Chapter 10: The Reason for Flight
"So where are we going?" Laura asked, strolling arm and arm with Remington. She had taken his advice to dress warmly and was glad she had. Although she was wearing a pair of wool dress pants and a matching wool sweater underneath a tailored coat that reached her knees, she was still chilly. She glanced at him, her pulse jumping. When he had come down the stairs earlier that morning wearing loosely fitted gray slacks and a cream colored sweater that emphasized his wide shoulders and slim waist, she had wanted to rip his clothes off him with her teeth. He was drop dead gorgeous as usual. Such a pity to always be outdone by a man, she'd thought. And once he had shrugged into his black leather trench coat, it was all she could do not to body slam him onto the front lawn and demand he take her right there, right now.
She was surprised when they had arrived in Galway and he had driven through the beautiful city central, to park the car once they arrived in what could only be described as a seedy, rundown neighborhood.
"Here," he told her, waving a hand at the building before them.
The three story stone building was run down, grime covered windows cracked and broken, most likely by rocks thrown by young hooligans during years past. Cement casted angels perched atop pillars on either side of the building. Wide steps led up to the building's front doors, doors that had to be at least 10 feet tall, the words "St. Patrick's" were engraved into the building above them. But all and all the place felt….sinister… the only word she could find to properly describe it.
"What is this place? An old church or school?"
"It's certainly no church," he replied with some irony tainting his voice accompanied by a frown, which always belied he was worried about something.
"Then what is it?"
"The place where James O'Roarke once lived," he obligingly replied.
"Who's James O'Roarke? An old friend?"
"He was me," Remington replied almost drolly. Glancing at Laura, he saw that she was stunned silent, not normally an easy feat. Grabbing her by the hand, he led her up the steps towards the door. "C'mon. Let's go have a look about."
I hope you're right Daniel, Remington thought to himself as they climbed the stairs. Because I'm about to re-enter hell so that Laura can understand there are parts of my past that I don't refuse to talk about but can't because I need them to stay locked away.
Laura remained silent all the way up the steps. Her mind was going a mile a minute and she didn't speak again until he had pulled open the doors and started heading into the dirty, musty old building. He seemed determined to pull her along after him, until she planted her feet and refused to budge.
"Wait, stop. What is this place?" she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder to turn him around and face her.
"St. Patrick's orphanage," he answered bitterly.
"An orphanage? I don't understand. You told me you grew up being passed around by family members before you ran away."
"I did," he replied shortly, pulling on her hand again.
"Wait," she demanded. "I don't understand. If you were with family, how did you end up here?"
"Laura, I need you to trust me. I promise I'll answer all your questions when we get there. C'mon."
Giving up, Laura allowed Remington to lead her up one stair case and then a second until they were on the third floor of the building. Looking around a bit to get his bearings, Remington nodded then turned to the right, then left, before entering a door. The room was about fifteen feet wide and maybe twenty feet long. Rusted cots with filthy, rotting mattresses were still lined up against the walls: 12 beds total crammed into the room. He led her to the last cot on the right, before stopping and looking around, appearing haunted.
"Tell me," Laura asked, reaching out to put a hand against his cheek.
Remington took a deep breath then let it out. He knew this would not be easy; nearly backed out if he were to be honest. But he wanted to be able to give Laura something he had never given anyone else before: the parts of his past he kept hidden, even, at times, from himself. He knew it in his core that his past, his damnable past, was the wall that constantly forced them apart. He didn't want barriers between them anymore…no matter how hard it might be.
Kissing Laura's hand on the palm, he twined her fingers with his own, and held on with a death grip. Laura's hand tightened on his in response, making certain he felt her presence near.
Clearing his throat, he began….
"For years after I left the house we just came from, I moved from one place to the next, my name changing as often as my address. Sometimes I was named on a whim 'Oh, look at ye lad, yer a Patrick iffin' ever I saw one.' Other times it was changed for vanity, 'If I'm to raise ye as me own, then ye'll bear me name.' I was ten when I'd landed with the last 'family member.' The man had a short fuse, quick hand and a brutal fist. I'd had enough and was bone tired of being tossed around here and there, belonging nowhere. I figured I stood a better chance out on my own, it couldn't be worse." He gave a shrug of his shoulders and turned to look around the room, memories of the other children he'd once shared the accommodations with floating through his mind. "I was snatched up by a copper a couple months later, attempting to nick something to eat from a local grocer. The next thing I knew, I was here."
"I gave them the name I'd been last given, James, but couldn't give them a last name as I no longer recalled what my last name truly was, or even if I had ever had one to call my own. Too many homes, too many changes, and too young to keep track of the one that mattered." It wasn't the first time he had told her this, but he hoped it would be the first time she truly believed him. He dropped down on the cot, mindless of its grime. He still held her hand in a death grip. He looked up at her, to see if she believed him, or if once again he would see doubt reflected there. Laura sat next to him, despite the filth, knowing instinctively he would need her close during whatever lay ahead.
"You said outside that your name was James O'Roarke when you lived here. Did the orphanage just assign you a last name?" He nodded slowly.
"In a manner of speaking. O'Roarke is the surname that all abandoned children were given when they arrived here. After the priest," the last word spoken as though it held a foul taste, "who ran the place. Nice and orderly, easy to keep track of."
"How long did you live here?" Laura asked, stroking his back, urging him to go on.
"A few months before I ran again." She waited for him to go on, then watched as a flicker of pain shot across his handsome face. She found herself wishing they could leave. He'd been in such a dark place for the last day, had finally seemed to be breaking free of it, and now this place was pulling him back down. Torn between whatever need brought him here and wanting to turn on heel leave, she willed herself to follow him where he led.
"Why? From what I can tell it's not the best of places, but at least it was a roof over your head, somewhere you were safe. It had to be better than living in the streets."
"It was never safe here, Laura," Remington told her tersely, a hand swiping roughly through his hair.
"What do you mean?" Her pulse picked up its pace in response to his tension, his words.
Abruptly standing, leaving Laura staring at him in surprise and concern, he began pacing, trying to figure out where to start this part of his story.
"The nuns that took care of us were nice enough to us, I suppose," he began, finding as the memories moved in he was swarmed by them. "Made sure we were fed, dressed properly – or as properly as you could get as this was a place with few funds. Sent us off to school each morning, watched over us as we did our homework and the like.
"But the priest," again this word was said with venom, "that ran the place was a sadistic bastard always looking for a reason to 'discipline' a child, especially the boys. Whatever the slight, real or imagined, it guaranteed a wakeup call by him late at night." Hand rubbing across his mouth, Remington let out a shuddering breath before continuing. "He'd come into the room, then stand over the offender's cot, smiling… actually bloody smiling… before his face would darken and his hand would reach out and grab the child's ear, yanking hard, prying them from their cot, before giving them a kick in the bum, forcing them into the aisle.
"'To my office, now,' he'd bellow," his voice raising in kind before quieting. "And even though they knew what was coming, whoever it happened to be would, without question, obey, afraid to make things worse…" He rubbed his mouth again, eyes haunted. "… as if they could. Once the child arrived in the office, he would demand that they strip. He enjoyed that, he did, knowing how vulnerable they would feel, how humiliated. And all the while, they would hear it…
"Snap….snap….snap. The sound of him snapping the strap together. Some kids wet themselves just hearing the sound, and they would be beat all the worse for it…"
Coming out of his memories for a moment, Remington turned to see if Laura was digesting this bit of his past. He saw that she was. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, board straight in her fury, fists clenching and unclenching, her eyes shooting fire.
"Tell me," Laura said tightly, "That he didn't do that to you."
Remington turned away, knowing he could not tell her the next part and see her reaction.
"Oh, he had gotten his hands on me a couple of times, not too terribly bad. I had gotten a bit of a mouth on me by then, angry at the world. Was quick to pop off, mindless of the consequences," he laughed quietly, sadly.
"Then two days before I ran he and I had our final run in. That evening, Sean was still in his bed," Remington said, swiping his hand in the direction of the bed next to the one on which Laura was seated, "having been strapped the night before and barely able to move. He'd been telling me on and off all day how hungry he was. But there was a hard and fast rule in the orphanage: either you ate in the dining hall or you went hungry. Didn't want to attract rats, you know," he laughed sardonically.
"He begged me to sneak him something to eat from the dining hall that evening. I knew the consequences if caught, but I could hear his stomach growling and knew only too well how it felt to be in pain and hungry. I figured I could at least solve the hungry part…"
Remington rubbed his face with both of his hands before taking a deep breath. He wandered over to a filthy window and used his handkerchief to wipe off the grime, so he could stare outside of those walls while he continued.
"As I went through the food line that night, I looked about to see if anyone was watching. Absolutely sure no one was paying me any mind, I nicked a couple of rolls and shoved them into my pocket, so I could pass them on to Sean when I returned to the room. He went to bed that night still hurting but at least not hungry anymore and I went to bed believing I had gotten away with it. Until that is, I felt the tugging on my ear and heard him ordering me to his office…"
"Ahhhh, Laura, I told you I had a bit of a mouth on me by those days, so I turned to Father O'Roarke and told him I wasn't going anywhere with him, he wasn't going to put his hands or strap on me any longer. I was rewarded for my efforts with a hand so hard across my head that I saw stars. Fuzzy in the head, I went down to that office, just like we all did in the end.
"The beating that night was particularly vicious, him drawing blood in several places and raising welts all over my back and legs. I think it angered him even more that I would not cry, would not beg for him to stop. I wouldn't give him the pleasure of hearing my fear.
"Just like Sean, I stayed in bed." He inhaled sharply, the memory so clear he could actually feel each stinging wound, each aching bruise. "God, it hurt to move. Even the slightest motion felt like my skin was being stripped straight off…
"I vowed it would never happen again. As I lay there in that bed, I plotted how and when I would run. On the second night, O'Roarke came back into the room, another boy having committed an infraction. I knew that was my chance, because he would be too involved beating whoever it was this time to hear me leave.
"I waited until I could hear the cries, then I snuck down the staircase and out the door. No matter how hungry I got, no matter how cold, I never once thought about coming back here. I learned how to pick pockets more skillfully, to get enough money to stave off the worst of the hunger. Occasionally, someone kind would take me in, before I would bolt again having learned it was better to leave than to be cast aside. I did what I needed in order to survive. But at least I was free of this place and of him."
Finished, he sat down on the cot nearest him, and hung his head, exhausted from sharing the story.
"Where is he?" Laura asked quietly.
"Where is who?" he asked, puzzled, glancing back at her.
"That man… That…that…bastard…that hurt you."
"I've no idea, honestly, and I don't care," he answered, shrugging, "I've no desire to ever lay eyes on him again."
She stood and quietly crossed the room to him. Stooping down in front of him, she brushed the unruly lock of hair back off his face then laid her hand on his cheek.
"How did you do it?" He looked at her, clearly puzzled.
"Do what?"
"Family that didn't do right by you, a priest that abused you, years of your childhood spent on the streets. How did you keep this amazing heart of yours?" she asked, laying her hand on his chest over his heart. "It's a testament to who you are that you are still so kind… loving."
Remington stared at Laura for several seconds, before his hands shot out to grasp either side of her head and draw her lips to his. He held her lips tightly to his as his thumbs stroked her cheeks, then pulled back for a moment before touching his lips to hers again.
"Laura, every time I think you have said the nicest thing to me that anyone has ever said, you go and top it down the line. What have I done to deserve you?"
"I think you're asking the wrong question yet again," she told him softly. Remington ran his eyes across her face, perplexed by her response, then growing concerned as he noted her solemn expression.
"What's the right question, then?"
She reached up and ran her fingers over his shoulder before laying her hand against his neck.
"What did I do to deserve you?"
He stilled, stunned by her words, then stood up quickly pulling her up into his arms, hugging her tight against him. She tucked her head onto his shoulder then wrapped her arms tightly around him, while lying her lips against his neck.
"Can we please go?" Laura asked against his neck. "I can't stand being here another second knowing what happened to you here."
Remington leaned back to look at her then kissed her gently before letting her out of his arms. Grabbing her hand and linking his fingers with his own he led her out of the room, then out of the orphanage that had harbored one of his worst nightmares.
Remington glanced over at Laura for the half dozenth time in the twenty minutes that they had been back on the road towards Ashford Castle. She had been remarkably silent during the ride thus far, only giving short answers to the questions he had posed trying to draw her out. He reached over and linking his fingers with hers, gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Laura turned away from the window momentarily and gave him a soft smile, before picking up his hand to kiss the back of it. She laid her head against the window once more, staring at the passing scenery.
"Laura, talk to me." She turned to him and gave him a slight smile again.
"I'm fine. Just tired," she fibbed.
He didn't buy it for a moment, but decided to play along for the time being. He knew her as well as he knew himself, and realized she needed time to work through what he had shared with her earlier. He gave her hand a little tug.
"Come here then," he told her, smiling warmly at her. "We still have near an hour to reach the castle. Relax and take a little nap."
Laura hesitated but needing to be close to him, scooted over and laid her head down on his leg before curling her legs up on the seat and closing her eyes. Remington's hand automatically dropped down and began stroking her hair.
She couldn't understand how he could so easily shake off the memories he'd shared at the orphanage, while the image of him beaten, blistered and bleeding, laying on that cot was playing over and over again in her mind. She could not stand the idea of anyone being abused, especially a child. But when the child under question had been him, it made her feel like her heart was being torn in two.
Right now, all she could think of was getting back to the castle, getting out of the clothes she wore and getting in the shower. She could smell the place on herself, feel its grime coating her skin. She wanted nothing to remind her of that place again - nothing to remind her of him, as just a little boy, lying on that bed in pain. The gentle stroke of his hand shortly let her slip into sleep.
He knew the moment she fell asleep, feeling her shuddering sigh against his leg. Lifting her hair away from her face, he touched the back of his hand to her cheek.
It had been difficult sharing the memory with her and he hated how it clearly hurt her to know of that time in his life. Yet, he could not help thinking that Daniel had been right. Sharing this piece of his life with her and the words they had exchanged afterwards had strengthened his belief they could make it through all the difficulties, all the tension and hurt, they had endured in recent days.
He glanced down at her and knew, no matter how hard today had been, she was worth it all and then some.