Chapter One
The air was cold and still under the dark, night sky in the grassy fields and muddy farms of Baudelaire's Rise. The Baudelaire's River, situated rather nearby for convenient irrigation, was flowing slower than usual today, so that even the slightest sound would disrupt the peaceful tranquility of the silence. Houses made of bricks and granites were built sparsely, each one with an enormous grass field to call its own, the largest grass fields belonging to the houses of the richest. It was plain clear – who was rich, who was poor, but living in a rural area like Baudelaire's Rise, where poverty was widespread and wealth had no place, it could be said that the number of rich families could be counted off the fingers of one hand.
Illuminated under the weak, magenta light rays of an old, rusty lantern, the rocky pathway led Gretel on, towards the looming pale grey house, that had a sign distinctly planted right in front of it, blotched by dark, black ink in bold letters: BAUDELAIRE'S RISE, HOME FOR THE SPECIAL.
Special, her eyes arrived at the sign, narrowing slightly, as they scanned the grey demeanor of the house, regarding the word most skeptically. Her legs were weak from hours of walking and her hands were tired from hours of carrying and cradling the white, soft bundle that blanketed a baby. Her baby.
She dragged her feet a couple of metres over the brick-layered path, digging into her reserves for the last bit of strength she still had in her to take on the tiny stairway that led to a brown, wooden door. Kneeling down, she laid the baby, wrapped in white bundle, a strong wave of emotions suddenly rocking her.
Knocking the door and waiting for it to open, she found it hard not to cry. The tiny blue eyes twinkled at her, swirling with utmost innocence and shining vibrantly with youth. She tore off her necklace and reached down to put it on him, careful to plant one final kiss on his forehead.
The door swung open. A large nose, possessing an uncanny resemblance to a pelican's beak, of an old woman popped out before the rest of her emerged from the inside of the house. She stepped out, looking slightly perplexed, as her eyes moved from Gretel to the baby, and once again to Gretel, and finally settling on the baby.
"He is a beautiful boy," the old lady finally spoke slowly, cautiously.
Gretel's mind was finally at peace. She could feel her strength withdrawing itself.
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, he is."
The old woman nodded continuously at the baby, looking quite excited. "Alright. Well, please, come in –"
"No," Gretel cut her. "Thank you… but, no."
The old woman stared hard at her now.
"You want to abandon this baby boy?" she inquired diplomatically.
Gretel let out what was supposed to be a suppressed sob. "I haven't a choice."
"What's your name? Are you his mother?" she continued, her voice growing sharper with each question.
Gretel's face was colourless now.
"I'm his mother… please…," she said weakly. "Please take care of my son. I've lived – long – long enough – to see him…"
The old woman was too alarmed now, her head besieged by too many burning questions, but she fought back her curiosity and in turn offered Gretel her hospitality profusely. But Gretel rejected it, her face, the face of happiness yet despair, getting up to leave.
"Wait!" the old woman shouted, gripping her hand fiercely. "What's his name?"
Gretel turned again, this time her face serene and well-composed, a dazed smile on her face.
"Lucas Peter. His name is Lucas Peter."
As she spun around, she took one last glance at her son, and her composure crumbled, her face crumpled in anguish, and a fleet of pain was momentarily seen in her eyes, before it was deflected and replaced with an incomprehensible, hard mask once again.
The old woman stared after her, still quite in a trance, until she had disappeared into the darkness. She picked the baby up and stroked his head gently as she made her way back into the comfort of the orphanage. She swayed the white bundle gently as she entered the living room, greeting her furry black cat. The cat meowed back, gazing at the baby curiously, before pouncing after her and landing on the sofa. Next to the cat, the old woman turn her head towards him –
In place of the cat, was now a young man with straight jet-black hair and dark eyes, inspecting the baby gravely.
"Now what was that all about?" he turned away, asking casually, as he poured a glass of crunchy apple juice for himself.
"It's a baby, Salem," Mrs Lompie smiled.
She explained the whole story to him, as he gulped down his crunchy apple juice, now she herself realizing how weird the encounter had been. Salem spoke again, but not before offering Mrs Lompie a glass of crunchy homemade honey lemonade.
"Never met one like that before," he admitted nonchalantly, helping himself to another swig of crunchy apple juice.
"Yes, it was too weird. The baby, the lady," Mrs Lompie was now frowning.
Salem stretched out his hand. "Could have I look?"
Mrs Lompie extended out her hands as he took the baby from hers carefully, examining it as he drank down his crunchy apple juice. As his fingers traveled around the baby's head, he felt it brushed aside something peculiar – an ornament – and he felt a deep flow of connection entering him, catching recognizable characteristics of what seemed to be –
He pulled out the ornament. It was a necklace, and engraved upon the pendant was the word 'Bennett'. For the first time since he had sat on the sofa, Salem stopped drinking and put his glass down, facing Mrs Lompie now.
"What did you say his name was again?"
"Lucas Peter. Odd name right?" Mrs Lompie said drawlingly.
Salem shook his head. "No, no… I know who he is, Mrs Lompie!"
"What do you mean, Salem?" Mrs Lompie was now confused. "Are you relative?"
Salem suppressed his laughter. Of course, he was relative, or at least a distant one. He held out the necklace for Mrs Lompie to see, so that the pendant could be clearly seen under the weak light of the burning candle that lit the dark room.
"Look at this," he beamed.
Mrs Lompie bent forward and gasped.
A new realization dawned upon the roof of the grey-walled house. Lucas Peter Bennett.