10. Interrogation

The ocean fused with the sky. One body, moving. Water, all around her. Up, down, beyond, into infinity.

I know I barely know you, but I like you.

She'd lain her cheek on Peter's shoulder and traveled through a whiteness so intense her eyes had ached.

I like you too.

Waves licking at the stars. Lamps. Lightbulbs. Candlelight. Little boats, scattered. Bubbles of dusty golds, popping.

Beverly felt foolish. Tears welled up in her eyes. She'd envisioned the moment so many times. But she'd never predicted this emptiness to receive her. Her imagined excitement, nowhere to be found. As dormant as the heart in her chest. Beatless. Dead.

Dead.

Risen. Finished. She didn't feel finished.

My miracle.

She had still so much to do. So many things to say. No peace swelled within her. Peter was underwater with her corpse in his arms. She'd never seen him cry before.

Pearly said you were my miracle…

"Beverly Penn."

Cecil's voice, ringing with excitement, cut through her dizziness. His beautiful hand tightened generously around her own.

He truly did speak as if he'd long lost the practice of conversation. As if words were sweets he'd long been deprived of, and toying with them in his mouth brought him a bittersweet nostalgia.

"It's about time I properly meet you."

Beverly held his gaze in the burnt half-light. His mouth twisted a little to the side. He seemed to study her reaction.

Then he said, his tone softening: "You must be confused. The truth is, I've forgotten how painless it is to speak to someone up here. There's only rarely a chance to do so…"

His brow furrowed slightly and he breathed out mist.

"I've been underwater for a long time. And underwater, it's not wise to speak too much…"

The oil lamp clacked and trembled beside him, rocked by the boat and the waves underneath.

"Salt fills you up. A nasty tickle, digging like worms into your throat. Galaxies flood your belly. And it becomes harder and harder to swim back up. You're weighed down by the sound of your own arrogance."

We've got time…

Beverly nodded. Her fingers fiddled absently with one another. She ached for her piano at this instant. The press of a single key would suffice. One crumb of power to satiate her sinking helplessness.

We've got time to talk about everything…

She'd never seen him cry before…

"I don't have a lot of time, it'll be morning soon. I'll return you to your tent."

"Talk," Beverly whispered. "Please. Tell me as much as you can, before you go."

"I still can't tell you everything."

"Just talk." Her voice hoarsened. She swallowed, and muttered: "I've never liked being deprived of information."

So talk slowly, Peter…

Cecil huffed out a soft chuckle. "I can imagine…"

A chill brushed down her arms. She saw Peter, his back to the window. She heard his voice. A room of water. Swathed in blue, much like she was now.

She missed her crickets. The cool dampness of her hair was solidifying into coarse strands that snaked down her shoulders.

"It gets lonely in the sea," Cecil spoke from the half-light. "It's designed to be so. It's where we wait."

"Where we wait?"

"Our vessels are small. My boat, your tent. Ah! There."

Beverly turned around and saw it, on the ocean, floating. A cone of black and blue. Walls of fabric, soaked in twilight, caressed by the breeze. Empty. Silent, like it'd always been.

I thought stars were supposed to shine...

"There is space for some," Cecil said. "Not a lot, but some. Plenty for those who'll join us later."

He breathed in, out. A weighty sigh. He was frightened. He smelled of salt and gas. Starfire, smoke, drizzling off the fuzzy outline of his coat.

He licked his lips and spoke again: "Folks with no vessels of their own."

"Who will join you?"

"Many have. I hope many more will."

"Your family?"

"No."

Beverly turned, casting a tender gaze toward him. "You have no family?"

"I do," Cecil replied. "My folks. But they've dropped their anchors long ago. Settled in and left their lamps on the beach."

Beverly eyed him up and down. "Then… what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be with them?"

Cecil contemplated the black-blue horizon for a moment. The sky, the sea. One and the same.

"It gets dull, this endless peace," he murmured simply. "I want more friends to talk to…"

My miracle…

"Most people aren't privileged to see this without a little help. A line to hold. A miracle, a ticket to the stars. To sink is easy. To swim up is exhausting."

My life…

"I like holding out my line… Seeing people change. You'll soon discover that most of them don't know how to swim, not unless you teach them."

He averted his gaze now, with quiet shyness. And somehow, in spite of herself, empathy hummed in Beverly's chest. And she watched him in silent reverence.

Cecil then pursed his lips and contained a small grin.

"Peter spoke of me, then."

"Of course he spoke of you," Beverly breathed. "L- Like he spoke of John, like he spoke of Pearly-"

"Ah, ah." Cecil's eyebrows arched slightly.

Beverly looked around. A fog of salt sliced her vision, turning the ocean to ribbons of blue. The stars, threads, tightropes of gold and pink. The tent, breathing, trembling.

"We're all New Yorkers. We don't welcome him in these waters, not even in passing whispers."

Do you think stars are afraid of falling, too?

Her fingers moved. She searched for keys to press. A drop of music. Her own symphony, woven by her hands alone.

"Where is my mother?" she asked. "I assumed she'd be the first face I'd see. Did she not have… a ticket?"

Cecil's eyes glinted. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Beverly stared quietly ahead.

She asked: "You don't know where I may find her?"

"She's probably exactly where you think she'd be."

Beverly nodded slowly. Cecil took a breath in and released it.

"I want to see my family," she whispered. "I-" She sniffed, swallowed. She could still taste the champagne. "I want to see Peter, too."

"Don't you worry about Peter," he murmured. "I'll meet him on the road back to New York."

"Will you tell him-"

"Ah…" His eyebrows arched again.

Beverly steadied his gaze. The hint of a frown teased her brow, but she felt too tired, too sad for herself and the man before her, that the claws of bitterness quickly weakened around her throat. She didn't want to be cruel. She wanted nothing at all.

She whispered: "Am I still able to feel pain?"

"You feel pain at this very moment."

Beverly said nothing for a moment. But, eventually, she murmured: "He can't stay down there. He's alone. He will- He will drown…"

Cecil said nothing.

"Can you answer me this?"

"Depends on what you ask."

"Can I bring Peter Lake out of the water, into my tent?"

Could she materialize into life between his arms and return his embrace? Cut out the virulent grief that drank at his blood, blooming through him like fungi…

She couldn't stop seeing her father, and his silver-blue eyes, drained by the flames. His smileless face. That gaze, bright gold, devoid of focus.

I didn't know Isaac had another daughter.

Oblivion. The refusal to acknowledge the pain responsible for this stagnation.

Peter Lake had stolen her anger. It was only fair for her, in return, to steal his sadness.

To prevent him from freezing in place, grow roots, and stare out the window, or into a fireplace, turning his back on what wonders remained for him to live through. Crumbs of happiness, rotting, scattered along the mantelpiece of a long-concluded feast.

Cecil didn't answer her directly. He just bit his lips, released another breath of gold-brown mist, flushed by the lamplight.

At last, he whispered cryptically: "I can say this: all will be well in the end."

"That answers nothing," she protested.

"You'll be seen again," Cecil murmured, "but not by him. You'll be heard again, but not by him. He will receive something that he will never recognize as yours. And you'll understand me the day that happens. I can promise only this: all will be well. If I say any more, that promise will be broken."

Again, in spite of herself… Beverly understood. No bitterness fueled her. A bizarre calmness drenched her soul. As well as an unrelated curiosity. Boldness. And a returned greed.

"Are you in love?"

The question seemed to bring a shiver through Cecil's bones. He flinched slightly, his dark face tensing. But then he relaxed. He answered in a single breath: "Yes."

"Are they alive?"

Cecil hesitated again. Before answering: "She is alive."

"Does she have a ticket?"

"Not yet."

Not yet.

The lamplight, pooling her face, his face.

Cecil then leaned forward and his eyes darkened. One of his beautiful hands lifted and he once again turned the coin, inciting a glimmer, a glint, a dash of white and violet.

"Speaking of which: never travel without a ticket," he said, with utmost seriousness. "Something small and shiny, that you may carry wherever you go, through wind, through water. Through glass and concrete. A ring. A pearl. A coin, like this. Anything that can wink back at the light."

"Alright…"

"You don't want to swim back up. It's a long drop down and the climb is painful. Turn yourself, face the light, and you'll be carried back home."

Home.

A tent in the ocean. A silence she'd worn like a breastplate. Beverly nodded. The boat wobbled. Twinkles sharpened into string.

The floor of the tent was tense, dry, under her naked feet. Starlit waves licked at the curtains. Cecil winked from the boat, dropping the coin into his coat.

"I need to leave," he said. "It's morning. Don't worry about Peter just yet, go see your family, they need you more than he does."

"Yes…"

"Find your mother, if you're able. Remember-"

"Something small and shiny."

"Good. Remember."

"I'll remember."

"You don't want to be lost at sea, under these floating lights. Trust me, it ain't a pleasant feeling. Especially not when the Pearl is on the lookout for strays."

The Pearl.

The boat slithered away. Warm purples thickened at Cecil's back. The lamp clacked and trembled. The candle trembled from its cage of glass.

Beverly called out: "Cecil."

"What?"

"Your coin," she pointed out, "you said… Peter gave it to you."

Cecil nodded. "Christmas Day."

He turned to the crimson sunrise. A line of purple fog, cutting through the stars. He looked at Beverly and braced himself before speaking anew.

"When a ticket is lost, you'll need to be given another. It's never known when or how… or if. A friend of your own making. A miracle found or returned."

"Peter," she murmured.

"Peter," Cecil echoed.

My miracle.

After a beat, he continued: "I've become so accustomed to these eyes, this clarity, that I've forgotten how pleasant surprises can be. I hadn't been surprised in decades. I didn't expect my ticket to be returned through… him. Peter Lake. The thief."

"I know he's a thief," she muttered, a mild annoyance tugging at her tongue.

Cecil waved his elegant hands in the half-light, brushing off the implications his statement could have carried. And Beverly, again, understood.

"He paid me for things I never owned. What lay around me. A saddle, some reins. He didn't ask for supper. I knew he was lying when he said he didn't need any."

Some breakfast would be nice… ma'am.

Beverly bit her lips until they ached.

"Why didn't you give him some, then?" she asked.

Cecil took a deep breath.

"Had I done so," he murmured, his voice drying into a rasp, "he would have never been hungry… You would have never known his name."

And he winced, as if the uttering of each word was equivalent to the slice of a blade along his cheek.

Galaxies flood your belly.

Beverly didn't persist any longer. Pity brought her no comfort, only self-consciousness and a growing sense of shame. When Cecil spoke again, it was his own decision to do so. A pain embraced for her sake. Beverly felt sorry for him, and she didn't even know him yet.

"The day Athansor arrived… I was finally able to come back home. Just for a bit. I took a little break in god-knows how long, I got to see my folks…"

Cecil stood up. Sunlight bled into the ocean, the water above, below, around them. He smirked through the discomfort. One more time, he winked.

"But, I told you," he said, as he fell, "I've known Peter Lake for a long time."

Author's Note: (breathless) To anyone- who is here- today- thank you so much- for reading...

Oh. My. God. XD

If you follow me on Instagram, then you know from my stories that writing this chapter has been tormenting me for the past 3-4 days XD I like the end result, but good lord, it took me a lot of sweat and tears to get here.

Because I have never been good at explaining the logic of a fantasy universe (in my original story, "Moss Grave," that is precisely why my plot fell apart, I didn't plan ahead with a well-fleshed-out world, I think I've told you this before but I'll tell you again XD), I positively despise exposition, but then again, if I am gonna tackle Beverly's POV, I need to explain how her (and Cecil's) new reality operates. In the movie, since she never physically appears after her death, we never know how she works as a spirit. Or how Cecil works, either. Cecil shows up very briefly.

And since the "Winter's Tale" movie universe is already very abstract and a lot of weird things are not explained (which I adore, by the way: I very much prefer when rules are cast aside in a fantasy story and the true focus are the characters - the focus of the movie "Winter's Tale" is Peter Lake and his journey, rather than the explanation behind all the weird things that happen - there are a couple of rules/concepts that are thrown around, but that's it, it's enough, and I love that), I gave myself the task of inventing many of the "rules" that will be present in my reinterpretation, just to make the job of writing it easier, and the job of reading it also easier. I need to explain some things, after all, I can't just throw in all this strange crap and expect people to accept it as it is XD

Overall... I think I did a good job. But this chapter was the first time writing these stories where I actually really struggled, because I wanted to leave all the information I and my readers need to keep in mind going forward into Beverly's adventures "underwater" (I'm still very proud of my "the sky is an ocean" idea/concept, but I did feel like some of the logistics of how people travel between the sky and Earth were kind of awkward, visually, so I struggled there too XD), so this is, in its roughest essence, pure exposition, and I don't like exposition.

I don't like writing about rules, I like writing about characters. So... I made this chapter as pretty and as character-focused as I could. I hope I did alright.

I didn't want to be super obvious about what the rules are so I just wrote dialogue and tried making it sound natural. I was stressed writing this, I really wanted my personal additions to the "logic" of the world make sense, and I think I did okay in the end, but this was still very stressful to write. Oh well, now that the explanation part is over, I can finally do what I love, which is focus exclusively on the characters. Beverly. Peter. And, yeah, Cecil.

I love having Cecil here already. :3 I have so many ideas for him. His motivation, why he decides to help others, I already loved writing his dialogue here. I also already dropped some hints in this chapter. That mysterious "love" of his? Yup. I have plans. And romantic plans, of course, because I am the way I am XD Cecil deserves love too.

But, also, on a less hopeful note: in the movie, in one of the scenes where Pearly speaks to Lucifer, he reveals that he's discovered that Cecil is a guardian angel. That thing is gonna be important in my story. Because, if you recall, in "A Star in the Lake," I didn't mention Cecil once in the last section. He never met up with Peter when he was returning to New York from the Coheeries, or when he went back to Grand Central Station, or, well, at all. Cecil and Peter never interact again after Chapter 6.

So... mm... (Excited whisper) Foreshadowing...

And finally, the whole "ticket" thing is obviously one of my own additions to the logic of this fantasy world XD For better and for worse. However, it is directly inspired by one of the scenes displaying the movie logic in "Winter's Tale": the scene where Pearly uses gems on moonlight to see where Peter is hiding, early on in the film.

Pearly explains that he likes stealing gems because of how they reflect the light. And since light is a very crucial aesthetic aspect of the movie (Beverly sees light everywhere in the movie, light is a guide - rays of light guide Peter's parents to the model boat, guide Peter to Beverly's piano room, wink off Cecil's coin to guide Peter to Abby, etc.), I decided that, in order for angels/stars to travel around, they need to have "tickets", luminous objects that directly reflect the light, wherever they go. It's a link between them and every other place in the universe. From their stars to the corners of New York. Windows, glasses, etc. I can't wait till Beverly is actually back in the City because I want to start exploring how souls actually move around in the movie.

Cecil has his coins, and Beverly... Well, next chapter, I'll tell you :3

Until then, thank you for reading, I'm sorry for the exposition, I really hope this made sense XD I tried my best. See you next time.