Chapter 5: A Flicker in the Darkness

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the idea and Flutter.

Boston-1890

"Did you hear about the McAlistair's daughter?" "No, I didn't…Don't tell me that poor child has…Poor Lauren!" Jack ignored the hushed whispers of the townsfolk around him, preferring instead to use their distraction to his advantage, sorting through the masses of vegetables on the cart. He picked up a tomato, examining it for any signs of damage and placed it in his bag. He was grateful that he wasn't very well known in the small town, oh sure people had heard of him, but none of them could recognize him by his face. Not that they could do that in any city, but at least here, the police weren't always after him, he could move around slightly more freely than on the busy streets of London. Or, at least he could have if it hadn't been for the fact that Miss Leigh had kept on a shorter leash than what they used to tie up the dogs.

Paying for his purchases, he adjusted his hat instinctively, not wanting to take any chances. Absentmindedly, some of the women's drivel entered his field of hearing. "It's a terrible thing really; I heard it from the butcher earlier this morning. It seems that she came down with the Disease not two nights ago." "Then, she's gone to…" "Yes, Ms. Leigh has taken her in, bless her soul."

Ah, well that certainly explained things slightly more clearly. Lauren McAlistair would be the young lass who had arrived this morning. Pale, with limp flaxen locks, her sky blue eyes had been disconcerted, just like all the rest. The ten year old had seemed so small, clutching Jyll's hand, staring into space unresponsively as her mother bid her a tearful farewell. But that was to be expected now that she had the Disease.

The Disease was an inexplicable set of problems that had cropped up in the village, with symptoms ranging from frothing at the mouth to fits, to complete separation from the physical world. Till date, almost fifty children had been taken ill, yet none knew why. The townsfolk were a superstitious lot, many felt that this was a sure sign of the presence of the devil but no doctor, preacher nor exorcist could cure them. Not a single soul above the age of fifteen had contracted the mysterious malady, but as the days wore on, people's fear grew. When the mayor expressed his desire to burn the afflicted at the stakes, there was scarcely a murmur of protest, save one strong voice that rose above the rest.

Jyll Leigh, who had arrived in the town only a few weeks ago, was a young Welsh woman who had come from the Welsh countryside. Quiet and unassuming, nothing was known about her, her parentage, line of work, everything was still ambiguous. But when she had heard about the plan of action, she declared that she would willingly look after the children. "Innocent souls must not suffer unduly for the sins of another." The townsfolk had called her a hero.

Jack called her a witch. There was something about the woman. For one thing, he had never really seen the children after they arrived in their new haven, for that matter, no one had. It unnerved Jack just how much she seemed to know about the condition. The exorcist's chants and the doctor's leeches hadn't had the slightest effect but Jyll seemed more confident than all of them put together. It was of little concern to her that the children were incurable.

No, the lady of the house held far darker secrets than anyone could imagine and it would only be a matter of time before anyone discovered them.

Back at home, if he could call it that, Jack put away the vegetables and set to work getting a pot of tea ready for Leigh. Balancing a tray laden with a kettle, her special porcelain tea cup and saucer, sugar and a plate of unsweetened ginger snaps, he made his way to her study. To his surprise, the door was ajar. He rapped his knuckles on the mahogany door and when he got no response, he nervously entered.

The room was empty, which was odd considering that at this time of day, she was always in her study. The window was open and a thick volume lay open upon her desk. Setting the tray down on her table, he averted his eyes from the text. He had been strictly forbidden from looking at any of her written materials. But his eyes seemed to be drawn, as though by magic to what lay on the brown edged pages.

The text wasn't English, he was sure of that. It looked more like Latin to him. But it wasn't the text that drew his attention, it was the illustration that accompanied it. Completely done in black ink, there were a series of images on the pages that seemed to be all related to one another, although he couldn't pinpoint the exact relation. In the centre, there was a horde of animals and beasts that were encircling a human-like creature that appeared to be writhing in pain. Above the macabre scene was a pair of eyes, large with slit-like pupils, staring at the scene below.

So enthralled was he in his musings that he failed to hear the quiet footsteps behind him. "Hello there Jack, I don't suppose that you'd care to explain what you're doing?"

Stumbling backwards, he cursed under his breath, noting the irritation in his employer's eyes. "I…I was just delivering your tea ma'am, like you had asked." She smiled sweetly, "And you weren't having a little peek at my book?" He shook his head frantically. "No, honest I wasn't!"

She stepped closer and closer towards him, the smile still fixed on her face. Finally when he was at arm's length, she reached out and grasped his chin firmly in her delicate hand. "Jack," she murmured quietly, "I must admit, I don't like liars." And with that, she drew her hand back and slapped his cheek. The force of the blow made him stagger backwards. As he regained his balance, he fancied that for a second the nails on her hand looked like the talons on one of the creatures in her book. The stinging in his cheek alerted him to the fact that his cheek seemed slightly wet. Horrified, he lifted a hand to touch his cheek; it came back red.

"Get out," she ordered sharply, "And next time mind you, I won't be quite so kind."

That night, he pinched out the flame on the candle on his nightstand and collapsed into bed. He was exhausted and rightly so in his mind. His nightclothes and bedspread did little to stave off the chill that hung in the air. Tossing and turning, he replayed the events of the day in his head. The look in her eyes was something that he'd not soon forget. But what had piqued his curiosity the most was the foreign emotion that had entered her eyes. He'd almost be bold enough to term it fear. Jack had never seen her lose her control like that before. Gently lifting his fingers to his cheek, he winced again as the cut smarted.

It wasn't too long afterwards that Jack managed to drift off to sleep. Outside, the sky darkened as the clouds drifted past, shielding the light of the moon. The wind picked up ominously and nearby a colony of bats that had been resting flew off into the distance. Floating in his peaceful dream world, he expected to sleep comfortably till morning. But a sudden piercing scream that broke through the silence like a bullet ruined any plans of that. Out of habit, he jolted out of bed, grabbing a pistol that he had kept in the drawer of his nightstand. He raced towards the source of the sound, not even bothering to put on a pair of slippers. From the sound of things, the shriek had its origins in the children's wing. As he reached the old wing, he slowed down almost instinctively, shaking off the strange feeling that crept up on him. It was surely only his imagination that the air here was colder than in the rest of the house.

Just then, a sudden creaking in front of him caught his attention. He cocked his pistol, ready and waiting. The door to one of the rooms opened and out stepped Jyll. She turned and looked at him. Jack lurched, was that…blood on her gloves? She saw where he was looking and muttered, "One of the children has passed away. She had a terrible bout of fits and I needed to restrain her. Now make yourself useful and take the body out. We'll need to bury it in the morning. And put your pistol away, you look like a damned fool. Oh, and Jack," she said, fixing him with her familiar cold stare, "Don't go touching anything else this time, those doors are to remain closed."

Shivering, he went in. Women who died at his own hand were one thing, but children? The girl on the bed was still, pale but her lips were rapidly turning blue. It was Lauren, he subconsciously noted. He was about to pick her up and move her, when he noticed that one of the adjoining doors was not fully closed. It was stupidity he realized, but he needed to know. What was behind those doors that Jyll didn't want anyone else to see?

Quietly, he pushed the brown door open and slithered in. His eyes grew wide and his breathing became labored as he pressed against the wall, sinking to the ground in horror. What was going on? What exactly had he been aiding this monster in achieving? This hero that the town revered, what sorcery, no what dark magic was she indulging in, out of the watchful gaze of her adoring people?

Boston-Modern Day

The liquid in the pot bubbled innocuously, almost too serenely for his taste. Scrunching up his nose in frustration, he added a sprinkle of pepper that was sure to make the broth taste better. Another few minutes of quiet simmering and he skimmed off the remaining fat, straining the broth and poured it into bowls. "Il est prêt!" he called out. A large burly man walked in, a grumpy look on his face and placed the bowls on a serving tray. "Speak in English, you twat, you're in England. Or is that too complicated for you?" Not waiting for a reply, he marched back out with the meal, neatly placing some spoons alongside the filled bowls.

Henry, another younger chef smiled apologetically at Francis. "Sorry about Pete. He's just… a bit of a prick really." Francis smiled weakly back. He couldn't care less about Pete or any of his insults. In all honesty he was glad that today's orders had been simple. The consommé had been the most challenging item that anyone had ordered and that was something he was fairly used to preparing. In all honesty, he couldn't concentrate after last night's events. He had spent yet another restless night, tossing and turning in his bed, wondering how the picture in that book could match his apparition so perfectly. Arthur, bless the Brit's heart, had stayed the night again. He had even offered to look after Matthew and Alfred for the day as well, taking them along to see an old friend of his, 'Antonio' if he remembered correctly.

Francis tried extremely hard to quell the burning jealousy that bubbled up within him as he noted how Arthur's gem-green eyes softened at the Spaniard's name. It was painfully obvious that this Antonio was important to Arthur. And that presented his second problem; exactly what was Arthur to Francis? The elusive man had been a constant source of support and comfort over the last few days. He couldn't imagine having put up with these bizarre circumstances without him. Arthur made his heart flutter in a way that no one else had. Not even Marie…But still, he had no way of being sure if the man felt anything for him. Besides was this truly the set of events in which he would find a lover? He had to think of Alfred and Matthew after all. Mais, the way he smiled, it was as if the whole world stopped for just a moment.

Francis was thrown out of his daydreams as a rough shove to his shoulder nearly sent him flying into the stove. "Pete!"scolded Henry angrily, "Honestly, I don't know what to do with you! Are you alright Francis?" He nodded unsurely, trying to get his bearings back. "I'm sorry, were you saying something before?" Henry smiled warmly at him, "Ah yes. We're all going out for a round of drinks after our shift is done. We'd very much like it if you'd join us."

On the one hand, Francis wasn't too enthused by the offer. He was tired, far more interested in trying to sleep than in socializing. On the other hand though, he wondered what the point of mulling over the mystery was. Perhaps making new friends wasn't such an unpleasant idea after all. "Merci," he said, shooting a smirk in Pete's direction, "That sounds wonderful." Before leaving, he dropped off a note with the concierge for Arthur.

There were five of them in the group, Henry, Pete, himself and two other young men whom he didn't know. One was a soft spoken, shy, brown haired man who hailed from Lithuania, Toris, his name was. The other was a delicate looking Chinese man, whose feminine looks hid a feisty temper. Yao Wang was in charge of the hotel's many exotic eastern dishes. They had never really talked much but at the local pub, Francis found himself enjoying the others' company. "So," asked Henry quietly so that only the two of them could hear, "What exactly is the situation between you and Arthur? How long have the two of you been going out?" Francis flushed brightly, "We're not," he mumbled, "I only met him a few days ago. In fact," he added gloomily, "I barely know him at all. I don't even know if he's well, into men." The thought alone was extremely depressing.

Henry looked shocked, "But…you two always are together. And your kids, they look like carbon copies of the two of you. And they love him so much. I thought that…Oh. Well, mate let me tell you, the way that he looks at you? There's nothing to worry about. If he's straight I'll waltz with Pete in a tutu." Francis choked on his beer at the image. "I mean come on now. Didn't you notice yesterday, there was this lady throwing herself at him? Rather well…er…endowed to be nice about it. She would have been a great catch had Arthur been even in the slightest bit interested. I've never seen anyone look that cornered before."

Francis smiled softly, imagination running wild with pictures of Arthur hurriedly and politely trying to dissuade the young woman. "I don't mean to pry, but then…the children? They are yours aren't they?" Francis blinked for a moment before it became clear, Henry was asking about the mother. He closed his eyes; this was always a painful topic for him. "I was married to a beautiful woman once, her name was Marie. She is the mother of Alfred and Matthew." "Were? What happened?"

Francis looked out of the window, "She died."

Arthur meanwhile smiled warmly at the two boys in front of him. Alfred bounced merrily along the road, pointing out a variety of things excitedly, whereas Matthew was far calmer, holding onto his hand, clutching Kumajirou tightly. But he was happy as well. And why not? The weather was simply marvelous, not a cloud in the sky. He'd decided to take the two boys along to meet his good friend Antonio, who had somehow managed to find one of the few Italian restaurants in the city. He smiled to himself, it looked like Toni still had the same addiction to tomatoes then after all these years. Ah…there it was.

A quaint little place, out of view unless you were looking for it, Veneziano's was unassuming but the second that you stepped inside your nostrils would be assaulted by the most heavenly of aromas. Already the boys were whining that they were hungry. "Arturo!" shouted out a familiar voice. Arthur glanced over in the direction of the call and grinned at Antonio. "Hello Antonio, how are you?" "Eh? ¿Qué? Why such a formal greeting amigo?" He glomped Arthur cutting off a large part of his oxygen supply. "Toni," he gasped, "Need to breathe!" "Eh, sorry pal. So…Como estas?" "Not too great," he sighed. Then Antonio's eyes landed on Alfred and Matthew. "And who are these two little tomates? Dios! You had kids? And you never told me?" Holding a now wailing Antonio he idly wondered how Lovino managed every day.

Ten minutes later, he had cleared up the entire thing and Alfred and Matthew sat at another table, coloring pictures. Antonio had already ordered for them. They used the time to catch up.

"Where's Lovino?" "Lovi's at the hotel. He had some work to finish up so he couldn't make it. But he says hola and he'll come next time. So, what's this you were telling me about needing my help?" Arthur looked at him, "Antonio, do you remember in uni, how I was…different than all the other students?" "You mean when you dyed you hair green? Si, I still have the photos of that I think." "No, I mean about the fae…You told me that you burnt those pictures!" But Antonio had figured out what he was talking about.

"The fairies? Si, I remember those. I thought that you were loco at first and then that thing got pissed at you and blew a hole in our wall." Arthur chuckled, "I remember that, you nearly had a heart attack. Toni, the thing is I'm not the only one." He gave a meaningful look at the pair who were engrossed in their art. The Spaniard's eyes widened, "Dios mios! I thought that…" Arthur took the book out of his bag and slid it across the table to Antonio. Quietly, he explained what had been happening over the past week. "What do you make of it?" he asked at the end. Idly flipping through the pages, he replied, "I don't know. I've never heard of anything like this before. But I'll tell you one thing, there's something weird about this town. It's like all the public records that they have disappeared about a hundred years ago. Anybody you ask tells you that there was a big fire but the neighboring towns have no record of it. In fact, at that time, they swear that it was rainy season."

Arthur's eyebrows rose, almost vanishing into his hairline, "That is certainly odd. I mean why wouldn't they keep the records of their town. Perhaps they are lying?" "No amigo, it's strange but somehow records of that point of time are all missing, lost even. And no one knows why. It's not the entire set, just that one time period. In fact, I think that this is the only piece of literature that I have seen from that section of history. Do you mind if I hang on to it for awhile?" "Be my guest Toni. But do you think that there's any way you can figure out what's going on?"

"I want to say yes, but I can't promise you anything. Say, did you look under the binding?" At Arthur's puzzled expression he continued, "Under the binding. There's not much to go on about the author right? But sometimes, the rumor was that the writers wrote down their personal details on the spine and then covered it with binding. I can take a look at it back in my hotel. I need my equipment to do it right." "That's fine by me Antonio. Just keep me updated on what you find." The two sat in contemplative silence for awhile until Antonio's gaze shifted to the children. "Arturo…what about this Francis person?"

"There's absolutely nothing to say!" Arthur squeaked out. "Aw, you're blushing! You're just as adorable as you were back in university. And then, have you kissed?" Arthur looked scandalized. "Honestly the man has two children and is being relentlessly pursued by a psychotic spectre. Do you really think the first thing on my mind is to make amorous advances towards him?" Antonio peered at him more seriously now, "Arturo…have you dated anyone since we broke up in university?" The silence said it all. "Mi amigo! Don't tell me!"

Arthur scowled and snorted, "Don't flatter yourself. It has nothing to do with you. I actually couldn't have been happier for you and Lovino. Who do you think made sure that Gilbert didn't follow you two on your first date? As it happens, I was busy after my graduation. Writing really took a good chunk of my time and there was this nasty poltergeist in my old apartment. Wouldn't exactly have made for a romantic setting you know, me bringing a date home and this blasted thing throwing a candelabra at them. Then there's the splendid way of losing your date by explaining to them how there's a rather mischievous blob of ectoplasm floating about in your house but they needn't worry too much because you've charm-locked the sharp pointy objects. So yes, dating wasn't on my agenda. And if you really must know, the right person just never came along."

Antonio opened his mouth to say something when Alfred jumped onto Arthur's lap. "Hello lads," he said fondly as Matthew climbed onto the seat next to him. Alfred grinned toothily and handed him a piece of paper. Antonio sneaked a peek and couldn't stop himself from grinning. Alfred took it upon himself to explain the finer details of the drawing. "See that's me with the cape like Superman and there's Mattie with Kuma and dad with his chef hat and there's you and Flutter too." The crude stick figure of him, he was embarrassed to note, was pecking Francis' cheek. He also had eyebrows that took up a good third of his face, but it was alright he supposed, it was the thought that counted. "Thank you both," he said smiling, ruffling Matthew's hair.

Alfred and Matthew looked extremely proud. Matthew shyly added, "You make Papa happy. He hasn't been this happy since Maman went to heaven." Arthur was shocked; he had no idea that Francis was widowed. "Oh Matthew, I'm sorry." "That's alright, she likes it in heaven. She told us so herself."

It was chilly, Francis thought absentmindedly, wishing that he had brought a jacket with him. The drinks had gone on longer than he had expected. After the somber topic of his ex-wife, the conversation had rapidly changed to more cheerful subjects like work and Pete's non-existent sex life. They were still in the pub but Francis had paid for his drinks and left on his own. He wanted to get back to the hotel and see his family. As a harsh blast of wind tore though the deserted alley, he shut his eyes, cursing under his breath. Something rammed into his ankle almost toppling him over.

He opened his eyes, groaning as he realized that the streetlamps had gone out. Glancing down, he frowned in confusion as he picked up the object that had hit him. It was a small white, children's ball, but it was old-fashioned, much more ornate than the ones they sold nowadays. It was wooden with intricate decorations and was around the size of a basketball. He placed it down and started off again. A few seconds later though, he was startled as the object rolled past him. He ignored it, it was probably the wind, and after all it was pretty strong. Hurriedly, he picked up his pace, pretending not to notice when it rolled past him, again and again. Each time he saw it, his heart beat just a little faster until he could take it no longer. He broke into a run and turned round the street corner. Heaving a sigh of relief, he saw that the road was empty and there was no mysterious toy in sight.

"Hey mister…" he felt a small hand tug on his shirt and he turned around slowly. There was a small girl, no older than Alfred, with a thick blonde plait. She wore a white gown and a white sun hat despite the fact that it was dark, "Do you want to play a game?"

Francis' heart nearly gave out as he realized what the girl held in her tiny hands. It was the same white ball. Stepping backwards carefully, he let out a frightened cry as the girl lifted her head slowly, revealing her eyes. They were the same bottomless pools of nothingness from before. Francis was frozen to the spot. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run but he couldn't. It was as though his legs had a mind of their own. The girl smiled, wider and wider, before rolling the ball towards him. She ran away, laughing merrily as she went. Francis couldn't help but realize that her laugh echoed down the street. She stopped at the end of the street. "Come on!" she pleaded, "At least throw it back to me, I'll leave after that I promise!"

Francis relented slightly. In his mind after all, she appeared to be nothing more than a small harmless young girl. As he picked up the toy, he could hear a voice in his head that sounded vaguely like Arthur's telling him that he was a fool. "Here you…Oh!" His eyes widened as the girl was engulfed in flames. Francis was frozen to the spot in horror. "Help me," she pleaded. But he didn't know what to do. That's when he noticed it, although her skin and hair were blackening and charring with the intense heat of the flame, her clothes were unaffected. He was so preoccupied by what was happening in front of him that he didn't realize that his hands were starting to burn as well.

The ball grew steadily hotter until he dropped it in pain. In the distance, he faintly imagined that he could hear a woman scream. But he couldn't be sure anymore and his tired brain finally gave up as he passed out.

Back in the hotel, Arthur was worried. Francis hadn't come back and although he had reassured Alfred and Matthew that there was nothing to worry about, he knew otherwise. Henry, Pete and the others had all returned from the pub ages ago. No, something wasn't quite right. "Flutter," he called out. The petite faery flew into the room; she had been tucking the children in.

"What's wrong Arthur?" she asked worriedly noting the consternation on his face. "Francis still isn't back. I think something is wrong and given the circumstances…Is there anything that you could do?" She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, "Hm… maybe. There's a sprite in the attic who's got a lot of connections. I'll see what I can do!"

She flew out the window just as Alfred and Matthew sleepily walked in. "Hey you two, you're supposed to be in bed." He scooped up Matthew easily and led Alfred by hand to the bed. Tucking them in, he smoothed Alfred's hair out of his face. "Where's dad?" asked Alfred. "Don't worry lad, he's on his way back. Now, I'm sure he wouldn't want to come back to find the two of you still awake." Alfred had a look of stubborn determination plastered on his face but Matthew threw a slightly despairing one to his side. "I want Kuma!"

Arthur looked all around the room, even getting on his hands and knees and searching under the dresser but he couldn't find the accursed white polar bear. Irritated and tired, he called out, "Oi you stuffed nuisance, where in the seven levels of hell are you?" Admittedly, it wasn't the best language to use around children, but Alfred giggled under his breath. Arthur jumped when Kumajirou slowly dragged itself out from behind the nightstand (hadn't he looked there?) "Didn't expect that did ya now Blondie?" Arthur looked at the thing, "Just what are you exactly?"

The bear sighed desolately, "I used to be an elf, a couple of centuries ago but then I made eyes at the wrong wood nymph and now look where I am. A stuffed bear that keeps children company. Pathetic ain't it?" Arthur noted though that Kuma didn't seem too averse to being used as a cuddle toy by Matthew. By the looks of things, he had grown attached to Matthew, which explained why he hadn't tried to break free of his imprisonment yet. He sighed, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. "All right you three…"

"Arthur, you in mate?" That was Henry, but what on earth could he want so late? He opened the door only to find Henry looking like he had run a mile, with his hair messed up and cheeks flushed, he panted as he tried to catch his breath. "It's bad news Arthur!" he said. Arthur half shut the door, not wanting to alarm the children. "What is?"

"It's Francis. He's in the hospital!"

Author's notes:

Translations:

Mais- But

Il est prêt- It is ready

Consommé- it's a type of broth, that's pretty complicated to make. The exact recipe and ingredients tend to vary according to the area.

Merci- Thank you.

¿Qué?- What?

Como estas? - How are you?

And that's the next chapter! I'm really sorry for the delay and with all luck, chapter 6 will be out sometime this week! Please review and if there's any mistake in the languages, let me know.