with the way the Order manipulated the fate of another person, even if it was for their
benefit. Being a member of the Order meant that he would be involved in this lie from the very day he was born.
But beneath the command to watch over Sabrina, he felt there was something else… He had also to monitor the development of her supernatural abilities, and that in itself presented significant problems.
Perhaps, thanks to her upbringing more than anything else, at the age of twenty-three, Sabrina showed no signs of any supernatural talent or even hints of its presence. So unlike all her predecessors, or rather relatives, who had “showed character” from an early age. Jack, on the other hand, had his own theory on this matter, summed up in just one word – mediocrity.
It seemed to him that although she certainly possessed certain abilities, even superhuman abilities, she was only ever going to exert them to annoy or provoke him.Was he some sort of catalyst for her darker side? Jack shook his head, trying to dismiss these controversial thoughts, and made his way towards Building ‘B’.
He entered with a heavy sigh and headed for the auditorium door adorned with a name-plaque announcing that Mrs. Preston, Head of the Literature Department, could be found here. Excellent, there would be time to catch some sleep and maybe even have a dream or two. Jack settled into the darkest corner of the auditorium, hoping no one would notice his presence.
“Mr. Cornell!” Mrs. Preston chirped in her soft, high voice, her plump cheeks immediately flushing crimson.
“Yes, Mrs. Preston?” Jack bestowed upon the teacher one of his most charming smiles and looked intently into Mrs. Preston’s brown eyes. The plump woman instantly blushed, and dimples appeared on her cheeks.
“Mr. Cornell, I hope you haven’t forgotten to prepare for today’s class?” the woman asked, turning back to the blackboard to avoid his gaze.
“Of course not, Mrs. Preston. ‘To Kill a Mockingbird,’ I’ve read the book cover to cover and I must admit, I’m very intrigued. Such an interesting and captivating plot, and most importantly, with such deep meaning.”
Jack flashed his trademark smile. The only thing he took away from the book while “preparing” for today’s literature class was the title and the author’s name.
Mrs. Preston nodded approvingly and began to sort through the essays, lying in a crumpled stack on her desk. Excellent. Literature for today was over. Mrs. Preston, as always, wouldn’t ask him anything else, at least not today. So, he could relax and doze off. The bell rang, signaling an hour and a half of aimless dozing and
tangled thoughts… Everyone took their seats, and Jack closed his eyes, beginning his self-analysis.
Chapter 3
Jack Elliot Cornell – that's me So, what do we have here?
My name is Jack Elliot Cornell. I’m twenty-four years old. I am a member of the ancient Order called “The Guardians,” to which my dear parents had assigned me long before I came into existence. Oh yes, I forgot, my parents are also part of this order, as are all my few relatives.
I have a crazy little family. A strange, far-beyond-the-norm job and even our own greenhouse, or is it a house after all? My secret refuge and my pride. It used to be something like a greenhouse, meticulously erected over an indefinite period of time by my unstoppable mother. She conducted her experiments there, growing strange hybrids from equally mysterious plants. This went on until I hit puberty and started rebelling. That was exactly ten years ago now. That’s when I declared my intention to leave home and live alone. Mom threw a terrible tantrum and said I could do whatever I wanted as long as I didn’t drive her to seizures with my comebacks and departures. That’s when I got my first earring. Then I ran away, more than once. But the terrible, omnipresent “Guardians” would always find me and bring me back to the family nest. In the end, when my father got tired of my endless antics and my mother's constant tantrums, he called me to his office…
“Jack Elliot Cornell! I hate to say this, but I have to. I’ve had enough of you!” he thundered. “Or to be more precise, of your stupid childish antics !”
My father was pacing the office as he talked, wearing a facial expression of impeding trouble typically reserved for dealing with the employees of the so-called
“construction company” he managed. It was clear he was making every conceivable and inconceivable effort not to give me the magical ‘boot’. I just stared at him from under lowered brows. My right eye was bruised because a couple of days ago, I had got into a fight with my best friend Eric over who could jump furthest off a rope swung into the Mississippi. At the time, it seemed an incredibly cool activity.
“So, my useless son. We’ve decided that it will do you good… to live separately.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I wondered if I would be able catch it if it accidentally jumped out of my chest. Finally! I've achieved my goal! Just a little more, and I’ll be free! I held my breath and stared at my fuming father.
“You’re already sixteen, old enough to be responsible for your actions,” he thundered, and judging by the sound of his voice, there was a storm brewing ahead.
“We’ve decided to send you to Jacksonville,” my father said briskly, staring at me expectantly. And me… I felt sick. I don’t have anything against Florida, and I could easily adapt there, knowing that someone from the order would always be nearby. But the fact that I would have to part with my friends and with Grandpa, who, strangely enough, had always supported me, was a nasty reality check.
“Anything but Florida,” I whispered, looking pleadingly at my father, who raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
“If possible, I would like to stay in New Orleans, or at least in its suburbs,” my father still looked suspiciously at me.
“I want to live here,” Florida definitely wasn’t fitting into my plans, and I stood my ground.
“I’m not going to cater to your whims,” my father snapped.
“And Mom?” I exclaimed in anger.
“What? What’s this about? What are you talking about?” My father looked at me in bewilderment.
“You built her that greenhouse! Or whatever you built for her to ‘develop her gardening talent ’… as you put it,” I looked at my father, and my right eye, which was starting to swell, twitched painfully. I knew my father didn’t approve of Mom’s “gardening hobby”, as he called it. And I often had to witness them argue over this.
My father was one of the Order’s most valuable researchers of a phenomenon known as “poltergeist”, and he was highly respected for it. And he, in turn, wanted his wife to spend more time with him, trying to find the causes of the poltergeist from a biological or any other point of view. Instead of wasting time on incomprehensible plants, which she managed to successfully grow wherever she found a spot of land.
Father kept boring into me until a smile lit up his face, one that was promising nothing good.
“Excellent! It seems I’ve just found the solution to all our problems,” he said thoughtfully and, grabbing me by the collar, dragged me out of the stuffy office.
“No! I absolutely oppose this!” my mother screamed in horror, clutching her head when my father informed her that he was going to convert her greenhouse into my new home.
After two weeks of emotional torment, turmoil, and excruciating anguish, she agreed.
Out of respect for my mother’s feelings and her weeds, I asked my father to keep the greenhouse in its place and instead build a small extension out of the back wall.
So now, to get to my living room, you have to navigate through my personal mini jungle. And over time, I learned to understand biology myself and now grow my own “weeds”. As for my mother, she found solace in teaching chemistry and biology at the University of New Orleans, where she was invited to work immediately after my father’s “construction company” had signed a contract with the university