Chapter 6 – The village lunatic

He doesn’t stay long after that. Something tells me he thinks it’s better to leave me alone to consider, figure this place out for myself. I appreciate the vote of confidence – if that is what it is. It’s nice to be offered the opportunity to form my own opinions. It’s tempting to just jump off the tower and lower myself to the ground rather than taking the stairs, but something tells me it’s not the smartest idea to show off or jump off of buildings. So I take the stairs, like a normal person with the leisure time offers, almost like I have nothing on my mind and am just strolling down to the village. I have plenty of things on my mind though, not the least of which are Sasha, Joseph and how to get out of here. According to the professor, I might be able to break through the protective barrier around the school, but I doubt I’ll get far after that. Also, I have no idea how to break through the barrier. The only experience I have with trying to break through something gift related is with my parents.

If the sergeant felt us trying to get out of his grip before he felt we were ready to be let go (being ‘paused’ was our equivalent of ‘go to your room’, and he can choose if you feel the time passing or not, so it wasn’t always fun) he’d turn it into a match of wills, like with everything else. Focus your mind, fight back, if you do well he’ll probably let you free after only 20 minutes. Not that he has much of a sense of time, for all he knew it might as well have been 2 hours. There’s something about messing with time that leaves you vulnerable to its mockery.

I reach the front door and for the first time notice the second path leading from it. It almost seems like one of those illusion type things, the ones that used to be on pencil cases when you were young: if you tip it one way it shows one picture, if you tip it the other way it shows another one. Coming from the beach you can only see the one path leading to the school, but leaving the school the light hits the strategically turned stones which reflect back the light and forms almost a yellow brick road, though slightly tilted. Even in the setting sun, I can see it clearly. I have to admit, that is pretty smart. Anyone getting to the school would assume that’s the only thing worth going to on the island, the village being hidden by the trees. Any small homes or shops there would be safe from the first line of attack. Even the unevenness and angle of the stones would be a hindrance to any newcomers, while someone accustomed to the path would walk or run there easily enough. Of course why the school looks like a fortress, and why these defenses are necessary I don’t know. Who exactly are they expecting would come here to attack, who would even be able to find this place? But of course, the powerful Langdale clan might be able to find the school, and who knows what they might do if they got here in large numbers. Then again, isn’t that what they supposedly want? To get the Langdales to go to their precious school, abide by their rules, live by their design? They wanted me here at least. I smile; one of eight is not the best score.

The stone path bends around the school in a nice big, even curve with a giant stone marking the center of the half circle. It almost reminds me of the three guard stones in Wuthering Heights, serving as a guide in harsh weather or deep snow. Of course if it only ever rains in the British corner, it’s unlikely it’d ever snow anywhere else. Unless of course, it was deliberate. I suppose around Christmas they could cover the entire island in pure, white snow, making it the perfect winter wonderland. I wonder if they have snowball fights or make snow angels. After all, it’s mostly children on the island.

 The path reaches the forest and bends abruptly in the opposite direction and continues between the trees. I follow through it among the ancient oaks and pines. I supposed most of those have been here since the island was made. The path winds between the majestic towers for almost half a mile before reaching what at first glance looks like a small meadow. Once the trees clear completely the full view of the village becomes clear. Apart from several small houses (some smaller than others, some with gardens and even a few with white picket fences), there are several shops as well. There’s what looks like a convinces store, as I don’t need more than a glance to tell me they know their main costumers are children – the windows are full of candy. There are all of two clothing stores as well, one seemingly for females, and one seemingly for males. There’s a small shop selling shampoo and beauty products – because that’s essential to have on a distant island. An old looking wooden building has a sign telling minors they have no business there. I suppose the grown-ups like to have a place to themselves – funny it says minors and not students though. I look in one of the windows and spot a familiar face. Joseph is having a beer with someone I can’t identify from here – then again maybe he’s just talking to himself and there’s really no one there. He seems strange, so I wouldn’t put it past him. All of these shops form a small circle around an old well which fits in quite well with the stone style of the school. The light of the setting sun, the tree branches reaching up and breaking it, the old stones overgrown with moss, the dirt circle around it – it’s like a village square straight out of a history book; or at least straight out of how I imagine history. As long as you ignore the lipstick add in the window of the beauty shop that is. Each building seems to have been built to serve a need of a different era and kept exactly as it was built. The beauty shop has large windows and clean, modern lines. The post office still has a telegraph pole by its side (I won’t ask how they managed to use that in the past, that’s just way too out there to think about right now). I push through the wooden doors best befitting an old western and go into the store. Like everything else on this island, it seems to have been made by progressive conservatives. The décor is old and simplistic, the shelves wooden, the floor has never met a vacuum or wood treatment but it has clear worn-down paths from the door to the counter, the counter itself blends in nicely too with a handmade feel. The merchandise and equipment, on the other hand, are brand new and modern with a digital weight (and one of those old ones with lots on display on the corner of the counter), a credit card terminal and modern envelopes on shelves next to the old brown paper.

“What can I help you with miss Langdale?” The shopkeeper asks. An old man with long, thin, gray hair and a big bald spot on the top of his head. His faded shirt matches the décor of the shop perfectly, giving the appearance that one has traveled through time – if it wasn’t for the stamp posters on the wall behind him that is. I didn’t know they made posters of stamps.

“I was told you could send for my stuff? It’s all…”

“Yes, yes of course. You’ll be needing your belongings, make it all homey and comfy. How much will you be needing?” I don’t know how to answer that – do people normally just send for part of their belongings? Like ‘Everything in the closet, but leave the desk be’?

“All of it,” I try hesitantly.

“And how much would that be? How many suitcases have you packed?” None. That means that if I want my stuff… Not to be a prude or anything, but I don’t really enjoy the thought of this hunched over, old man going through my underwear drawer or packing up my books.

“I never got that chance to pack,” I admit.

“Ahh, you’re one of those,” he says before I can continue.

“If someone can just give me a lift I can pack it all up in no time,” I tell him. He laughs a deep raspy laugh, like someone who’s been smoking all his life.

“Nay miss, that won’t do. Students are not allowed off the island without special permission from parent or guardian, or without a degree.” Meaning no Langdale leaves without the school’s say so – since I’m guessing they decide when you’ve passed the classes and can get your degree. “We’ll send someone to pack it up for you, it should be here by tomorrow morning. If you want we can send it up to 951.” Either people talk a lot in the town, or he can read my room number in my mind. I hesitate. He seems like the old grandpa type, but without the charm of an affectionate smile, leaving him seeming more creepy and sinister. I don’t know if I want this guy handling my stuff – on the other hand, it’s either that or not getting it at all.

“Sure, that would be lovely.” He already knows my room number and will have my stuff in a few hours, there’s no further harm in letting him bring it up. I pay him 50$ for the service and go back to my room. I bet dinner is over by now too, and it’s not like at home where I could just find something in the fridge. It hardly matters I’m not particularly hungry anyway. I take a seat in the window sill and look out at the island.

Escape seems more difficult than anticipated, and returning to my family seems impossible, and of course, if Joseph’s ability works anything like mine, and familiarity has a big impact, I could be putting them in danger if I returned and he could still sense me.

Nina pops into my head, furious that I managed to spoil her wedding. She never got the metal wires for the corset either. She must be thrilled right now. The twitch in my lip that could almost be mistaken for a smile makes the loneliness more bearable. A little at least. Then I remember that it is my mother who will have to calm her down, and the sadness returns.