On the way home from Carmelita's, Harry threw up in a side street. There had been something so revolting about her touch, the things she had said, even the way her very demeanor had told him that she owned him. He felt like cattle - worse than cattle, like the child slave of a tyrant, kept at the feet of the terrible woman, on a leash. When he got home, he felt he was going to be sick again, and for some reason, he had the urge to hide his discomfort and pain from the Cormiers and keep the whole thing to himself.
His mind, as if it were possible, was even more chaotic than usual. He felt positively dizzy, as though he had just been drugged. Although he knew the faintness could probably be attributed both to the fact that he had just vomited and the permanently sticky weather of this godforsaken town, he still felt as if there was something wrong with him, with his mind, something that he needed to start trying his best to alter if he meant to survive.
Because, deep down, wasn't all that he was doing by now just a means of survival? Didn't he just live and breathe, even look through the ancient books that Guidry gave him just to get through the day, to pretend he had some reason to get up ass early in the morning and live in a place that seemed to reject him just as he rejected Carmelita's advances?
The very thought of it all made him sick again, disgusted with himself. He stumbled into the shop as the sun was beginning to turn its insides golden, and, thankfully, Guidry wasn't anywhere in sight, the store already bearing the Closed sign on the door. Harry stumbled right over to the tiny bathroom on the bottom floor (small but always kept clean and proper for any clients that might need it for themselves in a session) and, after slamming the door shut, without bothering to light a candle in the gloom, began to spit into the sink.
His stomach didn't have anything more to turn up, but he still felt nausea coming in waves. He was in nearly complete darkness, and by the time he was done with his pathetic spitting, he looked up at the sliver of mirror that the Cormiers had hung over the bathroom sink.
It wasn't his reflection that stared back at him. He had only a fleeting second to stare at the man that hid in the shadows of the mirror. Still, for some reason, his image floated in his mind for quite some time after, as if he were familiar, just someone that he had forgotten and was now seeing for a second time and recognizing. Still, it was a ghostly apparition.
He could hardly call the person in the mirror a person because of his strange clothes, the jutting tufts of his hair, and the overall appearance of something unreal, hellish. What struck Harry the most was the man's blood-red eyes and the twisted, overly large yellow smile that stretched over his face as if he were the Cheshire cat.
Harry jumped back and hit his head against the opposite wall, stars popping into his vision. When he blinked, in the darkness of his vision, the overall picture of the man did not remain, but the luminescent quality of his eyes and smile lingered as if a flashlight had been shone into his eyes. He held his head and, once he could assimilate the shock, looked back at the mirror.
The image was gone, and all he could see in the darkness was a disheveled young boy who looked like he had seen a ghost. He opened the bathroom door to let in some light, see maybe if clarity might help bring the man out of the mirror, but the moment he allowed the light in, he realized that the man would not appear unless it was in shadow.
He left the bathroom, shaken, and locked himself in his room, not even touching the old almanac Guidry had given him to study. All he could think of was of those cursed eyes and the wretched smile.
Why did he seem so familiar? He could justify an illusion, a delirious moment - it made sense considering everything that had happened to him this past month - but why did this feel like something more? That was what unsettled him most, that feeling that there was something more going on, something that, in some corner of his mind, he was aware of but just couldn't remember or bear to think about it. He sat in his bedroom, the candlelight flickering, dispersing the shadows in the stifling cupboard.
For some reason, he was now afraid of the shadows. Although he would take it if he were presented with an opportunity to see the man, he was deathly afraid of actually summoning him or seeing him again. He sat in a daze until Mrs. Cormier's voice called him over for dinner. He hadn't even realized she had come back home.
He had dinner with the Cormiers as if following some ghost thread that led him to reality, but he hadn't really mentally connected to anything they were saying.
He didn't even flinch when they mentioned they would be taking their monthly trip to the Guills'. Both Mrs. Cormier and Guidry watched his reaction even though he had known the trip would be coming up soon as if expecting something lively from him, but he just mumbled his acceptance as he tossed around a tiny piece of boiled broccoli. "You doin' alright, sugar?" Mrs. Cormier asked, setting a dark hand over his pale one.
He looked at it, and that touch made him snap out of it a little. "Uhm, yeah, sure thing," he said, suddenly alarmed by the fact that they would worry over him if he acted stand-offish. So many people to consider, so many factors to work in, but he was never calculating what kind of a mental toll that all took on him, to the point where he didn't even consider what would happen if he took a second dose of whatever drug they had consumed last month in the swamp. "Did something happen at Carmelita's today?" Guidry asked, suddenly tense. It was one of the few times he had directly spoken to Harry in some time, and Harry looked into his eyes, shocked to see the genuine worry in them.
Looking at him so directly, he found it hard not to lie. "I…" he started, sputtering. "You can tell us," Mrs. Cormier urged reassuringly. She looked like she was pleading with him, and in her pained eyes, he could see how worried she was about him, and it was likely that that worry was not just because of Carmelita but also because of how estranged he had been from them as of late. "She's just… trying to get close to me, I guess," he finally let out in a single breath.
Both Cormiers tensed and looked at one another. "Did she try anything?" Mrs. Cormier asked in a low voice. Harry grimaced. Something inside him told him that it would be better to lie. Whether it was right or wrong, the truthful side won - he knew that letting them know would be uncomfortable, but he already felt like he was bottling up far too much, to the point where he would explode and tell them everything, even things that he did not want them to know.
Better to talk about this. "I'm not sure, honestly. She keeps… touching me," he said awkwardly. "Nothing too bad, it just… feels like she wants to go further. She's a little scary," he admitted. Mrs Cormier clenched a fist. "We can't let you go back to that sadistic little brat," she suddenly spat, much to Harry's amazement.
He had seen her stern, but never something like this. This was real, anger. "Mrs. Cormier-" "No, Ally, what if she gets too carried away? I know you wanna do what's best for us an' everything, but I can't have something like this happen to you, I can't have it on my conscience," she said through gritted teeth. "She won't… she won't do anything too crazy," Harry suddenly told her, eager to have her believe something he didn't believe. "Or, at least, I don't think she will. And if she does… well, I can't stop going there. If she gets upset with me, it's not just me she's getting upset with. It's all of us, and I need to protect you," he said with a conviction he didn't know he had in him. "Harry…" Guidry began, playing mediator, strangely enough. "It'll be fine, alright? I know it," Harry told them.
They all stared at one another, nobody believing much but prepared to, because really, what other choice did they have? "But if she so much as-" "I'll let you know, but she won't," Harry said urgently. And after a bit of self-pitying staring, they all began stacking up the dishes.
Even though the conversation in and of itself had been awful and uncomfortable, it had done all of them some good. It had thawed some of the ice walls that stood between them, and that evening Guidry even asked Harry to sit by him as he smoked his evening cigarette. They didn't say much, but Harry understood it for what it was. A thank you. A show that he saw what Harry did for them and appreciated it.
The whole sequence served to loosen up the tense nerves he had been working up. That evening he went to sleep soundly, the ghastly apparition and even ghastlier Carmelita rarely intruding in his slumber. The following day, Harry and Guidry began to set up their weekend specials, and though by now Harry was used to the 'mysterious' sessions, he now felt something odd about the shadows. Well, he always felt something strange about the shadows, as they prodded and molested him throughout the time that Guidry allowed them to pool at his feet - he had always tried to ask Guidry how he did that, exactly, but he was always blown off and treated as if he was crazy.
But he knew it was real, not just because they seemed too tangible for him but also because of the people's reactions in the sessions. Regardless, he had given up trying to get some answers from Guidry and hoped that in his research of the journals he was given, he might find an explanation to it as well as a way to get back home.
His search, however, always came up fruitless. When the sessions began, Harry noticed the change in his relationship with the shadows immediately. He hadn't even known that he had an actual relationship with them in the first place, only that they harassed him, but now… they seemed to be almost caressing him. It was the strangest sensation, like having a pet boa curl up around your neck affectionately. They would nip at his ankles gently, and they didn't suffocate him as they once used to. It was almost like he had somehow befriended them.
He didn't know if he preferred being harassed by them - what did it mean if shadows wanted to be your friends? He shuddered the entirety of the session, but, as always, he kept it all to himself. None of this was content he could ever share with the Cormiers, not in a million lifetimes. They didn't need more reasons to think he was cursed, not after the last time they had gone to the Guills'. Friday passed with only that weird feat, and still, even that faded to the background because of the relief he felt for his thawed relationship with the Cormiers.
There was tension, of course, and it was inevitable, in a certain way. Still, they interacted with one another far smoother than they had before, and Harry even though he saw the couple being more affectionate towards each other. He felt a little guilty that he had put a wedge between them, too. By the time Sunday rolled around, Harry hadn't given much to what he would face when going to the Guills'. He thought of the spooky drug he had taken the last time and all the trouble that had gotten him into.
In the heat of the waning summer (which was still horribly hot), it was hard not to believe that the sequence at the Guills' hadn't been the catalyst for everything that had happened after - Harry's torrid moods, the apparition he had seen lurking in the mirror, so similar to the shadow that had replaced his own during the trip… now that he gave it a second thought, he was confident that it had… opened something inside him, blown away the entryway to the shadows within him. He opened his third eye as his old divination teacher might say. It had cracked him.
Lugging the bags filled with some bottles and knickknackery that Mrs. Cormier brought to the Guills, Harry hurried his step to fall into stride with his sweating guardians. "Mrs. Cormier, am I going to have to take… that thing again?" He asked, gulping. It was partly because he was nervous, and it was thirty minutes into the walk there, and he was already parched. Mrs. Cormier gave him an awkward side glance. "Well, it's tradition…" she said uncomfortably as if debating something within herself. "But after the last time… well, you did give us a fright." "He'll take something else," huffed Guidry from beside Molly. "Spirits know he opened his eyes enough already. Might need to shut them a little," he remarked, almost to himself.
Harry frowned. "What do you mean, 'something else?" "Something that ain't as strong. You ain't take the other stuff too well. Don't want another situation like last month." Guidry told him, his tone cutting the conversation short. Harry sighed in relief - he wouldn't have to take that same tormenting drug.
He could almost overlook the fact that Guidry had called him a lightweight. The Guills gave them a warm welcome, just like last time. They didn't seem fazed by Harry's presence at all, despite the way he had acted before. Mr. Guills even patted him roughly on the back. Adelaide was there to greet them, as well, which was somewhat surprising.
She even gave Mrs. Cormier a curt hug, nodding her head at Harry and Guidry. Her large, doe-like eyes lingered on Harry for a little too long, and then she suddenly pulled her gaze away and went to hide behind Mrs. Guills' skirts. Harry had to remind herself that she wasn't as young as she appeared, despite how she acted.
They were all quite pleased with the new development, Harry could see, and the Guills were looking at her with parental pride in their eyes. Again, he was reminded of Adelaide's cruel reality and the things that she had faced, the people that had been taken from her. At the same time, Harry's heart warmed as he saw the way the old couple doted on her. He was struck by the feeling that he did not belong, that he was an unwanted aberration here, and it wouldn't be the first time he would feel that way in the day.
Though he wasn't quite as tired as last time, Harry still went to take a nap in the same room he had slept in before, and when he woke up, he didn't feel so dizzy, but instead even a bit revitalized. By his count, they should've been nearing the end of the summer, and though the difference wasn't apparent in a place like this, it could be felt by the state you were in when you woke up from a nap and how much sweat you and your bed were drenched in.
He shuffled over to where he thought the porch overlooking the swamp was to find Guidry and Mr. Guills smoking heavily and talking in low voices. They didn't even turn their heads as Harry arrived. He was about to turn away when Mr. Guills called him back with a crooked smile, his missing teeth making it more compelling. "Come ova', boy," he said as he waved him over. Harry sat on the free bench, looking at the flies gathering around some floating piece of greenery in the water.
Despite that everything was rotting here, it still gave off a surprisingly lovely, homey feeling. "Wanna smoke?" The old man asked him, pulling a pouch for rolling tobacco onto his lap. Harry hesitated for a moment, but then he agreed to have one. "You know," the man said, packing the tobacco in generously, "I ain't hear ya talk much yet, but I can tell that accent a' yours' goin' away," he commented. "Is it?" Harry asked, trying to act a little shocked but secretly pleased with himself.
He practiced adapting his accent every time he went over to Carmelita's. He felt it would be easier for him and for the Cormiers in the long run. Every once in a while, he would feel like it was a form of giving up. But still, he kept on doing it. Mr. Guills nodded, and then, as if out of thin air, he produced a heavyset glass and a bottle of amber liquid, poured a bit, and handed it to Harry together with the cigarette he had just rolled.
The old man struck a match against the very floor and lit the cigarette for him after Harry put it in his mouth. It was hell trying not to cough, and Guidry side-eyed him with some amusement. "Good job, boy. Gotta learn how to retain that smoke, 'cause you ain't gonna be eating nothing tonight," Guidry told him. "He ain't takin' t'gateway with us?" Mr. Guills asked, taking a puff so deep it was a wonder to Harry that he didn't choke. Guidry shook his head. "No, he ain't, don't you remember last time, or is your mind goin'?" Guidry teased, and then the two men fell into an easy banter. While Harry listened attentively, trying to understand what they said and sipping on his disgusting amber liquid, he spotted a small figure from the corner of his eye.
His gaze met Adelaide's, who was hovering by a corner and was just then coming into view. Harry was about to open his mouth to greet her when the other two men spotted her, and she scurried away like a scared mouse. Mr. Guills didn't take it too seriously, and he chuckled a bit as she left. "How's Addy doing?" Guidry asked as he sipped a bit of his alcohol. "Really breakin' outta her shell, she is.
After last month's visions, she was changed, she started actin' better, feelin' better - won't tell us what in the hell she saw, 'course, but we don't mind 's long as it makes her happy," Mr. Guills said with a smile. He cocked his head towards Harry. "She gets a bit nervous 'round ya boy," he commented lightly, but Harry could feel the color of shame flood into his cheeks. "Because…" he began, feeling terrible. "I think she got a lil' crush on you," Mr. Guills said with a chuckle. Harry choked on his spirits. "What?" "Well, you a handsome lad." "But I'm…." "White 's a baby's bottom?" "Uhm, yeah." "Addy gettin' used to seein' white folks now, we got some friends up north, real good people. 'Sides, not like she get many kids 'round her age here," Mr. Guills told him, and then he asked something of Guidry that Harry couldn't quite catch. He mulled over Mr. Guills' words. He thought it was sweet that she might have a crush on him, as if she were a child, though it was likely she was around his age. He thought of all those kinds of things as if they were at a distance, and his mind even wandered over to Cho, who he had kissed a million years past.
He remembered it as if it had been a lifetime ago, but then again, he had felt like it had been a lifetime ago the moment it had happened. And she had also been crying, so that wasn't any good. He had also felt like crying, afterward, even a little empty, but he couldn't have explained why.
He had just felt so disconnected from her, and the very fact that he had kissed her had felt more like something that he had had to do. Like he knew he should like her: she was beautiful, intelligent, and he was certainly interested in her, but he never understood it when Ron went off on his teenage tangents or the way that he snogged that Lavender girl. In fact, it had even felt repulsive, a little alien, the way that they were together. Could they actually like that, or were they just pretending? He would wonder incessantly.
His mind wandered to those subjects as the sun boiled red over the swamp, thinking maybe there was something wrong with him or that he was merely uninterested in all those subjects. He didn't fantasize about that kind of thing like he knew other people did, especially people his age. It had felt weird not being able to really talk to Ron the way Ron spoke to him, and even though his kiss with Cho had been a mess, he still felt a little relief, like how he could connect more with the people around him. He wandered in that strange section of his mind, and by the time he had gathered his wits, he could smell the sweet scent of cooking coming from inside the house.
Dinner was bliss, almost, and by now, he could tell what kind of effect the alcohol and cigarette would have on him, and he enjoyed letting it swoop him into its mellow sensation. Everyone was loud and cheery, the only moment of silence coming when Mrs. Cormier asked why Ren was absent. Mrs. Guills very curtly informed her that he was traveling around, and Adelaide was looking around at all of them with an expression of apathy and distrust.
Tension built all around them, and though Mrs. Guills' answer was a little suspicious, nobody questioned her on it any further. Harry feared the worst - if something had happened to Ren, would they simply not tell them in order to spare Adelaide, who seemed to be doing so well? It certainly seemed like a possibility.
After dinner, just like last time, they all gathered in the living room and began to perform the rock ritual Harry had seen the previous months. Adelaide looked particularly excited to take the drug, like someone preparing to meet a healer that would soothe their wounds. He looked at her flushed cheeks and how attentive she was to the conversations of the people around her, and he marveled at the difference between the Adelaide he had met the previous month and the one that he saw now - could it be because of these sessions? Were they like some weird form of therapy? He didn't know what possessed him, but when Mrs. Guills went around the group offering the mortar with the suspicious paste and was about to skip over him, he asked her if he could take some. She eyed him a bit suspiciously and looked over to the Cormiers.
They were both looking at Harry with some discreet concern. "I took far too much last time - I know I can take it better now." He told them firmly, and after a moment of deliberation, they both nodded. He couldn't say precisely why he wanted to take it. Maybe he wanted to be like Adelaide: perhaps he wanted to heal, or not to break tradition and have these people accept him as one of their own. Maybe he wanted some answers. He might have even wanted to get in touch with the man that was stealing his shadow, stealing his reflection. Regardless, he barely let the substance touch the tip of his tongue before pulling back. He sat back on the couch, smushed down into the pillows to make sure he was comfortable, and waited.
Tun tun tun, came the sound of Mr. Guills hitting his bony knuckles against the wood of the living room table. Harry leaned back and let his head fall to the headrest of the sofa, looking like the wooden ceiling above him seemed to sway - was it swinging because he was dizzy with alcohol, smoke, and a heavy meal, or was it swinging because the drug was working its particular sort of magic on him already? He didn't know, but he didn't feel quite in as much of an override as he had the first time he had done this, and maybe that was because of the smaller dosage or the fact that he now knew what to expect. Tun tun tun, the knuckles rapped, and to Harry, it sounded a lot like music.
He shut his eyes to take in the rhythm, the swaying ceiling cut from his head, and now that he could see nothing, he seemed to hear more, if that made sense, like when Mr. Dursley would turn down the radio in the car so that he could see the street numbers better. Could he hear a drum, like a real, proper drum? A guitar? No - a bass, low, melodic, pricking at his heartstrings and making him feel good right at the pit of his stomach. He could now distinguish each instrument that had incorporated itself into the rhythm and how they melded together yet kept their own melody and heart. It was jazz. He heard jazz. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't sitting back on the couch but instead lying in a luxurious red lounging chair, smoke billowing up sweetly above him.
He wasn't shocked by his surroundings, and they rather pleased him. He looked at the ornate wooden ceiling above him, blinked a few times in the mellow light, and then looked beside him. There was a boy next to him who was lying down on the carpet just below, his silky, almost white hair sprawled in waves on the floor. His eyes were shut, and he was terribly, heartbreakingly beautiful. He wore a lazy smile on his dreamy face, and his head seemed to move slightly to the rhythm of the distant music, which came from another room, a far-off room.
Harry knew without looking that they were alone here, undisturbed. Harry stared and stared, not knowing how much time passed as he looked at the boy, who wasn't that much of a boy, but rather a young man, with the markings of youth still making his face appear youthful. There was a playful devilishness to his features, to the ruddiness of his otherwise incredibly pale skin, even paler than Harry's. He seemed to be made of strawberries and cream, and yet in some way, there was nothing soft about him, what with his carved facial structure. As the music crescendoed, he moved his head more and more, his red lips curling happily to their tune, getting some secret, sinful pleasure that surely only he understood.
Harry could've watched him for hours on end. Every once in a while, the young man would part his blossom lips and stick a cigarette between them, taking a short drag, making the end burn savagely, making a soft crackling sound, and then blow the smoke out softly. Harry had never seen anyone smoke like that. When the cigarette was reaching its end, the boy suddenly opened his eyes and looked right at Harry. Harry wished he could explain everything he saw when the boy opened his eyes, but he could never put it into words.
He had a feeling he would never be able to put this boy into words. His eyes were the oddest shade of pink, like candy, like bubblegum, like blood and milk, and something sweet yet downright odd at the same time. Harry immediately felt inappropriate considering how intensely he was probably looking at this stranger (who, despite everything, did not feel like a stranger) compared to how casually the boy looked back at him. "You doing good, Al?" He asked as if on the brink of laughter as if Harry's very flustered state were nothing more than good old fun. He was teasing him, but it didn't feel mean or taunting, just like they were excellent friends, with an intimacy that nobody could've understood. Not even Harry, at least not yet.
He didn't know what to reply, and he was obviously looking stunned, so the boy now really laughed and continued to stare back up at the ceiling. "Oh, and by the way," he said his voice curling with the smoke in the air, "happy birthday." Harry was about to open his mouth to answer when a hand closed upon his shoulder. When he looked at the owner of the hand, the world that he had just been in melted away like a popsicle on a hot summer day, and he was back at the Guills house. He looked to the person who had grabbed his shoulder, now thoroughly disoriented and a little dizzy from the change in scenery, and he saw that it was Adelaide that had touched him.
He looked at her questioningly and then with a bit of trepidation. She looked haunted, her large eyes somehow even more prominent than usual, as if she were seeing more things than she was accustomed to and had to open her eyes wide to soak it all in. "When everything is lost," she told him, in a voice that sounded almost like Trelawney's when she had a vision, "come back to the swamp. Come back to the swamp, let it take you. Let it take you," she repeated. Harry frowned at her.
He was about to ask her what she meant, but she took her hand away, and their connection was severed. He watched her walk away as if through a veil, and he was left in the shrouded mystery of it all. Harry couldn't process everything in the unsteady state that he was in, so he took to looking up at the colorful ceiling, where mandalas and bright shades of pink, red and blue were blossoming before his very sight. He thought of the Angelic boy from before. What a vision to have, like something straight out of heaven or hell.