Being an account of the events of
23 November 1990 London, England
Earth 42.13/Apple.Sigma 3
Family can have many meanings. Even a phrase as definitive as 'blood is thicker than water' is subject to some debate. The traditional belief is that it means genetic relations are more important than chosen one. Tracking down the origin of the phrase, however, opens up a war of conflicting accounts citing everything from Scottish idioms to Arabic scripture to American newspapers. While linguists and pedants tussle over this, the rest of us might recognize the important take away: Humans are contrary, human language doubly so.
The reader should not be surprised that Alex and Colin are indeed family and that they were tied by something that makes blood look about as thick as helium: They were bound by a story, and that story began at Ms. Grott's Home for Abandoned and Unwanted Children.
As the name of the institution suggests, the events that follow include a great number of terrible things happening to children. At risk of stepping on Snicket's shoes: If depictions of children being struck, verbally abused, and/or temporarily dying in a fire are amongst your triggers, you are advised to skip this chapter. Abandon this terminated timeline a few hundred words early and take the title "The Unburning of Alexandria" as solely a reference to the library. For something to be unburnt, it must first burn.
Waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of children crying was more than common. It was expected. On this night, the sobs which woke young Alex were interlaced with other children's jeers. She slipped out of bed, ensured her cache of books was well hidden, and slipped out the door and down the stairs to the source of the dreadful sounds: the boy's dormitory.
This is what she saw: Two larger boys were beating the smallest and most recent addition to the orphanage while two other children feigned sleep with all the acting chops one might expect from five-year olds. It was a tableau in which Ms. Grott wouldn't intervene in a thousand years. If the children wasted energy fighting each other, they'd have less energy to struggle against the monstrous woman's violence.
Alex stomped into the room. "Hey! You! Leave 'im alone."
One of the bullies, an impressively square child, turned to face her. "What are you going to do about it?” he growled "'Sides, no girls in the boy's dormitories."
As it turns out, what Alex would do about it was a mean right hook to the bully's face.
Unfortunately, the other bully took advantage of her momentum to push her to the floor. "Why you trying to help this one anyway. Before my dad left, he said Orientals like him got no place in England."
It should be no surprise that the circumstances of his father's departure included sixteen counts of hate speech, three counts of indecent exposure, two counts of larceny, and one count of operating a fruit stand without a license. This was a resume the poultry-like child is destined to make look like exemplary citizenship. Alex kicking him between the legs with such force was simply proactive karma.
The first bully rubbed the bruise on his face. "You can't call 'em Orientals. It's not polit-cally correct or somthin'" This child had no such criminal career ahead, instead destined to become an acclaimed pastry chef. It was almost a shame the impact of Alex's punch had caused him to bite a sliver of his tongue off. He would never fully appreciate his own award-winning croissants.
Regardless, their victim had recovered enough to give the poultry a punctuating kick. "I'm from Oxford, you asshole."
“No swearing!” A rickety voice snapped. It was Ms. Grott.
The old woman, more wrinkle and hate than skin and bone, turned to the bullies. “You two get back into yer fecking beds. You!” She looked at the young, victimized Colin. “You spout words like that out yer mouth, you ain’t getting anything to put in it. No breakfast or supper for you tomorrow.”
Finally, she turned her beady eyes to Alex. “And you, you little bitch, not only up past curfew, but in a boys’ room? Well—”
Alex cut her off. “Well you certainly weren’t going to stop them. Just sending those two back to bed while starving their—”
Smack.
Ms. Grott followed her slap up with practically throwing Alex out of the bedroom to the opposite side of the hallway. “Bed. Now.”
~~~
The sun had risen and crass screeches of “Wake up, you little shits”, “stop dreaming, nobody loves you” and “out of bed you lazy swine, no wonder your parents didn’t want you” echoed through the halls as twenty two children were corralled into a crowded dining room.
The remaining two children were briefly allowed in as well before Ms. Grott literally kicked them out so as to make an example. Each independently finding their way to the library.
The word ‘library’ calls to mind shelves and shelves of books on a plethora of subjects. It calls to mind comfy chairs and a peaceful silence in which to read. If one is blessed with a particularly good library, it might even call to mind free hot cocoa.
This library consisted of a bookshelf made from two planks of wood and some cinder blocks, a moldy carpet, and six books. A Christian Bible, one volume of an outdated encyclopedia, The collected works of Sylvia Plath, and three copies of Oliver Twist.
Colin sat reading the encyclopedia when Alex poked him. “Hey.” She said. “You’re new. What’s your name?”
“Colin” the boy said without looking up from the entry on Phlogiston. “Thanks for standing up for me last night.”
Alex tilted her head and sat down next to Colin. “Even if it means no food today?”
“You get used to it.” Alex sighed. It was a lie, but this kid was dealing with enough already.
"No choice, I suppose. I hear no one's ever been adopted from here.” Colin said, doing an amazing job holding back the tears. If Alex hadn't gone through it herself, she'd think he was handling this well; In reality there's only so much crying you can do in this sort of situation before shock and numbness levy your tear ducts.
“I haven’t seen it happen.” Alex said. How many other orphanages were there that no one ever resorted to visiting Ms. Grott’s? Did no one ever look at the dreadful name and decide the children must be saved from such an abysmal place?
“And I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen the library get new books either?” Colin looked over at the paltry selection.
Alex leaned into whisper “No, but I’ve got some more hidden under my bed, maybe I can sneak ‘em to you.”
“What kind?”
“Science fiction, mostly. Some fantasy.” Alex admitted “I like the Young Wizards books. Oh! And last month I sort of…snuck out and stole a new one called Good Omens. It’s really funny. Wish I was the Antichrist.” At the age of six, it was admittedly a gamble assuming the boy’s reading level was as infeasibly high as hers.
Books are one of the most powerful things you can give a child, so it is no surprise Ms. Grott did all she could to keep most away from her charges. Books granted knowledge; knowledge was power, and Ms. Grott wanted the children powerless. Books offer escape from the real world an Ms. Grott definitely wanted there to be no escape.
Speaking of escape, Colin seemed confused: ““Wait, if you snuck out, why’d you come back.”
“All my books are here. Can’t bring ‘em with ‘because they slow me down. I’m working on a plan though. Gonna get out of here real soon” She wasn’t wrong.
Escape really was the only way out, wasn’t it? At no point in the last two years, or since the dawn of time for that matter, had anyone knocked on that front door looking for a child. Alex wasn’t even sure if Ms. Grott advertised. Did this place even have a license?
It was then that there was a knock on the front door.
The library was conveniently located so that the children could peer out a window and have a clear view of the front steps. At the front door stood a woman who appeared to be somewhere in her thirties. She had dark skin and darker hair, which was cut into a bob. A black blouse, charcoal slacks, and an ankle length silver-grey coat may sound subdued, perhaps severe, but somehow, she wore it all with a flippant casualness. She tapped a sneakered shoe and waited for someone to answer the door.
It would be a safe bet that Ms. Grott would’ve preferred to leave the door unanswered. She would've very much liked for the visitor to wait, and waste precious minutes of their life before realizing no one was going to greet them. After all, Ms. Grott loved sowing despondence every way she could.
As such it can only be speculated what drove her to open the front door, look the young woman in the eyes and say, “What do you want.” These were less words strung together into a question and more an angry bark, a warning to stay away.
The woman gave the sort of polite smile that could only mean she’d caught the threatening subtext and pointedly, actively, did not care.
“Morning. My name is Lucille” the woman said. This was not a lie. “I’m an inspector for the Board of Certified Child Care Facilities” This was a lie.
“Are you?” Ms. Grott sneered “and what business could you possibly have here.”
“Well, an orphanage is a facility where children are cared for, and you’ve been due for an inspection several years now.” Lucille said “May I come in?
Ms. Grott paused for a moment. “Certainly. Let me just get the chain.” She closed the door (which, it should be noted, had no chain) “oh hang on it seems to be stuck.”
Ms. Grott was throwing her voice now. She had actually scurried away from the door and over to the library. Before either child could protest, the had covered both Alex and Colin mouths. “You troublemakers will not ruin this for me”
As the children struggled, she whisked them down to the basement and in an instance of overly conspicuous foreshadowing, locked them in a wardrobe.
Liabilities dealt with, Grott rushed back upstairs. The children could just hear her spout an excuse about having to get a spanner to finagle the door open.
The children were stunned at how quickly the whole extradition had occurred. How could an old woman move that fast? It was a good question and it probably had a good answer.
Anyway. The dark, damp inside of the wardrobe smelled like rot and sweat.
“I don’t think we’re the first kids she’s locked in here” Colin said.
“Probably not, no.” Alex was inspecting the door, building a scheme for escape.
“Do you think she’ll ever let us out?” Colin was looking around certain he’d find the skull of a previous prisoner.
Noise was building above them. Some kind of panic. Screams as children fled, the crackling then roaring of flame, an unearthly wail.
“Help!” Colin shouted, but the unearthly wails and the rising sound of crackling flames drowned it out.
“Hello?!” Alex called out. Still, the children voices were nothing to the other noises. She began to kick at the door. She turned to Colin “well come on then, help me.” Colin gulped and looked at the girl who seemed, bafflingly, to want to be his friend. Well, if the alternative is dying in a fire…
Colin began pounding on the door. Between the two children, the door started to budge. Through the crack, they could see the lock, but it was well above their heads.
“Lift me up, I think I can pick it!” Alex said
“What? From the inside? Besides you’re wearing a dress. It’s not decent,” Colin stammered, switching his gaze back and forth between the lock and Alex.
“Dying in a fire isn’t decent either. Now help me up!” Alex shouted. Colin shrugged and did as he was told. “Wearing a dress”, Alex grumbled. “I swear if I make it out of here, I’m never wearing a bloody dress again.” She pulled her hair clip off and bent the clasp with impressive dexterity.
Colin couldn’t see quite what Alex had done, but after a few tries, the door swung the rest of the way open, the brutalized lock lying on the floor.
“Come on!” Alex shouted pulling Colin from the wardrobe. The flames spreading through the house were unnatural, taking strange hues and spreading more like cracks in glass than fire in a wooden building.
They made it up to the main floor with only minor singes. It was then that Alex began heading away from the front door.
“What are you doing?” Colin tried pulling Alex back the other way “We need to get out of here!”
“I told you before!” Alex tugged back “I’m not leaving my books behind!”
“They’re probably already up in flames!” Colin’s pleas went unheard, Alex had broken free of his grip and rushed up the stairs, barely registering the fire.
Colin wasn’t about to leave his new friend but rushing into the fire was a patently terrible idea. Out on the street he could hear Lucille trying to calm the other children, so he rushed to exit.
Outside, Lucille was leading the still panicked children away from the conflagration. Colin ran up behind her and tugged at the sleeve of her coat. “Miss, Miss! Please, my friends still in there, please help!”
Lucille looked down at Colin, surprised “Where did—” She turned to the other children. “You all told me this was everyone” she accused.
Murmurs amongst the orphans indicated most hadn’t noticed Colin and Alex were missing. Others had believed a certain poultry-like child when he said those two had run ahead.
“It’s alright,” Lucille reassured Colin “I’ll save them. Just the one, yeah?”
Colin nodded “she said she was going up to the dormitories to save her books”
Lucille looked at the building. Took one calming breath and sprinted back inside. “Hello?!” she called.
“Up here!” Alex called back. “Don’t worry miss, I’m on my way down!”
Lucille looked up the stairwell. There she could see a little girl lugging an impressive bundle of books. “Let me help you with those!” she dodged flames upward toward Alex and supported Alex with one hand, the book bundle with the other. “We need to hurry. The house is losing stability.”
“You don’t need to tell me!” Alex said, managing to pick up the pace under the lightened load. They’d made it down the stairs. The flames were spreading, almost impossible to avoid now.
Lucille hefted the books and threw them out the door. “There. your books are safe now. Now how about we save ourselves, if this house loses enough stabili—”
The thing about a plan going wrong is that up until it does, things can seem to be going swimmingly. Lucille’s plan had been to kill an alien beast masquerading as a human and save the children trapped in its web.
Even after the complication of needing to run back in to save one last child, she’d gotten down the steps, close enough to the door to throw the excess weight of a small library to safety. Nothing to slow her and Alex down as they made their escape.
But the unnatural fire had spread, and the house was already beyond unstable. Perhaps it was because the house held some echo of Ms. Grott’s spite. Maybe Alex’s psychic signature was already powerful enough to distort the paracausal flames. In all likelihood it was just bad luck.
Whatever the reason, a flaming rafter fell on top of Alex, killing her instantly.
Time seemed to freeze; it was as if it knew there wasn’t a point in moving forward anymore because Time knew Lucille. She was just going to wind it back anyway.
In that frozen moment, Lucille felt anger, despondence, horror, everything a human would feel watching a child die right in front of them. Then, those emotions morphed into silent, serene determination.
Lucille looked to the door. She could stop this from happening. All she had to do was step through that door. not out on to the street, but back into the past. Just as Time might’ve suspected: She would save everyone even if it killed her.
Then, time freezing wasn’t just a metaphor or matter of perception. Through the fiery existential interference, Lucille’s psionic field linked with the front door. The connection shot pain through all her atoms, a reminder from the universe that this would be cheating.
Lucille had been playing the game a very, very long time. She knew the penalty for cheating and she pointedly, actively, did not care.