Under the Treetop Tunnel

Emile eventually broke their tender embrace.

Smiling soft with considerable levels of care, "no more tears alright. We'll celebrate," he decided giving one last slap to his shoulder.

Abel pulled on the shoes.

"How about ice cream or candy? Oh no, you don't like that do you? Oh I'm craving something sweet, yeah so we'll make a quick stop. Or, or, to the community center they're doing an escape room."

Only the last sounded remotely appealing. However there was one activity that had popped to mind. One that they had done together as butler and charge.

"The library?" Abel requested.

It took some seconds as he likely had the same thought, until his face lit up.

Great idea, you'll love it, a two floor rustic sort of place and their novelty fairytales are beautiful. And historically accurate."

Emile drove onward on the dirt path that grew then curved into an isolated road.

With a moment's consideration he turned right onto a smoother one clearly meant for cars. The reach and girth of the intertwining branches turned the mass of green into it's own little grotto.

Imposing onto Abel just how much time had passed.

But beyond that point he focused more on the turns and street markers.

Emile tried to coax him into conversation. He engaged as much as he was able, better averting any reason for his captor to be cautious.

"Have you enjoyed the reading material I've gotten you so far?"

"Yes, it's quite fascinating," he affirmed.

"That's good."

"I quite like the history ones you've chosen," Abel continued to elaborate, slowly herding and taking control of the conversation.

A mile marker for the wider town. Ads beginning to crop for some of the historically preserved buildings, doubling as some authentic businesses.

About time he did briefly at least, touch on the topic of allowance for his chores. Or, just what "outside" would mean.

It was at the crest of an incline that the town suddenly sprawled to life.

The buildings had a homely, picturesque charm to them. Perfectly replicating the photographs of small town, tight knit hospitality and the fruit vendor out in open sun from the one "general store."

Emile parked his car on a rounded section, above most where only a few strong, sturdy trees were allowed to grow and benches lining the edge permitting a truly beautiful view of a city hall made up in New English architecture, deep, bellowing church bells within a steeple, and small, rickety shops.

With a smile his captor so presented the town. "Welcome to Winterset. Quite the sight."

With a cursory look he unlocked the car, coming out from his own side and opening the door for Abel who took the obliged hand.

"Candy store is right over," he looked right down on the railing, "ah, right there."

He pointed just past the sloping pedestrian walkway to the general store building with wooden floorboard and awning thatched roof.

"And then the library is," his gaze wandered, acting turned around and spinning.

"Not on this street?" Abel asked, not truly a question. Else Emile would have just pointed it out.

"Yup," he replied cheerily. "It's down the avenue, and toward city hall, at least, the one near the school is." and made a showy wink. Ah. Obviously. Close to children, much more reason to appeal for children.

"I see then, okay," Abel murmured quietly, heading for the stairway.

"Ah remember Abby--" he never had liked that nickname. And yet never did Emile stop, even under their pretense. "--By me at all times. Don't want you getting lost."

Plenty of people were out at the hour, often with cloth grocery bags overflowing with either produce or the peeking out summer sausages and cheese.

And they all cooed over a new child. Despite a sundry look and all too proper, dark colored clothing.

"How sweet and oh, oh he holds so tight."

"Yes, I know. Well to be honest I sort of have to," Emile admitted with a bashful smile, remorse in his honey gaze.

"A foster child, now he has his issues, poor kids of his kind often do. Especially gifted ones."

Women tried to pinch his cheeks.

And Emile thankfully pulled him away from that.

At the general store there was a man. Tall and lean, not too imposing and a scraggle of greyish-white for a beard down to his chest.

"Ahh nice to see you here again Frau, and with the foster you couldn't stop raving over," he greeted grandly.

"Yes hello, Mr. Haley," he chirped.

Haley General Store.

The man quickly caught on to Abel's unmoving stare, acknowledging him indulgently.

"A piece of candy? On the house for you child."

He opened his mouth, intending perhaps to agree. A lemon jawbreaker wouldn't go unappreciated. And he could ingratiate himself with one adult. Who did not speak at overwhelming volume and unacceptably trite and horning tone.

"No I'm sorry," Emile replied, voice now absent of joviality, "it's a kind offer really but he is grounded at the moment."

"Oh and what for?"

"Please, I'd rather not get too into it, but well just, I believe he wasn't fed or some manner of issue. Before assuming of course--" and then whispered to the owner, "kleptomania."

"Hmm hmm, okay I see. But bring him around some other time, I insist Emile. Let me indulge the child a bit."

Abel shuddered at the idea of being throttled lovingly by yet another stranger, only to find the owner to be quite practiced at gentle head pats.

It felt nice. Overall.

Emile did not leave Abel an inch to work with on his own through the old, creaking floors of the store and their old fashioned shelving and paper labels system.

The trip turned out quite brief and Emile indulging Abby for some sour jawbreakers.

Laughing and petting all the while as he pointed them out for the scoop.

"There you go, say I'll pay and-- just come back quick," he jutted his head subtly towards a section of little toys. Matchbox cars and the like.

Abel wouldn't miss the opportunity, nodding though somewhat slow in releasing the hand holding his. Until he was absolutely certain his captor truly had parted. "Thank you Emile."

"Okay just have fun. But don't be too long!"

The cars were really of little interest and no value of any kind. His Mother had once rewarded his test marks one year with a racetrack. But then he had advanced further from force, friction, and wind resistance.

There were packs of jacks and marbles. And while he's seldom been downstairs all that much they could prove essential.

Only it certainly wasn't wise.

No. Taking up a toy in hand, a toy he would never want otherwise-- it would only lend credibility to these little lies.

Kleptomaniac. Stealing from an emotional desire inexplicable and often heeded to suppress that very desire. Often accompanied by shame and guilt after the fact. So stolen items were often returned.

Though there lay some doubt that such a small village worries or harps about such nuance. It was-- a bit revealing to see they knew what the word meant.

He returned to Emile when there were just one person in front.

Jawbreaker stuffed in his right cheek.

"Don't be so mad," Emile prodded. "Wouldn't be too much of a game if I didn't pull some tricks too."

"You mean lying and speaking of me and in ill terms?" A searing accusation heavy in my tone.

"Yes, utter and horrible lies. Which I don't believe and I know better than think you'd fall for."

"You would be right at that at least."

Boo Radley came to mind from his literature studies that spring.

"Hey, don't blame others too much okay. I mean I am a grown-up you gotta admit which isn't all fair at all," he pouted.

"Grown ups do lie a lot more," Abel reluctantly acquiesced to this unexpected astuteness, "especially for what they want."

And somehow, the shoe is always on the other foot. About Abel being the unfairly deceitful.

****************************

The library was a two-floored and rounded structure, walls painted with large tree leaves and a plastic tree realistically textured blooming off the floor.

On the balcony above them were shelves of books but with small enclaves carved out for pillows and beanbag spaces.

Where the children read or had their parents do so.

"I'll go find us a place. Have fun Abby."

And like that he was left to the first floor.

Rows upon rows of books. And one stand, near a reading area clearly meant for group reading or other shows of fairytales like the Magnificent Marlon or Magic Beanstalk.

Swiveling forward, he came among a squirming gaggle of kids all endeavoring to get the best look, it gave him some odd type of feeling. People his age who could appreciate a good book.

So perhaps they could be polite about it, and allow him a good look.

For curiosity's sake. Entirely so.

"E-- excuse me," he said, and while struck by the meandering stutter let it flow away like water down his shoulders.

As all eyes had turned towards him.

Mostly common brown of dark shades and matching hair types. Only two had either grey eyes or an intriguing meld of green and hazel.

"Who are you?"

"Yeah!"

"You look kinda weird."

"Looks all weird too."

"Standing there!" And so they laughed together.

"Hello my name is Abel," he said, "the book," pointing a finger outright.

"You like fairytales?" asked the one who had first inquired. An odd kind of light flashing in his eye.

"Uhm, yes. Yes. I suppose I do."

"Hahah! You talk really funny," the boy chided casually.

And then took his hand straight out of nowhere.

"Lucky you're new, new guy else you'd have to wait a turn till we were done."

He could now see there was a singular girl, with a bob cut, nose up in the air who nodded.

She appeared extraordinarily proud for someone in pink glitter everything. And a unicorn prancing across on her shirt.

"Heya so where is your Mommy?" asked another, head down opposite Abel himself now. He did not need the stool provided on the stand.

He'd been solely concentrated on the delicate brush clearly used, the heavy feel of the pages, and such beautiful illustrations. Taking slow, thoughtful care of the Cinderella story they weaved. Where here the Princess had a bejeweled coif of ember black hair.

So that when he jerked it was much more sudden then could be considered polite. And the question striking completely uncalled for. Unnerving. Unanswerable.

What was this heavy thing?

Homesickness was bile in your stomach, a constant heavy rock protruding from your navel area.

This, this thing lodged right into his throat.

"My Mother, Mother and Father--"

"Yeah! Where are they? You gotta have a grown-up!"

As if that were the most obvious, most dumbest notion to not simply know.

"Are you alone?"

"Woah, do you get to walk to here all by yourself?"

"No, well not allowing," he began. Lie. Lying was the right answer.

"Haha! That's so cool!"

"You're the coolest."

"Yes, thank-- thank you. Thank you." He nodded, and with a stern conviction jerked back for the pages.

Intending to simply graze, see if this were a Grimm version. Would they draw the birds as doves? Or ravens or crows?

Turning and turning he turned to the end.

Each time a suck of warm breath and the whispers of his audience.

For some reason just as taken of what he was doing.

"Thank you," he said, excusing himself.

"Huh uhh okay. You read fast."

"I know."

"Abby!" trilled another voice. Just as eager and at ease. Emile. "Who are they? Hello there, are you all having a good time together? Well we can read here then if you like?"

"I'm sorry no, I don't know them," Abel responded.

"Mr. Abel's Dad?" the leader boy again inquired first.

"Huh." And then his stupefied look became a soft, tittering laugh. Which he had grown so used to hearing. "No, no, well he wouldn't say yet."

And yet this boy had turned completely red, his bob-haired partner pouted, and hackles raised among the rest of the group.

"I gotta go back to my Mommy," decided the one having asked before about Mothers.

Slowly some nodded. Leaving.

"I just don't wanna be here now," and then the leader gave him one last once over. "Bye Abel."

And like that scampered off fast as his sneakers would run.

"They sure are a laugh," Emile mused on, "smart too to be fair. Did they-- say something? You look... sickly."

Abel pointed to a shelf of books.

"Go on, and I've gotten this folklore book. It has all types of monsters. Not real though don't worry."

"You would be scared silly if that were the case."

Emile seemed to break into hives at all things ugly.

"You know me. Like a book."

And clearly he expected some manner of response. A laugh or a pity hum.

Rather he fixed a strong dry glower, face ever set in disinterest and formalities. "Okay."

Abel luckily was right to assume fairytales, he easily found Aladdin, the Prince and the Pauper, Anastasia, any and all books that included a thief character or street child with street smarts. Also in his find was a book of magic tricks, clearly left disorganized, perhaps by the very same group oggling the older aesthetically placed Cinderella.

Not that he would know.

And such minor things were not for him to care.

With a pat Emile proudly led Abel up the stairs into one of the circular reading spaces, privy holes smashed in at random intervals or the beanbags and pillows simply strewn about either way. In a frenzied mess.

He could not imagine anyone in his house being too pleased to see such a thing. Abel was sure not even the head housekeepers or elder maids would hide the disapproval. As Father permitted staff to scold foolery. Including Abel's own if ever need be.

Per usual Emile insisted Abel close. Pressed into a warm, such overwhelmingly large figure. Arms effectively locking him in place to stare up at his head as he began to read.

By page two Abel had begun working on the jawbreakers. Occasionally deciding to taste some of the worms Emile had gotten too.

"Tinker Bell huffed and sniffed with a shudder when Wendy and Peter hugged close to fly."

"Both her brothers were awestruck, grinning as they looped and danced in the sky."

Never?! You've never been with kids and just, played? Not even a brother or the carpenter's son

That-- that's so sad

Am I something of a big brother then? Since you don't-- have one of the little ones Abby?

"Would you have liked one?" asked among one of the many days they spent staring blankly at the night sky on his ceiling, Emile dropped such out of pocket, completely outrageous questions. "A little brother I mean. So cute and fun and you know, they'd adore you. Adore you for being you and being his family, nice to it as you are to me."

_______________________

Hook had tricked Tinker Bell and she was beginning to fade.

And he was slowly creeping for Peter Pan.

Abel couldn't help, as he meandered on such ludicrous, baseless questions, take that arm across his chest and hide himself, just a little bit.

Taking in a sweetly, heavy sort of scent.

In the city people were no bigger than gnats from up in a high-rise penthouse. His room, he knew, bigger than most housing layouts for the typical nine to fiver.

Abel had always been aware he was a cut above. In many ways better than most and with privileges.

Not always, necessarily told.

A trait often appreciated in the presence of their parents' circle.

Many times among the decided upon holidays or hands-on days did he get to sit in on another monolith of metal and glass. Father's company soared upon the city and watched the entire sprawl below. From the very top office in a fine, professional atmosphere and very large and soft chair.

Father, like his tutors, imparted his lessons.

Standing straight and with an impassive expression toward the window.

Abel copied him.

Always receiving the same short, stinted humm of approval. "Do you realize why you are here? Here with me rather than at home or at your mother's lap?"

Abel made eye contact. And then thought but could not come up with a satisfactory answer. None at all.

"It is because you are a cut above the rest Abel. You are a prodigy and that is something you must never forget."

"I see and why? Is it so important?"

Father had never disapproved questions.

Never. Not of any kind.

"You have been afforded a gift, a gift neither I nor your Mother gave you, it is all your own so you may rise higher than I've ever been capable of."

It was a fact of life.

As his Father's son, Abel would inherit the company to do with as his brilliant mind decided was best.

____________________________

"Magic tricks, lock picking too," Emile said once they left. "You're so smart Abby, but no."

He'd have to rip out the respective pages then.

Abel breathed a bit deeper than normal.

Easily written off, when he would throw the vandalized books to his captor's face.

The locked door.

It would make a nice starting point to practice.