Chapter 10

Always watching

He was alone in the great field again, surrounded by endless, an endless, dense wood. The sky was a cloudy grey, mixed with patches of sunlight, and the wind was still. Ethan looked over his shoulder towards the entrance of the forest, and squinted as he peerd through the darkness. He could swear he saw a pair of yellow eyes peering at him between the green leaves, and a low rumble…a growl, almost…mixed with a sudden breeze.

"Whose there?" he asked, his voice stronger than he expected. "I'm not afraid," he added, and the low growl ceased. When Ethan moved closer to the woods, the yellow eyes seemed to vanish, and the air grew still again. "Where are you?"

"Where are you?" Ethan whimpered, turning from side to side, and Mrs. Hunt jolted awake from having dozed off in her chair. It was nearly dawn; she'd been sitting beside his bed all night.

"Darling, shhshhh, I'm right here love," she soothed, smoothing his forehead, being mindful of the red spots that were beginning to appear there. Ethan jolted away from her, and had to be caught before he rolled right off of the bed.

"Mum?" he could barely speak, his voice was so hoarse. "'S' you?"

Mrs. Hunt nodded, trying to smile. "Of course. You were dreaming."

"I lost him again, Mum," Ethan whispered, shivering violently.

"Lost who?" Mrs. Hunt cocked her head to one side, confused.

"I don't know," Ethan admitted. "But he was there, and then he was gone. I could see the eyes, that was all."

"You're feverish," Mrs. Hunt replied. "Just try to go back to sleep, dear."

Ethan groaned, feeling hot and cold at the same time, and extremely itchy. His mother had smoothed a salve on the spots, trying to ease the sensation, and covered his hands so he wouldn't be able to scratch. It was torture.

"What's happening, Mum? My head feels all fuzzy."

Mrs. Hunt brushed his hair away from his forehead, kissing him gently. "Shshhhh," she soothed, and Ethan wet his dry, cracked lips, and tried to fall back to sleep. However, a proper sleep proved impossible in his condition; he couldn't get comfortable, and the sheets and blanket became tangled between his legs.

"Can't," he croaked, and she eased him up a bit as he started coughing again.

"Your fever is starting to spike," she sighed, after feeling his cheeks. "I'll be right back." She picked up the porcelain bowl from the nightstand, and Ethan watched as she swept into the hallway. When she was gone, he peered through the crack in the curtains; the print on the fabric seemed to transform into the same eyes he saw through the thicket.

"What do you want?" he croaked. "What d'you…want?" he pulled the blankets close to his chin, unable to stay warm.

When Mrs. Hunt came back with a bowl of fresh water, she saw her son staring at the wall. "Mum, can't you see them?" he asked as she sat down, and she stared.

"What?" she asked, wetting the wash cloth, and Ethan looked at her.

"They're all over, Mum…see…look…" he pointed to the curtains, and Mrs. Hunt could only see sunlight pouring onto the rug.

"I see nothing but the curtains, sweetheart," she said sadly.

"Where's…where's Peter?" Ethan whispered, as she began to blot his forehead gently.

"Peter's at home, dear," Mrs. Hunt told him quietly.

"'S he okay…"

"I don't know," she admitted, and Ethan cringed.

"It's too cold," he whimpered, and she closed her eyes, fighting back tears.

"Heaven help us," she whispered, making the sign of a cross.

Susan was jolted awake by the sound of harsh coughing from down the hallway. She sat up in her bed, peering around her room. It was morning…nine o'clock to be exact. Susan sighed softly as she slid out of bed and put her feet into her slippers. It was perfect timing, because her father peeped in moments later.

"Oh good," he breathed. "You're awake."

"What's wrong?" Susan asked, grabbing her robe and putting it on.

"No! Let me go!" Peter's cries caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle, and she understood at once. Without a moment more of hesitation, she followed her father into her brother's room, and found her mother trying to calm Peter down, who was fighting every effort.

"Mum, Mum what's happening?" Susan asked, rushing to the side of the bed, and Mrs. Pevensie looked up.

"He's having a nightmare, but the fever's advancing so much that he can't seem to get out of it…darling, please, shshhh…" she held Peter down gently, and watched as Susan sat down in the chair she used the night before.

"Stop, it hurts, stop…" Peter begged, and she noticed a few spots on his neck.

"It's really…" Susan breathed, and Mr. Pevensie cleared his throat. He was having a difficult time watching his son, who clearly thought he was in some way being tortured.

"Mum! Mum, Dad!" Peter cried. "Mum, no…" he broke into coughing, which shook his whole body roughly.

"What can I do?" Susan asked, her voice very shaky, and Mrs. Pevensie led her daughter's hand towards her brother's wrist. "Peter," she whispered. "It's Susan…it's all right, you're safe…" she soothed, and Peter's cries of pain and terror seemed to cease almost at once.

"Su…?" he whispered, opening his eyes, which were bloodshot.

The adults glanced at each other with surprise, and then Mrs. Pevensie turned to Peter.

"Sweetheart?" she asked, and Peter looked at her wearily.

"Mum?" he whispered. "Where'm…" his breath caught in his chest, and Susan encouraged him to sit up a bit so he could cough a bit easier.

"Oh," Susan breathed. "He's covered in spots," she realized, when she saw the rest of his body. His pajama shirt had been removed, revealing his bare upper body.

"Is Lucy all right?" Peter croaked. "Is she…is she…" he sniffed, and Susan nodded.

"She's fine," she promised. "Peter, she's staying with Aunt Anna right now. She's safe."

"Thought they had her," Peter choked, and shivered.

"Who?" Susan asked, squeezing his hand, which felt like a block of ice.

"I don't know," Peter whispered. "I could hear her crying, but I couldn't find her. Then they grabbed me, and started poking me…"

"That's the spots," Susan said, and Peter slid back down on the mattress, too tired and sore to sit for very long.

"I'll…I'll fetch us some tea, shall I?" Mr. Pevensie asked, unable to bear seeing his son in this state. Susan frowned as he quickly left the room, and she rested her head against her brother's chest.

"'S too bright," Peter whispered. "Mum, my eyes hurt…"

"Susan, close the curtains, will you, dear?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, and Susan lifted her head, standing to do as she was told. The room became fairly dark, with the only light coming from the hall.

"Lucy…" Peter croaked, and Suan felt her heart stop in mid-beat. "Where is she?"

"I told you, Peter, she's fine," Susan repeated. "She's with Aunt Anna."

"And…Ed?" he swallowed, his throat so swollen that the pain brought tears to his eyes.

"He's with her," Susan replied softly.

"Oh," Peter whispered, and Mrs. Pevensie folded a cool compress over her son's forehead. "Why was she screaming, then?"

Susan glanced at her mother, who shook her head sadly.

"No one was screaming, Peter," Susan said.

"I heard her," Peter insisted.

"Just try to sleep, dear," Mrs. Pevensie soothed.

"I'm too hot," Peter croaked, and Susan squeezed his hand.

"You're burning up," she said, and they pulled his blankets down halfway.

"Mum?" Peter croaked, and Mrs. Pevensie touched his arm gently.

"I'm here, love," she insisted. "I'm right here, darling."

Susan felt her lips trembling; it was so sad to see her brother like this. He was certainly very sick, especially if he were imagining things in this way. Peter did have an imagination of his own, but he usually knew when to stop pretending.

Peter moaned and fussed from side to side under the covers, and Susan watched as her mother took his hand, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

"What can I do?" Susan asked, her voice coming out in an almost squeak. Peter moaned, coughing, and shivered violently with chills. She felt so helpless, just standing there staring.

"Fetch another blanket and an extra pillow, will you, dear?"

Susan hopped up at once, and went to the linen closet. It was terrible to see Peter so ill. She vaguely remembered her own experience with the measles…she had been very young at the time, but she remembered Peter sitting with her through the end of it. He hadn't been allowed to be near her at the start, of course, but when she wasn't contagious anymore, he sat beside her the entire time.

She felt hot tears pricking the corner of her eyes, and finally allowed them to fall down her cheeks. She thought about Ethan, who was probably lying in bed experiencing the same torture as her brother, and had to lean against the wall to keep from fainting.

She stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep from sobbing aloud when she heard Peter's cries of pain from the sick room, and watched as her father came into the hall, looking very pale.

"I can't," Mr. Pevensie whispered, and Susan stared at him.

"Dad?" she choked, and he hugged her.

"My heart can't take it anymore, Susan. I can't be in the same room without feeling as though I am going to fall apart in front of your mother."

Susan sobbed quietly against her father's chest, and allowed him to pick her up for the first time since she'd been little. "Have to get the things for Mum," she whimpered, clinging to his neck. "Dad, is Peter…is he going…" she swallowed hard. "I know I didn't die when I had the measles, but…he's much sicker than I was."

Mr. Pevensie lowered her to the ground, and let her get the things from the linen closet.

"It hasn't been more than half a day, Susan," Mr. Pevensie told her. "We'll have no idea about the outcome anytime soon."

"I wish I could see Ethan," Susan whispered, and Mr. Pevensie patted her on the head. "I hope he's going to be all right." She gulped, remembering how much fun they'd had when he came to visit their cottage. Even if he did think me silly, she thought, wetting her lips.

"I enjoyed his company as well, Susan, but that's not possible," he said softly, and she nodded in understanding. "Go on and help your mother. I am going to take a bit of fresh air." He went downstairs, and Susan went back into Peter's room, finding him asleep at last.

"Thank you," Mrs. Pevensie told her daughter, easing Peter's head up a little so she could put the extra pillow under it, and covered him with the second blanket. Peter whimpered at the movement, and Susan watched as his hands moved ever so slightly.

"I love you, Peter," she spoke softly into his ear, and he groaned, turning his head towards her, but not opening his eyes.

Meanwhile, Edmund and Lucy were enduring Aunt Anna, who was trying her very best to make the youngest Pevensie children at home. Lucy tried her best to keep her mind occupied, and therefore spent a lot of time outdoors. Edmund spent most of his time sulking in the parlor, sitting on the couch by the window. Not that this was highly unusual, of course, but even though he didn't show it on the outside, he was very worried about Peter.

Their father hadn't contacted them at all as he promised he would, so they knew nothing. They hadn't even seen Peter since his return from Ethan's house, so they were not sure how badly off he really was.

Lucy lay on her back in the grass, gazing up at the blue sky. The humidity was causing her dress to stick to her skin, which made it very uncomfortable. Thankfully, though, a slight breeze ruffled past every now and again, tousseling her hair.

She watched the clouds as they drifted past, trying to decipher their shapes. She hoped Peter and Ethan would get better, because, after all, Ethan promised he would help her build the fairy house the next summer.

"Lucy?" Aunt Anna called from the open window of the kitchen, and Lucy craned her neck so she could see her relative. "Time for lunch, dear!"

Lucy sighed, pushing her body up from the ground, and brushed pieces of dirt and grass from her dress. Aunt Anna was actually being quite bearable this visit, probably because she knew the children were upset over their brother, and did not want to distress them further by being too pushy.

"Wash your hands, love," Aunt Anna ordered gently as Lucy entered the kitchen, finding Edmund already eating his sandwich at the table. She took great measures to ignore him completely, which was just fine with him. He didn't like to interact with his pest of a sister anyhow.

"Why hasn't father called?" Lucy asked, as she stood on a step stool and washed her hands in the sink.

"Oh my dear, I am sure he will when he gets a moment," Aunt Anna said, smoothing her hair. "He's very busy taking care of your brother."

"He promised he'd call every day to tell me how Peter was doing," Lucy pouted, once she dried her hands and sat down, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich not appearing at all appetizing. In fact, since she arrived at her Aunt's house, she hadn't much of an appetite.

"I am sure he will keep his promise," Aunt Anna replied, touching her youngest niece's hand. "You were brought here only last night, and it is still early in the day. Have patience, Lucy."

Edmund shoved another piece of his own sandwich into his mouth, and took a sip of milk.

"Dad always keeps his promises," he said, and Lucy looked at him. "At least, he does with me."

She frowned, and sighed.

"Aunt Anna," Lucy whispered, "I'm not hungry." She pushed her plate back and leaned her chin in her palm, not certain how Edmund could go through the meal as though he didn't have a care in the world.

"Please, Lucy, you'll do yourself no good if you don't eat," Aunt Anna begged. "Just have a quarter of a sandwich, and I'll be satisfied. I even removed the crusts for you, because I know that's how you like it."

Lucy smiled softly, and gave her Aunt a hug, knowing the older woman was trying. She felt something soft rub against her shin, and saw Aunt Anna's cat, Rollie, sitting beside her chair. Rollie liked to follow Lucy all over the house when she came to visit, and often pounced when she was least expecting him.

"Oh, shoo!" Lucy hissed, waving her hand at the cat, and pulled it back quickly as it stretched a paw at her.

"Rollie! Do behave yourself," Aunt Anna scolded, lifting the cat into her arms, and brought it out of the kitchen. She was barely gone for two minutes when the telephone rang at last. Lucy stared at Edmund, who gave her a smug look, and she watched as her Aunt rushed back into the kitchen to answer it.

"Hello? Oh, John…"

Lucy pushed her chair back and stood up, waiting anxiously. "Yes, she's right here." Aunt Anna lowered the phone from her ear, and smiled, handing it to the small girl.

"Daddy?" Lucy spoke timidly into the receiver, her heart racing very fast against her chest.

"Hello, poppet. Are you behaving for your Auntie?" Mr. Pevensie asked, trying to block Peter's feverish cries from upstairs.

"Yes," Lucy promised. "Is Peter any better?"

There was a pause, and Lucy felt a bit dizzy.

"He's not doing well," Mr. Pevensie admitted. "He has a very high fever, and a bad cough that's making it difficult for him to breathe properly."

"Does he have spots?" Lucy asked, and Edmund's ears pricked with curiosity.

"Yes, he does."

Lucy glanced at Edmund, who lowered his head, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh." Lucy chewed on her lower lip. "Um…will you…will you tell him I love him?" she asked. "And I miss him? And I hope he gets better?"

Mr. Pevensie chuckled warmly. "Of couse I will, darling."

"Okay," Lucy nodded. "I love you, Daddy," she finished.

"May I speak with your brother?" he asked, and Lucy handed the phone to Edmund, before leaving the kitchen, her sandwich untouched. She felt tears filling her eyes, and she stomped her foot, scaring the cat that had been dozing on the living room rug. It gave a started, "Reow!" and dashed under the couch.

"Lucy?" Aunt Anna found her niece curled against the great chair, her face pressed against the back cushion, as she cried softly.

"Peter's very sick," she hiccoughed.

"I know, dear. I know, poppet," Aunt Anna soothed, rubbing Lucy's back.

"It's not fair that Susan gets to be with him and I can't," she sobbed. "It's not fair!" she sobbed louder, and didn't see Edmund peeing through the living room doorway. He looked rather pale and wide-eyed, telling his Aunt that he was going to go to his room for a bit.

"Let me know if you need anything," Aunt Anna told him, and he nodded, shuffling up the steps. "Lucy, I know you want to help. I know it's hard for you to just sit here and wait, but trust me, darling, you do not want to have the measles."

"I'd r-rather have them," she choked. "I'd r-rather be sick than P-Peter. He's…he's my favoritest," she sobbed, and Aunt Anna hugged her close, not knowing how to comfort the child. She never had children of her own, but adored her sister Helen's children as though they were hers, when they came to visit.

"I think it would be best if you lay down for a bit," Aunt Anna suggested, and Lucy stared at her.

"Too old for naps, Auntie," she muttered, and Aunt Anna laughed.

"No one is too old for naps," she replied. "I'm certainly not, and I take them as often as I can. Go along upstairs and rest, dear. I promise Rollie won't bother you."

Lucy sighed and nodded, and reluctantly went upstairs.