The Gift

August 7, 1938

Sunday

Dawn was creeping outside the window, and I just found myself in my bed, ready to fall into a long-awaited sleep. The night commotion was intense, making me feel like I would sleep for at least a day. The firefighters arrived very quickly. The door eventually opened, the fire was extinguished. It turned out that only a corner of the room had burned. Mrs. Cole, hiding in a small bathroom adjacent to her chambers, inhaled a lot of carbon dioxide, had fainted, but had survived. Unfortunately. That was probably the only thing that really upset me.

The first week of August passed like a dream. Mrs. Cole seemed to feel that it was me, but from that moment on she no longer bothered Irene, as she did not bother me. She certainly never said anything, but such a clear sense of her fear certainly gave me inner peace. Life went into a measured course, if you could call it that. The last summer month came into full force, and my only friend and I tried to spend as much time outside as possible. Autumn was coming soon, followed by a monotonous winter. The anticipation of it all seemed insanely oppressive against the backdrop of the gray brick building.

It was finally a beautiful day when the children were allowed to walk around the city. Irene and I were the very first outside the iron gates of the orphanage, because our lack of contact with the other children was mutual. The letter "A" on the sign of the name of our abode had been hanging upside down for the third year. I looked up with apprehension every time I crossed the exit. Dying on the doorstep with an iron letter in my head was not in my plans, so I never neglected the ritual.

The day was sunny and warm, the spirits high. Everything made me feel like my feet would never tire of trampling the cobblestone streets of London. The small block of stores fascinated with its motley variety, where all sorts of things flaunted in the shop windows. It seemed that absolutely everything could be found here, from food to clothes. The scent of flowers and freshly baked goods was in the air.

"I hope one day we'll get a scone for breakfast," Irene took a deep breath of the appetizing aroma.

"Just for Christmas."

"Really?"

"Yes, at Christmas they give out an eclair or a doughnut."

"Oh, that's fine. I'll wait six months," she laughed.

Irene's gaze was fixed on something behind me, and I, led by interest, immediately turned around after her. It turned out that there was an inconspicuous little store not far from us. Little sandals clattered on the paved sidewalk, and the sound echoed down the street or in my head. As I followed Irene's trajectory, I realized the reason for everything that was happening: a dark dress with a white collar was hanging right at the entrance to the store, luring adult customers with their children.

"I have an idea," I blurted out coldly to Irene's back. She stopped immediately and turned her head defiantly slowly. Her eyebrows arched in mute question, but I just took her hand and sounded indifferent: "Let's go."

A couple of cherished steps, and we were inside. As it turned out, it was not even a store, but an atelier. Behind the counter came a plump woman, whose eyes shone with kindness. She smiled in a friendly manner, and said:

"How may I help you?"

"My sister would like to try on that dress that's hanging right at the entrance. May she?" I asked politely. Irene barely opened her mouth for a moment, but immediately closed it without making a sound. She's smart.

The woman gave us a thoughtful look, realizing that we were, if not from an orphanage, at least from a very poor family. We looked tidy, though. After a little hesitation, she nodded approvingly, unable to say no to the already destitute children. She took the dress off its pegs and escorted Irene to a small curtain that appeared to be a fitting room. In a few minutes there was a beautiful girl standing in front of me in a dark dress. The white collar was starched and looked impeccable. Two braids lay on her frail shoulders. A faint smile flashed across my face at the thought that Irene would finally have a dark dress, instead of the light one, which I constantly had to clean.

"We'll take it," I said with a satisfied chuckle, and Irene didn't dare say anything, silently watching and wondering what I would do next.

The good-natured woman went to the counter to accept payment. I gestured for Irene to stay where she was, and she blinked in agreement and obedience. Could she really blink? At last! I already had a vague suspicion that either she could not do it, or that she had some other special gift that allowed to live with her eyes wide open all the time.

"Two shillings," the woman smiled warmly.

"What is it?" I pointed to a corner of the room, behind the back of the atelier hostess. She turned around reflexively.

I pointed my hand toward the obese figure standing in front of me, and my whole being focused on a single command "freeze". With a wave of my hand toward Irene, the exact same dress appeared on the floor beside her. She grabbed it and quickly brought it to me, shoving her light-colored garment into the first bag she could find.

"Outside," I commanded quietly.

A few moments later, it was just me and the kind madam in the little atelier. After I put my palm down, she turned around.

"There's nothing, boy!" She had the same kind smile on her face.

"I'm sorry, but I think we've changed our mind about the dress."

I put the exact replica on the counter and, smiling sweetly, followed Irene out the door. The woman looked at me with a look of amazement and incomprehension at how quickly my "sister" took off her clothes and left the atelier.

We had almost left the block with stores, a couple of meters to the main street, when we heard a shout in the distance:

"Thieves! Come back!" The owner of the atelier frantically waved her hands in an attempt to incriminate us. People around didn't understand who she was pointing at, because we were quite far away. "It's gone!"

Irene laughed out loud, grabbed my hand and ran away. Only when we were two or three blocks from the atelier did we stop. Trying to catch my breath, I patted the fragile girl's shoulder in a friendly way. I could tell she was fast!

"How did you do it?" Irene's voice betrayed her joy.

"Honestly, I do not know. I just wanted it with all my heart. But at least now we know that things like that disappear in a very short time."

Irene nodded, and then adjusted the collar on her new dress. After looking around, she nodded again, making some kind of decision in her head, and then she said:

"I'm going to step out for a bit, will you wait for me here?"

I shrugged indifferently, but I really did care. The intrusive thought that she would leave and something would happen to her immediately swooped down in a flock of black crows on my mind. I wasn't going to show it under any circumstances, so I just sat down on the wooden bench by the sidewalk.

Irene shoved a bag with a dress into my hands and disappeared around the corner. I watched the passersby, their speech, their movements. Somewhere in the distance a young couple was arguing. The man was furiously apologizing to his girlfriend for something. The woman, after his fervent words of remorse, which I could barely discern, warmed up, and they headed up the street holding hands. Fortunately, Irene's absence did not last long. Seeing her from afar, I immediately turned away and pretended to be preoccupied with my own thoughts. On Irene's returning everything was the same, except for a small canvas bag in her thin hands.

"Do you remember watching me, Tom?"

I nodded silently. She's a sneaky little devil! Well, when did she notice? She hadn't turned around once when I stalked her at the beginning of the summer. Of course, she'd already used that fact to blackmail me into taking a seat next to me in class, but I still didn't like her bringing it up again.

"And?"

"Let's go to the bridge!"

"Let's go."

The Millennium Bridge had not been completed. I sincerely did not want to fall into the water, but, on the other hand, I had no desire to go back to the orphanage, so I agreed to this adventure. Besides, there were almost no people on the bridge, only if on the opposite side because of St. Paul's Cathedral.

"So why were you always running away here?"

The black furrowed eyebrows on her overly pale face seemed graphic. If vampires weren't fictional, she'd definitely be one of them. Nobody can be that bloodless. Irene was still silent. The black braid was thrown back with a kind of faint discontent. Sometimes I wished I could wind it around my fist. I turned away from tempting the will of the fates and strode slowly down Southwark Bridge Road toward the Thames. Hurried footsteps immediately caught up with me.

"Like I said, I don't remember anything about me, Tom... Except this bridge. A cold night at the beginning of this summer... I remember running as fast as I could from St. Paul's Cathedral... And to get to the other side, I didn't hesitate to rush over here."

"From whom?"

"I don't remember..." Irene whispered softly. I could see with my peripheral vision that she hung her head.

The scarlet haze of clouds melting over the horizon towered over London's eternal smog. A light summer breeze blew on all sides of the Millennium Bridge, causing it to sway slightly. We stood in the middle of it, enjoying the insanely beautiful sunset, and just kept silent. I looked into the eyes opposite, which shone brightly in the melting rays of the summer sun.

"I have a gift for you."

"A gift?" I was genuinely surprised to hear those words.

"Yes!" It was as if Irene had just been proclaimed queen of England, no less. She proudly picked up a small canvas bag and handed it to me. "Open it."

I hesitantly took the suspicious object, cautiously looked inside.

"Come on, get it out!" Irene either tried to cheer me up, or she put a bomb there and waited with such impatience for my sudden demise.

Maybe I should throw it into the water before it's too late?

Screw it!

I confidently opened the bag. A small leather binding of either a book or a notebook. The next second, I was holding a black diary with beautiful metal corners.

"Turn it over!" Irene seemed to stop breathing, turning a few more tones pale. A little more and she would go transparent.

I obediently flipped the diary over and saw the name "Tom Marvolo Riddle" on the back. Understanding my emotions was something forbidden and impossible. I'd never been given a gift, which was probably why I didn't know how to react. I looked into the emerald eyes. The last rays of the passing day were tangled in the long black eyelashes.

"Do you like it? I know it's simple..."

Irene twirled her braid excitedly, holding it to the solar plexus, while I just kept quiet and looked at her. Suddenly, impulsively and unexpectedly, even to myself, I suppressed Irene's excitement and mutterings with a firm hug. So that's why she was smothering Chris with a bag, extorting money! To give me a gift one day. I took her face in my hands and just tried to bear this moment and this very unfamiliar sensation in memory.

"Irene." A light breeze mussed her hair mischievously. "Promise me you'll always be with me."

"I promise," she exhaled softly, staring at me with her magnetic eyes.

There she was looking at me like that again. What kind of witchcraft is this? If witches exist, she must be one of them.

Martha had a friend. Once I saw him walk her to the gate of our orphanage, and they kissed as they said goodbye. At the time I thought it was something disgusting, but now I suddenly realized that it had to be done that way. It was the perfect moment to satisfy my thirst to know what adults do and how it feels.

A light touch on her lips. Warm and soft and... wet. Suddenly the bridge seemed to collapse beneath my feet, and I forcefully grabbed Irene by the shoulders, pressing her to me. The intoxicating scent of hair that played so brazenly in the crimson of the sunset, enveloped every cell of the body along with the warm wind, suddenly echoing in just one word: mine. The gentle emerald eyes opened wide, either from fright or surprise. Irene stopped breathing, frozen like a little rabbit in a python's strangling grip. The little fingers crossed at her chest remained motionless. I recoiled slightly, still hugging her. But now I realized that it wasn't my imagination at all.

"We are soaring."

My words brought Irene to her senses. She looked down frightened and noticed that about thirty centimeters separated us from the ground. The next moment, our feet hit the concrete surface of the bridge uncomfortably, breaking such an obvious tension. Ringing laughter echoed across the empty bridge.

"We should get to the orphanage." I got to my feet and offered my hand to Irene, paying absolutely no attention to what had just happened. "Until that bridge collapsed to hell."

Irene smiled, nodding obediently. I took her hand, squeezing it a little harder than usual. There's so much I want and can try now... For the first time, it didn't seem to depress me that I was returning to the most gray and dreary place in London.

________________________

https://t.me/thedarkdyad/94