Magic Out of Control

Early the next morning, Rose was awakened by a bout of crying.

There were too many young children in the orphanage. The older children had to look after the little ones as well as go out to work. Becky had been taking care of Alice since she was five.

As Rose sat down at the table, she was still thinking about making a trip to Mr. Johnson's office after breakfast. She had never been good at dealing with people, let alone trying to ingratiate herself with a foreign man in his thirties!

Breakfast that day was a cup of milk so thin it was hardly better than water, and a rock-hard piece of bread. It was worse than boiled beans, which were at least hot. Thinking about what she had to do afterward, Rose could barely taste her food. She even almost knocked over Alice's milk.

Ignoring Alice's hysterical shouting, Rose polished off the hard bread in two or three bites and washed down the food stuck in her throat with milk. Burping, she shuffled toward Mr. Johnson's office.

The director's office was the first room around the corner on the third floor, in the best location in the whole building. It got the full benefit of the sunshine, though that was uncommon in Britain, and its enormous floor-to-ceiling window offered a view of the children's every move in the yard.

The third-floor corridor was clean and bright. Through the window, Rose could see a little road outside the courtyard. It had rained the night before, and the standing water on the road had formed patches of mud.

Rose forced herself to look away from the oak tree outside the window, then studied the little blue flowers growing from the wall beside her onto the balcony for a while, as if nothing were amiss.

When she realized she had counted their petals five or six times over, Rose took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the black handle of the tightly closed door to her right.

Muster­ing all her strength, Rose forced her mind to go blank and knocked.

"Come in," Mr. Johnson's gentle voice called from inside.

Rose took another deep breath and carefully opened the large black door.

Mr. Johnson was sitting behind a broad desk, his blue eyes looking at Rose in surprise through his gold-rimmed glasses. Then Rose saw that familiar smile, the one that made her uncomfortable.

"Rose! My little darling!" Mr. Johnson sat behind his desk and threw his arms open to her in an exaggerated gesture. "How long has it been since you came to see me? You used to love coming here more than anything." He spoke with a strange, insincere smile.

Rose stood awkwardly in the doorway. In her previous life, most of her dealings with adult men had been in classrooms and hospital rooms, where they had generally treated her with warmth and friendliness while observing appropriate social boundaries.

But now, the cramped space, the great differences in their size and age, and the insincere smile on Mr. Johnson's face all made Rose's body go rigid. Deep down, she recoiled from the situation she was in.

Mr. Johnson got to his feet and walked toward her. Rose watched the fat on his belly wobble with every movement, and she felt the milk she had drunk that morning churning in her stomach.

"What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, Mr. Johnson," Rose stammered. "I mean, I'll be eleven soon-"

"Oh, yes," Mr. Johnson interrupted. "I remember your birthday is on August first, isn't it?"

Rose nodded.

"Then you must be here about that." Mr. Johnson sat down on the black leather sofa beside him, resting one hand comfortably on its back. He looked her over again with that gaze that made Rose uncomfortable. "You want to go to school, don't you?"

Seeing Rose press her lips together, he lowered his voice. "Then you should know what you have to do. I shouldn't need to teach you, should I? Marge should have told you all about it."

"Money, right-" Rose gripped one hand tightly with the other behind her back. "As I understand it, the government should provide funds specifically for people like us-"

"Don't bring that up with me," Mr. Johnson interrupted. "What can you little brats do with the money the government provides? Ha!"

Mr. Johnson had no intention of maintaining his kind, gentle image in the empty office. He slammed his back against the sofa. "If you want to go to school, go out and earn the tuition yourself."

The same thing still existed in society decades later. Rose desperately told herself to bear it, at least not to defy him now, when she was still a minor and incapable of doing anything.

But she found him looking her over again with that disgusting gaze. At the same time, he sat up straight and said in a particularly cheerful tone, "But if it's you, Rose, my little Rose, you can choose an easier path."

By now, Rose's palms were icy cold. She frantically told herself that it might not be what she thought.

"You know, I've always thought of you as my own daughter." Mr. Johnson had already risen excitedly to his feet. He looked her over from head to toe, as if appraising a piece of merchandise, with a gaze that seemed to cling to her. "Good girl. Miss Elena told me you've had your first period, haven't you?"

Rose angrily shoved away the hand clinging to her arm and stared at him in shock. She felt cold all over, and her stomach kept churning. She was going to be sick.

"Relax, good girl, it's nothing." Mr. Johnson shrugged and spoke to her in a light, cheerful tone. "Unless you want to end up like Marge, unable to read a single word. I hear she even wants to marry a respectable man. If you ask me, she's simply dream-ha, no respectable man would marry a..."

Rose's mind went blank. She felt so angry she was about to explode. If looks could kill, she would have killed the blond devil in front of her a hundred times over!

She was still a minor! She hadn't even had her eleventh birthday! No wonder Marge always hesitated to speak whenever she saw her, always taking her hand and telling her that there was nothing wrong with becoming a maid, that she could still have good prospects without going to school.

Until yesterday, Rose had been unable to agree with her. Several times, she had tried to reason with Marge and persuade her.

Rose's chest heaved with rage. She hated her frail body and her present helplessness!

Suddenly, a tremendous bang erupted in the room. The glass of the tall display cabinet standing in the corner exploded, and several shards of glass seemed to stab deep into Mr. Johnson's fat arm. He clutched it and screamed in pain, alternately shouting, "Lock this freak in the confinement room!" and telling someone to call him an ambulance at once.

Miss Elena hurriedly pushed open the door and came in. She was stunned by the sight before her. Flustered, she followed Mr. Johnson's orders, gripping Rose's arm with one hand and holding a bandage in the other, seemingly torn over his orders.

Rose's consciousness seemed to have slipped entirely out of her body. She felt as though Miss Elena was going to crush her right wrist, and then several large hands pushed and shoved her downstairs.

By the time she came to her senses, she had been locked in the underground confinement room.