Finny: 2

I woke the next morning to the sun pooling on the bed near my legs—or, what was left of my legs. He felt lightheaded thinking about it, but made myself look away, over to the chair by the window. A pair of pale green eyes looked back at me, startled. The young man leapt from where he was perched on the chair, launching himself across the room and out of the bedroom door quick as a whip. He was completely silent as he did so, and I thought I might have imagined him.

Elliot came into the room a moment later, smiling and seeming rejuvenated from the past night, his skin dewy and his eyes bright.

“Good morning, my little friend.” He said, sitting down on the side of my bed and offering me a small china dish topped with a slice of toast and jam. I took it cautiously, sitting it in my lap.

“Thank you.” I said quietly, eyeing the chair near the window where the young man had been sitting.

“Try to eat at least half of that. You haven’t eaten anything in a few days, now.” I nodded and took a small bite out of the corner of one of the halves. He smiled.

When I had finished one of the halves, I looked up to Elliot.

“Do I have to eat any more?” I asked, feeling rather full and slightly sickish. I leaned heavily on my pillow.

“No. You’ve done very well, Finnegan.” He smiled, standing up and walking over to the night table and flipping a switch on the wall. When nothing apparent happened, I bowed my eyebrows.

“What does that do?” I asked, closing my eyes.

“It calls the serving staff.” He explained. “Any time you need anything, just flip the first switch and someone will come tend to you.”

“That’s fancy.” I said, more to myself than to him, but he chuckled anyhow. Moments later, the young man who had been sitting in the chair earlier crept into the room and stood attentively in front of the door.

“Finnegan this is Ezra. Ezra, this is Finnegan. I suppose you’ve already met him, but Finny was mostly asleep, so I suppose a proper introduction is in order.” Ezra grinned, chuckling lightly for a moment before reassuming his attentive behavior.

“Hello Ezra.” I said quietly, suddenly a bit shy. “I thought I might have imagined you earlier. You hurried out so quickly.” I said with a smile. He shrugged apologetically.

“I instructed Ezra to come and fetch me immediately upon your waking.” Elliot explained.

“Well I suppose you did a good job, then.” I said with another grin. Ezra returned the smile.

“Would you take this dish back down to the kitchen for me?” Elliot asked. Ezra nodded and took the dish from his hand, leaving the room swiftly, closing the door quietly behind him.

“I should tell you, Finnegan,” Elliot began, sitting back down beside me on the bed. “Ezra is a mute. Do not be offended that he does not speak to you.” I nodded. “He is also a bit…peculiar, I suppose. He likes being left alone. He only really spends time with Witt and my cook, Collin.”

“Well…that’s alright, I guess…” I said, unsure of how to reply.

“He gets very attached to very few people, but he is terribly loyal and very kind.” He stood up and looked out the window, out over the nearby lake. “How about I take you downstairs, Finnegan? Rig has been asking to meet you for almost two days, now.” He said, turning back to me with a smile.

“Alright…” I said, somewhat reluctant. “I guess you have to carry me, then…” I added, my face feeling hot.

“Never a problem, Finnegan.” He smiled and hoisted me up into his arms. What was left of my left leg hung limply at Elliot’s side. It looked awkward and somehow sickening, seeing my thigh just end the way it did. It also looked smooth—healed though it had only been three days since the accident. I didn’t think much of it, then.

Elliot carried me downstairs and sat me down on the sofa in the living room, where Witt, and another little boy I assumed was Rig, sat playing chess on the coffee table. Witt looked over his shoulder at Elliot and I when we entered the room, but Rig was deep in concentration, and seemed not to notice our arrival.

“Rig.” Elliot prompted. Rig continued to look over the board, pushing his glasses up on his freckly nose. He and Witt both wore glasses, though Witt’s were far better suited to his face. His were squareish in shape, with a thin silver rim that was hardly noticeable and covered little of his ethereal face. Rig’s were massive and round, with gold rims and an ill-fitting bridge that slid down his tiny nose constantly as he studied his army of chess pieces.

“Rig.” Elliot prompted again. This time, Rig’s bright brown eyes shot up.

“Yes, Papa—Oh hello!” he cooed upon spotting me. “You’re Finny, right? The boy from upstairs!” I smiled.

“I suppose so.” I agreed.

“Well, I mean, I guess you aren’t really from upstairs, but that’s where you’ve been, right? Papa said I wasn’t allowed in the room because—” he sneezed “—because I would interrupt your resting and things, but I wanted to say hello so terribly! It gets lonely, just Witt and I, and sometimes Witt doesn’t want to play with me.” He babbled, smiling all the while, missing his two front teeth, making him appear even more ridiculous than his oversized glasses.

“Well I could play now, I suppose…well…not right this minute, but soon, maybe.” I smiled.

“Just as soon as Papa puts on your new leg, right? Because you lost yours, right?” I nodded after a moment. It was strange to say it, that I lost my leg. I really hadn’t realized how attached I was to my left leg until it was gone. I felt like I had lots a friend.

“Rig shush.” Witt chastised softly. “It’s still your turn.” He said.

“Oh right sorry!” Rig said, studying the board for a moment before moving his queen.

“That’s checkmate again, Witt, that’s the fifth time in a row I’ve beat you, you know.”

“Yes I know, Rig, shush.” Witt said again, slightly embarrassed by his evident losing streak. Rig was much smaller than Witt, and I could see why Witt would be a bit miffed at losing five times to his little brother.

“Rig, it’s time for your medicine.” Elliot said, lifting Rig up under his arms and sitting him down in the large upholstered chair beside the couch. Rig made a face and sniffled, slightly congested. Elliot retrieved a small glass bottle from his pocket and shook a tablet out for Rig, who chewed it, his face twisting as he did. Elliot handed him a wrapped chocolate and Rig ate it with a smile.

“Could I have one too, please Papa?” Witt whispered. Elliot handed him a chocolate as well, then tossed one to me.

“Chocolate is the best cure for a nasty taste in the mouth.” He explained to me with a wink. I took the foil off the candy and ate it. Witt quietly pocketed his.

“Papa could you play the violin?” Rig asked, returning to his spot on the floor across from Witt. He reset all of his little white chess pieces.

“Very well, I suppose I could play for a bit.” He said, retrieving his violin from where it leaned against the wall. He began to play a happy, uplifting tune that elated Rig.

“You’re very good at the violin, Mr. Elliot.” I said. He really, truly was amazing. The music he played became more than a sound. It took on the qualities of a vapor, a physical entity with a presence and an intoxicating aroma that seemed to induce drunkenness, elation and a state of trance all at once. It was addictive, and I found myself feeling at a loss when he ended the tune.

“Keep playing, Mr. Elliot!” I said with a smile, though my inner thoughts suggested something more like withdraw.

“That’s enough for now. Perhaps later.” He said, placing his violin delicately back into it’s case.

“But it sounds so lovely.” I protested. “I’d like to dance to it!”

“But Finnegan, you can’t dance you’ve only got one leg.” Rig piped. Witt gave him a whack on the arm.

“Rig that isn’t nice.” He whispered harshly.

“Oh sorry I guess you could dance with just one leg.” He said with a smile.

“Rig, just be quiet.” Witt nearly shouted, exasperated. At that point, I laughed. Rig was so small and hardly understood anything at all, but his skill at chess seemed to hint at intelligence. It was strange, how smart he seemed at strategy and concentration, and yet he knew so little about people and emotions.

A moment later, a new figure appeared in the doorway. He was very tall—one of the tallest people I had ever seen—with bushy eyebrows and wiry blond hair he kept tied back in a scrap of fabric.

“Are ya finished with yer breakfast, Witt?” he asked, his voice loud and yet somehow soothing, the Scottish ‘r’s and the way his voice lulled in waves was comforting. Witt looked up at him and nodded.

“Ya sure? Ye’ve only eaten half a slice a’ toast an’ left yer egg.” Witt nodded again. Elliot looked concerned.

“Witt I would like you to finish your egg.” He said, losing his calm demeanor and becoming more demanding, more like a father than a friend.

“I’m not hungry.” Witt replied quietly, recoiling into himself, seeming to become far smaller than he really was. He was actually very tall, but looked like a little white frog, squatting on the floor, his eyes big and sad.

“You haven’t eaten enough, Witt, and I would like you to finish your egg.” He tried again, more harshly this time. I couldn’t imagine Witt being defiant, and I wasn’t surprised when he sighed and slinked back to the dining room, followed by the tall, burly man who held the French doors for him.

“Papa I ate all my breakfast.” Rig said with a wide grin, popping up onto Elliot’s knee, a slight limp in his right leg.

“Yes I know you did, Rig. You’ve been very good with your eating, haven’t you? That’s why you’re feeling better, you know. That and your medicine.” he smiled. It was then that I noticed the brace on Rig’s lower leg.

“What’s that for?” I asked, pointing to the metal contraption. It looked almost robotic in nature, not unlike my prosthesis still leaning against the wall upstairs.

“Oh that’s so I can walk right.” Rig explained with a grin. “I was real sick when I was little and now this leg doesn’t work too good, so I have to wear this all day unless I’m going to sleep, then I don’t have to.” He explained.

“Oh.” I replied, looking to Elliot for a better explanation.

“When Witt and Rig arrived, Rig was very ill. Have you heard of polio, Finnegan?” I nodded. “It deteriorates muscle, and Rig’s leg was greatly effected. There is little muscle left, so he needs a brace to hold himself up when he walks.”

“Oh I see.” I replied. “Will I have to wear one of those?” I asked.

“No. Your new leg will work just like your old one.” He smiled.

“Did you make him a nice robot one, Papa?” Rig asked. I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t all that keen on becoming part robot. Elliot laughed.

“Yes I suppose so! I’ve made him one with feeling as well as movement.”

“Really?” I asked, “How can you make it feel if it isn’t real?”

“It’s all electrical signals. I’m an inventor as well as a doctor, Finnegan, I create prosthetic limbs. I’m the only one in the entire world who knows how to make them with movement and feeling.” He explained.

“People come from all over to get them, sometimes! Remember the man from America, Papa? The one from the Civil War?”

“Yes I remember, Rig.” He said with a grin. I jumped as a door slammed somewhere upstairs. Elliot sighed.

“Is Witt angry again, Papa? Has he gone up to his room?”

“Yes I think he might have.” Elliot answered.

“Papa could I go play in the garden?” Rig asked not a moment later. His mind was like a humming bird, flitting here and there faster than anyone else’s comprehension.

“Yes you may. Put your shoes on first. Do you need help?”

“No I can do it!” Rig assured him, slipping from Elliot’s knee and hurrying from the room. The man sighed as he leaned back on the sofa.

“Why is Witt angry?” I asked after a moment.

“He isn’t one for eating. He’s terribly small for his age, weight wise, and I worry for him. He gets very defensive though, when I ask him to eat more.”

“Who was the man who came in to fetch him?”

“Oh forgive me! I should have introduced you! That was Collin, he’s my cook and groundskeeper.”

“He is very tall.” I noted. Elliot smiled.

“Yes he is. Tell me, Finnegan, would you like to try out your prosthetic?” I nodded.

“Yes that would be good, I think.” He stood and lifted me up, and together we headed up the stairs and into my bedroom, just in time to see Ezra entering Witt’s room next door.