“Not feeling anything at all.”
Linus looked away.
* * *
Lucy was delighted when Mr. Parnassus ended the session early at a quarter after six. He was told he could head to the kitchen to see if Ms. Chapelwhite needed his help. He jumped up and spun in a little circle as he stomped his feet before heading toward the door, bellowing over his shoulder that he hoped Linus found their time together illuminating.
Linus wasn’t sure illuminating was the right word.
They sat in silence as Lucy descended the stairs, making far too much noise for a boy his size. It sounded as if he bounced off every surface he could find on his way to the first floor.
Linus knew Mr. Parnassus was waiting on him, and he took the opportunity to gather his thoughts as best he could. His notepad was distressingly blank. He’d forgotten to take down a single observation. That wasn’t good for someone in his position, but he thought he was owed a little leeway with all he’d seen and heard since arriving on the island.
“He’s not what I expected,” Linus finally said, staring off into nothing.
“No?”
He shook his head. “There’s … connotations behind the name. Antichrist.” He looked apologetically at Mr. Parnassus. “If I’m being honest.”
“Is there?” Mr. Parnassus asked dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I’m not sorry for that.”
“And I don’t expect you to be.” Mr. Parnassus looked down at his hands. “Can I tell you a secret?”
That startled Linus. He’d gathered that the master of Marsyas didn’t dispense his secrets often. It was infuriating, but understandable. “Yes? Of course.”
“I worried too, when I heard he was being sent to the island.”
Linus stared at him. “You worried?”
Mr. Parnassus arched an eyebrow. Linus found that he had to remind himself that according to his file, this man was five years older than he. He looked oddly young. Linus didn’t know why, but he sat a little straighter, and if he sucked in his stomach slightly, it was no one’s business but his own. “Why do you sound so offended?”
“I worry when the bus is late. I worry when I sleep through my alarm. I worry when I go to the store on the weekends, and avocados are so expensive. Those are worries, Mr. Parnassus.”
“Those are mundane,” he corrected gently. “The trappings of a normal life. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I say worried because it’s the best way I know how to express my feelings. I worried because he was alone, but I feel that way with all these children. I worried how he would fit in with the others who were already here. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to provide him what he needed.”
“And him being what he is?” Linus asked. “Did you worry about that too? It seems to me that should have been at the forefront of all your worries.”
He shrugged. “Of course, but it didn’t outweigh anything else. I understood the severity of the situation, Mr. Baker. But I couldn’t let that become the focus. That’s all he’s ever known, people worrying about what he is, what he’s capable of. Because their worry was only a thin cover for fear and revulsion. And children are far more observant than we give them credit for. If he saw the same thing in me as everyone else, what hope would there be?”
“Hope?” Linus said stupidly.
“Hope,” Mr. Parnassus repeated. “Because that is what we must give him, what we must give all of them. Hope and guidance and a place to call their own, a home where they can be who they are without fear of repercussion.”
“Forgive me, but I think to equate Lucy to the others is a bit shortsighted. He’s not like anyone else.”
“Neither is Talia,” Mr. Parnassus snapped. “Or Theodore. Or Phee or Sal or Chauncey. They’re here because they aren’t like everyone else. But that doesn’t mean that’s the way it needs to stay.”
“You sound naïve.”
“I’m frustrated,” Mr. Parnassus said. “These children are faced with nothing but preconceived notions about who they are. And they grow up to be adults who know only the same. You said it yourself: Lucy wasn’t who you expected him to be, which means you already had decided in your head what he was. How can we fight prejudice if we do nothing to change it? If we allow it to fester, what’s the point?”
“And yet you stay here on the island,” Linus said defensively. “You don’t leave. You don’t let them leave.”
“I am protecting them from a world that doesn’t understand. One day at a time, Mr. Baker. If I can instill confidence in them, a sense of self, then hopefully it will give them the tools they need to face the real world, especially since it will be just as hard for them. It doesn’t help when DICOMY sends someone like you to interfere.”
“Someone like me?” Linus asked. “What’s that supposed—”
Mr. Parnassus huffed out a breath. “I apologize. That was unfair. I know you’re only doing your job.” His smile was brittle. “Regardless of your employer, I think you are capable of seeing beyond a file or a particular nomenclature.”
Linus wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or complimented. “Have there been others? Before me? Caseworkers.”
Mr. Parnassus nodded slowly. “Once. I only had Talia and Phee then, although Zoe—Ms. Chapelwhite—had already offered her assistance. There were rumors of the others, nothing concrete. But I made this house a home for those I had, and in preparation in case more came. Your predecessor, he … changed. He was lovely, and I thought he was going to stay. But then he changed.”
Linus heard all the things that weren’t being said. He understood now why Ms. Chapelwhite had laughed at him when he’d awkwardly asked if she and Mr. Parnassus were involved. And though it was surely none of his business, he asked, “What happened to him?”
“He was promoted,” Mr. Parnassus said quietly. “First to Supervision. And then, last I heard, to Extremely Upper Management. Just like he always wanted. I learned a very harsh lesson then: Sometimes wishes should never be spoken aloud as they won’t come true.”
Linus blinked. Surely he couldn’t mean— “Not the man with jowls.”
Mr. Parnassus chuckled. “No.”
“Or the bespectacled man.”
“No, Mr. Baker. Not the bespectacled man.”
That left the handsome man with wavy hair. Mr. Werner. The one who had told Linus there were concerns about the capabilities of Arthur Parnassus. Linus was scandalized, though he couldn’t quite be sure why. “But he is so … so…”
“So?” Mr. Parnassus asked.
Linus latched onto the only thing he could think of. “He serves dried-out ham at the holiday parties! It’s terrible.”
Mr. Parnassus stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. Linus was startled by how warm and crackly the sound was, like waves crashing over smooth rocks. “Oh, my dear Mr. Baker. I do truly marvel at you.”
Linus felt oddly proud. “I try.”
“So you do,” he said, wiping his eyes.
They sat in silence again, and it was the most comfortable Linus had felt since arriving on the island. He didn’t dare examine it much, for fear it would show him things he wasn’t ready to see, but he knew it was there. But, like all things, it was temporary. His time here, much like his time in this world, was finite. It wouldn’t do to think otherwise.