Disclaimer: I've decided to boycott the disclaimer for this chapter. I mean honestly, do you think Marvel even knows what we're doing? Do they even care? Dammit, it's just more money into their pockets anyway! While we're here getting diddly squat! *ahem* If there are any Marvel agents out there, please ignore the first five sentences.
A/N: Okay, a few things...
1) I'm insane. So just ignore everything that I say.
2) I forgot to mention last chapter, and missy42 was kind enough to remind me, that this story has a lot of flashbacks in it. But since I don't really like announcing the year and location before each scene - or the fact that it is a flashback - I'm simply dropping hints within the content. Apologies if it gets confusing. Please keep in mind that just because the scene breaks appear, doesn't necessarily mean that the story is jumping from present to past, and then back to the present again.
3) With Mag Carter's help, I was able to catch a little story flaw in the previous chapter. (Many thanks btw, Mag!) I've since gone back and changed that little line. It's not in any way a major change; it holds the same idea as the previous one, just a different analogy.
4) It's late at night, and by all rights, I should be sleeping. Obviously I'm not. So don't be surprised if half of what I'm typing at the moment makes no sense whatsoever. Hey, I'm nuts - you should be used to it by now.
* All right, I'm calling shout outs time! For those of you who are impatient or simply don't want to hear me rambling - not that I blame you - skip on down to the next asterisk.
~ Rupeshwari, vagabond, T., Lucky439, susan, V, TrinityC, Jean1, Sujakata, lovelyaceinthehole, girlonthem00n - Thanks so much for telling me what you think! *hands out cute little blue ribbons* If you wear these and then go out, absolutely nothing will happen. But at least you'll have a cute little blue ribbon on your clothes! : )
~ ishandahalf, Disturbed Courtney - *calls attention of other readers* These, my friends, are textbook examples of the insanity slowly seeping into the brain that I mentioned last chapter. It's not a pretty sight, no. If I catch any more of you with reviews such as these, then God help you... you've become one of us. *hugs ish and Courtney* Don't worry. Maybe the asylum's got our old straitjackets on reserve.
~ Mag Carter - Thank you once again for pointing that out. You'd think I would've checked that out a bit before I wrote it, especially since I researched something similar in another story. Guess there's no accounting for mental blackouts, huh? ; )
~ Broadway - I didn't know you could tap dance! ; ) Umm... could you do that again? *whips out video camera* I wanna get that on tape. Y'know, for posterity - *cough* blackmail. ; )
~ Leigh - Hehe! I got Leigh to sing! *aims camera in Leigh's direction* Keep going! We can enter you in some kind of singing contest or something and earn big, big bucks! ; )
~ missy42 - I make no promises that I will keep my promises because every time I promise something, I end up breaking that promise, so why bother promising? Uhh... yeah. That made sense, right? ; )
* Once again, under normal circumstances, I'm seriously demented. Now I'm demented and sleepy. A deadly combination. Don't mess with me.
CHAPTER 2
Prejudiced Eyes
The memories were strong for Remy, like a tidal wave crashing over him and drowning him in the familiar emotions. Sadness overshadowed by the innocent excitement of youth. A time long ago when he could successfully delude himself into believing that his situation wasn't as bad as it appeared to be. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. Memories had a way of locking into his soul and drawing his attention away from the matters at hand.
Turning toward the kitchen, he asked his two visitors, "C'n I get you gentlemen some coffee?"
"Thank you, son," Sheriff Miller answered for both he and his deputy. "We take it black, if you wouldn't mind."
Remy set about preparing the cups, reaching into the cupboard to retrieve three of them. From the living room, he could hear the two men's voices arguing quietly between themselves. About what, he wasn't quite sure. They were smart, lowering their voices to nothing more than whispered murmurs. None of which he could decipher.
He waited until the coffee was finished before venturing out again, handing his guests their drinks and then returning for his own. Not wanting to appear too concerned with their visit, Remy sank down into one of the armchairs, opposite the couch that the sheriff had settled in to. He was wary of the fact that Deputy Stephens didn't seem inclined to take a seat next to his superior. Rather, he opted to remain standing, roaming about the room at his own leisure. His actions, for some reason, made Remy uncomfortable. The young Cajun had the strong desire to stand as well, to put an end to what he felt was an advantage over him.
"So, Remy," the deputy asked, speaking for the first time, "how goes the job? Jim pushing you too hard?"
Remy had been working as a mechanic at Jim's Garage for the past four years. What had started as a part-time job eventually become a fulltime occupation, once he had graduated from high school the year before. It wasn't the greatest profession in the world in terms of a financial payoff, but it was honest work, and gave him enough free time to fix up his motorcycle.
"Non. Job's fine," he replied, sipping his coffee. "Brought in Mr. Robinson's truck de other day. Busted transmission. Had t' replace a couple gears t' get it runnin' again."
The sheriff quirked an eyebrow at him from over his own cup. "Don give you a hard time?"
A smirk found its way onto Remy's features. Donald Robinson was known for being a particularly stubborn man. He resisted progress like a fossil beneath the earth, so painstakingly slow to change. A slew of complaints would pass through his lips on a daily basis – mostly on how everything was becoming too pricey, and how, back in his day, things were done quite differently. But everyone in town knew that one of his favorite pastimes was trying to send trouble Remy's way.
"Not'in' 'm not used to," he said, and it was the truth. Remy had been contending with prejudice his entire life. But it seemed to have been amplified tenfold that one fateful day, twelve years ago.
- oOo -
They'd been living with Margaret for a little over two weeks. Business was still fairly good since school wouldn't be open for another month or so, and kids were coming and going in search of cool treats to ward off the summer's heat. Susanne, who normally could handle the diner's customers on her own, was slightly behind on orders. She had injured her ankle while getting out of bed that morning and was favoring her right foot. Remy had volunteered to help lessen her workload. Unsure of her seven-year-old's ability to balance several plates in his young arms, Susanne was hesitant at first, but finally conceded on the condition that he would take extra care with each plate.
"Remy!" Margaret called. "Order's up!" She couldn't resist the smile that played on her lips as he made his way back into the kitchen. An adult-sized apron was looped about his neck and tied around his waist. In order for it to fit in what could pass as a decent fashion, his mother had folded the white material several times over, before tying it securely at his back. "We're gonna have to think about gettin' you your own apron. Maybe one that fits a li'l better." She bent down and playfully tapped the lens of his sunglasses. "You see all right through those, sweetie?"
He nodded quickly and held out his arms for the next plate to be served. Margaret gently handed him a plastic tray loaded with the single order.
"You up to balancin' a drink and a plate this time?"
He smiled at the challenge. Susanne had instructed him to carry one plate or one glass at a time, emphasizing that it was better he make several trips rather than trying to serve multiple orders all at once. With confidence, he answered, "Oui."
"All right then. Now, you go slow with this one, Remy," she cautioned, guiding him to the kitchen's doorway. "This goes over to Mrs. Patterson. She's the one in the brown blouse, just past the counter there."
Acknowledging her directions with another nod of his head, Remy turned to make his way over to his next customer. A frown of concentration marred his features as he focused his attention on both the tray in his hands and the floor beneath his feet. The rhythm of his steps caused the iced tea to slosh about in a precarious manner, threatening to spill the amber liquid onto the rest of the order. He slowed his movements considerably, ensuring that each footfall landed properly and securely onto the flat surface of the floor. He didn't want to embarrass Margaret or his mother by ruining a customer's meal. A triumphant grin almost appeared on his lips when he was just one table away from Mrs. Patterson. He was proud of the fact that he could balance more than one item without dropping them. His maman would be proud of him as well, he thought, once he told her of his accomplishment.
He was simply brimming with excitement when a chair suddenly slammed into his right side, knocking both he and the tray toward the counter to his left. Remy landed hard on the floor, while the food and drink he'd been carrying splattered first across a customer's back and then onto himself.
From behind closed eyelids, he could hear the gasps and cries of alarm as the sound of the shattering plate and glass captured the diner's attention. He felt more than heard someone's presence hovering above him, soon followed by another, and then another.
"Are you all right, son?" a man's voice asked in concern. "I'm really sorry. I didn't see you there."
"Really, Louie," a motherly sounding woman scolded, "you should be more careful. You just don't shoot out of your chair like that, especially not when the room is so crowded."
As they began to argue amongst themselves, Remy experimentally opened his eyes. The sun's bright rays quickly had him blinking several times, before more gasps and shocked murmurs reached his ears. As he looked about, he realized that more than half of the diner's occupants had gathered around him – and that every set of eyes were glued to his face.
The woman who had been lecturing Louie muttered, "Mother of God," before quickly crossing herself. Remy recognized her as Mrs. Patterson.
Dazed and a bit confused, Remy remained where he was on the cold floor, unsure of what was happening. All around him, he could hear people exchanging whispers.
"Those can't be real... can they?"
"They haveta be some kinda trick of the light."
"... black... and red..."
"Is that 'cause of the spill he jus' took?"
"... must be sick or somethin'."
"That's not natural."
Remy felt tears threatening to fall. His eyes. The reason why everyone was staring at him in earnest. He quickly snatched up his fallen sunglasses and slid them on. Hoisting himself up, he backed away from the crowd in front of him, only to bump into the person standing at his rear. Startled by the sudden contact, he whipped around to stare up at the man.
"You ruined my favorite shirt, boy," he practically snarled at the child. Remy could see the gravy stains across the man's shoulders, as well as some damp splotches of iced tea.
Laura Patterson waved her hand dismissively. "Forget about your shirt, Donald. Look at his eyes. They're like a demon's… or the devil's son," she breathed in realization, gripping the crucifix about her neck and then kissing it. She held it slightly away from her body, as if hoping to ward off any evil vibrations that may have been emanating from Remy's person. "If only Father Ben – God rest his soul – was still with us. He could free the boy of any unwanted spirits."
Just then, Margaret's voice could be heard from the kitchen doorway. "What's all the commotion about? We can hear you all from way out back."
"Petit!" Susanne cried in surprise, as she saw the mass of people surrounding her son. She hurriedly moved past Margaret and took in his soiled appearance. Not liking how the townsfolk were eyeing her child, she began gently pushing him toward their room in the back. "Let's go clean you up, mon fils."
They walked in silence, but the echoing murmurs of the crowd followed them down the short corridor and didn't cease until Susanne had firmly shut the door. She gestured for Remy to turn around, so that she could untie his stained apron.
With a head bent in dispirit, Remy stated solemnly, "Dey saw, Maman. Dey saw m' eyes."
For a second, Susanne's hands stilled over the knot she was undoing. She should have suspected as much when she saw everyone gathered around her son. Remy's red-and-black eyes always drew such reactions. That was the reason he'd taken to wearing dark sunglasses, even in the dead of night. It was an odd precaution for a child his age to take, but it was infinitely better than having complete strangers ostracizing him.
She removed the apron, where most of the mess had landed, dropped to her knees and gathered him into her arms. She didn't say anything, simply held her son tightly, hoping desperately that the love in her embrace could somehow ease the pain he was feeling.
Nestled beneath his mother's chin, Remy squinted his eyes, as if trying to concentrate on a faraway object. "Maman," he uttered after some time of silence, "what's wrong wit' me?"
She nearly recoiled in shock. "Rien [Nothing], petit. Why would you ask such a t'ing?" She smoothed back his hair, so that she could see his face clearly.
"Dey call me a demon." He lifted a questioning gaze to his mother. "Dat's bad, n'est-ce pas, Maman? [isn't it, Mama?]"
Susanne was struck speechless. How could she explain such a thing to her seven-year-old son? How did she assure him that he was no different from the next child, when every other person was telling him otherwise?
"You listen t' me," she ordered him, cradling his face in her hands and demanding his attention. "Tu n'est pas un demon. Comprenez? [You are no demon. Understand?]" She reverted to their second language, hoping that the words would have an even stronger effect on Remy. Jean-Luc had always spoken to him in French, and each time the young boy had listened with attention and respect. "Tu es l'ange [You are an angel]." Smiling lovingly, she stroked his hair. "Mon ange [My angel]."
"But dey – "
"Dey don' understand, petit. C'est tout. [That's all.] Dey're scared because you are not like dem. You are special, an' dey don' know how wonderful you are."
Remy fell silent. He seemed to have digested his mother's words. Susanne wasn't exactly sure if that was a good thing. She may have bandaged the wound for the time being, but she feared that an infection was festering beneath.
Gently she turned him around, so that he stood before her. "Remy, I have t' go back out dere an' help Margaret wit' de customers. But we'll talk 'bout dis t' night, d'accord? [agreed?]" She watched as he nodded slowly. Lifting his chin, she held his gaze. "Je t'aime,Remy."
"Je t'aime assui [I love you, too], Maman."
- oOo -
Margaret was disgusted. By the time closing came later that night, she was sure that the entire population of Hazard had walked through her doors. Curiosity and sick fascination were strong motivators. They would make shallow excuses of how it was "a particularly warm summer evening," and that one of Margaret's special iced tea blends would hit the spot perfectly. She had no doubt that this was the work of a certain town gossip by the name of Laura Patterson. The woman's mouth ran faster than her legs ever could. Not that Margaret wanted to speak ill of anyone – not unless it was justified, anyway – but she seriously wished that Laura would find another hobby. She'd been the main source of the rumor mill for the past thirty years. If the words passed through Laura's mouth, it had to be worth listening to.
Margaret peeked her head into the kitchen, where Susanne was at the sink washing the night's dishes. "How's Remy doin'?" she asked.
Susanne paused as she was rinsing a plate. "T' be honest, 'm not sure. People have always reacted dat way t' Remy's eyes. I'd like t' say dat he's used t' it, but I don' t'ink he ever will be."
The older woman sighed. It was simply too much for such a young family to go through; from losing their loved ones, to running away, to having to deal with such narrow-minded individuals. Life had dealt them a hard hand.
Walking over to the large freezer, Margaret reached in and extracted a small carton of ice cream. "Do you mind if I went an' talked to him for a li'l while?"
Susanne was slightly startled by the request, but quickly agreed. Though she'd only known Margaret for two weeks, there was something about her that she knew she could trust.
Leaving with a warm smile, Margaret made her way to the backroom, knocking soundly on the closed door once she'd arrived. She heard the faint sounds of padded feet across the floor, before the door was opened and Remy stood before her, already wrapped in his pajamas.
"Hi, sweetie. Mind if I stay with you for a bit? I swiped you some ice cream. You didn't jus' brush your teeth, did you?"
He shook his head as she walked past him and entered the room. Settling down on one of the beds, she motioned for him to join her.
"So, what have you been doin' since I last saw you?" She handed him both the carton and the spoon she had taken from behind the diner's counter.
He gestured toward the television set in front of them, which was currently running a family sitcom. "Watchin' TV." The lid to the ice cream was quickly discarded and a large spoonful was down his throat in seconds.
Margaret watched as he happily spooned the dessert into his mouth. She was saddened by the fact that even there, in the confines of his own room, he felt it necessary to wear his trademark sunglasses.
"Remy, would you mind if I asked you a question?" The ice cream-laden spoon paused on its ascent into his mouth. In response, she received a shake of his head. "You ain't listenin' to what all those yo-yo's are sayin' 'bout you, are ya?"
He tilted his head slightly and favored her with a questioning look. At least, she assumed it was a questioning look. She couldn't really tell through his dark lenses.
Continuing, she said, "I know your mama already told ya this, but don't you go payin' any mind to what these old goats are blabberin'. They jus' don't know any better." He didn't look too convinced by her little speech, so she added, "Your mama told me that this kind of thing happened to you a lot, in your other homes. All I can say 'bout that is, those people were jus' as stupid."
The expression on his face was unmistakably surprised. Her words couldn't have been any blunter.
"What?" she asked, almost defensively. "It's the truth. I've only known ya for a couple of weeks, an' I already know I love you. Those blockheads jus' need some time to see what a sweet kid you are." She rested her hand on his arm. "But I can't promise you it'll be anytime soon. Some people are really stubborn," she explained. "Some of 'em might not even turn around, at all. But you can't let that get ya down, Remy. If they're too thick-headed to see past somethin' different, then they're not really the type of people you want in your life." She straightened. "Do ya understand?"
"Oui, madame."
"Good. Now," she gestured to the sunglasses on his face, "I'm guessin' you wear those to hide your eyes and not 'cause of an eye condition, like you told me before?" He nodded weakly, slightly ashamed that he'd had to lie to her. "Well then, why're you wearin' them now? Nobody here but me. C'mon, off with them," she instructed.
For a moment, Remy panicked. He knew how people reacted whenever he took off his glasses. He didn't like the look that appeared on their faces. It made him feel... dirty. He really didn't want to see Margaret's face when she saw his eyes for the first time, but the look she was pelting him with was unrelenting. She would wait there all night if she needed to, just to get him to comply.
With hesitant fingers, he reached up and removed the shades. He focused his gaze just beyond Margaret's shoulder, sparing himself from the look of horror that would appear on her features. But it never came. Instead, she cupped his chin in her hand and studied his eyes in fascination.
"My goodness," she whispered in unadulterated awe. "They're downright pretty, Remy." She looked even closer. "Did ya know that the red kinda sizzles on the edges? Looks kinda like burnin' embers after a fire."
"Y-ya don' t'ink 'm a demon?"
"A demon? Of course not! Is that what those yahoos were callin' ya?" She pulled him into a hug. "Remy, you're too sweet a kid to be a demon. Don't you ever think that, you hear me?"
Remy smiled against Margaret's arm. Now, there was another person besides his mother who thought he wasn't bad. It was a nice feeling, he realized. Kind of like when his brother, Henri, used to take him out into the Quarter, just the two of them. He wished the rest of the people would act like his maman and Margaret did around him, so he wouldn't get that 'bad feeling' anymore.
"Feelin' better, sweetie?" Margaret asked as she pulled back from him a little.
"Oui." He showered her with a wide grin and then reached for his sunglasses again. But before he had a chance to don them, she caught her arm.
"You're gonna stop hidin', Remy. There's no need for it anymore. We're gonna make the folks in this town accept you for who you are, whether they like it or not." There was finality in her voice, leaving absolutely no room for argument.
I know, I know! I did it again! I said something was gonna happen, and then it didn't! And yes, it is my fault. (I can hear all the death threats now.) Once again, I had to cut the chapter in half. Originally, it was supposed to be much longer. This is what I get when I declare a 'break day' after posting a chapter. It eventually turns itself into a 'break week.' And then when I finally get the urge to start writing again, Real Life rears its ugly head and steals all my time away.
