The Gift

Episode 9: Name

By Sulia Serafine

This is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE fic. This is the sequel series to It Could Be Worse, which will end with season 4. NOTE: You can read it if you have not read ICBW. It's possible. You won't get the foreshadowing and the cameos, but you will, eventually. I'd explain them. Credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

Warning: This episode is rated PG-13, just for a few curse words. This is Vinny, guys. Come on.

~~

"What's in name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet." Right? Isn't that how it goes? Willy had a good idea there, didn't he? I didn't see the major significance there was in my own name. At least, I never cared about the possibilities… until that one day at the gas station.

It's funny. People name things often for reasons of sentiment. Sentiment! You wouldn't believe how much sentiment really matters when it comes to giving things a name. They give many public institutions the names of heroes, dead or alive, to glorify their namesakes in broad view of the world. Conté Square in Tortall. The Malorie Public Wildlife Park at Goldenlake. Hell, even little Faleron was named after someone.

These things, these people and places—they're all about keeping some memory alive. I, myself, thought that there was nothing special to my name. In fact, I hated it. I opted to use my middle name instead. Not even that! I used a nickname of my middle name! How could I see the pride that was to behold in "Coram", since no one had ever taken me aside and explained why that name was chosen for me?

So, you could imagine the shock I received when I finally learned the origin of it. On a fine Sunday morning. In the lazy little lands in the northern Mithran region. While minding my own business.

~~

I was fueling up the car. Yvenne was asleep in shotgun while Faleron was sprawled across the backseat. We had been picking out new things to put in Yvenne's new apartment in Port Legann. The end of the summer was fast approaching and she wanted us to help her spend her hard-earned cash. (She had just cashed in by selling one of her stocks and was incredibly giddy for days.) So, we cruised around a couple of outlet malls and pretended we were interior decorators.

Would you believe I had a knack for picking out good tile patterns?

So, there I was, daydreaming about the rather smashing selection I had made for Yvenne's apartment (coral and white tiles in a unique multi-diamond formation, if you must know. Très magnifique, if I do say so myself) and leaning against the gas meter. Yvenne had already made me patch the hole in the convertible roof with my own money, but she had given me her money for the gasoline.

After filling the tank up, I went inside to pay. The gas station that we were at was as typical as I had expected. There were a few aisles dedicated to candy, chips, and other items most popularly forgotten and needed when on a trip. I went to the refrigerators in back and got a bottle of water. I could always refill the bottle with tap water later. Cheapness is as cheapness does.

At the register was a woman in her mid to late twenties. Dark sausage curls surrounded her head, just barely touching the nape of her neck. She looked up from the cash register to see who had just entered. When she saw my face, her mouth opened in silent astonishment.

"You," she murmured.

I frowned. I approached the register slowly, placing the bottle of water on the counter. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

The woman shook her head. "No, no, I'm sure we haven't. You just… look familiar." She bit her lip. Her eyes never left my face. "I'm sorry. My name is—"

"Kimmy?" I finished out of "instinct".

"How did you know that?"

Shit. Nice going, idiot. Think fast.

"Uh, your nametag," I replied, shrugging. I hadn't even looked at her nametag.

The woman glanced down at the piece of plastic pinned to her shirt. "It says Kimberly. How did you know my nickname was Kimmy?"

Why me? Why always me?

"A guess?" I quickly pushed a few nobles toward her. "Here. For the gas and the water."

She rang the purchase up. Kimmy took her time. She was still watching me as her hands passed over the bills and coins. Finally, she held out a hand holding my change. I hastily took it from her and shoved it into my pocket. Without so much as another word, I grabbed the bottle of water and strode quickly toward the door.

"Wait!"

I stopped and turned my head. "Yes?"

"What's your name?"

My mouth went dry. "Why?"

Kimmy was embarrassed. I could tell by the pinkness of her cheeks. "You remind me of someone. I just wanted to know… I know. It's stupid. But for the tiniest chance that you…"

An invisible hand was tugging my intestines in her direction. It made me slightly nauseous at first, but I gave in to my intuitions and approached her again. It always felt horribly sickening to deny my premonitions. This wasn't an exception. I took of the cap of the water bottle and took a sip. As I was regaining moisture in my mouth to speak, I glanced out the window. My companions were still asleep.

My tongue darted out to wet my lips. Perhaps this woman recognized my parents' features in my face. And if that was the case, who was I to deny her an answer? I let out a deep breath. "My name is Vinny Winston."

"What?" Her eyes widened.

I grimaced. "No." When I saw her crestfallen look, I shook my head. "Well, my name is Vinny Winston, but, uh, my full name is Coram Vincent Winston."

And suddenly, she wasn't looking at me, but through me. I could tell by her misty eyes that there was a picture in her mind of someone… someone I didn't know. The idea of it drove me crazy. I marched up to her and grabbed her arm. She cried out. Kimmy snapped out of her reverie and focused on me again.

"What? What is it?" I demanded.

She swallowed reflexively. "You…" She seemed as if she was having trouble breathing. "You're not lying? Your name is as you say it is?"

"I'm not lying," I assured her. I released her. My hands itched to slap some sense into her. Did she know anything? She had to tell me! If she didn't, I didn't know how I could control myself. This was the biggest lead I had ever come across in my search! "Do you… know my family?"

The woman frowned. "You mean, you don't?"

"I've been on my own for as long as I could remember."

The bell over the door rang as Yvenne entered, stumbling from drowsiness. She yawned. "Vinny, what's taking you so long? Come on, let's go."

I took an involuntary step back from Kimmy. My heart was pounding. Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I could see a red and blond haired man opening a door. My eyes opened again. I turned to Kimmy. "Is there someone you know that I should meet?"

"How did you…?"

"Just tell me!"

Yvenne rolled her eyes. "Vince! Come on!"

She slammed the glass door behind her and stalked back out to the car. Kimmy began to scribble an address down on the back of a receipt with a stubby pencil. She handed it to me and wiped her hands on her blouse as if something had stained them. I stared at the piece of paper in my hands.

"What is this?"

"There's a cluster of hotels and fast food restaurants not too far from here. You'll see a mechanic's repair shop on your right if you continue going east on this road. That's the address." She was trembling now. I wouldn't have been surprised if I was, too.

I pocketed the paper and nodded in gratitude. "And who am I looking for?"

"Smythesson. Coram Smythesson."

~~

And so, there you have it.

"In real life, unlike in Shakespeare, the sweetness of the rose depends upon the name it bears. Things are not only what they are. They are, in very important respects, what they seem to be."

I don't know who said that. It has been a long time since I read that inside Styx's library. But it reminded me of certain truths. At first, I considered that perhaps it didn't matter that my name was Coram. I acted like Vinny. So, I was Vinny. But then, I worried. Maybe whoever had named me also possessed the ability to see into the future. Maybe I was named not because of dedication or sentiment, but because I had been foreseen to be like Coram Smythesson. Whoever that was.

Honestly, I wasn't looking forward to finding out.

Back with my friends, I started the car. My hands did whatever was required of them automatically. My mind was somewhere else, as if in a trance. I recited the address in my head over and over. It didn't matter. Kimmy had said that the place would be in full view on my right. Of course, on my right. The world always mentions who shall sit at the right hand. It doesn't take too kindly to those who sit at the left.

I was rambling to myself in mystic allusions. By the time I saw the mechanic's repair shop on the right, I had digressed into a shell of my formal self. What a ravaging revelation this would be. It would hurt to hear the truth. It would hurt to hear anything strangers had to tell me about my parents.

After I pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine, Yvenne stirred and sat up. Faleron remained blissfully asleep, for that I was thankful.

"What are you doing?"

What AM I doing?

"Stay here, please. I have to take care of some business."

She wanted to protest. I held up my hand pleadingly.

"Please, Yvenne. Promise me that you'll stay here no matter what." I gave her a meaningful expression. She sighed and nodded. She didn't want to, but she would keep her promise.

"Vinny, I don't understand."

"Neither do I," I confessed with a bittersweet smile.

I got out of the car and approached the inside of the garage. My skin was tingling. I hated having a sixth sense for danger. But there was no danger to be found here. Unless I counted the truth as dangerous. And maybe it was. I knocked on the closest wooden thing I could find, a chair. An older man with a short gray beard stuck his head out of a small dirty office.

He gave me a once-over and spat something brown on the ground. Chewing tobacco. Yuck. "Yeah? What do you need?"

"I'm looking for Coram Smythesson."

The old man nodded. "He's above the shop. First door."

I exited the garage and found a rickety fire escape that led to what was obviously living quarters above the shop. Yvenne and now Faleron were watching me from the car. She must have woken him up as soon as I had gone inside. I bravely waved at them, mustering up the happiest smile that I could fake. I was afraid of what I really looked like. Faleron had pouted and moved away from the window.

Lifting my hand to knock on the door, a wave of apprehension filled me. It was like taking a test, having guessed on more than half of the answers, and now being represented with the score in a confidential envelope. Part of me wanted to see what was inside, but the other part of me wasn't sure if I wanted to find out.

Fear never bothered me much. But lately, it seemed to be making up for lost time by attacking me when I least wanted it. Scolding myself by recalling the vision I had seen in Kimmy's presence, I knocked loudly three times on the door and withdrew my hand. I combed my hair with my fingers nervously, hoping I looked presentable. First impressions were key. They sometimes changed the future.

Does this man know my future? More importantly, does he know my past?

The door opened, swinging away from me as the man who opened it took a step forward. He had red hair with blond streaks. The color of his stubble, however, was deep auburn. He was perhaps a decade or so older than Kimmy. Creases lined his face. It didn't seem appropriate. He wasn't the type who aged so soon. If it hadn't been for extreme trials and tribulations carving age into his body, he would have been quite the looker still.

When his eyes rested upon me, he almost stopped breathing. His world had stopped turning. That was the sort of look that men gave when they didn't think their lives could become any more confusing. It was a more intense version of the stare that Kimmy had given me. He looked away after a few seconds, wiping his large hands on the front of his white T-shirt and the thighs of his torn jeans.

"Hey, boy-o, what's happenin'?" he greeted, as if he knew me. His accent made me feel a little more at ease. It seemed so friendly. And, despite all my desires to be isolated from people, I wanted him to be my friend. He shook my hand. The man had a strong grip, but not too strong. He wasn't testing me to see if I had the courage to squeeze back.

"Are you Coram Smythesson?" I asked, though it wasn't necessary. This was Coram. If it wasn't, I wouldn't feel this weird and insecure.

He nodded. Coram stepped back from the doorway to allow me to enter. "Come in, come in." As soon as I entered the intensely bright room, he closed the door behind me. I blinked, wondering what bright fluorescence was being used. He noticed my discomfort and laughed gently. "It's a spare shop light from the garage below. They're supposed to be that big and bright. I don't turn it on so much."

He walked over to the center of the messy living room and reached up to tug on a chain that hung from the three feet long shop light. It turned off. Random colored shapes danced before my eyes. They eventually faded as Coram parted the window blinds and faced me.

"Yer just as she said ye would be," he whispered, more to himself than to me.

I rubbed my eyes. "Who said what?"

"Kimmy. She called five minutes ago and told me to expect ye." He went to the couch and threw off random pieces of trash from it—pizza boxes, tools, burger wrappers. He sat down and patted the space beside him. I joined him there, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt like a kid again. "She also told me that ye don't remember yer parents. So, what is 't? Are they dead? They abandon ye?"

I shivered a little. It felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. Could this be real? Or was it a TV documentary on the strange and paranormal? "I don't know. I've been in… a, uh, orphanage since I was a baby. I don't know who they are or if they're dead or not." I cleared my throat nervously. The lie didn't matter. Hopefully, this man wouldn't lie. "Did you know them?"

Coram nodded. "I knew yer father for a while. I wasn't too sure when Kimmy told me that some lad with the name Winston was walkin' around. But," he paused to allow himself to study me carefully, "seein' ye here. With that nose and those eyes. That chin! And most of all, that damn blond hair… It's like meetin' yer da all over again."

He stood up and walked toward the small kitchen. "I'm gettin' somethin' to drink. Ye want anythin'?"

"Uh, water, I guess. I don't drink beer," I added when I saw that he had reached for a dark brown bottle.

"Good to hear 't," he chuckled. "It's better that ye don't. It's a coward's way out, but I'm a hypocrite as well as a coward." He handed me a paper cup filled with cold water while he used a bottle opener to pop the cap off of his bottle and take a gulp.

I sipped only a tiny bit. My eyes were glued to the man sitting beside me. I was still expecting him to go up in a puff of smoke as if he didn't exist. This was still too good to be true. A man who happened to know my father? It was like a book I had read. Serendipity, they call it. Yeah. That's about right.

"How old are ye, anyway?" he asked.

"Seventeen."

Coram leaned forward so his elbows were on his knees. He twisted his head toward me and seemed to be scrutinizing me again. "Really." He looked ahead of him. By the absent-mindedness of his hand gestures, I could tell that he was trying to remember something. Finally, he nodded as if in agreement with a voice in his head. "Yup. Add nine months to that and that should be about the time… Yeah. Hell, I thought I just knew your da. I think I know who your ma is, too."

Would it be so corny if I said that it was as if the clouds had parted and a ray of light had shone down upon me from heaven? The angels were chorusing 'halleluiahs' in the background while I stared in utter shock at the man beside me. He grinned and patted me on the shoulder.

"So. Were ye wantin' to hear about him, or what?"

"Yes," I begged. I'm ashamed to say it, but yes. I begged. "Please."

The man drank from his bottle again and nodded. "Right. Well, yer da was a fine man, named Jack Winston. If 't weren't for him, I'd be dead right now, and Kimmy, too."

"What did he do?"

"Ah, well, I was livin' in Tusaine back then. The city was corrupt and run by the leader of the reignin' mafia. I worked for him. I'm ashamed to say it now, but you hafta understand! When yer a poor man in that city, ye need allies to watch yer back." He sighed and shook his head. "I was into street racin' back then. One of the best. If only I had gone somewhere else to make my racin' debut! Anyway… one night, I meet this blond—not much older a lad than ye are right now—and he wins his first race.

"Well, I was impressed. Shook hands with him right away and introduced myself. But I wasn't the only one who took a shinin' to the impressive Jack Winston." He looked me in the eye as if telling me to pay special attention to the next part. "The leader of all criminal activity in that mafia was a strange, mysterious man. He took Jack under his wing very quickly. Jack and I did all we could to stay in his good graces. It's the sort of thing that you have no choice decidin' over. Ye do it or ye die.

"I had wounded myself durin' that time. I don't remember what had happened. But I knew that I was becomin' quite useless to my boss. And so, protégé as yer da was to him, he ordered Jack to kill me. Burn my apartment to the ground with Kimmy and me inside. She's my adopted sister, ye know. If somethin' had happened to her, I didn't know what I'd do." He closed his eyes in pain, as if reliving the whole night again.

I couldn't imagine what it must have been like to be him eighteen years ago. Working for the mob? Being a criminal? Stealing is one thing. I mean… I never really attack anyone. Not unless I have to. Though Coram hadn't said it, I could tell by the expression on his face that his hands had been covered in blood once. A man with a heart and soul inside him doesn't ever forget.

Coram opened his eyes again and continued. "Your da couldn't do it. He wouldn't kill us. He shooed us out of town and burned our apartment to cover our tracks. I never saw him again." He wiped a tear from his eye. I hadn't noticed that he was becoming misty-eyed. It made me feel more uncomfortable than ever before.  "Yer da was seein' some woman back then. Her name was Julia. I can't remember her last name."

He looked regretfully at me. "I never saw your da after that night, so I'm not sure if he stayed with her. I don't think he would." He shook a finger at me. "Now, don't be thinkin' dishonorable things about him because of that. Yer ma loved yer da. I could tell by the way the lass looked at him. But, yer da..." His mouth quivered and I knew that this grown man beside me wanted to lie down and weep. "Jack Winston was weighed down by more than ye could ever know! Ye think that he was just a man workin' for the mob, but he wasn't!

"Some days, when I looked at him, my heart broke. He was a man who'd lost the ability to feel anythin' but pain. I knew he regretted ever comin' to Tusaine. But it is a thing that is done. Yes, it's done over and over again. And the only way to escape is through death." He paused as if it were necessary to have a little moment of respectable silence for the many men and women he had known in Tusaine. "Jack would have taken care of Julia. He would have taken care of her. He tried feelin' affection for yer ma. I don't think he ever brought himself to do it, but he would have taken care of her. He would have taken care of ye, too. He may have slipped into Hell itself, but he was still a good man deep inside. He would have taken care of ye. I know he would have."

The former racer laid a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "If ye go to Tusaine, be very careful, boy-o. The powers that were there have left, but the city is still untrustworthy." He let go. "And if ye see your da, send him my greetings and gratitude. I'll always be in his debt."

I had been silent during this entire time. His words were sinking into me like rocks thrown into a pond. Each one made me feel a little heavier and created ripples that spread through every part of my body. I had stopped sipping from the paper cup a long while ago. I put it down hastily on the coffee table, spilling most of its contents, and I stood up.

It took all my strength to stand. Yes, I felt heavy. Too heavy. There was a burden on my shoulders now that no one could see. Coram wore it, too. It threatened to drag us both down to the bottom of our own murky ponds, until we drowned in our many sorrows. And I knew at that moment why they had named me after him. We were of a kind of man who felt suffering, seen it in others, and lived to tell about it. It wasn't something to be proud of. No one wanted to glorify it or remember it.

It was a name. And that we would call a rose's thorn by any other word would still make us bleed.

~~

Author's note: Awww… poor guy. You think that he would be ecstatic to hear this sort of news. I guess it's the shock or the tragedy. And this from the guy who said he didn't care about his parents! It seems that the more he learns about them, the more he learns about himself. And it's not just a quest to find out what he really is, but who he is.

At least, that's what I've been able to come up with. My mind has been very muddled while writing this. My interpretation of my own story seems to have amounted to nothing. The fanfic has taken a life of its own, or should I say that Vinny has taken a life of his own? Yes, I think he has.

The first quote was the famous "Romeo and Juliet" by William Shakespeare quote. The second was from Hurbert H. Humphrey. US history. Politics, yadda yadda. It seemed appropriate.

Tell me what you think! Email or review, either's fine!