Cedric, Age Twelve - 1 of 2

I always thought Paris a filthy place. One, because the sewers were too close to the city; two, because vermin were abundant; three, the people weren't as friendly; and most importantly, four, the peasants were eager to start riots and set flames to all the aristocrats. Such were the times of the French Revolution, I suppose.

The other cities of France, however, were much cleaner. The people were definitely more courteous and had such finer moral qualities. But...

Exceptions were always found.

I had been listening to the child's screams for nearly an hour, and with each new cry of pain I sunk lower into the ground. I had been sitting outside the house for such a long while, waiting for something, at least. But no one cared. No one ever cared. They would hear the wails and speculate, but not investigate, not question, except proceed on with their own lives.

And what was worse, this screaming, this torture, was a common occurrence. I had heard so among the passerby's, muttering to their companions how it was always worse when the father was drunk. The boy would grow up wrong, they would say.

Wrong, I gritted my teeth together, I'll give them wrong.

It was another half-an-hour before the screams stopped. But I knew the ordeal inside wasn't over yet. It was simply a short break in which the father would resume from where he had left off in only a few hours. He was sobering up, and had to let his boy go for a while.

Quietly, I stood up and opened the gate, letting myself inside. I ran to the side of the house, avoiding the windows, looking up for a good window. I just wanted to see... nothing more...

I climbed up the drain pipe and peered in the second-storey window, and my stomach churned at the sight. The poor kid was in his room, curled up on his bed and bawling his eyes out, his skin fixed with purplish bruises. I couldn't just leave him...

I sighed and opened the window quietly, and very slowly. I didn't want to startle him. Carefully, I sat down next to him on the bed, and cleared my throat, "Cedric?"

One eye opened and stared straight back into my own. I blinked but before I could think, his head was buried in my chest, both arms wrapped around my neck.

I bit on my lip, not sure where I was supposed to put my arms. Instead, I put them around Cedric's tiny body and held him close.

Someone had to care.

"Monsieur?" he whispered very quietly.

"Yes Cedric?"

He took his damp face away from my chest and gazed up to me sadly, "Are you going to leave me?"

"No," I shook my head, "No Cedric, I'm not."

"Please don't let me stay here."

I sighed, "I'm sorry, but this is your home."

He shook his head, "Please, Monsieur."

I glanced into his wide eyes; scared, young, pleading. It was always hard to say no to a child. I let him go and stood up, walking over to Cedric's open window, "Come on kid."

His face lit up and he ran up to me, tugging on the end of my jacket. I closed my eyes for a second, slightly irritated, but picked up Cedric and put him on my back. He locked his arms around my neck tightly and I gulped, my Adam's apple constricted from Cedric's arms. I climbed out the window and in a few swift moves, got down to the ground easily by the drain pipe, before prying Cedric's hands from my throat and placing him on the ground. He grinned sheepishly at me, wiping his damp face with the end of his sleeves.

I gave him a small half-hearted smile, "Let's go get you something to eat, alright?"

He nodded and grabbed my hand quickly as I started down the street. I glanced down curiously to Cedric clutching my hand as if his life depended on it. It was strange, how he always wanted to hold some part of me. Generally it was my coat or hand, and sometimes my trouser leg, since he didn't have the height to reach up beyond my waist.

I stopped outside a small bakery, "Here fine for food, kid?"

"Yes, Monsieur," he said eagerly, running inside. I shook my head but shrugged, walking in after him.

"Morning, what can I get for you, sir?" the woman behind the counter asked, glancing down to Cedric who was staring hungrily at the pastries behind the glass.

"Cedric, tell the lady what you want," I said kindly.

"Um," he gazed at the food, "Could I please have a croissant?" I noticed he was staring at two things at once, and I smiled.

"You can have another if you wish."

He grinned gleefully at me and asked for an éclair, to which the plump woman nodded and picked out the two things, placing them in a paper bag. She leaned over the counter and handed it to Cedric who stood on his toes to reach up, "Thank you."

"That'll be six francs," she said.

I took out the number of coins and counted them, and was about to give the coins to her when Cedric tugged on my coat, "I want to give her the money," he said quietly.

I frowned but gave him the coins, to which he then gave to her. The woman smiled and patted Cedric's head gingerly, taking the money from him, to which he smiled, embarrassed, then quickly turned and headed to the door.

"He yours?" she asked me.

"M-mine? Oh no... no – I'm just a family friend," I gulped.

"He's sweet," she noted, "I'm sure his father is very proud to have a son like him."

I blinked, "Oh yes... very proud..."

"Monsieur!" Cedric called out, waiting at the door impatiently.

"Good day, Madam," I tipped my hat to the woman and departed, Cedric skipping beside me with his small bag of goods. I took him to a small park, sitting down on the park bench next to him, where he began eating quietly.

"You want any, Monsieur?"

I shook my head, "No, it's yours."

"I don't mind, you can have some if you want," he held a bit of pastry out for me, but I shook my head.

"No really, I insist," I urged, pushing his hand away.

He sighed and began eating again.

There had always been speculation as to why the dead couldn't eat food, but we could drink. To me, it was the same as how a vampire could only drink blood. If we ate food, just as a vampire would, it tasted a bit along the lines like dog shit.

I watched Cedric curiously. As he became more comfortable, forgetting about the events before where his father had beaten him, he didn't seem as clingy. He was always looking for comfort when he was scared or hurt, but then became more independent once he recovered temporarily.

He had grown a lot in the last year, too. He had grown out his hair a bit, and a bit more definition was showing on his face. In another few years puberty would hit and he'd be an adult... At least, if he had me, he could grow up not as tormented? Not as lonely, by any chance.

Frowning, I realised, only just then, that my own blackened heart was growing some colour. I cared for this kid... I saw him every year, and I've done so for four years since he was eight years old. Was this even right?

I gulped. It couldn't be right.

"Monsieur?"

I glanced up to Cedric, "Yeah, kid?"

"Can I stay with you tonight?" he bit on his lip, "Please? Just for one night. And... and maybe you can teach me some more on the violin? Please?"

I sighed, torn. The proper answer was to decline, but each time he gazed up to me with those large pleading eyes it became even harder to say no. Because I cared.

I hated it.

"Sure thing, kid," I smiled, "whatever you want," I ruffled his hair and he grinned at me, then pulled himself next to me and snuggled into my chest.

I stared into space.

What was I doing?