Tomorrow's Demons Part 5

Such a cruel turn of events in a life already marred by sorrow and hardship would seem to most random and undeserved, but while it certainly was the latter, an explanation for Damien’s sad story can be found if one looks back to the beginning. His story, however, began as many do: long before he was born.


Alain Dawnay had always had an easy lot in life, though he personally did not think so. On the one hand, Alain had never wanted for the finer things in life- or, rather, his desire had never been left unappeased- but he found great woe in other aspects of life; his career, love, and future in general. His grandfather had amassed a huge fortune by investing in Rene-Robert Cavelier’s expeditions to the new world, of which his father, Alderic, had spent not a penny; The elder Dawnay cared more for money than anything it could buy, and cared more for these potential purchases than his only son.
“You squander the legacy that my father left us; waste his hard work on simple pleasures! You are a shame to the Dawnay house!” he had screamed at the top of his ancient lungs after Alain had missed an appointment with his tutor to read a book. The terrified boy, who was at the time only twelve years old, had turned meekly away.
Alain had always possessed an intense love of books, one not shared in the least by Alderic, who considered his son’s passion to be at best ‘unhealthy’. Almost anything that caused Alderic to think of his wife made him spiteful. The woman had left him when their son was six, a turn of events that had left the shocked boy fragile and lonesome, and left his father ruminating and vengeful.
As Alain grew older, he became more daring, removing the shields he had erected against his father’s harsh words of criticism and speaking in his defense. The situation could only have played out one way, and it did, when Alain was eighteen years old.

He had always been tall, but by his eighteenth birthday Alain stood several inches over six feet, and several feet over his father. Walking through the crowded streets as he did now, the man’s cool blue eyes and tousled dark hair could be seen by all. The press of bodies about him never seemed to affect Alain; he was the sort of person who lived most fully in his mind, and was only drawn to reality for the most pressing causes. It was a habit born of the love of fantasy, and hope, and drama which he had inherited from his mother. Sadly, that flame of optimism had long since been doused by his father’s cruel counsel and venomous words.
In fact, it was his father Alain was going to see now. He pushed his way absentmindedly through the throng of pedestrians to the all-too-familiar door of his house, where he lifted an ornate knocker and slammed it down twice. A moment later he heard the sounds of fingers scrabbling at a lock and the click and thud of a latch being drawn back. Then the door swung open and Alain stood again face to face with his father.
“Alain. Back from your studies, I see,” the voice was as wizened and pitiless as the face it belonged to. “I did not expect you to return for another week.”
“Father! How good it is to see you again! I…”
“Leave your sarcasm at the door. We have more important things to talk about.” Alain could not object to being cut off; he could well do without unfelt pleasantries.
“What do we have to discuss? I am not aware of any particularly urgent matters that concern me.”
“If you were aware of them, there would be no need for a discussion. I have just met with a Monsieur Gravois…” As he spoke, Alderic walked deeper into the house, gesturing for servants to take Alain’s coat. “the man in charge of your grandfather’s old estates in America.”
The younger Dawnay sighed. Business was the thing that least interested, despite his father’s efforts to the contrary. Alderic had always expected his son to carry on managing the family estates in America, or paying others to manage the family estates in America while his life went to waste. Money had never particularly interested Alain either, since he had always had so much of it. Again the man thought of his mother, departing just as he turned six, leaving him memories and dreams of life as it should have been. She had understood him as his father never could. But if she had, why did she leave? Couldn’t she see how it would hurt him?
He could recall vividly her arms wrapping tight about him, pulling him close, and her voice whispering sadly in his ear, ‘Someday you’ll understand. Someday…’ Then she had drawn back, wiped her eyes, and left. And Alain at eighteen still did not understand.
This tragedy and the many others that befell him, coupled with a complete absence of any more basic concerns, had given the young Dawnay a very romantic view of life, which Alderic had tried to break from him without success; His attempts only added to the boy’s self-pity.
A moment later, Alain was broken from his ruminations.
“…And most of the estates were destroyed. With all the taxes his majesty is imposing I don’t think…”
“Wait, what?!” Alain cried in shock. His father glowered at the interruption, but repeated himself anyway.
“I said that during the war your grandfather’s estates were destroyed. The British have allied themselves with the Iroquois Confederacy, a band of savages who…”
“The estates? Destroyed? How? Which ones?” Alain interrupted again, unable to quell a growing sense of unease.
“All of them, you foolish child! Weren’t you listening? As to the how, I’m coming to that. A band of savages from the New World allied themselves with the British. Of course, they are disorganized and barbaric, but a group of them succeeded in razing a number of French estates and plantations. All of the guards were off fighting in the war; I imagine the bastards had an easy time of it once they…”
Alain began to speak again, but decided against it. His father was already in a foul temper, and another interruption would do nothing to improve it. Instead, he slowly thought over the incredible news which had just been relayed to him, and its possible ramifications. Perhaps they would have to sell the house and move into a smaller apartment? He discarded the idea almost at once; they surely had enough money saved over the years to provide for an old man and his son, the latter of whom was hardly ever there. Could they rebuild the estates? Again, he thought it unlikely. Britain’s power in America was growing, and the French and Indian War was not over. It was a bad time for French to put their hope in the new world.
“Alain? Alain? Are you listening to me?”
“Sorry father, I was thinking about what you said.” Alain skirted about the issue deftly. “What is the state of our accounts?”
“We have money saved, of course, but taxes are rising to fund the war in America. Since you have never taken an interest in the family business, I suppose you wouldn’t know that the price of living at the level we do takes its toll on my father’s fortune, but I do and it does. We could scrape by, but it would mean doing away with certain amenities… certain luxuries,” Here Alderic paused and grimaced. “Your books to begin with. That habit of reading has done you no good; you walk about with your head in the clouds and never look down to see the mire you’re stuck in.”
“I can finance my own interests father; I’m eighteen. And the fortune should last until you have fully-grown grandchildren; honestly, I don’t think we do have too much to worry about,” Alain was still picturing this future when Alderic screamed in indignant fury, “You! You would sacrifice the high standing of the house of Dawnay to pursue your own fantasies and pathetic cravings! You know nothing of this world!” the man took a deep breath to steady himself, and when he continued the rage in his voice was gone, replaced by an icy loathing. “You may care nothing for the honor of our family, but I do, and so long as I live, you will contribute to that honor. You think to live off the work of others, of your own family. Well, I tell you now, this shall not be the case. Would you leave your own children with nothing?”
Alain was dumbfounded. He struggled frantically to form arguments against his father’s attack, but he was unprepared and caught off-guard. There was truth in his father’s words; Alain did not try to deny it, but the implications threatened to overwhelm him. He had always pictured himself living off the family fortune, finding true love and devoting his life to family. It was not that Alain was particularly lazy, nor that he feared having to provide for himself, it was simply that he was unprepared. The man had no skills as a craftsman or laborer, nor any interest or talent in business. How was he to contribute to the family fortune as his father wished?
The malicious smile slowly stealing across his father’s face should have been warning, but Alain was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice it. However, he did notice the change in his father’s voice when next the man spoke. He seemed suddenly calmer, and even slightly weary.
“Son, I just want to preserve our house’s dignity. For my father, who created so much from so little, and from his father, who had live with nothing, begging in the streets…. and for all the other Dawnays.” Alderic’s soothing tones were as false as the sad smile he wore, but Alain had no way of knowing that. The old man was malicious in his spirit; no excuses could be made in judging him. He had reason for who he was, but he would never be anyone else.
In the moment before he spoke the words which would forever mar his son’s life, he did feel a flicker of regret. But it was one regret born of another; born of the love his wife had had for the boy, and of his love for that woman who had scorned him.
“I am sure you will understand then, why I have done what I have done,” Alain tensed with sudden apprehension. What was the old man talking about?
“As I mentioned earlier, I have just been visited by Monsieur Gravois, who came on behalf of his daughter, Camille.” Alain nodded. Gravois was a stern-faced man not unlike his father in temperament or appearance, but hugely different in the love he held for his daughter, Camille. Alain had known the two since he was just a boy through Camille’s older brother Dimitri. The two boys had played together often, chasing one another through the streets, causing trouble in the market, or spying on their fathers while the men discussed business. Neither of the men took much notice of the boys’ fast-growing bond, but Alain did not think that Gravois would have reconsidered his decision to send Dimitri away in any case.
Gravois decided that a school in Paris would benefit his son, who he thought needed ‘experience in the larger world.’ Alain had been too young to fully understand the news, nor its implications, but he was saddened none the less. It was, all things considered, perhaps fortunate that the boys had not been closer or older; Dimitri was killed during a blaze which consumed his entire school and much of the surrounding streets. Alain was young enough to heal, and to forget, until eventually the memory was just a small pain blurred by the passing of years.
Gravois, however, was not so fortunate. He blamed himself for his son’s death, and was broken in a way that was terrifying to behold. For weeks after Dimitri’s passing, he refused all visitors and locked himself away in his room. When he at last emerged from this shelter from the world, it was as a new man. His face, once smooth and handsome with sly, calculating eyes, was now hard and creased with premature lines of age and stress. His hair was flecked with gray, and he was harsher, angrier.
All of the man’s feelings of fear, pain, and guilt at last centered on his young daughter Camille. For the old man, she was a second chance, and one he seized eagerly. The girl’s safety became his first concern, her upbringing second. Camille was neither pampered nor constricted, but was guided. The monsieur laid options before her, but let the girl choose. After so many years of neglect, the change must have registered in some wiser recess of her young mind.
In any case, she and Alain had shared in their confusion and grief, and bonded over the years. Though more nurturing, Gravois was still cold and hard; the girl needed warmth and comfort- someone to share her pain. Alain was drawn to the girl for much the same reasons. By the time he was fourteen and she twelve, the pair could pass for brother and sister as they walked down the city’s crowded streets, talking and laughing and very much at ease with one another.
However, Alain had only seen her once or twice in the years since his fifteenth birthday; Alderic kept him busy with his studies and schoolwork. What could Monsieur Gravois possibly want with him now? Alderic stared intently at his son’s face, perhaps trying to read the emotions written there.
“I know that you and Camille have always been close, and you know Monsieur Gravois as well.”
“Yes, but what does this have to do with the estates or our finances?” A part of Alain knew the truth, but that part was locked away by layers hope and confusion.
“Gravois came to extend a most noble and generous offer to our house, to you in particular. He has offered you Camille’s hand in marriage,” Alain’s head spun. Marry Camille?! She was like a sister to him- a young sister he loved and protected. He could never marry her.
“Alain… I have accepted.”

The Dawnays needed money; the Gravois had it. To Alderic, it was as simple as that. His son’s objections were like water against stone.
“Father, she is a sister to me. Nothing more.”
“She is rich, you fool! You think only of yourself, and even about yourself your thinking is wrong! You will live with nothing, nothing but dreams. Vague and fading hopes that you will find true love and somehow live with nothing but your own lacking wits! You will have nothing!” Alderic slammed his fist down angrily. Alain rocked back, mind working frantically.
“What if there is another way?” He said the words softly, but the thought was screaming within his skull, ricocheting painfully about inside him in an effort to break free. “What if I can make the money?”
“You will fail. What paths are open to you?”
“I will find work. I will do as you have always wanted. At least let me finish my studies at the university.” Alderic could not argue with that, and had consented to give his son one year on his own. The old man decided that one year in the world would right the child’s romantic and skewed perception of the world.
“Let him see how those others live; let him survive on nothing but his own merits for a year. He will crawl back with a clear picture of things and an empty stomach.”
For Alain, it was one year to give up his old life and embrace a new. He would bend with the storm; hard times merited hard work. However, Alderic was not wrong in his predictions. Alain had no practical skills: he could read and write fluently in French and even form fragmented sentences in English, but beyond that there was little that he could do. There was little sadness as he left the place that had been his home for eighteen years with nothing more than 50 pistoles in a pouch at his waist and a loaf of bread tucked under one arm.
In truth, he had never cared much for the place, there were too many memories; unpleasant memories of his father, vague, remorseful ones of his mother. Leaving it for the last time felt like leaving that encumbering history behind as well, and he was glad to be free of it. From this point on, Alain would create his own future: no longer would he walk the path Alderic had set for him.