Chapter II.

By the time the sun had set, the duo were no closer to reaching the ends of the forest they traveled through. With the sky dark, Jamie had resorted to using his phone as a flashlight, the harsh beam illuminating their unsure path. He had even attempted to call his mom, sister, and some of friends, but none had gone through—all failing with only a voicemail in response.

"We're in bumfuck nowhere, aren't we?" Jack had spoken, watching Jamie try to gain signal again. As a last resort, he even tried 911 but had instead received a droning dial tone. Jamie had sighed in defeat. "Looks like it."

They really were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

(He hadn't thought of it earlier, cursing himself, but he wondered how his family fared in his absence. Had his mom already called the police? Was Sophie frantically calling him, begging him to answer? At that, he briefly checked his notifications and found no calls still hadn't gone through. All of his messages were from hours ago—long past the time he and Jack have spent in this forest.)

In his arms, the ex-spirit stumbles for the nth time and Jamie simply holds him by the arms, hoisting him back to his feet. Becoming human had clearly taken its toll on the young teen, with his body growing more exhausted each passing minute.

"Jack, we can't stay here." Jamie tells his tiring friend for the thousandth time.

Jack merely groans again, face buried in Jamie's front. The young man sighs. "Do you want me to carry you?" He offers gently. Jack freezes for a moment, thinking it through before standing, his weight still pressing down on his older friend. Clearly that meant No.

"Jack—"

A sudden sound echoing from afar interrupts Jamie, stopping him in his tracks. At first he thinks they're screwed because it certainly sounded like the howling of wolves, but it sounded again—louder and closer than before. As garbled as it was, Jamie understood the twist of vowels and syllables.

A voice.

Hope bloomed in Jamie's chest. Shaking his friend from his dozing, he whispers his name loudly enough to prompt the teen into lifting his head and blinking sleepily. "Whazzit?"

Jamie holds back a little chuckle. Adorable.

For a third time, the noise sounds again, now distinctly different from the mere echo it was earlier, and Jack's head snapped up. "Izzat what I think it is?"

Excitedly Jamie raises his arm and begins waving the device held in his palm wildly, ignoring the menacing shadows that swayed all over the quiet space—it looked like the trees were dancing.

Even with the glare of his phone, Jamie could barely see the glint of low light in the distance, gleaming dimly from where the duo stood. Light meant people and people meant rescue. Hopefully he'd see a friendly face around here. If he and Jack had somehow gotten lost in the woods, it was definitive his friends would be searching for him by now.

"Hey! Over here!"

Jack winces at the volume of his friend's voice, but doesn't stop him from yelling loudly to make his voice carry. Instead he slumps even more into Jamie's robust frame, fighting his drooping eyelids. I'm so tired… He was exhausted to the bone and it was almost overwhelming to experience, having been an near-infallible winter spirit with no ailment to worry about as an immortal. And then suddenly being shoved into his very mortal body and now was very vulnerable. God, this sucked.

Footsteps soon overtook Jamie's voice, crunching noisily on the forest floor, gradually becoming clearer and closer as Jamie finally stopped waving his phone—Thank God; those eerie shadows were making Jack rather dizzy.

Through slitted eyes, Jack sees a figure nearing, holding something that gleamed brightly like a flickering flame. Oh, wait—it really was a flame. A torch of all things.

Jamie shuffles a little, helping Jack to stand straighter. An unfamiliar voice shouts from far away, the undulating flame moving in and out of Jack's dazed peripheral. Another voice speaks, deep and rough and surprised. Jamie's noise of confusion goes unheard when Jack is suddenly jostled by unknown hands, big and calloused. He yelps, pulling back, but the moving figure is unrelenting. And the same voice—a deep tenure that tickled something deep within Jack's mind—utters a name Jack hadn't heard in years.

"Jackson?"

Opening his eyes was a feat, but he's eventually able to get a good look at the mysterious man before him and Jamie. The startled teen stares into steel blue eyes donned with faint wrinkles topped with bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows. A wide-brimmed felt hat sat atop his head covering a mess of whitened hair , his unkempt beard twitching as Jack continued to stare at the unrecognizable features.

The impromptu staring contest is broken when another rushed set of footsteps arrives, and the man finally faces a much younger male holding a… a lantern?

It isn't an electric one, that's for sure. Clearly handmade, bound in a bundle of wood and glass with a tiny flame glinting through its translucent sides. How odd.

"Tell the party the Overland boy has been found," says the bearded man with a distinct accent. The young man, a few years older than Jamie, nods and turns away into the darkness.

"Here, let me." The stranger gently takes Jack from Jamie despite his protesting and slowly guides him through the dense thicket of leaves. Jamie is unfortunately forced to follow behind them, lost and confused.

Honestly Jamie has no idea what the hell is going on. First an old man wearing old-timey clothing shows up wielding a honest-to-goodness flaming torch and appears to know Jack by another name? And then he has the audacity to take his friend from him while he was weak? At least they'd been rescued, right?

Right?

With nothing else to do, Jamie begins following the elderly man who holds Jack quite gently like a father would his son—and how weird was that? Somehow this man, a complete stranger, knows Jack like an acquaintance, and Jack seems to recognize him, too? He wasn't sure.

The two ahead of Jamie lead him to a bigger group of people, all of them men, and all wearing old-fashioned clothes like it was a regular Sunday. And some of them hold fiery torches and lanterns, casting an eerie glow to the forest floor. No flashlights or anything electric in sight.

Something wasn't right here.

Someone approaches quickly—a middle-aged man with a full beard of black scruff, wearing a weird-looking vest with pointy shoulders, and donning a hat similar to the old man's—wait, were those breeches?

Unsure of what he was walking into, Jamie hangs back slightly, wary.

(It didn't seem there weren't any friendly faces around to greet him—all of them hardened and distant. Where in the world had he and Jack ended up in?)

"Thank the heavens!" The bearded man exclaims, preparing to speak more when he then catches sight of Jamie and his brows furrowed. "Who is this fellow?"

Jamie, who had been hanging at the edge of what was obviously a search party, slowly approached into the men's line of sight. The black-bearded man narrows his eyes, observing Jamie's odd clothes—a gray sweater, worn jeans, and black-laced shoes. Jamie suddenly feels very underdressed in their presence, knowing he appears to be an outsider. He tries not to fidget under the party's piercing glares.

The old man spoke, still holding Jack. "I found this young man with Mister Overland. Never told me his name."

"And who are you?" Asks the other man, suspicion in his dark eyes. A strange sinking feeling pools in his gut when the strange man utters those words with his strange accent.

"M-My name is Jamie." He stutters.

"Jamie." The man rolls the name on his tongue like a foreign taste. Maybe it's not a common name here? "For James, I presume?"

"Uh…" What was he supposed to say to that? "Y-Yeah, I guess."

"And from where have you come?"

"Thomas," the old man interrupts, "It is no time for interrogation. The poor lad is about to keel over. Let them rest."

The man—Thomas—only tsks and gestures sharply to one of the younger men, a tall lanky boy with some stubble, who joins Jamie at his side as Thomas calls off the search. As they begin to walk in an unfamiliar direction (at least to Jamie), the wayward traveler spots several other men in the distance riding on horses.

Horses, for god's sake! What have they gotten themselves into? And for what, Jamie had no clue. A sudden nudge at his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts, eyeing the tall boy who has clasped him on the shoulder and starts pulling him in the same direction as the group of men were heading.

"You must come." The boy tells him in broken English, swinging his lantern. And that prompted a sudden wave of absolute exhaustion in Jamie, his bones suddenly becoming lead weights and the adrenaline fading fast from his system, fighting not to sway where he stood.

And with that being said, the two young men began to trudge toward the group ahead, both completely silent and so utterly worn down. Jamie would worry about the weirdness later, right now all he needed to worry about was the long walk back to civilization.

"Overland has been found!" Thomas announces jovially as the trees finally thinned, revealing a group of men hovering at the edge with their own primitive sources of light. Spotting the primitive lights, the exhaustion lifts slightly, replaced by burning curiosity. Seriously, what the fuck was up with the torches and lanterns?

With more lighting provided, albeit weak, Jamie gets a good look at the others that waited for their return, and blanches at their outdated clothing. Again with the weird leather vests with the pointy shoulders. One man even wore what looked like a lace collar! And, of course, the godforsaken breeches.

Jamie's confusion over the odd fashion is evident when one of the men addresses him and he doesn't take notice. A sharp whack on the back of his head brings him from the depths of his own mind, sputtering.

"W-What?"

"Who are you?" Asks one of the burly men wearing an black overcoat. A trench coat? It seemed he'd seized the opportunity to interrogate Jamie now that the party had found their way back, but all Jamie wanted was to fall into a nice foam-mattress bed and sleep. Alas, it wasn't to be.

"My name is Jamie." He introduces himself again, blinking sleepily. Where's Jack? A small part of his sleep-deprived brain asks.

The man steps closer and grabs the collar of Jamie's sweater roughly, inspecting the foreign material. "What is this?"

My clothes, Jamie almost replies, but he did not have a death wish. Seeing the man's lack of reaction to Jamie's silence, he figures it was a rhetorical question.

Turning to the party who still conversed over Jack, the man gruffly demands, "Who is this boy?"

The black-haired man answers his companion. "I do not know who he is or where he's born. I found him with the lad here."

"Jamie, you say?" Oh, now he was being addressed. "What is your surname?"

"B-Bennett, sir."

The man with the black coat stares inquiringly at him, cold silver eyes piercing in the dim light. "Are you by chance related to Sir Bennett and his son? You've quite the face."

His last name was pretty common, though not so common to wonder if two people sharing names were related or not, yet at the man's comment about his supposedly similar features, Jamie flounders again. "N-No."

"No?"

Jamie swallows. It seems any friendly face he could find wasn't so friendly. It made sense though because he was an unknown, and they had a right to be wary. He did as well, as they were unknown to him, too. The only thing they both held close to them was Jack, who looked like he was about to drop off to sleep right then and there.

"No." He repeats, firmer.

Another man, clean-shaven, appears from behind the man in black, eyes cold. "Bennett he says? Perhaps he is a spy, brought to infiltrate the village?"

Nope, definitely not friendly.

Wait… village?

Whatever faint interest the men had with Jamie fades at the prompt, becoming just as suspicious as the others in mere seconds. Unexpectedly, another man with a tall brown hat takes a hold of Jamie's chin with his calloused fingers, swinging his head side to side. "Hm. Certainly not a savage." He grunts thoughtfully before calling, "Johnson!"

("William," reprimands the elderly fellow, but is ignored.)

"What have you, William?" Queries the tall lanky boy, who Jamie had forgotten about in the midst of his confusion, still reeling from the slur the man—William—had blurted out.

"John found this man with Jackson, aye?" At Johnson's nod, he continues, "Keep an eye on this… foreigner, if you will." A hand held firmly on his shoulder with bony fingers was the answer to William's request.

"Hopefully you ain't a barbarian." Johnson mutters under his breath, scowling at Jamie, who only blinked at the older boy in shock. Did he just call me a barbarian? And did the William guy just call me by a racist slur?

Jamie felt very wrong-footed with the situation. First, a man who had come with an antique lantern, recognized Jack, brought him to an all-male search party wearing very outdated clothes, is immediately considered untrustworthy, and gets demeaned by slurs.

A yell commences the resume of the search party's movement out of the damned woods and into the clearing. Though as Jamie trods toward the cleared grassland and packed dirt, he quickly realizes it wasn't just a clearing made for camping—it's a whole goddamn city!

Except… it's smaller. Even in the entrenching darkness, he can still make out the clapboard houses, awkwardly built with bare, unpainted wood. Through the glare of the numerous flames, Jamie can spot more houses that donn symmetrical facades with widely-spaced windows and long sloping roofs with no decorations or adorning in sight. Some have been fitted with second floors that jutted out; and every single building is covered by thatched roofs.

Jamie remembers the old man's words of a "village" nearby, and the dread pooling in his gut drops further down to his very toes.

Oh god. What had he just gotten into?

The hand at his shoulder tightened suddenly, causing Jamie to wince at the sharp pain as the young man—Johnson, was it?—shoved him forward.

"Move on." Said the man with his strange accent.

Jamie did not respond, knowing it was pointless. Johnson's hand was cold and firm over his clothed arm. Ahead of them, the search party continued deeper into the small town, some turning away with their horses to, Jamie assumed, the stables.

Jamie kept his gaze on the ground in front of him, noting the packed dirt from years of foot travel, along with the deep indents from constant wheel use on the ground. From where he could see with the older man's lantern, it was mostly dry with bits of mud and small puddles. He risked a glance at his shoes and bemoaned the sight of them covered in mud and dirt.

"Come!" Johnson demanded when Jamie lagged again, pulling sharply at the younger man's shoulder. Jamie held in another wince, reluctant to show his pain in the face of literal strangers.

Beyond the search party looms a much larger building, distinctly separate from the rest of the homesteads, pieced together in something that resembles very plain Gothic architecture (without all the fancy additions most modern buildings have), and it didn't seem very well-maintained—appearing weather-beaten and worn down.

"Halt," orders one of the men on foot, lifting a hand. The bearded man, Thomas, murmurs something to the long coated man who nods towards Jamie before Thomas makes a motion with his hand, nodding as well. The man in the trench coat, William, then approaches the old man who still held Jack, the boy's thin frame drooping in exhaustion. Jamie wasn't sure what to do—if he should approach the three or not—so he stayed back with Johnson, who kept a painful iron grip on his shoulder.

"Take the boy to his family, aye?" William says assuredly, "It will be quite the reunion." The old man nods, hoisting Jack up to his feet and startling him awake. Jamie sees this, and realizes the problem.

Before the man can turn to speak to Jamie, one of the two unknown men steps up to William, muttering quietly. They exchange a heated conversation, hasty and unfinished based on the long-haired man's reaction by pointing aggressively at himself, and William's insistence on whatever he needed.

Eventually, with great reluctance etched on his face, the long-haired man relinquishes the set of keys tied to his belt that Jamie hadn't seen, having been so far in the dark already with everything. The men's argument is interrupted by a low groan, and Jamie is distracted by the old man still clutching Jack like a lifeline, carefully pulling away the clearly disoriented young man away from the remaining group.

Not liking this one bit, Jamie halfheartedly reaches for the duo, taking a step toward them. "Ah, wait—!" He starts stupidly, but not before William snaps his eyes over to him so fast Jamie shuts his mouth with an audible clack. "You." He growls.

Oh shit, Jamie flounders, what did I do?

"You," starts William firmly, "will stay here at the jail."

Wait, what? Johnson's hand tightens over his covered skin, chilly with the cold.

"What?" He blurts like an idiot.

"We do not trust you. You will remain in the jail overnight. We have no others willing to house a bastard."

All at once, the absurdity of the situation hits him, and he bites his lip to restrain a hysterical laugh. Somehow, this feels very real, yet at the same time like a terrible fever dream. He's been called terrible names—slurs, even—and nobody seems to trust him. Either these people are brilliant actors, or something got fucked up in Jamie's brain. He has no fucking clue what was going on, and he wants out. Why is he staying in the damn jail when he could just find a hotel to rest in before searching for his family? Or does this little "village" not have a hotel or some dirt cheap place to stay temporarily?

Honestly, Jamie's pretty much reached his limit by now with this crazy shit, and he let out a tired chuckle. "I'm not staying in the jail," he protests, much to the chagrin of the remaining men around, based on their muttering. Some give him angry or odd looks, and he has the feeling it's more than his abject protesting for a good night's sleep.

"Then where else shall you stay tonight?" William retorts, voice like gravel. "With the sheep? In the pigsty?" He gestured wildly. "In these wicked woods with the wolves?"

What options did Jamie have? He's the one entering their land as an unknown and as a reluctant guest in their hospitality. He's the one encroaching on their property, and he doesn't know anything about this place. In fact, he realizes he's being extremely rude, and he realizes his mistake.

Jamie sighs in resignation. "I'll sleep in the jail, then."

"Good choice."

Biting back a scoff, Jamie let William lead him into the two story building, entering through the small front door and into a narrow hallway. With the lantern, Jamie was able to get a modest view of the interior—and there wasn't much to look at, being sparsely decorated as it was. Wooden beams were inlaid the ceiling, some arching high above as rafters, and the walls being topped with clapboards. He noted a humid smell to the air as William led the duo to a hidden entryway on the left hand side, the frame worn down with usage, revealing stairs leading further underground that were narrow and steep, and supremely difficult to navigate. It was too easy to stumble and continuously trip on his own feet, and Johnson's pressuring grip was not helping.

The further they went into the interior, the muggier the air became. It smelled awful, like literal shit under his nose. Jamie tries not to drag his feet as they near the one door in the poorly illuminated room—the one with rusty old-fashioned deadbolts fastened into the crooked door-frame.

"Here we are," says the man as he unlocked the bolt with the borrowed keys. When the door squeaks open, Jamie does his best to not gag at the horrendous smell that wafts from the dark interior.

Seeing the man waiting expectantly, Jamie swallows back bile and carefully steps into the dank room, shuddering when his foot squelches on something wet and mucky.

Around him were damp cobbled walls, the cold stone floor riddled with moldy straw and a single wooden bench fastened to the wall. High above was a tiny little window that leaked weak firelight through metal bars. Jamie noted it was too high for someone even his height to reach, and he was just over six feet tall.

"Adequate?"

The teen startles, turning to see William at the door, Johnson's lantern in hand. Having forgotten the man in his exploration of his surroundings, Jamie nods hesitantly. "Yeah, i-it's fine."

"Good." Says William after a long minute of scrutinizing him. "You will remain here for the night and someone will retrieve you in the morning. Understood?"

Jamie nods again.

William hums, eyes narrowed. He then reaches for the door handle, closing and locking it with a final echoing click, quenching the only real source of light from the cramped room, leaving Jamie in near-total darkness.

And he was now all but alone.