Chapter Text
It was an unusually warm day for the month of March, with the blaring sun hanging high in the sky. Finney Blake cursed beneath his breath at the heat as he swished the remnants of the contents of his cup about. He glanced around from his place at an outdoor picnic table. It was Susie Miller’s birthday. She was twelve. It was a quaint affair, this girl’s birthday party; Finney had noted his presence as the only teenage boy. He found that he didn’t mind this so much, preferring his own company to that of a stranger’s with whom he would be forced to engage in trivial chatter. He spotted Susie with his sister, each refilling the other’s cup with more soda.
Susie was Gwen’s best friend. They were best friends because they were similar in a lot of ways even Finn wasn’t similar to his own sister. The girl’s house had quickly become a safe haven for Gwen on Fridays, away from the tremulous nature of her own domestic sphere. They were both twelve, too, which Finney considered to be a rather odd age. He knew that both of the girls swore and were aware of sex to some degree, but both still fawned over Barbie dolls and pinafore dresses. It reminded Finney of being in a hotel lobby, or at the airport—you’re neither here nor there; not an adult, but not quite a child either. Susie had received all the standard gifts a twelve-year-old girl would receive: dolls, roller skates, a newly-released board game, plush toys, a new pair of bell bottoms. Underwear and socks. Finney snorted. There would come a day when Susie would yearn to receive the clothing items she now looked down upon with unbridled disdain. Finney remembered this as one of the indicators of his own growth. And the day he had stopped feeling excited about ice-cream.
Finney himself was sixteen. Born on a stormy Monday night on July 10th of the year 1961, he was thrust into this world with the sound of thunder embedded within his mind. A healthy 6.5 pound baby boy born to a neurotic but gifted mother and an alcoholic father. A cancer, according to the horoscope segments within his mother’s magazines. He was teetering on the edge of adulthood now, though it hardly felt that way. He was shy and furtive in a way that matched his lithe figure. He was not what one would consider to be a “fighter” by any means, which was why he supposed he was best friends with Robin Arellano. Robin was half a head taller than Finney with an appetite that exceeded all reason. He had a robust frame and a higher tolerance for the sight of blood. Finney was all soft and gangly where Robin was sinewy and hardened.
“Hey, Finney,” Mrs. Miller greeted him warmly.
Finney jerked in his seat, startled by her sudden presence.
“Hey, Mrs. Miller,” he greeted back casually.
The woman came to stand before him, a pleasant smile on her face. “Do you mind doing me a favor?”
“Sure,” Finney said with a nod.
“You see that black van over there?” she asked, pointing towards the vehicle.
Finney turned to peer over at it. ABRACADABRA Entertainment & Supplies. He had heard that Susie’s mother had hired a magician of some sort for the birthday party. He turned back around.
“Yeah?” he replied.
“The poor guy looks like he’s struggling with all those darn supplies of his. You wouldn’t mind offering him a helping hand, would you? He’s just behind the van,” Mrs. Miller implored.
Finney offered her an affiliative smile before obliging. He slowly approached the vehicle, stopping before it. The black van stood imposing in the midst of the driveway, enveloping Finney in the gloom of the shadow that it cast across the pavement. His chest tightened, an ominous sensation making its ascent along his spine as he circled around it, coming to stand before a man draped in clothing equally as dark. Finney openly gaped at the man. He wore a red turtleneck beneath what appeared to be a black silk shirt despite the eminent heat. His eyes were framed by dark, brown sunglasses, further obscured by the top hat he wore atop his head. The layers of his sandy brown hair fluttered about his sharp, painted face in the gentle breeze.
The man was muttering to himself. He was yet to notice Finney standing mere feet away from him at the other end of the large folding table he was currently wrestling with. He flinched when he felt Finney grab and lift the other end of the table. The boy’s stomach twisted itself into knots upon looking up and seeing the man’s intent gaze trained on him.
“Thought you might need some help,” Finney stated sheepishly.
The man simply blinked at the boy for a few moments before his posture shifted and his face twisted into a comical smile.
“Oh, hey, you don’t have to do that,” the magician said, his voice light and airy and embellished with a lilt.
“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind,” Finney said with a cordial smile. “Besides, it’s way too hot to be lugging around tables all by yourself.”
Finney adjusted his grip on the table before squinting back up at the magician. The man was merely watching him. He then released his own grasp on the table in favor of tipping his hat to Finney in gratitude.
His lips curled up into a saccharine smile. “You’re far too kind, young sir.”
Finney assisted the older man with maneuvering the table before returning to his seat, awaiting the forthcoming performance. He watched as all of the guests, including the adults, seated themselves on the grass before the magician’s table, eagerly awaiting his appearance. Finney maintained his distance, remaining rooted to his seat at the picnic table some distance away from the remainder of the guests. His gaze fell upon Mrs. Miller who looked over at him with her doe eyes and beckoned him over, patting the spot of grass beside her. Finney politely declined with a dismissive wave of his hand and a tight-lipped smile.
When the magician made his appearance at last, the menagerie of guests erupted into applause. The man was erratic in his mannerisms, feigning great shock at the sound of clapping in a display of exaggerated showmanship. He had taken his sunglasses off, and Finney could see clearly now the way the man’s eyes surveyed the small crowd in front of him as he tipped his hat to them. When their eyes locked, the man seemed to pause for a moment, his brow twitching beneath the brim of his top hat. The boy’s lips parted slightly at the visage of the man’s pale blue eyes fixated on him. The magician was the first to look away, resuming his theatrical demeanor as he requested a volunteer from the crowd for his first trick. A number of children raised their hands avidly, murmuring amongst themselves excitedly. The magician’s eyes raked over the crowd once more before he offered his hand to Susie who graciously accepted it, allowing the man to guide her over to the folding table.
“Today, we have the wonderful birthday girl as our lovely assistant!” the magician announced, prompting the other guests to clap. “Tell me, birthday girl, how old are you turning today?”
“Twelve,” Susie replied with a bashful smile.
“Twelve? My God, you’re old!” the man exclaimed.
Finney huffed out a laugh along with the other guests.
The magician planted his hand gently upon the girl’s dainty shoulder. “Are you ready to do some magic, Susie?”
The young girl nodded, peeking over at Gwen who sat a few feet away, giggling.
The magician turned to retrieve his magic wand from the table, offering it to Susie and instructing her to confirm that it was solid. Susie did so, tapping it against the table to convey as such. The man thanked her before taking the wand back and rolling it into a standard piece of white cloth. Once it was sheathed within the cloth, he too gave the table a gentle tap with it. Finney watched with furrowed brows, intrigued and entirely engrossed in the performance. The man then addressed the audience, asking them to say the word “Abracadabra” in unison. They obeyed, shouting the word with great ardor. The crowd emitted gasps of sheer awe as they watched with rapt attention as the man crumpled the cloth and stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers. An amplified look of faux shock was etched into his features, his mouth agape as he gestured with his finger for the audience to wait. Before Finney could even attempt to anticipate his next maneuver, the magician lifted his leg, rolling up the hem of his trousers to reveal the wand stashed securely within his sock. He presented this sight to the crowd who promptly cheered. His eyes gravitated towards Finney who remained entirely still as he attempted to discern the method utilized by the man to perform the trick. Finney was aware that he appeared vaguely impolite—seated far from the performance and not joining the crowd in their applause. But the older man’s lips twitched into a faint smile nonetheless before he turned to gift the wand to Susie. She beamed up at him, allowing him to pat her on the head before returning to her place at Gwen’s side.
Though the magician had performed an array of tricks that afternoon, Finney’s favorite had been the one with the rabbit in the box. The trick had entailed the man presenting the audience with an empty box and a decorative piece of cloth printed with the depiction of a white rabbit on it which he had then placed into said box. He had replaced the lid and given it a slight shake. Finney had looked on with bated breath and unadulterated rapture as a white rabbit emerged from the box upon the man lifting the lid. The magician's eyes had sought after him in the crowd. A few of the girls in the audience had squealed with delight, standing to encircle the creature and marvel at it.
Finney now offered the man a bright grin as he watched him pick the rabbit up, ignoring the throng of little girls surrounding him in an attempt to pet the animal as he strode towards the teenage boy. The girls lingered behind, eyeing Finney as they muttered amongst themselves. The boy disregarded them entirely, willing his heart to calm itself as the magician approached him.
“My dear boy!” the man called out, stopping to crouch in front of Finney; he peered up at the boy with tender eyes. “You wanna hold her?”
Finney’s dark eyes flitted between the man and the rabbit for a moment before he gave a timid nod of his head.
“Attaboy,” the magician said. “Hold your arms out for me, would ya?”
Finney did as instructed, marveling at the warm feeling of the creature’s soft fur against his sun-kissed skin as it nestled into his arms. He lifted her gingerly in order to get a closer look at her.
“Hey, you. Aren’t you a cutie? Yeah, you are,” he cooed.
The magician observed them silently, a lopsided grin adorning his features as he cocked his head to the side slightly. He watched as Finney stroked the rabbit’s fur with unmatched tenderness, running his fingertips delicately along her long ears.
“Her name is Penelope,” he informed the boy, his voice coming out slightly hoarse.
A strange heat enveloped Finney’s stomach at the sound of the man’s voice, warm and dizzying. His voice seemed to have dropped an octave, losing the almost childish cadence it had previously possessed.
“Penelope,” the boy echoed.
The magician reached out to pet the bunny behind her ears. “She likes you.”
Finney’s head snapped up. He regarded the magician for a moment.
“You think so?” he asked.
The older man nodded with a soft chuckle. “Penelope knows a good boy when she sees one. Don’t ya, you li’l stinker?”
Finney’s face reddened at the term of endearment.
With the man so close to him, the boy could see the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, exhibiting the pronounced crow’s feet ornamenting his vaguely sunken eyes. Between his brows lay a line that made him look as though he was permanently furrowing them. The white greasepaint that coated the man’s face had been rendered streaky by the surrounding humidity, cracked and flaky in certain places. Finney traced the man’s facial features with his eyes, catching his gaze. He had brilliant blue eyes. They gleamed with something Finney could not identify. The boy’s breath caught in his throat.
For the remainder of the party, Finney occupied himself with the excitable rabbit. He attempted to muffle his giggles as he watched Penelope hop about before his feet in the grass. He sat cross-legged beside her, plucking a blade of grass from its place in the ground and tickling the tip of her nose with it. He released a delighted chortle when the rabbit seemed to examine the grass briefly before beginning to gnaw on it. Her whiskers felt ticklish against the boy’s fingers.
He could feel the magician’s eyes on him.
The hardware store was rather vacant for a Saturday afternoon; the space silent save for the distant sound of vehicles driving past and the rock ballad emanating from the store’s speakers, crooning to the barren aisles. Finney cruised along said aisles languidly, sipping on the 7UP he had purchased at the Grab-N-Go earlier. He stopped to examine a collection of flower seed packets in the Lawn & Garden Supplies section. Marigold. Cape Daisy. Cosmos. Lavender. Finney loved lavender. He took another swig from his soda bottle, turning to look over at the checkout counter which had been left unattended. He snorted before resuming his stroll along the aisle, the thought of discreetly pocketing one of the seed packets lingering within his mind.
As he continued to browse, he thought of what his father might have to say about his affinity for gardening and flowers. Finney was certain that Terrence Blake would be more upset with him for stealing lavender seeds than for the act of stealing itself. The teenage boy had already been subjected to his father’s standard impassioned lecture on masculinity on a myriad of occasions.
It had been weeks since Susie’s birthday party. Weeks since Finney had met the magician. Weeks since he and Gwen had returned home to the sight of their father slumped against the plush cushioning of his armchair, nursing an empty beer bottle in his meaty hand. His head had lolled back as he had blinked up at the children. The girl’s head had still been buzzing from consuming far too much sugar at the party, and it had been evident within the coltish way in which she had behaved. She had approached their father, seating herself on the carpet at his feet before recounting the entirety of the day’s events.
“Finney even got to play with the magician’s bunny!” Gwen had exclaimed, utterly elated by the notion.
Finney had witnessed the moment his father’s eyes had darkened and his frown had deepened. The boy had chosen that very moment to make his retreat to his bedroom, locking the door. He had seated himself on the edge of his unmade bed, fisting his trousers in trepidation. He had heard footsteps. They had been his father’s. Finney had long ago adopted the ability to discern one individual’s footstep patterns from another’s.
Terrence had reached for the doorknob, forcibly rattling it. Upon discovering that Finney had locked the door, he had kicked it open with such ferocity that it had destroyed one of the hinges. The boy’s eyes had widened as he had watched his father force himself into his bedroom, glowering.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” the man had bellowed. “I send you to a goddamn birthday party to look after your sister and instead of doing that, you decide to play with some guy’s fucking rabbit?!”
Finney had hung his head in shame.
His father had run his calloused hands over his face exasperatedly. “Why do you insist on embarrassing me, Finn?! Huh?! Why?! You wanna know what all those people thought watchin’ you play with that goddamn rabbit? Do you wanna know? They thought you looked like a fucking faggot! Real men don’t wanna play with bunnies! You’re sixteen, boy, get a fucking grip!”
The teenager’s eyes had brimmed with tears. He had quivered from the sheer force of his own rage.
“Is that what I’m doing, Finney?! Am I raising a fucking pansy?!” the older man had boomed.
Gwen had blamed herself. Finney had reassured her that it hadn’t been her fault and that he had already forgotten about the ordeal. He hadn’t. His father’s words had kept replaying in his mind like a broken record, and Finney had begun to rue each and every occasion whereupon he had found himself outside; he was mortified at the idea that Susie’s guests had all been privy to his more… feminine qualities. That they all knew what he was.
Finney’s broken door hinge was the reason for his current presence within the hardware store. As he rounded a corner, he heard the distinct sound of humming. The tune was indiscernible. He poured the remnants of his soda into his mouth, coughing and spluttering when he came upon the sight of a formidable figure standing in the midst of the aisle he had just entered. The man’s head snapped up in Finney’s direction before he froze. The boy, too, froze—pinned to place by the older man’s intense gaze.
The man’s lips twitched into a crooked grin. “Why, would you look at that? If it ain’t Penelope’s best friend.”
Finney simply gawked at the man before he came to the realization of just who it was that was addressing him. The magician. He recognised the faint but distinguishable lilt that the man had to his voice. The teenager’s eyes raked over his form, noting his altered appearance. No longer was the smear of greasepaint obscuring his complexion, and the absence of his top hat displayed the graying streaks of hair emerging from his temples, melding with the sandy brown strands that framed his defined face. Finney would not have recognised him had it not been for the man’s captivating eyes and the airy tone with which he spoke. He looked strangely… human. Far from the illusionary image of the caricature of a man that was seared into the teenager’s mind like something from a fever dream. He was also slightly older than the boy had initially anticipated, not that it bothered him much—though it probably should have.
“Hi,” Finney blurted out.
“Hi,” the older man greeted softly, his grin widening.
His light eyes perused the boy’s body. Finney looked down to the ground, shuffling his feet awkwardly beneath the man’s scrutiny. His face felt hot as he gripped the neck of the empty soda bottle in his scrawny hand tightly. His heart rate picked up as he attempted to feign indifference—as though his gaze hadn’t been trailing after every dark vehicle that had passed him following the party in the hope that it was him. As though he hadn’t been anticipating the next time he would see the man. As though his eyes hadn’t lingered on every man with broad shoulders and thick arms and a thatch of dark hair. And now that he was within his presence once more, he found it difficult to form any coherent thoughts.
“What can I do for ya, kiddo?” came the magician’s voice, thrusting the boy forth from his reverie.
“You work here?” Finney asked dumbly.
The man gave a shallow bow. “At your service.”
Finney took heed of the way the older man retained some elements of the dramatized character he portrayed at children’s birthday parties; parts of The Magician no doubt having become ingrained within him.
“I thought you were a magician,” the teenager stated with brows furrowed in puzzlement.
The man chuckled, his eyes glinting. “I’m a part-time magician.”
Finney nodded.
He glanced around in an effort not to meet the man’s intimidating gaze. “I need hinges…”
“Hinges?”
“Yeah,” the boy said quietly. “Like—like for doors?”
The older man nodded understandingly. “Is it for your bedroom door?”
“...Yeah.”
He guided Finney over to the Tools & Home Improvement section of the store.
“I believe you require ball bearing hinges, in which case I got 3 inch ones and 4 inch ones. Which ones do you fancy, kid?” he asked.
Finney looked up at him. “Which ones do you recommend, sir?”
The man averted his eyes momentarily, appearing contemplative. His eyes really were beautifully blue.
“Well,” he began, “I haven’t seen the state of your door, but I wanna say go with the 4 inch ones. They’re the ones most commonly used.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
The man waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t mention it. You need screws?”
“Nah, my dad should have some in his garage.”
The older man regarded him briefly. Finney tried not to squirm.
“Ah! I almost forgot,” the man cried, turning to march over to the checkout counter. “I have something for you.”
Finney watched as the man ducked behind the counter, retrieving some form of confectionary. He then looked up at the boy, wiggling his eyebrows cartoonishly. Finney smiled, approaching the counter himself. He glanced over the modest selection of sweets, hyperaware of the older man’s eyes on him. He looked on as the man picked up a bar of Caramac before offering it to him. Finney glanced up at him.
“For being a good boy and watching Penelope for me at the birthday party,” the magician said fondly.
The teenager felt his face go red, reaching for the bar sheepishly. For being a good boy. Finney felt his heart flutter. It wasn’t often that he was rewarded with such titles of affection. He had always felt as though he were a great source of disappointment to the people in his life, and so being called a ‘good boy’ by this brilliant man offered him momentary respite from the guilt and shame that riddled him at all hours for not ever being enough. It felt like being whole, if only just for a moment.
Finney thanked the man earnestly, hoping that his eyes conveyed the true depths of his gratitude. The man’s expression softened at the sight; somewhere between pity and profound understanding.
When the boy left the store, it was as though something small but monumental had shifted within him. The colors and textures of the world were more vibrant somehow, and the setting sun warmed his skin in a way he hadn’t ever felt before. He struggled to contain the wide grin that adorned his features. Good boy. Good boy. For being a good boy. The words occupied his frenzied mind to such a degree that they formed into a mantra. Each step he took was accompanied by the words replaying in his mind. I’m a good boy.
His smile faltered when he realized that he could not share in his exhilaration with Robin. Or with anyone, for that matter. The notion brought a sinking feeling to his stomach. Nobody could know. They would misread the situation. They would never understand. But though he yearned to express the sheer elation he felt, he was comforted by the thought that it being a secret meant that it provided him with more of a thrill. And he liked that. It made him feel funny in an oddly pleasant sort of way.
He basked in this feeling as he tore open the wrapping of the Caramac bar. He took small bites in an effort to savor the chocolate as he made his merry way home.
Robin still asked about Donna sometimes. Asked if Finney had seen her outfit on a particular day, or if she had spoken to him in class. Finney had recently gotten into the habit of brushing off these questions, promptly switching the topic of conversation. The other boy always looked at him weirdly when he did so, no doubt having grown accustomed to the girl being a prevalent topic of discussion between the two of them at the height of Finney’s crush. The problem was, Finney still liked Donna—still felt his knees go weak when he passed her in the school hallway or caught sight of her at his baseball games or when her knee accidentally bumped his under the table whilst they sat in class. But he quite often found himself comparing the way he felt around her to the way he felt around the magician; and he was simply not willing to venture into the territory of what that might imply.
“You didn’t tell him your name, did you? Or where you live?” Gwen whispered.
Finney blinked at her. “What? No, of course not.”
“Okay, good.”
The girl turned back towards the television, and as Finney watched the lights emanating from it dance across her delicate features, he contemplated his decision to tell her that he had come across the magician from Susie’s party earlier that afternoon.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you don’t know him, jerkface.”
“So?”
The twelve-year-old rolled her eyes. “So are you stupid? Do you go around telling everybody the little details of your life? You’re so naïve, Finney.”
“Am not!” he denied.
“Are too!” the girl declared.
They both shifted their attention back to the television.
“Besides,” Gwen added, “he was kinda weird.”
Finney gave her a pointed look. “What?”
“He was kinda weird. Don’t get me wrong, he was totally cool for that bunny trick, but he just seemed… off,” the girl elaborated.
The boy snorted. “No he didn't.”
“Yeah, of course you wouldn’t think so, dickwad.”
“Shut up,” Finney said, shoving her lightly.
His sister appeared pensive for a fleeting second. “You didn’t see the way he kept looking at you.”
“...What?”
“All I’m saying is that the guy gives off major creepo vibes,” she said with a shrug.
Finney grimaced. “Ew, Gwen, don’t make it weird.”
He kept the chocolate wrapper.