Evergreen’s Academy

 

He was a bright funny kid younger than I was, probably by 5 or 6 years.  We were too far apart in years at the time to be anything but acquaintances, but still, there was something about him that I liked.  Maybe it was his sense of humor.  No matter what shit got thrown his way, he’d make a joke of it, and on a planet where things get deadly serious on a daily basis, some comic relief is appreciated.

 

He was seven when he first came to the orphanage. The priest who ran the place was a tall thin man with strange red eyes, named Chapel the Evergreen, and he was so taken by the kid that he actually took out adoption papers.   He never did that for any of the other orphans and some of them were jealous.  The kid used to follow the priest around like a small shadow and tried to copy his mannerisms.  I don't remember who tagged him with the nickname Chapel Junior, but it stuck and for the longest time I didn't know he had another.

 

It didn't take me long to figure out that Evergreen's Orphanage was different.  Most of the ones I heard about, the only qualification you needed was dead parents. But Chapel the Evergreen wouldn't take in just any orphan or foundling.  He only selected children with special abilities, and when they were school aged, they attended a special academy that shared the orphanage grounds.  It was called Evergreen's Academy.

 

Academy of what, you might wonder if you saw us out on the weapon range or in the classroom learning how to kill.  We learned from professionals to kill quick and clean or ugly and dirty. We were students of murder and death.  The actual death of the targets was often less important than the way they died.  A particular gruesome death worked as a deterrent.  As one instructor put it, “You want to send a message to the living—don’t screw up-- you’ll get the same or worse.”

 

When I looked at some of my classmates, I thought to myself, what a freak show.  One of the strangest was a tall, skinny guy who wore a mask and rarely had a word for anyone, though he would answer if called on in class.  He was paralytically shy.  If you asked him for the time of day, he’d freeze in place, as if just by noticing him you’d blown his cover. His name was Caine.   I used to wonder what he was hiding under the mask.  I figured a bad case of acne or a face that only a mother could love. He was a hard guy to get to know and I wondered for weeks what his talent was.

 

There was only one girl at the academy and her name was Dominique.  She had beautiful long dark hair and I thought she was pretty. I don't know if she did or not.  She was blind in one eye and wore a patch over it.  I think she was sensitive about it.    I didn’t know all of her story, but even though I admired her from afar,  it didn't take me long to figure out  that she did not have a real high opinion of the male sex.  I can’t say I blame her.  I don’t either, but that’s just my personal experience, and I am male myself.  What she did have was some kind of mental power.  She could teleport and control some people with her mind.  Her classmates called her talent the demon's eye.    I don't know if I was immune to it or just lucky,  but she never used it on me, maybe because I am gifted too.

 

My name is Midvalley, though some call me Hornfreak or Player and I play the saxophone.  I gave my sax a name and I call her Sylvia.  She and I share a special bond and together we can do things with that no ordinary player can.    Somehow, and I don’t even know how I do, I am able to generate sonic waves with my horn that can blow up buildings, cause dust storms--- and kill.  You  might wonder how a sensitive musician like myself could become a stone killer.  I’ve heard psionic power sometimes develops in children who have had something bad happen to them. I fit the profile. Chapel the Evergreen was happy to recruit me. 

 

If there was anyone who really stood out in the academy, it was Legato Bluesummers.  I don’t think I have ever seen anyone, man or woman, who was as beautiful as he was. His body was lithe and strong., his face was completely arresting with  finely cut features, exotic golden eyes that were usually draped by the bangs of his indigo hair.  His voice was velvet dipped in honey.  As attractive as Dominique was, it was Legato's face that haunted my dreams, but I felt that his psychic abilities were so far above and beyond mine, I stood in awe of him.  I know I wasn't the only one. He seemed to be able to enter our thoughts at will.   It embarrassed me when he invaded my privacy..  I couldn’t imagine what kind of childhood he suffered through.

 

There were also many students, with no special standout talents, the ones who paid the bills for the rest of us, as Dominique used to say with her usual dead-on sarcasm. These were the children of political officials—mayors, police chiefs who thought it might be advantageous to get in good with Chapel the Evergreen and by extension with the Evergreen’s boss, a mysterious person named Knives Millions.  Despite the fact that Master Millions is crippled, he is by far the most powerful man on the planet.  He outright owns a lot of it and what he doesn’t own, he influences.  He influenced a lot of mayors and they sent their sons to Evergreen's Academy to learn to work for Knives.

 

The son of the mayor of Epril Town was a guy in his mid-teens named Lou Mazarov He didn’t have a lot of social graces, but he sure had a talent for fucking up shit.  It seems every organization benefits from having some strong-arm thugs.   That was the part that Mazaroff was being groomed to play.

 

Into this un-level playing field stumbles the new kid.  Little Chapel Junior.  He’s cute.  He’s funny.  Believe when I say that this was one adorable kid.  He looked and acted normal which in the collection of psionic freaks made him standout.   I wondered what his talent was. I found out when  I acted as his score keeper on his first day out at the weapon range.  It blew my mind how good he was with a handgun or rifle—a natural, I guess.  Some kind of hand-eye coordination thing.  He shoots, he scores.

 

Chapel Jr. was the youngest person at the academy.  Three years later, Legato had left the school to become Knives Millions right-hand man.   As for me, I was still learning a lot about the jobs I would carry out for Master Knives.   Killing is easy.  But killing professionally and learning to survive the job, that is a lot harder.  Our teachers were professional hitmen.  They briefed us on the mistakes and problems with their missions so that we could avoid the same pitfalls. We learned how to stalk our targets and plan our hits.  Planning was very important.   Marksmanship, too was a good part of what we did as  it made the job so much easier and that's where Chapel Junior shined.

 

Mazarov, on the other hand, sucked at it.  He was already jealous of Chapel Junior and the Evergreen didn’t make things any easier by comparing the two.   I was at the range one day and saw the tall priest ragging Mazarov mercilessly. 

 

“Doesn’t it embarrass you that a ten year old can shoot rings around you?  You’ve been here six years and you’re still jerking the trigger.  You don’t aim.  You’re a waste of ammunition.  You don’t think before you act.  I’ll be talking with your father today.  Keep screwing up, I'll kick you out and he can deal with you.”

 

Now Mazarov  may have been lousy at planning and shooting but he was also one very brutal guy with a gang of 4 of bullies to back him up, all just as brutal as he is.  The gang would hang out together and egg each other on to do some crazy things.   Mostly they talked big, but sometimes they would get drunk and fuck up the shit of whoever was pissing them off, a kid who looked at them funny, a girl who wouldn’t put out, drunks and drifters.  They used to shake down old ladies for their grocery money then spend it on liquor.  They put people in hospitals.

 

I never had to take any crap from them.  I've taken enough over the years  that I've learned to handle myself in a fight.   But I could see that Mazarov would love nothing more than to get hold of Chapel Junior and beat him within an inch of his life or worse, just to get back at Evergreen.   And I was thinking that the only thing  keeping Chapel Junior from getting the ass-kicking of his life is the fact that his daddy is Chapel the Evergreen, a dangerous man who knows more about killing than Mazarov can even imagine and the one man who can keep him from graduating.

 

But amazingly, enough, Mazarov finally passed all his courses and  his final exam was an intimidation job so bloody it made the front page of the daily news.

 

 I graduated too with some distinction  though the hit I carried out was only an item on the police blotter as a missing persons case.

 

Every year  the academy rewards the graduates with an all-day celebration that includes a picnic, a quick-draw tournament, some sharp-shooting contests and combat exhibitions followed by a dance.  The four- piece band I play with was going to provide the music.

 

The contests were nothing lethal.  The ammo for the quick draw was paint balls and rubber bullets.  Evergreen would have thought it a poor economy to put so much effort into training and then damage the graduates just as they were starting out.

 

Chapel Junior was on fire that day, destroying the competition.  He seemed to have no nerves and could not be intimidated.   It was embarrassing how good he was, this little squirt of a ten-year old without a mark on him and his much older opponents all splattered with paint.  Dominique didn’t take part in the contest. She might have won if she used her psi power.  As for me, I didn’t want to get my new suit dirty. By the time the gunsmoke cleared, Chapel was the clear winner.

 

Caine gave a special exhibition that day. At three PM we were all supposed to watch  a beer bottle that was set up on a small pedestal.  At three PM sharp it exploded into shards.  Everyone was wondering where Caine was.  Turns out he had shot the thing from 3 iles away.  Now that’s a talent.

 

Quite a bit of liquor was flowing that day.  Even Evergreen was partaking.  I had a few beers, but  didn’t want to get wasted because I was looking forward to playing with my band.  I saw Mazarov surrounded by his cronies.  They seemed in rowdy good moods, chugging, practically bathing in beer.

 

Chapel Junior was running around in his shorts and T-shirt showing everyone the prizes he won. He came up to me, kind of happy, shy, and a little embarrassed.  “Look, Midvalley.”

 

He held up a fancy silk gold ribbon with some writing on it-- #1 Sharpshooter, and tipped the plaque he'd won so I could see the writing.

 

 "Nicholas D. Wolfwood.  Quick Draw—First Place," I said as I read the inscription aloud. "I didn't know that was your name."

 

He nodded and blushed.  "You can keep calling me Chapel, though.  Everybody does."

 

"Well, congratulations, Chapel.  You really are a great shot."

 

 “Maybe my dad will finally be proud of me,” he said. 

 

“I'm sure he will be."

 

“Thanks, Midvalley.”  He smiled and ran off again.  Nicholas D. Wolfwood.  The name suited him.

 

I picked up my sax at my student apartment and . On the way  to the bandstand I ran into the Evergreen, but I don't think he registered who I was.  His red eyes were glazed over.  I had never seen him drunk before.

 

I also passed by Mazarov and his crowd.  He had gotten more than a little wasted and was slapping one of his gang around.  “Get more beer, ya dummy,” he slurred, "and fuckin’ hurry up about it or I will kick your fuckin’ ass, dummy!”

 

My band mates were already setting up at the bandstand.  Bob was tuning his guitars, both the electric and acoustic while Randy was checked the amp for his bass.  Lenny, the percussionist and a close friend of mine, shook a new pair of maracas energetically.  “Whaddaya think, Middie?” he asked me.

 

“I like it a lot.  It would be perfect for that Calypso swing number."

 

“That’s what I was thinking!”

 

“Great minds…”

 

I love this band.  When people ask about us, I usually say, what we lack in skill we make up for in volume, but that’s selling us short I think.  We’ve been practicing together for a couple of years, and if I do say so myself, we’re pretty good.

 

By the second sundown a nice crowd had collected on the grounds around the bandstand. There were lots of pretty girls from the businesses, shops and bars in Epril town..  Our band's posters had been up for a month.  There must have been a couple of hundred people there.  Besides the students and staff at the academy and the girls, there were farmers, clerks, and salesmen.  The dance floor was decent.

 

My band started out with a few hard fast loud songs—Shout my Name, Trigger Happy and Quicksand, just to get the audience's attention, and we did.   When the dancers tired and we needed a breather too, we played Kiss me Stupid, a slow number with a heavy  bass line and a growly sax solo that had the couples grinding crotches as they danced.  We followed up in quick succession with—Under the Weather, Five Moons Waltz, then a silly novelty number—the Poke Her Polka.  We closed out the set with a  piece I composed that I’m very proud of, called “Silvia’s Tune”.

 

  When I saw Dominique dancing with Caine on that one, you could have knocked me over I was so surprised, because the music is very romantic and romance is not a word that I would ever associate with Caine.  I was even more surprised when they kissed.  How was that even possible through a mask?   I mean, the guy had no lips.  I had to shake my head. Maybe I was just a bit jealous.

 

Around 9:30 that night I saw young Chapel again. He was swinging and swaying in time with the band and smiling as if this was the best music of the best day ever.  Somewhere around 10, Mazarov and his gang melted away, much to the relief of the ladies present.  The music wound down around 11:30 and by midnight, my sax was packed in its case and I was ready to call it a night.  I said good-bye to the  band and  turned down a breakfast invitation from Lenny because I had had a long day and I wanted some time alone.

 

It was a beautiful evening.  The days in a desert are hot as hell, but at night the temperature cools and the breezes are refreshing.  Three moons were out, two nearly full.  I was still feeling high from the music we made that night.  As I walked down a path in the park where the picnic had taken place, I caught a shadowy glimpse of something rounded and white on the ground in the distance.  It seemed to be moving just a little.  I had to laugh to myself.  It looked like a naked butt.  Then I heard a moan and grinned.  Maybe my saxophone playing had inspired a little late night midsummer sex.  Well, hey, I’m only human, so I sneaked up closer to get a better view of the action.

 

But the moaning stopped and the butt I saw was hardly moving, much to my disappointment. Then some clouds moved across the moons and it got so dark I could hardly see.  I could only make out one

form lying on the ground.  So now I was guessing I wasn't looking at a couple screwing, but at some drunk who went out looking for action but passed out before he could seal the deal.

 

Much as I hate dealing with drunks, I decided to check to see if he was all right.  I always hope that someone would do the same for me.  So I ambled closer if a little reluctantly and then realized the guy was throwing up.  I could see his shoulders working and the smell hit me.  "Oh this is nice," I said sarcastically, as I fought my gag reflex and began to rethink the Good Samaritan scenario.  But I was still feeling so mellow from the music, I decided to help out anyway.

 

"Can’t let him drown in his own vomit.," I said to myself.

 

The cloud cover lifted.  The fourth moon had risen and it was so bright I could have read a newspaper by the light.

 

But what I was looking at was all wrong and suddenly I felt sick and queasy and it wasn't the gag reflex.

 

I was looking at Chapel Junior naked from the waist down, his T-shirt in shreds.  He was making little moaning sounds while blood leaked from his rectum.  It hurt too much to look at him, so I looked  away and saw the fancy ribbon he was so proud of, ripped and stained with pee and shit.  His plaque was smashed.  I put two and two together and figured he was in this shape because of Mazarov.  I looked back at the kid and I was sick inside.  He had bruises on his back like someone kicked his ribs.  I was half-afraid to touch him as though he would break if I did.  He had the come of five guys all over his back and ass.  I didn'’t know what to do or what I could possibly say, but I asked him as kindly as I could thinking to myself how dumb can you get,  “Chapel, are you all right?”

 

“Midvalley,” he said in a wobbly voice that tore my heart up, “It hurts.  I’m so cold.”

 

I took off my jacket and it occurred to me to tell him what I was going to do.  “I’m going to wrap you up in so you’ll feel a little warmer."

 

  I turned him over.  He had come in his hair and eyelashes, on his chest and shirt and more bruises near his ribs.  “Oh, god, Nick,” somehow the name just slipped out of my lips,” I need to take you to a hospital.”

 

“No! Please, Midvalley.  I don’t want anyone to know.  If anyone finds out---oh god---I couldn’---I couldn’t…..” 

 

He didn’t need to finish the thought for me.  I knew he was thinking he’d rather kill himself than live with the shame of what just happened to him.  But I also knew that somehow he trusted me to keep his secret safe.

 

“Please, Midvalley, take me home with you.  Just for tonight.” He was trying to be so brave, holding back the tears, but his voice trembled with the effort.

 

I didn’t think about it much.  I said “Okay," picked him up and hefted  him over my right shoulder.  He was a little heavy but not bad.  It was only about a quarter ile to my apartment, and it was no problem to carry my sax too.  I made the trip in less than 5 minutes.

 

When I got to my room, I didn’t know what to do for him first, but he moaned again and he was starting to shiver.  “It hurts so bad.  I’m so cold, Midvalley.”

 

I put him under the covers of my bed and got another blanket.  He rolled over to face the wall.  From the stiff tight way he held his back, I could tell he was hurting.  I turned off the overhead lamp and the light from three moons fell through the window and painted shadows on the wall of my bedroom.

 

“Rest now,” I whispered.  “Just rest.”  I touched his back softly.

 

He didn’t say anything.  I could see his shoulders shaking a little.  I knew he was crying though he didn’t make a sound.

 

I went into the bathroom to get a glass of water and some pills for the pain.   I filled a basin with hot water and got a washcloth.  I turned on the lamp by my bed and sat on a chair facing Chapel.  His face froze when he saw mine as if he could stop the tears in their tracks.

 

He was a tough kid and probably ashamed to be caught crying, so I acted like I hadn't seen them.  I wet the cloth and wiped the gunk off from his lashes and his face as gently as I could, saying whatever I thought might ease the situation.  I told him I had some pills for the pain. 

 

“Just swallow them, Chapel,” I said.

 

He got a look on his face like a cornered animal when I said that, and moaned almost desperately.  Then he started to talk so soft and fast I couldn’t catch all the words…

 

“Swallow?” he said fiercely. “Swallow?  They did things…..I couldn’t stop them….. oh god, they held me…..couldn’t breathe….. so ashamed…..took turns…..all laughing..…and….. Mazarov…..had knife..… kicking me…..they…..they..…did things.   Midvalley, I couldn’t stop them…..just lay there like nothing…..while…..and then…..” he let out a high pitched sob at the memory, “ Midvalley,”his voice was almost pleading,  “it hurt so bad…like being torn up inside and I just …..lay there and took it.  I’m nothing now. I feel so dirty, Midvalley.  I just want to get clean again.  I just want to get clean.”  He started crying then and he couldn’t stop.  I got him a handkerchief. It hurt to see him in so much pain.

 

“I’ll run a bath," I said and left the room.  In a few minutes I came back and set a bathrobe on the bed for him, then left again to give him some privacy and to find him a towel, soap and washcloth..  When I came out he was wrapped up in the robe that was way too big for him and he was making his way across the floor with a hitching step and an expression of pure agony on his young face.  When he got to the door I asked him, “You’re not going to kill yourself, are you, Chapel?”

 

He stopped for a full beat, then shook his head.  He closed the door.  I heard him throwing up again and again.  When that stopped I could hear him crying. 

 

He must have stayed in the tub for a long time because when he came out his fingers were wrinkled, but he was walking better and he had stopped crying.   I remember thinking that he looked like a sad, beautiful angel.  He swallowed the pills on the bedside table and looked at me.  The happy-go-lucky kid I had seen at the bandstand was gone.   The boy in front of me was light years older now with a deep and personal knowledge of just how bad life can get.  He started to shiver, his teeth were chattering.

 

I touched his hand.  It was ice cold.  He must have stayed soaking long after the warmth had left the water.  I led him to the bed.  “Get under the covers, Chapel.  You’re freezing.”

 

He did what I said and lay there, shivering.  I sat down beside him on the bed and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Look, Chapel, I doubt that it will make you feel any better, but I know what you’re going through.  What happened to you tonight happened to me a few years ago.”

 

Chapel’s eyes filled with tears again at this fresh reminder of his ordeal, but he fought to master them.

 

“Did you get even, Midvalley?” he asked me.

 

“Yeah, I got even,” I said with a grin. “Equal measures of pain and humiliation."

 

"I'll make them pay some day," the boy said with a grim tone.

 

 "You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you, Chapel?”

 

“I’ll do what I have to.”

 

“You want to know what I think, Chapel?”

 

He looked at me from the bed and nodded.

 

“School is out for the summer.  Mazarov and his gang are gone.  They won’t be bragging about what they did because they would never want your dad to find out.  Your dad was so drunk last night, he won’t have a clue about what happened to you.  No one knows but me and I’m not telling.  If you want to keep this a secret, it is safe with me.”

 

“I wish I could stay to help you deal with this, but I am moving on to assignments tomorrow.  What happened to you is hard, I know, but when I’m gone you won’t have anyone to talk to about it.  So, I want to let you know what I know.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t want you to let this eat away at you.  I don’t want you to lose your smile or your sense of humor over this.  The worst thing you can do is to let what they did affect you.  If it does then it means they won.  Don’t let them win, Chapel.”

 

Then Chapel said the damnedest thing.

 

“Midvalley, everybody says that you’re as queer as a $$3 bill.  How can you stand to do it like that when it hurts so bad.  Did you want me to pay you back for what you did for me like that?  I don’t think I can.”

 

I know I blushed when he said that and then I just burst out laughing, it just struck me so funny.

 

“Chapel, I don’t expect any payback.  I'm helping you because someone helped me.  I know what you’re going through.  Don’t worry.  I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

“You’re a good man, Midvalley,” he said.

 

 “No, I’m not, but thanks for the thought. Try to sleep for a while."

 

He  was so exhausted from his ordeal that he finally did drop off.

 

"God, that poor kid." I thought as I watched over him. "He's so young to go through something like that." 

 

When memories of my own experiences came rushing back and threatened to overwhelm me, I took my sax from the case and cradled it in my hands. 

 

"Help me, Silvia.  Help me through this," I whispered and softly played to keep the thoughts at bay.

 

In a couple of hours, I found myself looking out the window at the sky.  The moons were setting and the stars  were flickering out.

 

If Chapel didn't get home soon, the Evergreen might start to wonder where he was.

 

I turned from the window and saw the boy looking at me.

 

"It’s almost dawn.  Do you want to go back home now?” I asked him.

 

He nodded his head., so I got him a T-shirt, some cut-off sweat pants, a pair of flip-flops and then went into the kitchen while he dressed.   He came to the doorway while I was brewing a pot of coffee and pulling some donuts out of a bakery box . The clothes were way too big on him, but they were clean

 

“Do you want some breakfast?” I asked him.

 

“Yes, please,” he said, and joined me at the table, wincing in pain as he sat down.  When the coffee was ready, I poured two cups and set one in front of him.

 

"There's cream and sugar," I said, as I poured a dollop of cream in my cup.

 

“Thanks,” he said, "but I take mine black."

 

  He dunked his donut into the coffee, took a bite and said, “This is really good.”

 

I smiled a little at that, happy that he could still take pleasure in things after what had happened to him the night before.  

 

In a few minutes he was done.

 

“I owe you a big one, Midvalley.  I won’t forget it.  I mean this.  I will pay you back some day.”

 

“I believe you, Chapel.  But just remember what I said.  Don't let them win, and for God's sake, take care of yourself.  No one else will.”

 

He nodded and left.  I thought about him more than a few times that day while I was packing my bags, but after I met up with Leonof and he handed me my first briefing packet, I completely forgot about the kid.

 

 

To be continued