter as the door to his son's bedroom closed, "Take this outside…" he whispered forebodingly as he dragged Charles to the door. Holding Charles in place, he then proceeded to unlock the many locks. As the door opened, Charles once again began to struggle, freedom at his fingertips.
"Sir, just let me go! If you don't want me in your home, I don't want to be here either. Just let me go and you'll never hear from me again, I swear to you," Charles pleaded hopefully.
Without a word, Mr. Auckland brought his dagger fiercely to Charles' uninjured leg, and let the tip plunge into the boy's flesh. Before Charles could even cry out, Mr. Auckland motioned to his son, and the two began beating their victim like a dog within an inch of death. This was the worst beating Charles had experienced thus far - nose broken, his eyes and lips swollen, his groin burning as if on fire, legs slashed and beaten, arms scraped and bruised, the rest of his body in similar pain. The beating lasted for hours that seemed like days, until Charles was sure that he would die from either blood loss or sheer pain.
When the beating was over, and both Peter Aucklands ceased their torture, Mr. Auckland commanded Peter to go to bed and let him alone with his victim. Peter would have resisted and said that he wanted to stay to watch, but for the maniacal look in his father's eyes as he looked at Charles. Unwilling to let that sheer anger transfer itself to him, Peter was more than happy to obey, and went to bed closing the front door behind him.
"You think you're clever, don't you, boy? Stealing my horses and running off…well, I'll make you a deal. If you hate it here so much, you can leave, I won't stop you. But, if I see any of my horses are missing, or if you're here tomorrow morning, I'll kill you! I swear to you that if I ever see your face on this property again, I will kill you with no hesitation, do you understand me?!"
Mr. Auckland then delivered on final kick to Charles' head, laughing to himself at his cleverness, for he would give Charles a chance to leave, but in the state Charles was in this night, there would be no way for him to even stand, much less leave the immense property, and Mr. Auckland would be able to kill him with no guilt tomorrow morning.
"Good night, boy," Mr. Auckland said as he turned toward the house and entered, leaving Charles alone in his misery and pain.
Heaving a sigh of despair, Charles looked to the end of the road, where he could barely see the open gate that signified the end of the property. He could barely breath, barely see, barely move, much less walk; burying his bleeding head in his bruised arms, Charles realized that this was how it was all to end, for there was no way he could leave tonight. Tomorrow, he may regain some strength back, but by then it would be too late.
Resigning himself to what was to come tomorrow, Charles was too hurt and weak to really care.
Charles had only one last thought before he allowed himself to drift into splendid unconsciousness, his pain and worries gone with the night:
"What happens tomorrow will happen tomorrow. My fate lies with God now."
