Prologue.
****
Mrs. Figgs stood before her class, beaming with excitement as she gazed adoringly at the young children who sat patiently at their desks, their attention rapt, while she introduced them to her favorite author, John D. Young. "The most talented man I know," Mrs. Figgs told the children. She then turned to the board to write the title of her lecture. Walking up behind her lectern and positioning herself, she continued to speak animatedly while writing on the board.
The young children listened enraptured as the lovely woman discussed the greatness of the author. "He writes so eloquently, so beautifully! He understands the human mind better than any other writer out there," Mrs. Figgs finished enthusiastically. Turning to face her audience, she smiled warmly at each of them as she said, "John D. Young has a real gift, and so do every one of you, which brings us to the exciting part of our lecture today."
"Today, we will have the pleasure of learning about ourselves and what we would like to become when we grow up!" Mrs. Figgs's eyes twinkled. The children laughed and clapped at her words; they always enjoyed her company. Just like the author they had read about, the children all agreed that their lovely, ever-bright Mrs. Figgs was just as talented in her own ways.
"We shall all start with me, of course," she announced brightly, stepping off the podium. "I am grown and I love being a teacher. It brings me great joy to be surrounded by all your beautiful, happy faces, listening to my wonderful stories, reading with me, and answering my questions. It gives me immense joy, and that is why I am your teacher. Since I was your age, I knew with all my heart that I would be a teacher one day," she said, smiling down upon her young charges.
"That is why I am here." And, with another radiant smile, she continued. "Now let's get started, everyone..." She heard a few giggles as she toyed with her finger, attempting to pick the first child to go. "Well, why don't we start with the lovely lady, Bella." She pointed at the bright blue eyes of a smiling blonde, and the eight-year-old rose, giggling and looking around her. "Tell us, Bell, would you like to be like me, a teacher, or like John, an author?" The class erupted with laughter as the sweet girl began shaking her head negatively.
"Oh..." Mrs. Figgs feigned hurt as she clasped a hand to her chest. "She doesn't want to be a teacher," she proclaimed in a mock-hurt voice, as though her heart were breaking. "Why? Why wouldn't you want to be a teacher?" There was much laughter as the class struggled not to chuckle at Mrs. Figgs's exaggerated pretense of being offended and saddened by someone not wanting to be a teacher. Finally, they settled into a calm atmosphere.
"Don't mind me; tell us now, we are all eager to know." Mrs. Figgs smiled reassuringly as Bella continued to gaze up at her. Bella didn't speak for several seconds but eventually mumbled something under her breath. "What did you say, Bell?" asked Mrs. Figgs in a patient tone as she leaned toward the shy little girl.
"I want to be a nurse, like my mommy; she helps people, and I want to help people too," Bella said softly but clearly as she looked back up at the teacher with wide eyes. Her small hands clutched onto her white frilly dress. The classroom erupted in loud cheers again as Mrs. Figgs clapped happily.
"What a brilliant answer, dear Bella! So many people need help and need good nurses, and I know you will be the greatest of them all." Bella smiled up happily at the praise and sat back down.
"Well, now Melan, it's your turn." Mrs. Figgs pointed at a boy, and he stood up nervously, rubbing his clammy palms on the legs of his jeans.
"Um... I want to be a firefighter," Melan answered quickly as he glanced up at the large windows of the room where sunlight glinted against them. Mrs. Figgs looked over at him in surprise before she broke into a large and contagious grin.
"Yes! Yes, Melan, that sounds very nice indeed." The class applauded again while Melan grinned proudly back at his classmates. "You will be such a fine firefighter," she praised, and all of the children nodded encouragingly at Melan as he sat back down. "Next is Nicole," she pointed at the girl, and Nicole jumped excitedly as she stood up.
"Hi, Mrs. Figgs!"
The woman couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her throat at the sudden greeting, as if she hadn't spent nearly an hour with them. "Hi, Nicole!" she called back with equal excitement, which made the girl giggle.
"I am going to become a doctor when I grow up!" Mrs. Figgs beamed and clapped delightedly for her student. The other children cheered along with her until Mrs. Figgs quieted them. "Now, Jimmy," she started, but as usual, the boy had his head resting on his desk, his usual pose. He hardly ever participated in class, instead choosing to ignore them. He would take out his books and make sure to write. He was brilliant but never read, answered any questions, or engaged when it was his turn.
It was always challenging to communicate with the young boy, and Mrs. Figgs had tried countless times to reach into his mind, understand his thoughts, and offer help if needed. However, there was little she could do as the boy never responded to any questions or attempts to engage with him. She had only heard him speak once, which was the day she happened to walk past him while his mother dropped him off at school. The only words he had spoken were 'Yes, Mother' and 'Thank you, Mother.' Mrs. Figgs never heard him speak after that.
She had asked his mother, who mentioned that her boy was special but didn't elaborate on what that specialness might be. Being a doctor, Mrs. Figgs understood that the woman knew what she was saying and didn't press any further. She hadn't seen the boy's father, but she knew he was a respected prosecutor, as she had heard from other teachers. The family valued their privacy and didn't appreciate their affairs being discussed outside their home, as she was informed when she approached the principal about the boy in her class who didn't speak.
"Jimmy, would you like to share with us what you want to be when you grow up?" Mrs. Figgs prompted kindly, although she suspected he had already forgotten all about this conversation since he didn't reply. The rest of the children looked disappointed but didn't interrupt her for fear of being scolded. After the fourth attempt to get the boy to speak, the woman gave up and moved on to the next child.
"Benson, you're up next," her mood returned as she addressed the boy. It took him a moment to stand up as he had been lying on the desk with his arms crossed behind his head and his feet kicked up. When he finally managed to sit up, Mrs. Figgs noticed how bored he seemed, with drooping eyelids, slightly open mouth, and wrinkled shirt and trousers as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. At ten years old, she struggled with the child who had many step backs in his short-lived life, and ended up far behind from the class he was actually meant to be in.
But all students are loved by her.
"I want to hurt people," he stated flatly, looking directly into the woman's eyes. The children gasped out loud and stared at their teacher as well. Then he laid back down, crossing both arms behind his neck. Mrs. Figgs frowned, her brows knitted together in concern, and she glanced toward the door as though expecting someone. She then turned back to Benson.
"And why is that?" she asked carefully as she slowly stood up from her spot behind the podium.
Benson shrugged indifferently and closed his eyes tightly for a moment, causing Mrs. Figgs to frown even harder. "Because it feels right to me," he replied simply. He didn't seem concerned or frightened at all; his demeanor was cool and unafraid. It appeared as though he had given the matter some consideration before answering Mrs. Figgs's question.
"Benson, honey, you do realize that hurting people is a bad thing. You should not want to do that," she spoke gently yet firmly as she walked over to him, her heels tapping on the tiled floor. Benson didn't look up as she crouched down beside his chair.
"But they can hurt other people, so why can't I hurt them back?" he questioned quietly, his voice filled with determination. Mrs. Figgs sighed heavily. A strange sadness filled her as she sighed softly and reached forward to stroke the boy's curly brown locks before pulling away again and standing.
"Is someone hurting you?" she inquired sadly.
"No," he snapped back.
"Does anyone else make you angry?" she whispered, her voice full of tender sympathy. Benson shook his head no without turning to look at Mrs. Figgs.
"Then why do you want to hurt people?" she inquired again.
Benson snapped his eyes open and glared at the teacher, his eyes holding such coldness that it nearly sent a shiver down her spine. When the boy spoke, she nearly jumped back in fright.
"Because they keep hurting him!"
"Him?" she asked, surprised.
Who could he possibly be referring to? As far as she was aware, he had one sister and no brother. Who keeps hurting who? She couldn't make sense of what the boy was saying, but she felt the need to report what she had just heard. Believing the boy's parents needed to be present and questioned, Mrs. Figgs shook her head sadly once more before leaving the classroom. As the door swung shut, the room erupted into chaos as everyone rushed forward to ask a million different questions to the ten-year-old who wanted to hurt people when he grew up.