Chapter 29: He Hurt Them
The jury's final decision came as no surprise to Wirt. But he still felt like he might throw up.
"That's bullshit!"
All eyes turned to Stephen, who'd stood up and was pointing accusingly up at the judge. Then he thrust a finger at Jonathan and shouted, "You're sick! You sick, demented, kiddy-diddling son of a bitch!"
The security guards began taking stride towards him, but he pushed past them. If this wasn't reality, his eyes would be glowing red and smoke would be whistling out his ears. He made his way towards Jonathan and reared his fist back. However, the security guards restrained him before Stephen could get even close to hitting him. With all the commotion having everyone distracted, Wirt decided now would be a good time to make a run for it. He pulled his hand away from Sara's, stood up, and scooted out of the pew.
Nobody noticed him but Jonathan, and he watched with sadism in his eyes as Wirt bolted out of the courtroom.
The security guards forcefully pulled Stephen out of the room, and the judge hushed everybody after the initial shock calmed. Still alarmed, Sara whispered to her dad, "I'll be right back." Her father nodded, and she raced after him.
When she exited out to the hall, she saw him burst into the door of the men's bathroom.
She followed. When faced with the door with the word MEN'S on it, she hesitated, imagining how shocked, disgusted, and annoyed some tall, brooding lawyer might be if he found a teenage girl in the men's bathroom. She went in anyway, knowing damn well Wirt probably felt destroyed right now, and what he was feeling was infinitely worse than her embarassment would be over being caught in the wrong bathroom.
Sure enough, the biggest stall was locked, and from inside she could hear him breathing as if he'd just run a marathon in the snow; his breaths were quick and shivering, and in between every few shallow breaths was a sob.
"Wirt," She asked gently, "can you open up the door?"
He didn't reply, but she could hear him crawling toward the door, and then the lock on the door opening with a few failed attempts.
She went in and shut the stall again, and Wirt shuffled back into his fetal position up against the wall.
"Breathe, Wirt, it's okay-"
"No it's not! It's not, it's never gonna- gonna be okay, I can't-"
Sara made a point not to touch him. "Just breathe, Wirt, we'll figure this out, it's going to be okay." She demonstrated by giving slow steady breaths of her own, but Wirt didn't even try.
"I told you this would happen, they weren't going to believe me, nobody ever believes me."
Sara just listened, because she had no idea what else to do.
"Sara, I-" He looked right up at her, his face a red, tear-blotched mess. "I-I know what happened to your sister."
Sara paused. "Wait, what?"
Wirt sniffled and wiped his face. "H-h-he did things to her, the bad things, and he took pictures and then he-" Wirt couldn't finish, he felt so guilty and responsible for what had happened to Josie. No, he had nothing to do with it and he hadn't known about it until just recently. But he still felt it, this deep shame that if it wasn't for him, she'd still be alive.
Wirt continued, still crying and covering his ears. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now, he did it, he did it to her and to a bunch of other kids, he hurt them, he hurt them."
Sara was horrified. She hadn't thought much about her sister's death for a long time. The lack of Josie's presence didn't linger as much as it used to. But now she felt the way she had the moment she'd found out her sister was dead, so many years ago.
She wanted to cry with him, but she held back for his sake.
The bathroom door opened, and two well-suited men walked in. Realizing that the court session had been dismissed and that everyone was filing out, Wirt panicked and urgently left the bathroom so nobody would hear or see him in there.
He ran down the hall, looking for some corner or abandoned hall that he could go unnoticed in. Sara rushed through the crowd after him, hoping in the very least to keep track of him.
But she wasn't the only one keeping a close eye on his whereabouts.
Next to the emergency exit was a small, deserted space and a door to the stairwell. Nobody was there, because nobody really needed to use the emergency exit or the stairwell right now.
He began to twist the doorknob to the stairwell, until forceful hands turned him around.
He didn't need to look to know who it was.
"It must've felt really good, thinking you could get me incarcerated this easily."
Wirt covered his face and dug his nails into his forehead, wanting desperately just for Jonathan to shoot him and get it over with. There was no hope now, he had nowhere to go, he felt numb and empty. This was his life now. He wasn't a person, he was just a tiny, filthy piece of garbage who'd be used for the rest of his life.
"I'm not stupid. I've been doing this for a loooooong time, long before you were even born."
Sara stumbled across the confrontation and froze.
Wirt was too petrified to notice her, and Jonathan seemed too engaged in his little speech to notice her either.
Her first instinct was to pull Jonathan away.
But she quickly realized this was the perfect and last opportunity to make things right.
She didn't want to leave them alone, dreading the thought of what might happen to Wirt if she did.
But if the risk came with the opportunity, she decided to take it.
She raced down the hall and searched for her father, Wirt's mother, or both.
And both she found, standing next to each other as if they wanted to say something harsh to the other, but were trying to remain civilized.
"Dad, Ms. Harton!"
They both looked up at her, a little taken aback by her panic.
"What's the matter?" Her dad asked.
"Both of you, follow me."
Elspeth and Mr. Harton exchanged a confused glance before quickly following Sara down the hall.
She returned to the scene, now with the adults at her side. Nothing more had happened, but Jonathan was still muttering threatningly, not noticing that there were now three witnesses right behind him.
"Once everything blows over, I'll end your goddamned life, and your brother will pick up where you left off-"
"Jon?"
All time seemed to freeze. Wirt's eyes widened, and Jonathan paled at the sound of his wife's voice, taking a step back from Wirt.
"What the hell are you talking about." She asked. But the way she said it sounded more like a statement than a question.
Jonathan clenched his fists, having no reply.
Mr. Evans pushed past him and gently took Wirt's arm. "Come on, son."
As Mr. Evans and Sara led Wirt out to the parking lot, Elspeth was fuming. Jonathan had his back to her still, but that was okay, because Elspeth didn't want to see his face.
"Don't come home," She told him, her voice shaking.
He slowly turned to her. "Well, what do you want me to do?"
"I don't know, and I don't give a shit."
"...should I go over to get my stuff-"
"No!" Her eyes began welling up with tears. "You aren't coming anywhere near my house or my kids. I will drop your crap off at your mother's house when I feel like it. But you aren't staying anymore."
Jonathan just stared at her. She stared back, her eyes challenging and full of tears.
Jonathan exhaled through his nose, and through gritted teeth, said, "Fine."
He stormed off, and once he was gone, Elspeth stared at the door to the stairwell.
Her boys had been abused. They'd been molested, and perhaps even worse.
She dropped to her knees and sobbed into her hands. What had she done? How could she have just stood by when all the evidence was right there in plain sight? Wirt had literally told her, and she'd shot him down. She'd taken him to a psychologist, and then silenced him by shoving pills down his throat and giving his trauma a label. Schizoaffective. What a worthless, inadequate, negligent, pathetic, excuse of a mother she'd been to them. Now she was all covered in her own snot and tears, while her son was the one truly suffering.
She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat.
No more tears. This time, it would be Wirt's turn to cry, and she wouldn't ever silence him again.
Out in the parking lot near the Evans car, Sara and her father stood at Wirt's sides, so to make him feel secure while they waited for his mother.
Elspeth came out, looking distraught, like a dog with its tail in between its legs.
Wirt took a step back as she approached, fearing that she'd reprimand him for telling, and for putting the dear love of her life's reputation on the line.
"Wirt," she began softly. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."
He looked up at her through bloodshot eyes and sweat-soaked bangs.
"It's all my fault, you should've never had to go through that. I'm sorry I just stood by and let it happen. I wish I could change it, I really do."
She took another step closer to him, but he didn't flinch away.
"You have every right to be mad at me and I understand if you hate me, but I hope you can find it in your heart to come home and let me repay everything I put you through."
She was crying, genuinely crying, and holding out her arms.
Wirt still saw that ignorant side of her, he still almost felt like she was as bad as Jonathan was.
But at the same time, he wanted his mother back, his real mother back; the mother who'd truly loved him and cared about him before he'd told her four years ago.
He didn't return her hug, but he said, "Okay."
It wasn't the hug she'd been looking for, but her whole expressed lit up. "Thank you."
There was a moment of silence before Mr. Evans spoke up. "Do you want to come get your stuff from the house?"
Wirt nodded, and then looked back up at his mom. "Greg's at Mrs. Daniels' if you want to pick him up." He climbed into the Evans car, and the turned to add, "I'll see you at home."
His mother smiled softly at him. "See you at home, sweetheart."
xxxxxxxxx
I awake to find Greg no longer in my lap. Snow has since sprinkled over my cape and made a fluffy, cold little layer.
I immediately stand up in a rush, wondering where in the world Greg could have gone off too.
"Greg?" I holler toward the trees, but I receive no answer. "Greg!"
I shake the snow off my cape and mumble to myself. "You're in the middle of a dark, creepy forest and there's literally a monster coming after to kill you and your brother, how do you fall asleep and just let him wander off like that, you idiot?!"
I throw my cape over my shoulders and run off to search for him, but after a few paces, something blue flies into my face with a shriek.
I fall onto my backside with a thud, and whatever hit me is on the ground, groaning in pain.
"Beatrice?"
Beatrice gets up onto her little bluebird talons and looks at me with a sense of urgency. "Wirt, I saw your brother!"
"You saw Greg?! Wh-where?"
"He's- he was... with... the Beast!"
"What?- Oh no, oh god no."
I frantically stand up and allow Beatrice to perch on my shoulder. "C'mon, we need to find him."
I run in the snow, warming up as I do so, glancing side to side for my brother.
And then I hear a voice.
It's deep, and it's singing into the night.
"Come, wayward souls who wander through the darkness; there is a light for the lost and the meek..."
I follow it, listening for it as it gets louder the closer I get to it.
It stops, and then I hear Greg's voice. "Wirt..."
I turn, and there he is.
My little brother is pale, with branches twisting and wrapping around his limbs and holding him tight like a long, ruthless snake.
"Greg!" I rush over to him and begin to tug at the branches, but they don't even budge.
"I'm sorry, Wirt," he says, and I stop to look up at him.
"What do you mean? Sorry for what?"
"For making you hurt all the time." Greg coughs. "For being the reason you're suffering."
"Greg- no way, that has nothing to do with you."
"Yes it does." He begins gagging, and then sputters out a couple of leaves.
"Oh jeez, the leaves are even growing inside him..."
"Nah, I was just eatin' leaves..." Greg turns his attention from Beatrice back to me. "I came from my dad, and my dad-"
"Greg, stop." I look him dead in the eyes. "You're just a kid. I was just a kid. You didn't have any control over what he did. You're not responsible for his actions and you didn't ask for it anymore than I did. Don't ever blame yourself for it, because I don't, and neither does Mom."
Greg smiles up at me. "Really?"
"Really." A silence lingers for a few moments, before I clear my throat and say, "Now come on, let's get you out of here."
"This isn't any good, Gregory."
I turn, and the Beast is standing there with something in both hands.
In one hand he's holding the lantern, and in the other, he's dragging the unconscious Woodsman by his wrist.
He drops both, and leans towards Greg to murmur to him, "It's happening again. You're letting your brother do all the dirty work, while you-"
"Shut up, you wretched Beast!" I find myself shrieking, not even believing it's my voice, and not believing it's my foot landing against his face.
He makes this weird screech, which sounds more like a video game sound effect than a voice.
"Damn you!" He booms.
I almost begin to feel superior until Greg is forced to pay for my violent action. A branch wraps around his neck like a faulty umbilical cord, and suddenly the moment is a lot more stressful. I need to do something before Greg suffocates to death, but I can't rattle my thoughts for a solution. If you die in the Unknown, what happens to you in real life?
"Leave those boys alone, Beast," says a strained voice from a few feet away. I look, and the Woodsman can hardly hold up his own head. He can only raise his chin barely an inch above the ground.
"Shut up, you useless old man."
The Beast turns his attention back to Greg, and Greg begins gagging. It takes me a second to realize what's going on.
"No, stop!" I pull at the strangling branch, feeling more hopeless than ever as my attempts are to no avail. It's tightening around Greg's neck, cutting into his skin and suffocating him.
From the corner of my eye, I see the Woodsman reaching toward something.
The lantern.
I stop pulling and watch as the Woodsman struggles to open the lantern and expose the flame inside with a shaky hand. The Beast sees me looking, and he turns to look in the same direction.
But before he can register what he's looking at, that's the end.
He lets out a final screech, and his branches begin to twist and contort, getting smaller and more shriveled.
Then something falls to the ground with a soft tap, almost like a sewing needle.
I pick it up and hold it between the pads of my thumb and index finger.
It's a tiny, rotten seed.
The branches that had wound around Greg un-attach themselves and sink back into the ground.
Greg isn't moving and his eyes are closed, but he's still breathing. The skin of his neck, where the branch had been clutching onto him, is raw, like a bad rug burn.
I sling him over my back and turn to the Woodsman. He's still clutching onto the extinguished lantern, weary and out of breath.
"Thank you, Woodsman," I tell him.
"Where are you going now?" He croaks.
I glance at the dark clearing of trees. "I don't know."
I look up and around, now noticing that Beatrice had left without a single word, or even a "goodbye."
I sigh, and I walk off into the night.
