The Star Child (The Star Child Series) (5 page)

I slept deeply, falling into the familiar dream almost at once, as though it was merely waiting for me to close my eyes to start replaying it.

Alone, I stood on the rocky coast by Gran's small village, letting the water soak my shoes. It was almost sundown and I’d decided to turn back to the house when…there she was. The young girl with dark brown hair and eyes as blue as the sea.

Let me come with you.
Thoughts that I was unable to voice clouded my mind. This was the part where she always shook her head sadly and slowly faded away.

This dream didn’t disappoint. When I woke, I discovered that we were approaching the London airport and the seatbelt sign had been turned on. I’d slept through the flight in its entirety, without even waking for the sub-par meal and over-salted pretzels.

My eyes roamed the cabin. To my right, the blonde across the aisle held a cosmetic kit with a rather large mirror angled in my direction. What I saw when I looked in the mirror nearly brought me out of my seat. Instead of the blonde’s reflection, looking back was a man with fierce eyes and white-blond hair staring at me.

I looked around behind me and down the aisle to see if this stranger was anywhere around me. However, there was no one. When I looked back, the imposing visage was gone.
That was weird.

Trying to calm down, I looked out the window into the early morning light. Now, with sweat beading on my forehead and running down the back of my neck, the dream seemed too real, too vivid.

The blonde closed the compact roughly, giving me an irritated look when she caught my eyes on her. Averting my gaze, I focused on the bag under my seat.

The face I’d seen did little to remove the sense of unease that dreams of Calienta always left me with. After that first encounter, whether it was real or imagined, I’d dreamed about Calienta every night without fail. The dreams didn’t scare me, but they always left me feeling alone and with the impression that there were unmet expectations surrounding me. The endless stories that I wrote about her helped me document both my dreams and my schoolboy fantasies of another life. They were a diversion, and a welcome one at that, from the lonely life that I led.

Even into my college years, I couldn’t wait to escape to my journal and write about what might have been or what my life could have been like if I went with her. Not that I ever admitted any of that to Gabe. Though I’d far less free time once my intense Yale schedule kicked in, I always thought of her.

As I eased into an upright position and worked out the kinks in my neck, the pilot announced that fog had moved into the area and landing would be a challenge. The backup of other airplanes resulted in ours being placed in an extensive holding pattern. We remained in flight an additional forty-five minutes longer than I’d anticipated.

By the time we landed and claimed our luggage, I found that I was practically running to the cab bay. There was no point to hurrying, but I hurried nonetheless. Spotting an empty taxi, I wrenched open the door, tossed in my bags first before climbing in, and shut it firmly behind me.

“Where to?” asked the cabbie.

“Three-o-nine Upper Pembroke,” I instructed. It was a little early for social calls, but my grandfather would be expecting me.

***

When I was ten years old, Stephen had informed me that I was being sent to boarding school in North Yorkshire. He explained that I’d be leaving the next day and should keep my packed belongings to a minimum as there wouldn’t be much room for luggage.

My voice tentative, I asked, “Where's North Your Shirt, Father?”

Roger snorted in the background. Stephen looked annoyed. He didn't respond well to questions. He expected everyone to have all of the answers, like he did. He barked at me impatiently, “It’s in the UK. England.”

The place couldn't be any worse than home. Maybe I could see Gran; England was right next door to Ireland anyway, I thought, trying not to let my excitement show.

“Will Roger be going with me?” Roger looked smug and Stephen didn't answer, which told me all that I needed to know. Roger was staying; I was being sent away.

“Go and pack your bags.” That was the extent of the conversation.

The school was good for me. I made friends among my classmates, and my roommate, Simon, became my best friend. Some of the teachers were nice too, which was more than I could have hoped for. The topics were too simple, though, and I found that I was often bored in my classes. I didn’t mind, because I never received bad marks, which meant that I got to stay. I’d have been happy to stay there forever. Plus, if I hadn’t gone, if I hadn’t been shipped off, I might never have met my grandfather, Alistair.

***

Gran had shared quite a bit about him, but definitely not the entire story. It was with interest that I greeted Alistair when I first met him as he visited me at boarding school.

Alistair and Gran had met while he was visiting Dublin on a business trip and she was visiting a cousin. He was leaving a restaurant with a client at the end of his trip, and Gran was sitting alone at a table by the door. Alistair excused himself and went immediately to Gran’s table, where he struck up a conversation. He’d ended up extending his trip a week to stay with her.

Although they cared for each other very deeply, once they returned to their own worlds it became apparent that they weren’t suited. Gran never wanted a life with “fancy cars and chambermaids”, as Alistair had put it, and Alistair was entirely too fond of his “silk pajamas lifestyle”, as Gran had put it.

More out of heartbreak than love, he became engaged to a young woman, Imogen, that his parents had recommended. A classic tale, it would eventually become a marriage based on love, though it certainly had a rocky beginning. Within months of leaving Ireland, he was married and living in China with a new business to focus on.

When Gran found out that she was pregnant with Stephen, she couldn’t find Alistair. Her letters were returned, not having been received at all. Forced to have a child alone, she’d had no way to inform Alistair that he had a son. She even traveled to Dublin to try to find him through his business contact there. Yet when the secretary couldn’t provide Alistair’s whereabouts, Gran left without speaking to anyone else.

In actuality, it would be several years later, when a colleague asked him if he’d ever connected with the very pretty, and very pregnant, Irish girl who’d come looking for him in Dublin, before he found her.

That brief conversation triggered a series of events that resulted in Alistair ending up on Gran’s doorstep with a lot of apologies. He found a nine-year-old Stephen that he’d never known about. Gran had married a local fisherman who’d had no problem accepting both Gran and her young child, not having the ability to father a child himself.

Alistair and Gran found so much contentment in their lives that their friendship was reformed, and plans were made to introduce Stephen to Alistair’s family. Alistair had two sons, Percy and Heath, who were close to Stephen’s age, and both Alistair and Gran believed that there was no reason that they shouldn’t get on famously.

With my Grandda’s blessing, it was agreed that Stephen would come for an extended visit to London. Yet despite their shared enthusiasm, Stephen was undeniably a bad seed. Whatever hope Alistair had had that they could have a relationship vanished within a month of Stephen’s arrival.

Initially, Stephen had been an angel, winning over Alistair’s wife, Imogen, and befriending both of the boys. Alistair had even gone through the process of formally adopting Stephen and giving him the St. James name. He even added him to his will.

After the initial introductions to the household were made, things started to go downhill and the accidents started happening. If you could call them “accidents”.

First, the dog was poisoned. Percy had started screaming early one Sunday morning when he’d found Cleo, his best friend, dead on the kitchen floor. Percy had clung to the animal sobbing, unable to leave him as Alistair had held him close.

Further investigation had uncovered that straight bleach had been poured into the dog’s water dish. Alistair was forced to fire the horrified servant that fed the dog, though he wasn’t entirely convinced at the time that the woman was to blame.

As terrible as that was, it was far worse when Percy almost drowned in the river the following week. Percy had blamed Stephen, stating that the older boy had pushed him in. However, the butler claimed that Stephen was in his room studying the entire time and didn’t remember seeing him leave the house.

It all came to a head when Alistair caught Stephen in Heath’s room with a pillow positioned above Heath’s face, as though to suffocate him. When Stephen met Alistair’s eyes, they held a decidedly evil glint to them.

Stephen was immediately removed to the drawing room, where Alistair confronted him. Alistair had been disgusted and demanded to know why he was doing these things. The conversation was a long one. Stephen was a practiced liar, yet Alistair, who’d become a successful barrister in years past, had no qualms about pressing the matter again and again. It was finally enough to make Stephen snap.

Stephen screamed at Alistair, disclosing that he hated him and his rich family. He claimed that Alistair’s uptight sons hadn’t the faintest idea what it was like being known as the son of a fisherman and the village whore.

Alistair hit him, though he immediately regretted it. He was shocked and amazed that this amount of anger was possible from a boy. He pleaded with Stephen, explaining that if he’d only known about his existence, he never would have left.

Stephen wasn’t interested. He vowed that one-day things would be different and he
’
d be the one with the money and titles.

Alistair reprimanded him, tried to turn him around, but it did no good. After Stephen attempted to trip Imogen at the top of the stairs, it was clear that there was something wrong with him. Alistair had little choice but to send Stephen to St. Bernard’s Care Home, a reformatory school in the Berkshire town of Reading.

It broke Gran’s heart to hear Alistair’s stories, knowing somehow that they were true. After all, she’d glimpsed of this type of behavior before; try as she might to pretend they weren’t real. Alistair was adamant for Gran’s own safety, as there was nothing to stop Stephen from harming her as well. So off Stephen went to school.

When he was sent home for good several years later, he was a stranger to Gran. He refused visits from both parents during his stay, and the young man that arrived at her doorstep was cold and controlled. He stayed with Gran long enough to get into college.

Once Stephen got accepted on a partial scholarship to Yale, he packed up everything and left in the middle of the night. No goodbye to Gran or phone calls to Alistair, although his tuition checks were cashed quickly enough.

Alistair continued to try and have a relationship with Stephen, but his son wanted nothing to do with him. Even when his grandchildren were born, he was not allowed to see them, though my mother sent photographs. When Alistair came to see me, though his name was familiar to me, we’d never met.

“Why are you coming to see me, Grandfather, if you know how horrible my father is?”

“Kellen, I have the opportunity to act as role model with you and your brother in a way that I couldn’t be with Stephen, though goodness knows I tried. If you’ll let me.”

“Sure, but I don’t know about Roger. Good luck with that one.”

Roger, staying in character, showed no interest in Alistair when he reached out. I, on the other hand, had plenty of interest.

From that day on, I had another grandfather. Alistair called once a week to check on me. Imogen sent packages of sweets and baked goods. Trips to London were arranged during long weekends, and I met my uncles and their families as well. No one seemed to care that I was Stephen’s son, though he was rarely mentioned.

Alistair and Gran provided me with the sense of family that I never received from Stephen. He hadn’t spoken to me since he sent me to the school. No arrangements were made for me to come home for Christmas, so I’d spent it with Gran and Grandda.

After a full year away, Stephen finally called me. I’ll never forget the chattering between the other students as I was removed from my Ancient History class to take the phone call.

“Kellen.” I found this a very cold greeting after having no contact for over a year.

“Yes, sir.” I tried to make my voice sound obedient, not wanting to draw much attention to myself, even on a phone call. In my experience, attention generally resulted in criticism.

“The Headmaster tells me that you’re doing incredibly well.” There was smugness to his tone and I wondered dimly what right he had to that emotion, since he’d done little to ensure my success in this place.

When I didn't respond, he continued. “The best news is that he says that you can graduate early and he'll write a personal recommendation to Yale. Imagine, Kellen, you could be in college at thirteen.”

One couldn’t mistake the note of triumph in his voice. Yale was Stephen’s alma mater. He wanted nothing more than for both Roger and me to walk in his footsteps. Although I was quite certain that Roger would have reveled in this honor (had he not been a complete moron), it wasn’t for me.

I started to panic as I realized that this would mean yet another move. This wasn't what I wanted; I didn’t want to leave. Boarding school was the first time that I'd ever experienced any sort of stability and I didn't want to go. I made the mistake of objecting, one of many unfortunate occasions when I decided to share my feelings.

“Father, I want to stay in this school. I like it and I have friends here.” There was a pleading tone to my voice and I could tell he was sneering at me over the phone as I spoke. He didn’t even have to respond for me to know that I’d lost the battle.

“Friends. Friends. You want to stay behind in school because of friends? That's absurd. No, you’ll be going to Yale.”

The conversation ended and there was no going back. The rest of the year was occupied by a series of advanced prep classes. Though, I tried to do poorly so that they’d keep me behind, there was nothing for it. When I turned thirteen, I was off to Yale, my request to stay behind viciously ignored. My friends and my life in England were left in the dust.