It was cold, much too cold. It was dark, and he could not find a switch to turn on the light.
"Hello?"
The child's voice is tremulous and terrified. His query echoes back at him, seemingly reflecting right off of the cold walls ladened with strange tapestries of things and people he did not recognize.
The corridor he has inexplicably, impossibly found himself in, was eerily quiet. In the echoing silence, he feels like the loneliest person in the world.
It is not what he is used to, and he is afraid. Usually, his home is full of light and laughter. The polar opposite of this uninviting midnight hallway.
If there is no laughter at his seaside paradise of a home, then there is gentle, soft, speaking, muted and loving. When there is no speaking, there is yelling and crashing, but the child is not afraid of this. There is always laughter afterwards.
There were many things there, but what there was not, his home was never filled with that oppressive silence smothering him now.
His fear turns to terror, and his slow, cautious walk becomes a sprint. His bare feet slap on the cold floor, and his voice rises in alarm.
"Mother? Father! Hello? Anyone!"
Still the silence mocks him, but the child runs on, his calls turning to shrill shouts. His stomach twists, and his heart constricts.
Not very far away, a tired, sleepless man, the master of the manor, looks up from the map before him. He frowns, and listens closely. No, he was not imagining that sound.
"Mother! Mother! Father!"
It is a child's voice. The man frowns again. There are not meant to be any children around here, he made it clear to his staff, but it is undeniable. The cries are coming closer. He wonders if this is some kind of trap, but dismisses the notion. Who would put up a child to murder him?
He pushes back his chair from his desk and stands. His joints, used to the squashed, hunched posture, complain momentarily, but the man quickly shakes out the stiffness and reaches for the lightened candle on his table, carefully picking it up and passing it over the important papers scattered over his workspace.
He is just moving away from his cluttered desk to investigate when the cries suddenly become louder, and the pattering of the child's feet screeches to a halt outside the man's study.
From the corridor, the child catches a glimpse of the flickering light of a fire from a doorway. His cries strengthen and he propels himself into the room. Surely, there must be someone here, someone who can comfort him and take him home.
As he enters the room, he finds something exponentially better.
"Father!" The child utters a wordless shout of joy and leaps to attach himself to the man's knees.
The man looks down in complete and utter shock at the small boy now clinging to his legs for dear life. The child is nearly weeping into the man's breeches, mumbling incomprehensibly.
Still stunned and now a little concerned, the man reaches down to awkwardly pat the boy's dark, feathery hair and try to disentangle himself from the obviously confused and upset child.
Lost for words, the man eventually asks, "So, uh, are you lost, little boy?"
The child looks up at him adoringly and gives a watery smile, pressing his cheek into the man's leg.
"Not anymore, father."
The man shifts uncomfortably and moves his fiery hand closer to the child's face. He does not flinch, just gazes up at the man solemnly as he inspects his features, then pulls back with a few choice curses.
The boy's eyes were unnatural. Bizarre. Frightening.
The child giggles. "I'm telling mother!"
The man listens not, as he admires those familiar sets of irises. The child's strange gaze is still fixed on the man, bright brown eyes that shone against the fire, that displayed happiness, inquisitive spirit and warmth of demeanour.
The man shakes his head. "No, no. I am not your father. My name is Oliver."
The small boy rolls his piercing eyes. "And my name is Edward. I already know your name, father."
He shakes his head again.
"No, I could not be your father. I do not have any children." There is a moment of shocked silence, and Oliver clears his throat awkwardly and offers, "Would you like me to help find you parents? What is your mother's name?"
Edward is looking at him in horror, and his grip on Oliver's legs loosens.
"No, you're my father. You must be. You're just like him!"
Unnerved, Oliver patiently tries again. "What is your mother's name, Edward?"
Edward releases Oliver's leg entirely and starts to back away.
"What do you mean, what's my mother's name?" His voice climbs a couple of octaves. "Of course, you know mother's name! Better than your own! You love her! You say so all the time!"
Oliver shakes his head again, speechless, and makes a gesture of helplessness with the hand not occupied by the quivering flame. He takes a cautious step towards Edward, but the child continues to retreat.
"Mother! Mother, where are you? Mother!" When it is clear that no response is forthcoming, the boy calls again.
"Mother? Mother! Penelope! Penelope! Penelope! Penelope! Penelope!"
Oliver freezes and looks at the child in shock.
"Penelope? Your mother's name is Penelope?"
Memories come flooding back to him, breaking free from where they were so carefully locked away behind a wall in his head. Memories of his life before he was most honourably appointed to the position of Lord High Admiral. Memories of his overseas pirate hunt, and the crew that spelled the almost-downfall of his Navy career.
Memories of smiling, laughing, brown-eyed girl. Memories of an angry, tempestuous, amazing girl. Her courage, her loyalty. Her life, her death.
Smallpox was not a concern at her place of origin. It has not been for many decades. So, when an epidemic exploded in London, she was particularly susceptible.
In a coup of fate, the love of his life was taken away on the blink of an eye. Just after they married, just after he finally had her for good.
I'll save you from the pirates.
Oliver closes his eyes and drops the candle, bringing his hands to his face. The fire went out as soon as it touched the freezing cold floor. In the suffocating, stifling darkness behind his eyes, he hears Edward call for his mother and father one more time before there is silence.
He removes his head from his, the soothing oblivion of his palms and sees the boy's face, carved in a wooden mask of horror and disbelief, for a moment only before he vanishes.
A universe away, Edward wakes up screaming in his bed, wailing at the top of his lungs for his parents.
Within moments, there they are, just as they have always been. The lights of the blue room, filled with electronic gadgets and toys are turned on. Faces bleary and concerned, they rush to his side, the father tall, serious, and pale-skinned, the mother smaller, tanned, and calmer. They were drawn together over their terrified child, stroking his hair and cooing softly, cuddling and soothing.
You are okay, it is alright, it was just a dream, we both love you.
His sobbing turns to quiet hiccupping, and he presses close to the warm and sleepy bodies of his parents and eventually falls asleep.
His parents stay with him, holding him between them and gently rocking him until he is too deeply asleep to dream. Over his head, their eyes meet: one pair a bright, flashing amber brown, the other a clear ocean blue.
They smile a secret smile and continue to comfort their firstborn, a physical manifestation of impossibility and their love.
Back in the silence of the old, county manor, Oliver stares blankly at the spot where the child had stood only moments ago. He would feel confused, but ever since he met Penny, there was no more possibility for disbelief.
Instead, he was filled with sadness and profound regret. Then, he kneels on the meticulously waxed floor and weeps the wail of a haunted soul. That he is, by his poor choices and inability to protect what he loves.
Now, he only has this empty house, where no one hears his cries.