Tribute to Elegba... chapter two...

ATTENTION! PERSONS UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE PLEASE LEAVE THIS PAGE!

At the very edge of the city, near the forest and the roadway, there was a large, two-story building, which was a municipal boarding house at the St. Paul Church, in which orphans lived and studied. The boarding school was Catholic, and children were instilled with faith in God, and some teachers were church ministers. The institution was financed by several large entrepreneurs from London, so the boarding house kept afloat and functioned stably. The building itself, despite the availability of money, was not much different in appearance from many of the abandoned houses of Riddlehill: the walls were shabby and dirty, in some places there were even gaping holes, and it seemed that the walls of the boarding house would immediately collapse from the slightest breath of wind, leaving behind only ruins and dust.

With discipline in the orphanage it was strict: rise at seven in the morning, lights out at ten. However, sixteen-year-old John rarely slept at night. All because he had regular nightmares that always woke him up in a cold sweat. Previously, John often ran away at night, wandered around the courtyard and surrounding areas, enjoying the view of the night sky. Now this was difficult. The Mother Superior regularly patrolled the corridors, and getting out of the boarding house after sunset became simply impossible. Therefore, sitting on an old wooden windowsill and looking out the window at the forest, the road and occasionally cars passing by, John spent another night thinking about something abstract and borderless.

John has lived as an outcast in a boarding house since early childhood and is used to being shunned by people. Sometimes local boys offended John, many tried to humiliate him by pointing out his "ugliness", but over the years John learned not to take this to heart, although somewhere deep in his soul, of course, it was painful and insulting.

John never saw his parents. According to the director of Olympia Rabbish, the boy was taken to the orphanage sixteen years ago as a baby, and even then it was not known where the mother and father of the “strange” child had disappeared and for what reasons the child turned out to be unnecessary to them. Of course, like any child, John dreamed of meeting his mother someday, still convincing himself that the separation from his parents was due to some unfortunate and unfair life circumstances. Looking at the harsh life within the walls of the orphanage, the boy still believed in goodness and a brighter future, although, to be honest, his faith has been shaken more than once over the long sixteen years.

It was very cold in the hostel: with the advent of November, the days became overcast, and an icy draft broke through the cracks of the old wooden window. John did not have a warm sweater, only a red shirt made of coarse material, in which he sometimes walked down the street and with which the boy now covered his frozen shoulders. The commandants claimed that on the eve of winter, all children would be given a set of warm clothes, but, apparently, no one expected such a cold autumn, and care for the health of children was timed more to calendar sheets than to actual weather. Well, or simply, the money allocated for children disappeared into obscurity again.

Dawn was approaching when John suddenly woke up from his thoughts and realized that he had sat on the windowsill all night again. The wall clock showed a quarter to seven, which meant that the commandant had to announce the rise in fifteen minutes. As usual, the children of the orphanage will have to wash, dress and go to the morning classes.

The morning began as usual. Without waiting for the awakening of his roommates, John jumped off the windowsill and, taking a towel from the closet, went to the common bathroom. Walking over to the sink, he lifted his head and looked at his reflection in the wall mirror, cracked in the middle. A pale-faced teenager with long blond hair, big green eyes, and thin lips stared at him. Everything would be fine, but on the cheekbones and at the temples there were triangular growths that gave his face a very strange and unearthly look. These growths caused regular ridicule from peers. This physical defect immediately made John an outcast in society, and to all his questions he received an unequivocal answer from the mother superior that he had these growths from birth and their nature is inexplicable.

After washing and brushing his teeth, the boy just stood in front of the mirror for a couple of minutes and looked at the very gloomy face in the reflection. Then, mentally setting himself up for patience and restraint, he finally smiled to himself. Leaving the restroom, John returned to the bedroom, where the light was already on. The boys who lived with John in the same room had woken up by this moment and were talking among themselves, not paying any attention to the neighbor. Pulling on his worn jeans and loose T-shirt, he put on that red shirt, threw a gray backpack over his shoulder and left the room, at the edge of the ear catching the laughter of the neighbors.

The corridor was empty. The commandant had not yet signaled to get up, and John, trying to avoid meeting any of his peers, hastened to leave the dormitory building. A gust of wind swept the boy as soon as he stepped onto the porch. Shivering from the cold, John hurried to the educational building.

John walked, looking down at his feet, trying not to look back at anything and not to react to any sounds. On the way, he met a tall man with a bundle of papers in his hands. It was Mr. Jernigan, the English teacher. With a gloomy look, he walked along the road, examining, probably, some important document, and did not see the boy walking towards him at all. Thunder rolled across the sky - behind John heard indignant exclamations: it was Mr. Jernigan, either from fright or from clumsiness, dropping his papers into the mud. Trying to catch the sheets that had fallen loose and blown away by the wind, the man did not even notice how quickly John came to his aid, deftly grabbing most of the papers.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time, John,” the teacher said excitedly.

"He couldn't have been so frightened by a simple roll of thunder," thought the boy. Still, something incredibly frightened the teacher. Now he looked just crazy: coat unbuttoned, hair disheveled, a pile of crumpled paper in his hands.

"Thanks for taking care of me. Well, yes. This is very kind. Of you… Thank you for helping with… with this…” The man glanced at the papers in concern, as if something vital but boundlessly burdensome was written on them.

"Not at all," John muttered in response. "Classes will start soon. If you'll excuse me, I'll probably go..."

"Good. Go," Mr. Jernigan nodded and, turning around, quickly headed towards the dormitories.

Of course, this teacher was famous for his inadequate reactions and strange behavior, but John thought of him as a genius with his own troubles and with his own separate reality, which, in fact, few people could perceive. With a sigh of relief, the boy finally heard a booming bell, which alerted all the children of the orphanage about the rise. The wind drove a crumpled sheet of paper under my feet. "Well," thought the boy. “Mr Jernigan lost his papers. Is there something important in there? I need to pick up and then return this sheet. There were some schemes and drawings on the paper, completely incomprehensible to the boy. Having reached the educational building, John went into the building and found himself in an empty corridor.

The word "FREAK" was written on the door of the school locker again. To be honest, the boy is even used to this. Once one of the local hooligans completely opened the lock and stole all the textbooks, hiding them in different corners and rooms of the educational building. Today, thank God, everything was only one word, which somehow erased with a sleeve, although it left behind a muddy spot.
Having found the right audience, John took a seat at the last desk and began to wait. Ten minutes later the door creaked and a tall woman in a black trouser suit, with round glasses and a stern expression appeared on the threshold of the classroom. It was Mrs. Colorado, the literature teacher. She was a very strict woman, but always fair. With a tight smile at the student, Miss Colorado sat down at the teacher's desk and began sorting through some papers.

John opened his notebook and began to draw. The boy often drew, but it was difficult to say what exactly. They were strange figures, reminiscent of a non-existent form of either a person or an animal, with an admixture of overly creative geometry and shadows. They flashed with pictures in his head, and his hands seemed to draw figures on paper by themselves, creating a copy of strange thoughts in the image.

About five minutes later, children began to appear in the classroom. Some of them animatedly communicated with their peers, some sleepily fell into a chair and with half-closed eyes tried to take out the necessary notebook from the bag, some politely greeted Miss Colorado. However, none of those who entered the class paid any attention to John, as if no one was sitting at the back desk at all. Miss Colorado's eyes were on every entered student. The bell rang for the lesson, and because of its sharp sound, some children who had not yet fully awakened literally jumped up. The teacher coughed loudly, drawing attention to herself.

“I am very glad that the attendance of the first class is excellent, despite the autumn cold and the early hour,” said Miss Colorado, greeting the students seated noisily. "Now, please be quiet. Alex! Stop it!"

The teacher looked sternly at the boy, who was throwing crumpled paper at his peer, who hardly reacted to provocations. Sleepy, with half-open eyes, he simply sat back, leaning back against the hard back of a low chair.

"Miss Colorado! He himself is to blame! Got in the way at the entrance!" Alex said with a smile.

The lesson began, and all the attempts of Alex, the local bully, to draw attention to himself, gradually faded away in their failure. A couple of times he tried to call out to John, whispering very unflattering words in his direction to the accompaniment of grins from his spineless sidekicks, but John, however, just looked out the window, then at Miss Colorado, imagining that he was in a container of bulletproof glass.

Today Miss Colorado was talking about Shakespeare's "Hamlet", a book that John had read a long time ago and more than once. That is why the boy received practically no new information in this lesson. Time stretched on forever, and John returned to his drawings, trying to somehow pass the lesson. The drawing once again turned out to be as incomprehensible, as well as bewitching, capturing the imagination and reflecting it. John saw some important meaning in this chaos, so he kept each of his drawings as a kind of treasure, cherishing and protecting.

The next lesson did not begin until an hour and a half later, and John decided to spend that time in the library, as, in principle, always. There the boy certainly felt much more comfortable than anywhere else. And the library is the very place where bullies certainly will not look to mock those who cannot fight back. The local library has always been a little gloomy, but quiet, serene and calm. In addition, there were plenty of books, completely different. Psychology, philosophy, fiction. Old, new, completely dilapidated and re-glued with tape. John has already read many of them. Among the high bookshelves were small square tables and wooden chairs, where you could comfortably sit and immerse yourself in fascinating reading.

The library was completely deserted today. “Well, of course, who but me could have been brought to this place early in the morning ...” the boy thought, slowly walking past the high bookshelves. Only in the far corner someone was sitting, buried in books and papers, taking notes. It was Mr. Jernigan, the English teacher John had met outside the academic building on his way to class. He did not even notice that the boy approached him.

"Hello," John said softly.

Fiasco: the teacher seemed to be deaf or simply ignored the boy. Mr. Jernigan looked obsessed and clearly out of touch with reality. How many years have passed since John met this strange man, but still could not get used to this inappropriate behavior. Deciding not to bother the teacher again, John stared at the books on the table had been piled up, and his eyes settled on an old ruby-colored book, thick and large. It must have been at least a thousand pages long. It turned out to be very heavy: the boy pulled the folio from under the pile of books.

“This is mine,” the teacher suddenly muttered in a low voice.

John was a little frightened and pushed the folio away from him a little, taking a step back.

“Mr. Jernigan…” he breathed out. “You scared me. I thought you couldn't see or hear me. And this book..."

“This book,” said Mr Jernigan, not for a moment detached from his papers, “belongs to me. Haven't you been taught that taking someone else's is bad? Especially if you do it without permission. In some countries, just so you know, they take their hands off for that".

"I'm sorry. Mr. Jernigan, I have never seen this book in our library before. She is ancient and looks so beautiful".

It was strange that Mr. Jernigan never looked at the boy. What's more, he suddenly fell silent again, throwing John into a slight stupor. Several minutes passed like that. Sitting down on a free chair, John decided that he would start reading here. Of course, it was more common to read alone, but the presence of an English teacher did not really bother the boy.

Unfortunately, the book was in some incomprehensible language, and it was not possible to read something. John was even a little upset, but out of curiosity, he began to look at the numerous illustrations on the shabby, worn pages, which were mostly maps of various localities.

"It's in Latin…" Mr. Jernigan muttered under his breath. “If you had the skills to read a Latin text, I would gladly lend it to you. If I do not pay attention to something, it does not mean that I do not see what is happening at all".

"I thought you were ignoring me," John shrugged. "You are always so distant".

Mr. Jernigan lifted his head and looked at the boy from under his brows, smiling a little. John noticed that this strange teacher felt very kind and trustworthy, although he didn't always seem that way. Like John himself, with whom no one at the shelter wanted to be friends solely because of his appearance. Although the boy himself never harmed anyone.

“I have been studying such literature for a very long time,” the teacher muttered in response. "Science still does not know the facts confirming the existence of supernatural phenomena. Facts that exclude probability. But on the other hand," he chuckled, "what can this science know? And what can you and I, John, know? Yes, what they say, and nothing more. Much more important is what we believe. Many people around me think I'm crazy, but, you know, in fact, I just believe in what they don't have the courage to believe. And between us, it still means something, right?

John didn't know what to say. He hardly understood the true meaning of the teacher's words. The boy simply continued to be silent, and the teacher seemed to be talking not to him, but to himself. It was not only incomprehensible, but also interesting to listen to. The intrigue in anticipation of speech was obvious, and John was afraid to frighten it away.

"So much garbage ..." Mr. Jernigan shook his head. “People are talking absolute nonsense, making up incredible stories, feeding them to journalists. And of all this nonsense, I remember only one article. It was a blog, you know, in a local magazine. The author of that article said that a man tried to attack him. At that moment, as the attacker committed the atrocity, a huge beast of unprecedented size and origin appeared. Instead of putting an end to both, he drove the attacker away, and subsequently disappeared himself. So what was this monster? And was there an animal at all? Rationally reasoning people will say that this is more and more like myths and fairy tales. Nevertheless, this, of course, is not a fact, because there is a possibility. I think that something similar actually happened. Animals often only defend themselves, the pack or their territory, but do not attack without a reason. I totally agree with the author of that wonderful blog. Sometimes a monster is hidden in a human being, which you will not find in any predatory creature. It's not for me to tell you about this, boy".

John didn't understand anything. No, every word the teacher said was clear to him. However, what was this story for? Mr. Jernigan bent his head over the sheets of paper so that it seemed that his nose was about to be buried in the sheets. The library became completely gloomy, and the light of the lamp was so dim that reading here was hardly possible. John was surprisingly distracted from everything around and plunged into a whirlpool of thoughts. "Is there something impossible in our universe?" asked an unobtrusive inner voice. "Not. Not in ours, not in any other!" sounded confident boring answer.

Fifteen minutes later, John jumped up and hurried to the exit, suddenly waking up from a languid slumber that seemed to take possession of him for some period, which flew by so quickly that if not for the library wall clock, the boy would have forgotten about it at all. With three minutes left before class started, John was running, not wanting to be late. Now geometry was on schedule, and the boy was very fond of this subject. The stairs in the educational building were very steep, that is, the steps were at an unusually large distance in height from each other, so climbing to the upper floors was always quite tiring.

A loud voice was heard in the corridor of the third floor, and it seems that John already recognized it. Passing into the left corridor, he saw a frightening picture. Four guys were standing against the wall, two aside and one pressed the fourth against the wall, pointing a clenched fist in the direction of his face.
"Did you hear what I said?" the angry guy said rudely. It was Alex.

John leaned against the wall around the corner in fear and began to listen anxiously. The prerequisites for a lousy morning were obvious, unfortunately.
“I didn’t do anything, and I won’t even apologize to you!” said in response to the guy, pressed against the wall.

It was Isaac, the same classmate Alex used to throw paper at literature class. "And why did he not please this psychopath again?" thought John. Often it seemed to him that Alex clings to people and humiliates them solely for his own pleasure. John felt a wave of bitterness at the injustice of what was happening. On the other hand, how could the boy help poor Isaac now?

"You realize you’re not going to class right now, you’re going to a hospital wing with a broken nose?" the hooligan said menacingly.

There was silence after that phrase. John struggled to hear anything, hoping that the conflict would miraculously resolve itself. And a few seconds later, the boy heard the voice again.

“Beat him...”

Damian and Albert were Alex's friends and usually helped him beat or humiliate someone. They were tall and strong guys, well built, but they were not capable of anything but a fight. John was seriously frightened, but he could no longer stand around the corner. Running out into the corridor, he shouted with all his might:

"Leave him now, you stupid cruel scum!"

John's heart was pounding. He understood the danger of such an intervention, but for the first time he could not stand aside and cower in fear. For some reason, not courage, but all-consuming anger filled the mind and heart of the boy. Alex, Damian and Albert left Isaac lying on the floor, who immediately jumped to his feet, clutching his broken nose with his palm.

"Ah, here comes the freak! You're right on time!" the ringleader grinned evilly, slowly approaching John, who, in turn, realized how much the bully was larger than him in size: with one of his hands it seemed that he could break John in half.

"Well, what are you going to do? Or speak? How can you help this weakling? You ran all like that, full of heroism! What can you do but cry?"

Alex walked around the petrified John, examining him from head to toe, burning her with his contemptuous gaze, as if looking at something vile and disgusting. Damian and Albert, however, did not get into this dispute already and preferred to stay on the sidelines, at least until their leader gave instructions for action.

"Have you swallowed your tongue? I could not touch you, just get your hands dirty, and then won’t wash off such a bastard, freak of nature like you! Yes, freak. Do you hear? That's who you are! Look at your face! Normal people don't look like that! People like you need to be isolated from society! I don't understand how the boarding house keeps such... such... For me, freaks like you should be killed at birth!"

Alex threw words with immense aggression, as if he was about to pounce on John and tear him to shreds. Isaac, who was nearby, backed away and disappeared around the corner.

"Why are you keeping silent?" Alex chuckled, looking around at his friends. Those continued to remain in the role of observers at the wall with a smirk on their faces.

The bully leaned towards John, and their faces were opposite each other, a few centimeters. John looked into the scoundrel's black, sparkling eyes, and a chill ran down his back. Now John felt nothing but hatred.

"SPEAK!!!" Alex roared angrily, and John closed his eyes in fear, staggered and fell to the floor. The bully laughed aloud.

It took only a few seconds, although at that moment hardly anyone was counting the time. As if a powerful gust of wind burst into the corridor, flew past everyone present and hit Alex in the chest. The hooligan was thrown into the air in the direction of the window, the glass of which the guy hit. The windows in the educational building had not been repaired for a very long time, and the wood was completely rotten and weakly held the glass. Of course, it immediately scattered to the sides, Alex’s body passed over the broken frame and disappeared behind it.

Damian and Albert rushed to what was left of the window. It was the third floor. Alex was lying on the ground, clearly unconscious.. John seemed to be rooted to the floor in horror, completely unaware of what had just happened. A terrible thought throbbed in his head.

“Freak…” Damian muttered indistinctly, stepping away from the window. “You just… you…"

"Killed Alex. Kill him, you damned bastard!" Albert finished.

In the absence of the leader, the two huge guys suddenly began to seem completely harmless, rather stupid and inhibited. They clearly did not know what to do in such a situation. “After all, I didn’t kill him,” John persuaded himself, continuing to sit on the floor. “They will say that I pushed Alex. They will do so. Need to run. Right now…"

While the two kingpins hovered in their thoughts (or in search of thoughts that were not in their heads), John quickly got to his feet and began to run. Damian and Albert shouted something to him, but John didn't care. He descended the stairs as quickly as never before, burst into the hall in a whirlwind and headed for the exit.

"I had to run without stopping. To run as fast as I can and as far as possible".
Now everyone will consider John a killer. No way to the boarding house from now. Anywhere but not there to go. Gasping for cold air, John turned off the stone path leading from the boarding house and ran out onto an unfamiliar track. The boy did not know where he was now and where he would be next. Cars rushed past at breakneck speed; a gusty icy wind drove the leaves along the asphalt, shook the hair of a frightened, trembling teenager who did not stop for a second.

"I will run and run," he said to himself, "as long as there is strength. As long as there is a road. And what will happen then, I don't care anymore."

It seemed that the wind was getting stronger and colder every minute: the boy's hands froze so much that he no longer felt his fingers. Raising his hands to his mouth, John tried to warm them with his breath, but he hardly hoped that this would help him.

A car signal was heard. The boy only wanted to cross the road to the opposite side, but he felt a sudden push, and then - emptiness.

The Mother Superior of St. Paul's Boarding School, Olympia Rabbish, did not, as usual, spend lunchtime in the dining room with her colleagues, but immersed herself in numerous documents, sitting in her spacious office. She hardly liked this kind of work, but it was just a way to avoid contact with the inhabitants of the complex. This woman loved peace and quiet, so she rarely interfered in the life of the boarding house, and her main leadership was in the documentation.

Olympia Rabbish was a tall, thin, rough-faced woman dressed entirely in black. Her expression, as usual, was gloomy, few people, probably, ever saw Olympia smiling at all. In addition, in a good mood, the Mother Superior was rarely to be found. She had a short haircut that accentuated her long face and pronounced cheekbones. The director of the boarding house was known as a very direct, cold and strong-willed woman, whom, for example, the students of the boarding school tried to avoid, and some teachers were completely afraid, reluctantly entered into a conversation, and only if there was a good reason or an emergency to do so. The image of the "iron lady" has long been fixed for Mrs. Rabbish, but she herself was completely satisfied with this. Such, according to the headmistress, should be the image of a leader. Of course, Olympia also had weaknesses, mostly related to the affairs of bygone days, but few knew where and how this woman could be hurt.

This morning, one of the pupils of the boarding school suffered a fall from the window of the third floor, right in the middle of the school day. And another student disappeared altogether. Olympia was horrified at what would happen if this story reached any of the members of the board of trustees and investors. Therefore, she instructed the head of the educational unit and the teachers on duty to find out all the details and report the report no later than two in the afternoon. Thank God, the boy who fell out the window did not receive significant injuries, he only broke his arm and got off with a few bruises. But John's disappearance made Olympia Rabbish tremble in terrible anticipation of being reprimanded, or worse, being fired.

Rereading the next report of the teacher, Olympia slowly drank the already almost cold coffee. There was a ringing silence. The sudden knock on the door interrupted the headmistress’s rest. Probably, the long-awaited report from the head teacher arrived in time. Olympia exhaled, looked away from the papers and said loudly:

"Open! You can enter!"

A tall man of strong build with the same gloomy and even angry expression appeared on the threshold. He was wearing black jeans, a beige shirt with random spots that barely looked like patterns, and a leather jacket that he took off and threw over his hand. After greeting the director of the complex politely, the man walked into the office and sat down in front of Mrs. Rabbish’s desk.
The man's name was Gregory Grantchester. He looked to be about forty years old, he seemed thoughtful, and disappointment shone in his eyes now. He had coarse features, a slightly wrinkled forehead, and a scar on his left cheek. And despite such a disheveled and rather unkempt appearance, this man was one of the richest residents of Riddlehill and a very important guest for the boarding house, although rare. Olympia realized that one of the members of the board of trustees and the most generous sponsor of the St. Paul complex had arrived with bad news, something extremely displeased and angry, as evidenced by his whole appearance, pursed her lips and in her usual manner politely said:

"Would you like some tea, or maybe some water?"

Gregory shook his head in denial and took a hard breath. Mrs. Rabbish, of course, already guessed the reasons for this unexpected visit, finding the situation extremely delicate and awaiting the guest's words as a verdict. It was like Gregory was deliberately stalling, holding a pause, then, raising a cold look at the director of the boarding house, he said in a tired voice:
"I, to be honest, Olympia, went to the city on business, and did not plan to visit you until the end of the month".

"And what brings you to us, Gregory? Some urgent business, I presume?"

Mrs. Rabbish was very worried and could no longer hide it. She rose from her chair, crossed the room, and began to make coffee for herself and her guest. Mr Grantchester stared at one point, not blinking, and frowned even more.

“This morning, under the wheels of my car came the disciple of your complex,” Gregory said condemningly. "This event is the reason for my presence here today. And frankly, I’m completely baffled".

Olympia held her breath. Her hands shook even more, and she spilled a spoonful of coffee on the table. Afraid to comment on anything, she continued to brew coffee, waiting for the continuation of the story.

"I thought, Mrs. Rabbish, you control your wards, and I am very surprised that YOU, Olympia, allow the children of the boarding house to leave its territory. You are the director of the children's boarding house and are responsible for everything that happens here, right?"

Now Gregory Grantchester’s voice sounded even and cold. The face did not change, frozen in a serious mask. Olympia remained silent. What to say, she didn't know.

“Moreover, Olympia,” continued Gregory, “the child I hit was far enough away from the boarding house. This is what it turns out, madam director, you have not even made any attempts to find the child?" said Mr. Grantchester indignantly. "So you care about the safety of children? Is such a case unprecedented at all?"

Exhaling and trying to calm down, Mrs. Rabbish left the coffee machine and returned to the director's desk, facing her guest. Looking into his eyes, she said briefly:

"Who are you talking about?"

Mr. Grantchester lifted his head and also looked at the Headmaster. It was a look full of pressure and condemnation, as if Gregory wanted to drill through Olympia with his eyes. It was that look that was the ultimate answer, which is why the answer was no longer needed.

"John?" said Mrs. Rabbish uncertainly, covering her hand with her mouth. "But you must understand, Gregory, that every pupil of our complex is a child and we cannot turn children into prisoners, because constant surveillance and round-the-clock security would turn them into such! This is physically impossible, because the boarding house already contains more than two hundred..."

"You were supposed to keep John safe," Mr. Grantchester said angrily. “It was the only instruction to you, Olympia, when I handed over the child to you sixteen years ago. You were supposed to patronize and protect him! WHY didn't you do it? And I expect an intelligible answer from you, Olympia!"

Mrs. Rabbish had never seen him so angry. Gregory kept a shaky calm, but his wild indignation conveyed a menacing look that acted on the headmaster as something heavy and depressing.

"The boarding house contains more than two hundred pupils," covering her eyes for a moment, continued Olympia, "We are not able to follow everyone".

"Do you even hear what I'm telling you, Olympia?" exclaimed Mr. Grantchester, waving his arms. "The boy left the territory of the boarding house, and this happened in the morning, when classes are going on, when teachers should be responsible for the students!"

“It was a terrible mistake on the part of the teachers. If it makes you feel better, I’ll sort out the situation and have a conversation with the teachers who made the mistake," the director spoke quickly and evenly, as if reading this text from a sheet. "Gregory, listen, I remember very well the day when you brought the baby to our boarding house, as we promised to raise the boy and protect him from hardship and cruelty. But these are children. They have their own logic. And their own vision. If we interfere in their world, we will only make things worse. Children should learn to deal with problems on their own. Isn't that what makes them strong personalities?"

"John’s not like regular kids. I made it clear to you! Actually, you know it! I cannot stay at the boarding house all the time and think for you, take on the duties entrusted to you. Apparently, it was my mistake. I strongly recommend that you think it over again and draw your own conclusions, Olympia. If your establishment loses funding, the loss of a home for children will only be your fault!"

Mr. Grantchester wanted to get up, but Olympia stopped him.

"Gregory, wait," she said hastily. "Well, why take such drastic measures? John grew up within the walls of our institution, I am sure that he considers the school to be his home. Don't take the boy. I'll make sure nothing dangerous happens to the kids again".

Mr. Grantchester rose from his chair, and, going up to the director's chair, bent over Miss Rabbish and looked her straight in the eye, which made the woman recoil a little.

"How can you bear yourself, Olympia..." Gregory hissed. "You only worry about money, and you simply don’t care about children! I never considered you a person of the heart, but at least I thought of you as a true professional. In the end, you disappointed me more than anyone else".

Turning around sharply, the guest hurriedly headed for the exit and, already standing on the threshold, turned around and, glancing for the last time at the frightened Mrs. Rabbish, added:

"I sincerely hope that this topic was raised for the last time, Olympia. If you can't do your job well, then it's better not to get it at all!"