"Happy Birthday!" Mom
"How does it feel to be nine years old big man?" Dad
Standing in our family kitchen, my parents are wearing birthday hats, and my dad is blowing into a party favour. The house is decorated with balloons, a banner, among other things. I never knew why my parents went to great lengths for my birthday. Not like I have any friends coming over.
I walk over to the kitchen table in a haze.
Something feels wrong.
Don't question it. Just be happy they're here.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Make a wish and blow out the candles birthday boy!" My father's encouragement is met with a confused but complaint blowing of the candles. They cheer and clap as my mom lowers her head to plant a kiss on mine.
"I wonder what you wished for." My mom whispered.
"For you to-"
"Ah ah!" She interrupted. "It won't come true if you tell anybody."
It never comes true anyway.
My mother takes the nine candles out of the cake and my dad begins slicing pieces to pass around to the three of us. I look on as I watch his hands to turn a pinkish-red.
Not again.
"What's the matter, son? Don't want your cake?"
No. I know what happens after I eat it.
"Eat it kid." My mother demands.
"No."
"You have to." My father insists.
My arm moves on it's own. I try to fight it, but I can't. I'm eating my cake, in the back of a mini-van. The radio is playing "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac. My parents are singing-along. Not a care in the world.
Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night
Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies
Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light
My parents start to sing the chorus, and I fear what comes next.
Why do I have to live this over and over.
"Sing with us Billy!" Mom
"You love this song! You know every word!" Dad
They don't see the semi that loses control on the highway.
I do.
I want to scream. To pull them from the car before the crash. Before I have to watch them be crushed to death.
Why did I survive?
My birthday wish.
Either take me with you.
Or give me the power to keep this from happening.
Billy Batson
Dad?
Wake up
My eyes fly open as the truck collides with our family van. I happens that way every time. I see the car crushed up against them, but there isn't blood like there was then, and I don't black out. Instead I'm floating for half a second, as if I was being shielded and removed from harm, and then I wake up sweating, sometimes in tears, sometimes numb.
"Batson! Wake up! You have a visitor." I groan from my place on the cot.
"Tell them to leave me here." I hear keys jingle before being placed into a lock. A clunky click sound is heard followed by the sliding of a cell door.
"Sorry kid, but you're being let off the hook. Can't keep you hear."
"You say that, but if I were to punch you..."
"...Just get up kid. I've got paper work to do." I feel so helpless I wish I could just watch this wall for the rest of the day. I know that isn't going to happen though, so I get up and turn to the officer releasing me.
"Who's here this time?" The man in uniform standing at the cell door is none other than Officer Mark Durant. Short brown hair, clean shaved round face, with green eyes and an average build. He has a scar under his lip, supposedly given to him when he was off duty. He never gone into detail about it before. Probably a bad memory. I understand so I don't push the subject.
"Well it isn't the Russo's."
"Not surprising. Pretty sure Polly said she wouldn't allow me back after what I did to her demented husband." I start towards the exit and as I'm walking out of the cell, Durant puts his hand on my shoulder.
"Billy, I told you before. Say the word and I'll appl-"
"No. I'm waiting till I'm 18 to finally leave that hell hole and go my own way." Mark looks at me with this wounded glance before replacing it with defeated frown and sighs.
"You're too tough for your own good kid. That isn't something to be proud of. You got to let people in."
"Tried. Didn't work out. Can I go now?" This is the same old song and dance. Started having run ins with the law at the ripe age of 12, and at some point Officer Mark Durant from the FCPD took a special interest in me. At first I thought he was just another dickhead trying to take advantage of an orphan, but after he covered my ass on a few occasions and never asked anything in return, I knew he was a stand up guy. It's why I tend to just surrender when he's the one called to pick me up. I don't need to risk his health chasing me through Fawcett City. He has kids of his own and a wife. They don't need me fucking up their lives getting him hurt.
Mark sighs, shaking his head as he releases my shoulder, but not until he gives it a squeeze. He was trying to comfort me. I appreciated it, but it didn't do much for me. I simply nodded my thanks and walked passed him, knowing the way by now.
My social worker, a woman of Haitian decent by the name of Monica Bernard, came to pick me up from the police station. Currently she was given me a half-hearted lecture while driving back to the orphanage.
"Billy? Billy! Are you listening to me?" I roll my eyes. She knows I'm not. But I know everything she's saying because she's said it before.
"Sure."
"Cop the attitude, boy. This is serious. You need to understand that you can go to jail for serious time if you aren't careful. You're not 10 anymore. As of today, you're 14. I'd like to see you in a better place than a prison cell." Her Haitian accent was very mild, and her tone was showing frustration, but still showed the tenderness she's shown every kid in that orphanage. She truly cares, but I don't think she will ever truly understand how hopeless this all is.
"Billy you need to talk to me." At this point my blood is boiling over. Containing it was becoming unbearable. I needed to left of some steam.
"About what, Monica?! The fact that the last three foster parents you've sent me to have been abusive in one way or another? These last two scumbags were grooming the younger kids!" The look on Monica's face changes from concern and frustration to a numb sadness. I recognize it as the look most experienced people have when talking about this subject. Orphans being abused is nothing new. Doesn't help that without substantial evidence or kids that aren't too scared to talk it's near impossible to do anything about it. Not legally anyway.
"Billy I-"
"I don't want to hear it!" A defeated look washes over Monica's face. The woman wants to do good in the world, but nothing is changing. I can't stand this.
We fall silent for awhile. I know Monica won't drop it. It's her job after all. I just want to be left alone. Of course, it isn't going to work out that way. I hope nobody from the orphanage knows I'm coming back.
Well I jinxed it.
"Happy Birthday Billy!" A few of the other kids and staff were waiting for us with birthday favours and a cake. I want to turn back around and leave, but know that I can't. I'm not emancipated, and the orphanage itself hasn't done anything to us to warrant investigation or my violent responses to abuse.
I would say these are good people, but in reality the kids are too young, stupid, innocent, whatever you want to call it, to know any better, and a large portion of the staff aren't like Monica Bernard. They've become jaded, and are just going through the motions. Some of them have a sliver of hope that shines through every so often, but more often than not it just feels like they are trying to maintain a place for the kids to be somewhat safe. Especially rejects like me. What a happy place.
"I hate my birthday." I whispered to Monica.
"You don't hate them do you?" I sigh. The same as my parents. It isn't for me, it's for them. "These people care about you Billy. The kids look up to you."
"I don't know why."
"You can't be serious. You've been their protector for as long as you've been here. Whether you like it or not Billy, you're their brother." Monica pats me on the back and walks ahead of me to help the staff dish out food and organize everything.
I just stand there, watching everybody, and feel conflicted. I want them to have a better life. Free of being passed around from family to family. Abuse. Loneliness. But I'm not their brother. Their family. I lost my family when I was nine.
"Billy! Billy! I made you something!" Looking down, I'm greeted by a small curly haired red-head with freckles, no older than six. She hands me a drawing. In a splash of colour it said 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY BILLY' with me standing next to her, holding her hand. For whatever reason I'm wearing Superman's costume.
"Thanks Zoe. I love it." I gave her as enthusiastic of a response as I could. I still feel like garbage after last night, and it's made worse while I'm looking at this bright eyed girl trying to be nice to me, and I can barely muster a smile. "I'll keep it with me all the time."
She grins from ear to ear as she spreads her arms for a hug. I nod my head as I crouch down to oblige her. Her little arms wrap around my neck and she presses her face into my shoulder. Hmm. I think she might be upset about something.
"Are you okay, munchkin?"
"Yeah... no." I lift her off her feet and step off to a quieter place away from everybody else as I rub her back slowly. Making circular motions to try and soothe the now crying girl.
"Did somebody hurt you?" I can't quite tell but I'm pretty sure she shook her head.
"No. You don't have to fight anybody." Little Zoe always seemed to understand early that there were consequences to all actions. She was a very careful kid.
"Than what's the matter, Zo-bo?" Her tears are soaking my red hoodie as she whimpers her reply.
"A new family is coming to adopt me tomorrow." My hug around her tightened, as did hers. She was scared. The last family that tried to adopt her was the same family that adopted me a year ago. I made those assholes pay for what they were doing to her. Somehow, she still managed to smile. It was a little more dull, but sometimes she would still light up a room.
"It's going to be okay, Zoe. What have I told you?" Pulling her away from me, I look her in the eyes as she wipes away some tears. Snot was running from her left nostril and her face was redder than I thought it would be. She was silently sobbing and I didn't even know.
"I'm stronger than them." Tears are threatening to fall from my eyes now. I refuse to let them. "I'm braver than them. None of it is my fault." That last one nearly broke me.
"Exactly. If anybody hurts you I'll deal with them. Just like the Stevenson's. You remember the numbers for the orphanage and my cell right?" She nods.
"And the police." Less reliable at times, but still better than just sitting there feeling trapped and unable to do anything.
"Good girl. You'll be okay, Zoe. I bet this new family will actually be nice. If they aren't-"
"-you'll save me?" I nod my head vigorously and pull her in for another hug.
"Yes, kiddo. I'll save you." After a prolonged hug, I give her a kiss on the top of her head and put her on the ground. "Let's go have some noms."
"I want cake!" I smile, glad that she is bouncing back quickly. I know she's still afraid, but I'd make sure to be there with her when she gets picked up.
"You can have cake after you eat your vegetables." She pouts up at me and I grin while flexing my skinny arms. "What? You don't want to become big and strong like me?" A grin spreads across her face as she flexes her left arm and pokes it.
"Okay, fine!" I chuckle at her antics as she spins on her heel and leaves me in her dust.
As she runs off towards the kitchen, I realize how short notice they had to have put this together. It's about 11:30 in the morning. Monica likely got the call this morning and spread the word to get ready for my birthday. Zoe knows when my birthday is and doesn't quite understand why I don't like celebrating it, which is why I don't reject her well wishes, so it's likely she had already decided on sending me that picture. She's six, and the kid is capable of thinking past her own nose already.
I watch from a distance for a few minutes, observing the staff and orphans together. Zoe grabs some veggies and piles them onto a plate with a hot dog and some chips. Danny has a grilled cheese sandwich, which I'm pretty sure he made himself. Lila is holding a barbie doll that's missing an arm close to her chest, her favourite toy since she is also missing a quarter of her arm. Something I spent a long time drilling into the heads of other kids that come and go from this place to not make fun of her for. Then there's the staff, Jorge, Monica, Ryan, and Mary, among others. All helping the kids get settled to sit and eat lunch together.
Mary Bromfield is a volunteer at the Orphanage. She's 17, and apparently a gifted student. I wouldn't know, I've never gone to the same school as her. She is an orphan like us, but was adopted when she was 12. I've known her for a little over a year. Despite how much trouble I get in, she never looks at me with judgment. Only understanding. Probably because she's as protective of the other orphans as I am, if not more so. The only difference between her and me when it comes to the other kids is she's more open to letting people in. I don't want to risk it.
Mary looks up from handing Eli a napkin to clean up his messy face, flashing a smile at me before deciding to walk over. I feel so embarrassed that she caught me staring. I wasn't even perving on her. Just thinking while staring into space. Just so happened she was standing right there. I do this on the train all the time and people give me weird looks.
"Really, Billy. You gotta stop staring into space while looking in the general direction of people, especially women." I roll my eyes at her teasing as she chuckles at me.
"Ha, ha. Very funny." I shake my head in mock disapproval.
"I thought so." She pauses a moment, before looking back at the kids for a moment, before looking back to me. Her smile somewhat softened. "Happy Birthday, Billy." I snort.
"As happy as a birthday can be when you wake up in jail." Her smile fades till it's almost completely gone. I sigh before unfolding my arm, not having realized I had folded them. "Sorry... Thank you."
"It's okay." Her gentle and kind ways are confusing. It didn't feel like pandering. She definitely has lectured me before, but something about how she does it seems different. Maybe it's because she's an orphan to. Or maybe because she's still a teenager and being closer in age makes her more relatable. I'm not entirely sure.
"I know you don't like... well, today. But do you want anything for your birthday?" Her ever studious gaze feels different from the usual looks. Devoid of scrutiny. Just... present.
"Emancipation." Mary becomes crest fallen at my answer. "Don't give me that look. You know I've wanted this for a long time. It's legal from 14-17. I want Emancipation."
"Billy, where are you even going to go? Do you have any money?"
"I've got a job." Mary's eyebrows shot up.
"You have a job? Where?"
"WHIZ radio." Mary goes slack jawed and I can't help but give her a smirk.
"As what? An intern? A delivery boy? What would you even deliver for a radio station?"
"Actually, I'm their youngest correspondent."
"Wha?"
"Yeah. I'm an on-air announcer and reporter. Or rather, I'm going to be after learning the ropes from Mr. Morris." The look on Mary's face keeps getting better and better. Going from slack jawed confusion to a mix of surprise and joy.
"Oh dang! Congratulations!" She swiftly wraps me into a bear hug and I feel somewhat uncomfortable. I don't normally hug people, namely women. Zoe and a few of the younger kids are an exception, and there was that one time I hugged Mary because that dumb ass Jerry broke her heart.
"Uh. Yeah. Thanks." I awkwardly return the hug and pat her on the back when I've had enough. She let's go, and we take a step back from each other.
"So, have you started already?"
"No. I just got the job. I start Tuesday."
"Look at you. Little worker bee." I groan at her teasing.
"I'm not little." She chuckles at my protest.
"Don't be insecure about it Billy. I'm sure you'll be bigger than me one day." She laughs again, nudging my shoulder playfully. I shake my head and turn away from the kitchen. "Hey! I didn't mean to scare you off."
"You really think so little of my self-esteem that I can't take a joke?" She grins sheepishly. "Don't worry mother hen. I'm just going to the bathroom." She nods in understanding and heads back towards the kitchen.
"Don't be afraid to ask for a stool!" That one actually makes me laugh. Actually feeling better after my talk with her.
Mary tended to have that affect on all the kids. Hence the 'Mother-Hen' moniker. She's always been very nurturing to us. I suspect it has to do with the fact that she got lucky with her second foster family, which is deserved on her end. What she went through in the first one was terrible. So, she feels for us still here, dealing with the shitty system that we're stuck in. I'm glad that she's here, and I'm happy that she got to a better place and didn't just abandon us.
At the end of the day, I'll probably do the same as her. The only difference is I want to live alone. I can take care of myself, but it doesn't mean I won't come check on the kids. I'll probably be doing that the rest of my life. Hell, as an adult I'll probably end up adopting kids myself. But that will only be possible if I can start a career early and make decent money doing something I'm good at. If I love it as well it's a bonus, but not necessary.
"It's getting cold in here." I can see my breath all of the sudden. It's February 29th, so being cold isn't abnormal, but the heat was on just a minute ago. "Probably troubles with the furnace again. Honestly this place is falling apart." It was true. The orphanage was barely held together, and the staff has been breaking their backs on stones trying to keep it alive. Another thing I wanted to help with.
Heading into the bathroom, I see that the windows are frosted, and I can't see anything outside. I scratch my head, confused because it wasn't snowing or this cold when we left the police station earlier.
"Weird." Walking over to the toilet I unzip my pants and let loose what I was holding in for about 25 minutes. The relief washes over me as I stand and stare at the window over the toilet.
I stare absently for a moment, thinking about where I would live if I managed to get emancipated. There was that apartment on the South Side of Fawcett City. Little more sketchy there, but not too bad. If I was suicidal maybe I'd want to go live on the East Side. If the job at WHIZ Radio doesn't work out then I'll probably have to squat over there until I find another job that will cover rent.
"All done." I look down and shake, making sure everything is in proper order before closing up my pants again, and lowering the toilet lid before flushing. I always found it strange that people would leave the seat up let alone the lid. Didn't they know when they flush toilets, all the bacteria inside gets thrown up like a tornado and swirled around in the air? That's why your walls start to look brown after-
"What the Hell?" Ripped from my thoughts, I nearly jump out of my skin when I look back up from the toilet seat at the frosted window again. It looks like somebody drew weird symbols on the glass. Which should be impossible because the common area for the kids was two stories up and there wasn't anything to climb up to this bathroom. You'd need to be able to fly or have the ability to wall crawl.
"Well, given the world we live in." Still, despite meta-humans, and aliens being able to do such things, why would they bother wasting their time on an orphanage window? I'm thinking it's unlikely.
"I should let the staff know, in case somebody is planning something nefarious." I turn around to wash my hands at the sink. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My dark and wavy, medium length, dishevelled hair, yet to be brushed from last night. My green eyes looking tired from the restless sleep the night before, and the layer of stubble spread across my face. I've been growing facial hair since I was about 10. It's coming in thicker now, to the point where I have to shave it more than just once a week. I look like a mess.
"How does Cissie think you're handsome bud?"Spinning the knobs, I contemplate my new boss's niece and her compliment she threw my way when I was at the station. A dumb smile crosses my lips, thinking about the pretty girl with curly blonde hair. Her pretty pink lips and-
"Ow!" My hormonal thoughts are interrupted as I place my hands under the water and am startled at how fast the liquid had become scalding hot. Normally it takes a good minute for the hot water tank to kick in. Maybe I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Just means I don't have to stand here waiting forever. Although the fact that it's already steaming is alarming.
Shaking my head I proceed to wash my hands for about five seconds before I have to give up due to how hot the water is. I try turning the hot water all the way off and leave it on cold, but it's still steaming.
"Great. Another thing that has to be fixed." I sigh in defeat before turning off the sink completely... and the water is still running. "Okay, what in the world is happening right now?! Monic-AH!" Looking towards the door, I start to yell for Monica, before turning my head and realize the steam has covered the mirror, and similar symbols have appeared on it's surface.
A sudden irrational panic grips me. Thoughts of ghosts, or invisible meta-humans, or a secret alien invasion wash over my mind. I then slap myself for being a goober and jumping to conclusions so quickly. I have no idea what's happening, but I need to go tell somebody.
"Mary!" I rush through the bathroom door. "Mary! Something is... wrong? Whoa."
Grabbing the bathroom door handle I twist and pull, expecting to see the Orphanage Hallway, but instead, I'm surprised and somewhat terrified of what looks to be a dimly lit cave. Looking around me, I see numerous doors, seemingly connected to nothing. Some were standing on their own, and others were floating in the air. I look up, and see there is no sky, but if there is a cave ceiling I don't see it. I do see stalactites, peppering the area above me however. I see some stalagmites doing the same along the cave floor. There's a faint blue hue to everything, and barely enough light to see anything. I could only see about 10 to 15 feet in front of me in nearly every direction.
"Did I die?" I look back through the door I came in, and sure enough it was still the bathroom door from the orphanage. The bathroom looking the same as it did when I left. I step inside, close the door, and wait a few seconds, before opening the door again. "Oh crap, I'm dead."
How? Did I fall and just don't remember? Was I assassinated? No. Why would anybody want to kill me. Well, why would anybody capable of such organization want to kill me? I highly doubt the few foster parents I've done grievous physical harm to would have the ability to organize such a thing. Not to mention if any of them had the powers to get in and out of the orphanage to kill me and not be seen by anyone than they definitely didn't show it when I was living with them.
"What the heck happened to me?" Seeing no other option but to move onward, I leave the bathroom behind me and close the door. "This month has been such a blast." I mumble sarcastically.
There was no clear indication of where to go, no angel with wings or devil with a pitch fork waiting for me to lead me into my eternal afterlife. I wondered if that meant what I have suspected since finding out about Wonder Woman and her connection to the Amazons. If the Greek Gods exist, maybe other pantheons do as well. If that's the case, than it's up in the air when you're dead. Or you get to choose if you weren't worshipping a specific deity for most of your life. Or maybe it's because I'm a kid. Hell, maybe it's all a lie and the gods aren't real and Amazons are just aliens or meta-humans.
Either way, I just start walking aimlessly in a direction and don't divert my path. I've played enough video games to know when you're in a sequence like this one you tend to just pick a direction and go for it, because one of two things will happen. The game will tell you you're an idiot and send you in the right direction with a marker, or, the game prepared for you to take the wrong path and made it so any path would lead to the next objective. Both work for me, so long as I don't have to walk for an asinine amount of time.
Of course, the moment I grumble about such a prospect there seems to be a beam of light that becomes visible in the distance, which also draws my attention to the fact that the cave seems to be less of a natural formation now, and was turning into a sort of man made dungeon or lair, which looks pretty cool I have to admit. Never mind the undertone of dread that some skeleton armed with a scimitar was about to jump out and slash me to pieces.
As I get closer to the light, it becomes more apparent that there is a room there. Closer and closer, I see more and more details. Statues of weird looking creatures, a glowing orb suspended over a pedestal, though not resting on it, and some other weird looking containers and trinkets. Most importantly, there are a few steps that go up to an elevated platform where there is a chair, and an old man in red robes holding a staff is sitting in it.
"Billy Batson. Welcome, to the Rock of Eternity."