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The rain-soaked him through. His wool coat and his pants clung to his tiny form, curling inward to reveal his thin body. His black hair was uncovered to the torrent that beat against his back, and his black eyes searched the street for anyone he was supposed to be looking for. “Stay close,” was the quick order from the extraordinarily tall man dressed in black next to him. His voice was intimidating enough, then add his wide torso and his thick arms. Though he was also soaked too, his posture never failed him. His shoulders were back and his spine straight. Roy blinked as he admired the man for his stature. He looked like an officer in the military without the prestigious uniform. But the man did not look back down at him. He gave Roy no reassurance or attention.
“I’m cold,” Roy muttered, looking around again.
He got the feeling that he was only a hindrance to the man next to him. Though Roy wanted to cry and be held, the man kept the suitcase between them. When they got off the train, the only contact the man ever made to Roy was roughly grabbing the back of the neck of Roy’s jacket and hauling him off the train because of the boy’s “shuffling feet.” His brows were always forward, his mustache failed to move. The child didn’t know what to think about him in the least bit. It wasn’t as if he had a choice between one or the other when it came to a chaperone. “Central City,” was all he heard before a man gave him an oversized coat for his age and lead him to the train station. “Your aunt will pick you up there.”
Roy frowned again as he kicked a rock, his shoes squishing as he shifted his weight. The shivering couldn’t be stopped. It felt as even his bones were shaking. “Can I get a cocoa?” Roy wiped the snot from his cold nose with his hand.
The man still didn’t answer him, looking down the sidewalk.
The terminal was just behind him and Roy debated just going back into the warm building. There was no reason in his mind they couldn’t wait for his so-called aunt in there. As far as he was concerned, the man was just there to kill him with, literal and figuratively, coldness.
“I want my mom,” he whined.
His mother. His father. He’d take either one to pick him up and hold him. A quiet sniffle and another drip of snot slid from his red nose. It was sudden, unexplained to the child. In a moment he was taken by a woman and man to another house where he stayed until another man took him to the current man who seemed to hate him. It was too confusing. Even the funeral was too much to register. Plucked from his home, into a home, and now into the rain. “Mom,” he sniffled louder.
“Quiet,” the man ordered loudly. “Be a man for God sakes,” he growled.
But he was only five. Roy’s shoulders slumped and he looked at his feet again. The water rushed from his messy black hair, over his eyelashes, and down his cheeks. A stream fell steadily from his nose. He’d given up, sitting on the ground, curling into the ball he’d accustomed to, and crie. The tears mixed with the rain, running down his cheeks with the hope he’d given up on.
“Dear! What were you thinking?” A womanly voice demanded loudly against the rain.
Roy looked up as he heard a yell. It was probably towards him. From his mother and father’s loving hands, into the rough and careless. No one even kissed his bare cheek. At his young age, Roy was realizing the value in love was limited and subjective. Life was cruel. Guilt set in and he wondered what he ever did to deserve to be yelled at? Why was he being hauled so quickly to a rainy city? It wasn’t his fault that his parents left, or was it?
“You’re going to kill the lad! If he gets pneumonia, I’m coming after you!”
“Ma’am,” the man argued. “That’s not my job.”
“You’re job? You’re supposed to care for him until I can reach him! This is clearly not something you brutes are used to!” She was tall, heavy and wide, wearing a red jacket and a red hat. The coat hung down to her ankles where a pair of black heels met the chaperone's. Her umbrella was wide and a younger woman in a green dress stood next to her with her own umbrella. This woman was far skinnier with blonde hair pulled back. She leaned down, sheilding him from the rain. Her finger wiped his cheeks with white gloves. She was an angel. He watched with tired eyes as she took her gloves off. With the first gentle hands he’d felt in over a week, she pulled his up and put her gloves over his fingers. As the two adults to his side yelled, she wiped his face of the water with a soft hankey.
“There,” she whispered as she ran her hand through his hair. “You must be really cold, huh.”
Roy nodded slowly, feeling his joints tight and sore.
“I’ll have your head for this!”
“You can have the runt. He’s a fucking cry baby!” He looked up to see the large woman’s dark hair sway as she turned to him. “Roy-Boy. My God.” She looked pitifully upon him. The shivering was now of fear. She was almost as intimidating as the gentleman. “What did he do to you?”
The lad couldn’t answer. He only looked at the blonde lady and start crying again. He just wanted to go home.
“My poor boy,” the heavy woman wailed. “Come here.” She leaned down, picking up the mop of the boy and holding him to her chest. He sat there, crying with what energy his shivering form had left. He must have fallen asleep too because the next thing he noticed was shrill crying and a warm rush of air.
“Why is he so wet?
“This is Roy?”
“He’s so tiny!”
"He's only a child."
“Move aside, Ladies.” The larger woman ordered. “Marissa, please go get him some clean clothes.”
Roy watched as the thin blonde set his suitcase down and how the women around him hustled at the larger woman’s orders. What was he supposed to think of this house? It was already scary. The woman’s voice was deeper, unlike his mother’s, and she was demanding like the man at the office and the train. It was only going to be temporary, he determined.
Next to the fire, he was placed, two more hands rushing to undress him. He was too cold and too tired to fight them. All his body could produce was a quiet whimper. “Here you go,” a shorter brunette offered as his naked form was wrapped in a blanket. “You’re safe now.”
Safe? Was he? He felt safe. The five-woman surrounded him, warming the clean clothes over the woodstove. They were ones like he had at home. Dark blue pajamas with pants and a collared shirt.
“It’s a little big, but it will do,” another one insisted as they rubbed his head playfully with a small towel. One at a time his legs were helped into the warm bottoms. A hand guided his arms into the shirt while a third pair of hands did up the shirt. In the next second, the blanket was wrapped around him again. His body still shivered even with the warmth as the heat soothed his body.
“Don’t overwhelm him!” the large lady called as she returned.
Overwhelmed was an understatement.
“Clair, start some soup for Roy, and Ida, will you go get a big comforter for his bed?”
“Yes, Madam,” they agreed quickly before scurrying away.
The dark-haired lady sat on the ground next to him. He noticed right away that her dark eyes had a similarity to his fathers. They were gentle, red and puffy, as they looked at him lovingly. Her large hands grabbed his and he felt them warm his own. “Roy,” she sighed. “You look just like him.” A tear ran down her face. “I’m so very sorry, my lad. I’m sorry.”
He looked back to see another woman offer the bigger lady a hankey. But instead of using it herself, she wiped his own face. A surge of relief rushed over Roy. He wasn’t sure why, but it was the most love he’d felt and he never wanted to leave. He didn’t want to leave. More shivers, shakes and convulsions racked his body as his mouth opened in a cry. Tears flowed freely from his eyes again.
She must have known what he was worried about as her big arms surrounded him, holding him to her body. “You’re not going anywhere, Roy-Boy. You’re safe.” She was warm, comforting like the blanket he was wrapped in. “Aunt Chris is never letting you go. You’re safe.”
Her hands ran up and down his convulsing form, sniffling with him as she held his closely. “Aunt Chris?”
“Yes, Dear. I’m here.” She pulled him back to wipe his cheeks. She reached back to crap a warm cup, handing it gently to him. “Have some cocoa.”
He smiled up at her. He was safe. He was warming up. There was love, soft hands, gentle voices, and moreover, his Aunt. He’d never met her, but he knew she was safe. Her long nails and fingers ran through his messy wet hair before her lips pressed against his forehead. He looked down at the cocoa as he nodded slowly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“So am I,” she whispered back. “So am I.”