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By Root 3000 0

from a rich family uptown and who’d refused throughout her life to speak a word to anybody but her nanny—until she met Dr. Kreizler, that is; another was a boy whose folks owned a grocery business in Greenwich Village, a kid who’d taken more than his fair share of beatings for no greater reason than that his conception’d been an accident and neither of his parents could stand having him around; then there was another girl, who’d been found by a friend of the Doctor’s working in an adult disorderly house, even though she wasn’t but ten years old (just how the man happened to find her in said disorderly house, the Doctor never inquired too closely about); another was a boy who hailed from a big manor house in Rhode Island and who’d passed most of his eight years breaking everything he could lay his hands on in a string of unending tantrums.

They were all dressed in the Institute’s gray-and-blue uniforms, which the Doctor had designed himself and required the kids to wear so that the richer ones couldn’t lord it over the poorer. The first little girl, the one what had never spoken to her family, had a firm grip on one of the Doctor’s legs, making it tough for him to move as he walked alongside the reverend and gave him some last bits of instruction and advice. The other girl was holding both her hands behind her back and looking around like she wasn’t quite sure what the hell was going on. The two boys, meantime, were laughing and taking playful jabs at each other from opposite sides of the Doctor, using him as a shield. All in all, a pretty typical scene for the place; but if you looked close, there were clues that something unusual was up.

Chief among these was the Doctor himself. His black linen suit was rumpled and wrinkled in spots, making it pretty clear that he’d been up working all night. Even if the clothes hadn’t given him away, his face would’ve: it was drawn and exhausted, and the look of contentment what could be found in his features only at the Institute was nowhere to be seen. As he spoke to Reverend Bancroft, he leaned forward with a kind of uncertainty that was unusual for him, and the reverend seemed to sense it: he put his hand on the Doctor’s back and told him to just relax and try to make the best use of the weeks to come, that he was sure everything would work out for the best. At that point the Doctor stopped talking and just shook his head in resignation, rubbing his black eyes and suddenly becoming conscious of the kids what were all around and over him.

He smiled and tried to perk up as he first pried the one little girl off his leg and then got the two boys to calm down, speaking to them like he did to all us kids, with affection but directly, as if there was no wall of age between them. When he looked up and caught sight of me at the curb, I could see that he was trying to hold himself together long enough to make it to the calash—but the second little girl proceeded to make that job a lot tougher. Out from behind her back she brought a bunch of roses, wrapped in the plain paper of a local flower shop but still showing the full glory of the new summer in their white and pink petals. The Doctor smiled and kneeled down to take them from her, though when she threw her arms around his neck, that former fallen angel what the Doctor’d given a second lease on childhood, his smile disappeared and it was all he could do to keep his composure. He stood up quickly, told the boys one more time to behave themselves, then shook hands with Reverend Bancroft and near ran down the steps. I had the carriage door open, and he shot in.

“Get me home, Stevie,” was all he managed to say, and like spit I was back up top, whip in hand. The kids continued to wave as I turned the calash around and headed back the way I’d come; but Dr. Kreizler made no reply, just sank further into the maroon leather seat of the carriage.

He remained silent during the trip uptown, even when I mentioned my near run-in with the shotgun-toting maniac. I glanced back just a few times, the first to see if he was even awake. He was; but though