Chapter 6 The Room #3
The chancellor pushed back from the desk and patted his lap. Jack’s eyes drifted to the reverend, heat scorching his neck where the collar touched his skin. He was much taller than he’d been four years ago, and every added inch of height somehow deepened the shame.
Spine stiff, Jack lowered to sit on the chancellor’s knee.
When his hand landed on his stiff shoulder, he held his breath.
He didn’t typically touch him when others were around.
Only sometimes in front of the staff, or when he was in an uncontrollable rage.
This was new, as if the chancellor were making an unapologetic claim or daring the reverend to call him out.
“Children are the future,” Webb finally said. “Young men, in particular.”
Jack stared unblinking at the door as the hand on his shoulder slid lower, trailing down his arm until it rested on his thigh.
It was a test. The more discomfort the chancellor could get others to abide, the more power he had over them.
Jack held perfectly still, barely breathing, waiting for it to end.
Time slowed until the chancellor let out a satisfied groan and gave him a soft pat on the hip. “Run along now, son. I’ll make time for you later.”
Jack fled in such a rush that he forgot his book. By the time he made it to his room, he couldn’t breathe. His hands curled into fists as he silently punched his palm. Jaw locked tight, he trembled with rage, stilling whenever footsteps passed in the hall.
He knew the cadence of the chancellor’s heavy footsteps and could tell them apart from any other person walking through the halls.
Pounding. Pursuing. Determined. Sometimes, he approached in the middle of the night, heavy, thundering footfalls that made the chandeliers tremble and Jack’s heart stop.
The waiting was almost worse than the rest.
Almost.
During the warmer months, he liked to hide in the gardens. He’d watch the rabbits nibble and play. Sometimes they froze when he was near, and he hated thinking that he might scare them as much as the chancellor terrified him.
Prey.
Mr. Carrow had taught him about the food chain, explaining which animals were predators and which were mostly prey. It mostly came down to size.
As the years went on, and Jack continued to grow, he dreamed of a day he would no longer run and hide like prey.
The chancellor was bigger than most men. And while most cowered in his presence, some swarmed him like maggots crawling through feces. Jack hated the maggots. They were mindless, brainwashed drones who would do or say anything for the smallest scraps of attention.
All while Jack spent every waking hour of the day trying to escape the chancellor’s notice.
They didn’t know what he was really like. They were too ignorant. But Jack knew. The chancellor always kept score, and he never forgot a single word or action against him.
“Why do ignorant people follow bad men?” Jack asked Mr. Carrow one afternoon.
Although caught off guard, Mr. Carrow put great consideration into his answer, always maintaining an unspoken respect for truth. “No matter how intelligent a person is, Jack, we all have an innate desire to belong. Outliers, or people with little status, feel this sense of longing most of all.”
Jack knew what it was like to want to belong, but he still didn’t understand. “How does it happen?”
“Same as any group bonds. There has to be a common interest. In the case of bad men, the process is usually sped up by identifying a common enemy, typically a smaller group with little to no representation. It starts by taking sides.”
“But don’t they realize they’re on the bad side?”
“That doesn’t matter. Not to them.”
“Why?”
“It’s like a ladder, Jack. In order to move up, there has to be rungs below.
When people have no status, socially speaking, and they realize they can establish rank by simply disparaging another group of people, it seems like the easiest fix in the world to their problems. It gives them someone to blame, and just like that—” He clicked his fingers like a magician performing a magic trick. “They feel elevated.”
“But nothing’s changed.”
“That’s not true. Their thinking has. And as their thinking shifts, so do their words. They become more vocal in their hate as they find more people to agree with their views. And every time they exclude another group, they add another rung, thereby climbing the ladder.”
Jack frowned. “But they’re not better if they’re only full of hate.”
“Correct—according to society’s views. But any living thing can be consumed by rot. It spreads easily when the truth isn’t properly guarded.”
When Jack returned home later that week, he thought about what Mr. Carrow said. The chancellor twisted the truth, creating endless sources of rot that attracted maggots who fed off his lies, multiplying from his festering waste until a mindless infestation occurred.
He saw it in the history lessons Mr. Carrow taught, and he saw it every time he returned to the chancellor’s estate. More lies. More maggots swarming the chancellor. More festering rot.
“Jackie!” his mother snapped, startling him from his thoughts. “I’ve been calling you.”
“What?”
Now, when she looked at him, it was not with sympathy or compassion. “I can’t find my matches. Go down to the corner pub and find some.”
No more kisses. No more hugs. No more hope. This place was no longer his home, but it was still where he dreamed of returning whenever she sent him away.
Survival was easiest when others underestimated the presence of a threat, so rather than argue with his mother or tell her to stop plunging medicine into her veins, which only made her sicker, he silently went to fetch her some matches.
He used the same strategy at the estate, quietly going along, but always watching and observing others. Always learning. Always plotting his revenge.
Buried deep inside of him was a sharp bone of contention, festering among the boiling bile that rolled through his belly and threatened to come spewing out.
But as the years passed, he became a master at keeping it down.
He held it all inside, knowing there would come a day when all that anger would explode out of him, and also knowing, once it did, there would be no turning back.
So he bit his tongue and bided his time until he was ready to leave it all behind.
As terrible as the worst days were, he still needed security.
He was only a boy with no way of living on his own.
His mother was sick. He couldn’t rely on her, but she relied on him.
At least here, at the estate, he was able to read books and stay warm, which was better than freezing in ignorance, he supposed.
The chancellor loved to bully those who were smaller than him, and whenever anyone tried to appear bigger or smarter, they were berated to no end by the man they so blindly worshipped. As Jack grew under the chancellor’s nose, he sometimes caught him taking his measure, eyes narrowing.
“You have something you want to say, boy,” he’d ask in that challenging tone Jack knew all too well.
“No, sir,” he’d respond with zero emotion, defusing the situation.
“Good.”
Others mistook his cruelty for a show of strength. But Jack saw him for exactly what he was, a bully.
Marco, the chancellor’s right hand, witnessed his boss’s endlessly badgering more than anyone, but never did anything to stop it. Even at twelve, Jack knew he would never stay as long as Marco had.
Mr. Carrow once told Jack that Marco had been a champion for the people, a moral voice, and a man of principle.
Jack couldn’t imagine him as anyone’s hero.
He was the husk of a man, too weak to lift his head or look anyone in the eye.
A constant reminder to Jack that complacency could shackle a man in guilt and shame as much as any evil deed could.
And in the end, Marco’s weakness destroyed him anyway--
“Is the room to your liking, sir?” Nick’s words echoed like the howl of a ghost, jolting Jack out of the past and into the present. “Sir?” Nick cleared his throat.
Jack stared over The Preserve, his mind too far away to truly hear what his friend just asked. He glanced back at his loyal companion, who tsked and shook his head.
“Daydreaming, I see.”
Jack chuckled. Caught. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
“So I see. I asked if the room was to your liking.”
“The room is fine, Nick. Thank you.”
“Very good. I’ve brought the books you requested and a few extras I thought you might enjoy.” He withdrew the stack from his battered leather satchel and placed it on the nightstand by the mammoth bed.
“Thank you.” As always, whenever he tried to express his gratitude, the words were not enough. Some debts couldn’t be repaid with language. They could only be honored through loyalty. “How do you find your room?”
Nick looked over the rim of his glasses as if already deeming his response inconsequential.
“Don’t give me that look.”
“My room is more than fine, sir.”
Jack chuckled, returning his attention to the view.
Preferring it over the Gothic suite with vaulted ceilings that stretched behind him.
The Preserve was a private sanctuary within the medieval grandeur, the perfect setting for the hunt ahead.
Acres upon acres stretched between coastlines, assuring the privacy necessary.
Walls had a way of closing in on Jack. He longed to escape even the largest spaces. Standing under the evening sky as it faded from piercing shades of violet to sapphire hues, he breathed in the vastness, knowing such calm would soon be destroyed as the other guests arrived.
He would greet them accordingly, then retreat back to his sanctuary to oversee the festivities. The suite was so well-appointed that a person could survive there for days, completely at ease.