Chapter 3: Standing Helpless
Disclaimer: Bah! Sorry! I forgot this AGAIN the last chapter. Very absent-minded. But here it is now. All Artemis Fowl characters mentioned belong rightfully to Eoin Colfer
Author's Note: Dedicated specially to Blue Yeti for reading it even after I haven't updated this in ages.
(Butler's point of view)
She's at it again.
The sporadic banging of a heavy skull against the flower-patterned wall. Or if she was in a less self-reproaching mood, a bedside lamp would do the trick to justify whatever strong emotion she was feeling inside.
I've seen a lot.
I've heard a lot.
Yet in all my years of training, I stand helpless.
Never has a situation been so complicated as the one that brews within the confines of Fowl Manor. I suppose, in a way, being here has also forced me to contemplate life a lot more. It's funny how I'm much more at home roaming the world on a dangerous assignment than protecting someone from getting hurt - and sometimes, seeing him get hurt physically isn't nearly as painful as watching him get hurt emotionally. Because being attached to such a young and wealthy boy has, in the process, led me to see so many broken dreams, broken hearts, and broken characters.
I'm much more blessed than the Fowls are, if you ask me. But I suppose the common folk won't believe me - nor will they be content with what they have. All they ever really see is the money, but I can't blame them - somehow this lifeless being has achieved a life of its own and has entwined its tendrils around them to govern their lives. Yet I think how very lucky I am everyday - how very lucky I didn't go into business. How very lucky I didn't get rich, for the rich are hounded after every day. How very lucky I'm not in love.
It's a sad thing to have to get used to.
Any minute now, Artemis won't be able to block out the noise. He won't be completely immune as he thinks he has built himself up to be, and he'll come scurrying out of the room, hesitant as always at the door, wondering if he should let his emotions come out in full display and risk the chance of having the bigger boys laugh at him for being immature and weak. A wimp, they will call him. They will say, You're rich but you aren't like one of us because you're the biggest wimpy loser in the world.
What do they know? How can they call him a wimp when they haven't been put into his circumstances? And I know better; the ones with facades are usually the most emotionally vulnerable. For they need a protective coat around them to keep them from harm they do not want to experience. They are weak inside, and cannot handle hurt. Strong on the outside, pathetic on the inside. They are the true cowards. I should know. I'm always covered under layers of so much stoic conceit. Little wonder why Clara said I wasn't the one for her, and I will lament that till the end of my life.
Artemis Fowl, so proud, but so vulnerable. He reminds me so much of the rose in "The Little Prince", by Antoine De Saint-Exupery. When I was young, I could not understand why the flower was so proud of her four thorns, but now that my post as a bodyguard has mellowed me and allowed me to observe human nature better, I comprehend the importance of thorns.
Here he comes now, the pitter-patter of his worried feet, skimming across the carpet, running at a speed you would not have believed for this scrawny little boy. Usually he's adversely against exercise and prefers to saunter calmly in that arrogant way of his, but he would do anything for his dear mother, even run. He skids to a stop at the sight of me standing by the door, and looks torn for a minute, as if all he wants to do is to break through the door and pull his mother away from the wall, sobbing into her shoulders, weeping for her insanity, but cannot let go of his pride. I can almost see him thinking, 'Tis none of your business, your mother's a gone case. Be strong, you can live without her, be strong. Why he is so predictable to me I myself do not know, only that when he turns his melancholic blue eyes towards mine, I find myself reassuring him with my routine answer, "You're strong, Artemis."
Almost immediately he morphs into another personality, one with icy blue eyes and a hardened heart, self-confident that he is the person he believes he is, one who can get through anything without pointless and unnecessary emotion. For he can live like a human, think like a human, and love with a human heart. But with changing circumstances, he is beginning to live like a robot, think like a robot, and love like a robot. And his programmed routine is encrusted with frost, and numbness.
He glances furtively back at the doorknob, thinking I haven't noticed him, before he looks at his feet, and looks at me again. The thud-thud-thud sound of Mrs Fowl's head-banging against the wall is all that fills the stony silence hovering like an obtrusive cloud between Artemis and I, and for a moment I indulge in the rhythmic noises, finding it more pleasant than realising that Artemis will want my assistance in helping him carry out a devious plan. A devious plan that will take his mind off his mother, but also take his life one step further into ultimate destruction. And maybe I don't really want that to happen, although I have no say in his life. I am but a bodyguard.
"Let's get out of here, Butler," he said softly, fixing me with a steely, tenacious gaze. "I don't want to be here."
Silently I watch him go, his feet betraying his confident, icy facade and shuffling listlessly away, towards the front door downstairs. Already a sense of dread is creeping up my skin, tormenting my mind, because I know that Artemis will inevitably ruin his own life in the next second to follow.
And my mind won't stop me from instinctively blaming someone else for this turn of events.
Holly. Why didn't you heal Mrs Fowl like Artemis had asked you to? It was a huge step for him to take, to request for something that personal and emotional. We would have given you half the ransom. But then you were beyond trusting us. I thought playing a part in saving you against the troll would have cleared your doubts a little. But no, you let hatred blind your judgement. You let a grudge mar your morals. And now we all will suffer.