Chapter 2.
His roommates actually held a conversation with him for the first time that evening, wondering what was with the sudden appearance and disappearance of the second form that had been visible from their small window, following Jacob around. They finally extorted the name from him, with great effort, as Jacob had conveniently buried himself in a dry little novel entitled "Como Se Dice 'Abracadabra'- International Hexes and the Importance of Pronunciation" that had suddenly become most intriguing.
Clyde nodded wisely at the sound of the name. "Eva Brighton," he said, raising his brows and cracking his knuckles as he stretched. "She's a psychotic, but she's got a set on her, she does –"
Julius paused in his writing and threw a pillow at him, but didn't look as though he disagreed, turning to Jacob instead. "Eva - she's in my potions class. God, she's forkin' blinding, you wonder if she ever goes outside or anyfin'. Needs a tan and some social skills before I'ma look at her twice," he pronounced cheerfully. "And.." He trailed off looking particularly aggrieved, holding a finger two inches in front of his nose in a demonstration of the pain Eva's apparently caused him.
"Quirrell tried to make her read a paragraph in class probably two days ago, and she went into this rhyme or something – those thingies where it's the same thing back as it is – a palindrome, she did a palindrome or whatever thing in the middle of it. Guy nearly had a conniption," Clyde added, with a forgivable amount of amusement.
"Cripes, he's just as weird as she is," Julius said, waving the comment off with his free hand.
"Maybe they're related."
"I swear I wouldn'a be surprised, th' way they treat her. Like she's about t' break," Julius said, disgustedly picking up a small green dictionary and thumbing through it in reference to the paper he was attempting to write around the conversation. "Like she's mad or sommat. Gonna come in and kill us all if you say the wrong word at her. Like THAT." He snapped the fingers of his free hand. "Or like she's from a really rich family. Or sommat," he added as an afterthought. He jabbed at the dictionary with his wand, muttering "simile", and hovered over it as it opened neatly to the correct page.
"I never heard of any Brightons asides Muggle ones," Clyde announced, "and if they all decide to start speaking in rhyme for no reason, I'm glad not to."
Jacob had long ceased to participate in his brief role in this conversation, though he caught the occasional comment about "inbred psychotics". He closed International Hexes very quietly, stood up, and wandered from the room while Julius and Clyde continued to banter back and forth.
Classes ended a bit early the next day, due largely to a misfired Engorge charm that had struck someone's toad. The poor, massive creature had run rampant through the halls, scraping the ceiling and flattening teachers and students alike, until McGonagall impeded it's progress with a smart rap to the head, administered with a wooden soup ladle. ("Class," a shaken McGonagall announced with great dignity from behind the massive, comatose body, "If something must be made seven feet tall, a toad is a good choice.")
Normally, at an empty, easy time like this, Jacob would have gone outside. But for some reason, today, nothing drew him out, nothing seemed appealing about it.
It wasn't absolutely his anymore, and there wasn't much joy in a shared solitude, was there?
This disturbed him, like the death of a friend of a friend. Nevertheless, at the bottom of the staircase, Jacob didn't turn right, toward the doors.
Today, he shifted his books on his shoulder and turned left.
And, lame as he thought it to admit to himself, it felt like some kind of escapade, even though he'd been to the library, his current destination, at least a few hundred million times.
The library doors were simple, medievalish and theoretically carefully designed to be imposing by the equally severe Madame Pince. Jacob winced imperceptibly as the door gave a small whine when he pushed it open, and quickly sat down at the first available table, aware, or at least believing he was, of several pairs of eyes resting on him.
He pulled his bookbag onto the table and shuffled about in it, finally producing a ratty school book, with a worn cover that bore two eyes and the word "Recognizing Visions" on it, and burying his face in it. He stared at the letters on the page, written in their neat calligraphy, and tried to persuade them to make words, but somehow, he couldn't focus.
This was like skipping a meal, being indoors after classes. He closed the book and sighed, leaning back in his seat, and stared at the cover, which stared back, incidentally.
Jacob, a little unsettled, turned the book over after a few moments and stared at the back cover instead, which looked reassuringly like a book and not a small person.
He should be outside right now. Stupid kid. Psychopath – long-nosed and too short and a psychopath. Who'd asked her to follow him around? Did she think he needed her "help"? This hadn't been the first time Jacob had been chased out of one of his solaces by some charitable social butterfly who'd decided, in solemn little conferences with her many friends, that his social life needed a boost. No one seemed to understand that they were exactly what he wanted to get away from. Their type.
Loser.
Jacob slouched a little more, his eyes vacant.
Loser. From the back of his memory crawled a voice, one that he could almost hear again. Look now, ickle Jakey Adlam thinks he can play with real people now.
Jacob stood alone on the edge of the field by the bleachers, watching the broomsticks careen about in the air, felt the wind from a few of them life the curls from his forehead. The poetry of the air left his veins abruptly as he turned to face his assailant, eyes wide, his fright more obvious than he would have liked. He shook his head fervently at the fifth year that had jeered at him, wishing that he'd never come and for a quick death. "No," he said, struggling valiantly to keep the fear out of his voice. "I just wanted to watch."
They prey on fear. Give them nothing. They prey on fear. They –
A rough push from behind, and he out from behind the bleachers, was on his hands and knees in the damp grass. "Balanced like a pro," another voice cackled. "Go back to your little unicorns, girly, before your face messes up our field."
"'Little faggot." One of the airborne players landed with a bump, and dismounted his broomstick, holding it in his hand. "Don't touch 'im, Mike, it'll rub off on you."
The slight eleven year old huddled on his knees, crossing his arms in front of him in a defensive gesture. "Don't – don't -," he whispered miserably.
"Or what, you'll draw at me? Little pink unicorns, eh? Fuzzy ones? Going to go draw s'more?" Jacob tried to get up, the inane insults grating at his ears, but was roughly pushed back down with someone's foot. His hands slipped on the damp grass and he found himself face-first in it, the blow to his nose flashing in his eyes for a moment before he began to feel it. "Oh, why don't you stay a while, huh? You're not coming out here again, are you? Might as well enjoy the time you have, huh?"
"Just get him out of here," one voice said irritably. "He's holding us up."
The boy behind him grabbed him by the back of his robe and picked him up, swinging him to the side in the same gesture. Jacob was propelled five feet before he lost his balance and fell again, amid cheers and raucous laughter from the entire Slytherin team.
"Go draw me a unicorn, loser," the boy who'd thrown Jacob called after him, as the boy scrambled to his feet, clutching a painful hand to a bloody nose, and pulled himself, limping, away, before they should see him cry.
The boy turned back to his friends, saying loud enough for Jacob to hear, "I swear to God, if that kid makes one friend between now and when he crawls back to his mummy --"
Jacob shoved the book back into his bag and shoved his chair away from the table.
Lord.
He was going more insane in here than he had been outside with the girl – Eve or Ivy or whatever the hell her name was. He slung his books over his shoulder, turned, and –
-faced Eva.
It obviously wasn't planned, judging by the startled look that settled on her pale, freckled face. She nearly dropped her books.
"Jaycobe?!" She stepped back and stared at him, craning her neck as though to make sure it was him. "What are you doing in here?"
"I.. was just looking for.. a book." Why did he feel like he had to offer her an excuse?
"I thought you would be outside." She sounded a bit sulky, and swatted at the hair that had fallen in front of her face. "I was not going to bother you."
Will you go away? Ever?!
"G'head and stay," Jacob muttered, more to his books than to her. "I was just leaving." A few girls at a table across the room were staring at them and giggling. Jacob was not unaware of this, whether it was directed at them or not.
Eva dropped her books on the table and rubbed a hand, sore from holding them. "Where are you going?"
"I dunno." Away from you.
"I was picking up a book for Professor Sinny-stra," she informed him cheerfully. "We are having a meet today."
"Meet?" Jacob promptly wished he hadn't spoken.
"Yes, yes. A meet – extra-curr-icu-lar," she said carefully. "Learning about Neptune and Pluto. She said she'll show us lots, and she said so."
"Good, have fun." Jacob brushed past her, carefully looking exasperated so no one would get the wrong idea.
She turned as he passed. "Come, why don'na?"
"Dun wanna." LORD.
"Oh, sure you does, sure you does." Girl talked like a house-elf. What a freak. "You've got nowhere to go, like you said, so come an' improve your education." She gave her head a tilt, likely calculated to be adorable.
"Rather not, thanks."
Madame Pince had begun to eye the two of them narrowly, obviously not approving of an animated conversation held in her sanctified Library.
Eva was calculating something. Her faded eyes flickered to the geriatric librarian, the two girls, and back to him.
"Just try it, just once," she said, clasping her hands under her chin. "Just once, right? Then I won't bother you to again. Promise."
The girls were giggling again, ducking behind their respective books.
"Fine," Jacob said. "Fine, okay? Fine. Let's go."
Eva clasped her hands tighter and practically squealed. "AH, Jaycobe, you won't regret, oh, believe me –"
Madame Pince, who had been continuing to hover near the two for quite some time, took this opportunity to swoop down upon them like a bird of prey and banish them both from the library. Though Jacob's face burned as the two girls sitting in the back proceeded to nearly wet themselves laughing for reasons unknown but to themselves, Eva didn't seem to mind at all.
"Come on, come on," she said, practically dragging him down the hall by the sleeve with a resolved air. "We're going to be late."
Jacob stumbled and wrenched his arm away from her, crossing it with the other and hunching his shoulders a bit, not appreciating any of this and determined to make that quite obvious.
"I don't even know why I'm going," he said out loud, irritable.
"Because it'll do you good, Jaycobe, you know it will –"
"Aright, spare me the speech about my life, aright? I'm going, at least let me be annoyed about it, aright?" Too late did he catch his over usage of the word, and his ears turned pink.
Eva shrugged – an oddly disconnected motion, like she didn't know how. "Whatever you like to think."
Jacob was honestly only grateful that she didn't add, "Aright".
In the full fifteen-minute ascent from the library to the high astronomy tower, Eva, Jacob was sure, did not stop talking once. Overjoyed at his "willing" companionship, she proceeded to recount in painful detail what seemed to have been her entire life from the moment she stepped into Hogwarts, while clomping quite colorfully up the stairs in black shoes that seemed far too big for her. Although he couldn't be sure her story stopped at that. After all, after the first five minutes or so he had somewhat tuned the irritating cheer of her voice out, instead choosing to engage his interest in the paintings that lined the staircase, which he had barely noticed for a good few years now.
Seeming to sense that she was slowly losing the temporary grip she held on him, Eva reacted to this by punctuating the one-sided conversation with various overzealous questions, tinged with a bit of desperation, the answers to which were usually grunted or nodded, regardless of what the answer was.
The paintings were no better than Jacob. As they passed, Jacob noted one that held a contented-looking woman with her fingers firmly in her ears. Another bore a group of irritated-looking wood gnomes who were in the midst of a card game, one of which shook its small fist at Eva as they passed and squealed "OI! Shut yer trap, will ye, pasty!?"
Eva, without taking her eyes off Jacob or changing her expression, proceeded to deliver a rather rude gesture in the gnome's general direction, at which he threw his cards, and Jacob suddenly found himself suppressing a tinge of respect for the girl.
And curiosity as well. Despite himself, Jacob began allow his mind to wander over the monotony of the stairwell, and began to wonder just why this girl was suddenly investing so much effort in him.
Trudging along behind her with his hands curled into fists in his pockets, he actually observed her for what seemed the first time, if only to pick apart her motives, as was his wont. Thus far it had not seemed a popularity project, and she had not even hinted that she needed some kind of help with schoolwork. It was not a schoolgirl romantic interest, he was sure he knew that much. She couldn't possibly be that desperate; she was, he grudgingly admitted, good looking enough, despite his initial impression. Every face has its flaws. Not drop dead gorgeous in the least, nothing outstanding that would make your gaze trail after her in the hallway. But not ugly. Jacob paused in step for a moment, discovering abruptly that he didn't like this train of thought.
Now that he considered it, he was a little less than sure. This wasn't an act of romantic desperation, was it? The thought of that made his mouth go a bit dry with a bewildered sort of disgust. But it was unlikely. By now anyone engaged in that kind of pursuit would have given the case up for lost long ago. That and.. somehow, she didn't seem the sort. Even if it was only because she couldn't seem to hold a thought in her head for more than a moment.
Eva turned quickly as she nearly lost her footing on the steps, and Jacob took the opportunity to stare at the back of her pale blonde head, scowling in thought.
What is with you?
And, try as it might, Jacob's mind could not concoct a reasonable purpose behind Eva's actions. Unnerved, his only reaction was to immediately begin to suspect the worst.
His roommates actually held a conversation with him for the first time that evening, wondering what was with the sudden appearance and disappearance of the second form that had been visible from their small window, following Jacob around. They finally extorted the name from him, with great effort, as Jacob had conveniently buried himself in a dry little novel entitled "Como Se Dice 'Abracadabra'- International Hexes and the Importance of Pronunciation" that had suddenly become most intriguing.
Clyde nodded wisely at the sound of the name. "Eva Brighton," he said, raising his brows and cracking his knuckles as he stretched. "She's a psychotic, but she's got a set on her, she does –"
Julius paused in his writing and threw a pillow at him, but didn't look as though he disagreed, turning to Jacob instead. "Eva - she's in my potions class. God, she's forkin' blinding, you wonder if she ever goes outside or anyfin'. Needs a tan and some social skills before I'ma look at her twice," he pronounced cheerfully. "And.." He trailed off looking particularly aggrieved, holding a finger two inches in front of his nose in a demonstration of the pain Eva's apparently caused him.
"Quirrell tried to make her read a paragraph in class probably two days ago, and she went into this rhyme or something – those thingies where it's the same thing back as it is – a palindrome, she did a palindrome or whatever thing in the middle of it. Guy nearly had a conniption," Clyde added, with a forgivable amount of amusement.
"Cripes, he's just as weird as she is," Julius said, waving the comment off with his free hand.
"Maybe they're related."
"I swear I wouldn'a be surprised, th' way they treat her. Like she's about t' break," Julius said, disgustedly picking up a small green dictionary and thumbing through it in reference to the paper he was attempting to write around the conversation. "Like she's mad or sommat. Gonna come in and kill us all if you say the wrong word at her. Like THAT." He snapped the fingers of his free hand. "Or like she's from a really rich family. Or sommat," he added as an afterthought. He jabbed at the dictionary with his wand, muttering "simile", and hovered over it as it opened neatly to the correct page.
"I never heard of any Brightons asides Muggle ones," Clyde announced, "and if they all decide to start speaking in rhyme for no reason, I'm glad not to."
Jacob had long ceased to participate in his brief role in this conversation, though he caught the occasional comment about "inbred psychotics". He closed International Hexes very quietly, stood up, and wandered from the room while Julius and Clyde continued to banter back and forth.
Classes ended a bit early the next day, due largely to a misfired Engorge charm that had struck someone's toad. The poor, massive creature had run rampant through the halls, scraping the ceiling and flattening teachers and students alike, until McGonagall impeded it's progress with a smart rap to the head, administered with a wooden soup ladle. ("Class," a shaken McGonagall announced with great dignity from behind the massive, comatose body, "If something must be made seven feet tall, a toad is a good choice.")
Normally, at an empty, easy time like this, Jacob would have gone outside. But for some reason, today, nothing drew him out, nothing seemed appealing about it.
It wasn't absolutely his anymore, and there wasn't much joy in a shared solitude, was there?
This disturbed him, like the death of a friend of a friend. Nevertheless, at the bottom of the staircase, Jacob didn't turn right, toward the doors.
Today, he shifted his books on his shoulder and turned left.
And, lame as he thought it to admit to himself, it felt like some kind of escapade, even though he'd been to the library, his current destination, at least a few hundred million times.
The library doors were simple, medievalish and theoretically carefully designed to be imposing by the equally severe Madame Pince. Jacob winced imperceptibly as the door gave a small whine when he pushed it open, and quickly sat down at the first available table, aware, or at least believing he was, of several pairs of eyes resting on him.
He pulled his bookbag onto the table and shuffled about in it, finally producing a ratty school book, with a worn cover that bore two eyes and the word "Recognizing Visions" on it, and burying his face in it. He stared at the letters on the page, written in their neat calligraphy, and tried to persuade them to make words, but somehow, he couldn't focus.
This was like skipping a meal, being indoors after classes. He closed the book and sighed, leaning back in his seat, and stared at the cover, which stared back, incidentally.
Jacob, a little unsettled, turned the book over after a few moments and stared at the back cover instead, which looked reassuringly like a book and not a small person.
He should be outside right now. Stupid kid. Psychopath – long-nosed and too short and a psychopath. Who'd asked her to follow him around? Did she think he needed her "help"? This hadn't been the first time Jacob had been chased out of one of his solaces by some charitable social butterfly who'd decided, in solemn little conferences with her many friends, that his social life needed a boost. No one seemed to understand that they were exactly what he wanted to get away from. Their type.
Loser.
Jacob slouched a little more, his eyes vacant.
Loser. From the back of his memory crawled a voice, one that he could almost hear again. Look now, ickle Jakey Adlam thinks he can play with real people now.
Jacob stood alone on the edge of the field by the bleachers, watching the broomsticks careen about in the air, felt the wind from a few of them life the curls from his forehead. The poetry of the air left his veins abruptly as he turned to face his assailant, eyes wide, his fright more obvious than he would have liked. He shook his head fervently at the fifth year that had jeered at him, wishing that he'd never come and for a quick death. "No," he said, struggling valiantly to keep the fear out of his voice. "I just wanted to watch."
They prey on fear. Give them nothing. They prey on fear. They –
A rough push from behind, and he out from behind the bleachers, was on his hands and knees in the damp grass. "Balanced like a pro," another voice cackled. "Go back to your little unicorns, girly, before your face messes up our field."
"'Little faggot." One of the airborne players landed with a bump, and dismounted his broomstick, holding it in his hand. "Don't touch 'im, Mike, it'll rub off on you."
The slight eleven year old huddled on his knees, crossing his arms in front of him in a defensive gesture. "Don't – don't -," he whispered miserably.
"Or what, you'll draw at me? Little pink unicorns, eh? Fuzzy ones? Going to go draw s'more?" Jacob tried to get up, the inane insults grating at his ears, but was roughly pushed back down with someone's foot. His hands slipped on the damp grass and he found himself face-first in it, the blow to his nose flashing in his eyes for a moment before he began to feel it. "Oh, why don't you stay a while, huh? You're not coming out here again, are you? Might as well enjoy the time you have, huh?"
"Just get him out of here," one voice said irritably. "He's holding us up."
The boy behind him grabbed him by the back of his robe and picked him up, swinging him to the side in the same gesture. Jacob was propelled five feet before he lost his balance and fell again, amid cheers and raucous laughter from the entire Slytherin team.
"Go draw me a unicorn, loser," the boy who'd thrown Jacob called after him, as the boy scrambled to his feet, clutching a painful hand to a bloody nose, and pulled himself, limping, away, before they should see him cry.
The boy turned back to his friends, saying loud enough for Jacob to hear, "I swear to God, if that kid makes one friend between now and when he crawls back to his mummy --"
Jacob shoved the book back into his bag and shoved his chair away from the table.
Lord.
He was going more insane in here than he had been outside with the girl – Eve or Ivy or whatever the hell her name was. He slung his books over his shoulder, turned, and –
-faced Eva.
It obviously wasn't planned, judging by the startled look that settled on her pale, freckled face. She nearly dropped her books.
"Jaycobe?!" She stepped back and stared at him, craning her neck as though to make sure it was him. "What are you doing in here?"
"I.. was just looking for.. a book." Why did he feel like he had to offer her an excuse?
"I thought you would be outside." She sounded a bit sulky, and swatted at the hair that had fallen in front of her face. "I was not going to bother you."
Will you go away? Ever?!
"G'head and stay," Jacob muttered, more to his books than to her. "I was just leaving." A few girls at a table across the room were staring at them and giggling. Jacob was not unaware of this, whether it was directed at them or not.
Eva dropped her books on the table and rubbed a hand, sore from holding them. "Where are you going?"
"I dunno." Away from you.
"I was picking up a book for Professor Sinny-stra," she informed him cheerfully. "We are having a meet today."
"Meet?" Jacob promptly wished he hadn't spoken.
"Yes, yes. A meet – extra-curr-icu-lar," she said carefully. "Learning about Neptune and Pluto. She said she'll show us lots, and she said so."
"Good, have fun." Jacob brushed past her, carefully looking exasperated so no one would get the wrong idea.
She turned as he passed. "Come, why don'na?"
"Dun wanna." LORD.
"Oh, sure you does, sure you does." Girl talked like a house-elf. What a freak. "You've got nowhere to go, like you said, so come an' improve your education." She gave her head a tilt, likely calculated to be adorable.
"Rather not, thanks."
Madame Pince had begun to eye the two of them narrowly, obviously not approving of an animated conversation held in her sanctified Library.
Eva was calculating something. Her faded eyes flickered to the geriatric librarian, the two girls, and back to him.
"Just try it, just once," she said, clasping her hands under her chin. "Just once, right? Then I won't bother you to again. Promise."
The girls were giggling again, ducking behind their respective books.
"Fine," Jacob said. "Fine, okay? Fine. Let's go."
Eva clasped her hands tighter and practically squealed. "AH, Jaycobe, you won't regret, oh, believe me –"
Madame Pince, who had been continuing to hover near the two for quite some time, took this opportunity to swoop down upon them like a bird of prey and banish them both from the library. Though Jacob's face burned as the two girls sitting in the back proceeded to nearly wet themselves laughing for reasons unknown but to themselves, Eva didn't seem to mind at all.
"Come on, come on," she said, practically dragging him down the hall by the sleeve with a resolved air. "We're going to be late."
Jacob stumbled and wrenched his arm away from her, crossing it with the other and hunching his shoulders a bit, not appreciating any of this and determined to make that quite obvious.
"I don't even know why I'm going," he said out loud, irritable.
"Because it'll do you good, Jaycobe, you know it will –"
"Aright, spare me the speech about my life, aright? I'm going, at least let me be annoyed about it, aright?" Too late did he catch his over usage of the word, and his ears turned pink.
Eva shrugged – an oddly disconnected motion, like she didn't know how. "Whatever you like to think."
Jacob was honestly only grateful that she didn't add, "Aright".
In the full fifteen-minute ascent from the library to the high astronomy tower, Eva, Jacob was sure, did not stop talking once. Overjoyed at his "willing" companionship, she proceeded to recount in painful detail what seemed to have been her entire life from the moment she stepped into Hogwarts, while clomping quite colorfully up the stairs in black shoes that seemed far too big for her. Although he couldn't be sure her story stopped at that. After all, after the first five minutes or so he had somewhat tuned the irritating cheer of her voice out, instead choosing to engage his interest in the paintings that lined the staircase, which he had barely noticed for a good few years now.
Seeming to sense that she was slowly losing the temporary grip she held on him, Eva reacted to this by punctuating the one-sided conversation with various overzealous questions, tinged with a bit of desperation, the answers to which were usually grunted or nodded, regardless of what the answer was.
The paintings were no better than Jacob. As they passed, Jacob noted one that held a contented-looking woman with her fingers firmly in her ears. Another bore a group of irritated-looking wood gnomes who were in the midst of a card game, one of which shook its small fist at Eva as they passed and squealed "OI! Shut yer trap, will ye, pasty!?"
Eva, without taking her eyes off Jacob or changing her expression, proceeded to deliver a rather rude gesture in the gnome's general direction, at which he threw his cards, and Jacob suddenly found himself suppressing a tinge of respect for the girl.
And curiosity as well. Despite himself, Jacob began allow his mind to wander over the monotony of the stairwell, and began to wonder just why this girl was suddenly investing so much effort in him.
Trudging along behind her with his hands curled into fists in his pockets, he actually observed her for what seemed the first time, if only to pick apart her motives, as was his wont. Thus far it had not seemed a popularity project, and she had not even hinted that she needed some kind of help with schoolwork. It was not a schoolgirl romantic interest, he was sure he knew that much. She couldn't possibly be that desperate; she was, he grudgingly admitted, good looking enough, despite his initial impression. Every face has its flaws. Not drop dead gorgeous in the least, nothing outstanding that would make your gaze trail after her in the hallway. But not ugly. Jacob paused in step for a moment, discovering abruptly that he didn't like this train of thought.
Now that he considered it, he was a little less than sure. This wasn't an act of romantic desperation, was it? The thought of that made his mouth go a bit dry with a bewildered sort of disgust. But it was unlikely. By now anyone engaged in that kind of pursuit would have given the case up for lost long ago. That and.. somehow, she didn't seem the sort. Even if it was only because she couldn't seem to hold a thought in her head for more than a moment.
Eva turned quickly as she nearly lost her footing on the steps, and Jacob took the opportunity to stare at the back of her pale blonde head, scowling in thought.
What is with you?
And, try as it might, Jacob's mind could not concoct a reasonable purpose behind Eva's actions. Unnerved, his only reaction was to immediately begin to suspect the worst.