And here's the next part! :)
Enoch stayed with Horace in his arms until there was the sound of approaching footsteps, and a moment later Bronwyn appeared in the doorway. Enoch released him from the hug but kept an arm around his shoulders to steady him.
"Hello Horace! We're back again," Bronwyn announced, giving him a hopeful smile. When Horace didn't respond, it faded. "How is he?" she asked Enoch as she knelt beside them.
Enoch made a face and glanced at Horace, who had gone back to numbly staring into the distance, tears welling in his eyes.
"Not good," he said.
"Oh dear," Bronwyn said quietly, eyes flicking over Horace's face with a worried frown. Then she turned to Enoch again. "It was me who asked Miss Peregrine to come home early," she admitted, sounding almost nervous for his reaction. "I just couldn't stop thinking about how he'd been acting at lunch, and you here all by yourself… I had to tell her, in case there was any chance she could come home. I hope you don't mind…"
Enoch shook his head immediately.
"No, I'm glad you did. I couldn't have managed on my own with him like this."
Bronwyn nodded understandingly as Miss Peregrine joined them from another part of the house, where she had clearly been greeting the rest of the peculiars.
"Thank you for your assistance, Miss Bruntley," she said. "Could you help Mr Somnusson to the living room please?"
"Yes, Miss." Bronwyn turned to Horace. "I'm going to carry you now Horace. If that's okay."
When Horace still didn't respond, she pressed her lips into a thin, worried line, her brows furrowing. Enoch shifted Horace's dead weight off of him so Bronwyn could lift him up, and she did so with far greater ease than Enoch had earlier.
As Bronwyn carried Horace back to the couch, Enoch trailed behind her with Miss Peregrine, watching Horace warily. He seemed to have stabilised a little more now, and showed no signs of visions or nightmares.
For now, Enoch reminded himself.
"Should I stay?" Bronwyn asked after setting Horace down on his side. "I'd be happy to help."
"Thank you Miss Bruntley, but that won't be necessary," Miss Peregrine said, sitting on the edge of the couch beside Horace and fixing the blanket around him. "Mr O'Connor and I should have it under control for now."
Bronwyn shot a worried glance at Horace, but nodded.
"Alright, Miss. Just call me if you need me again," she said, before leaving to find Olive and Claire.
They turned their attention back to Horace, with Miss Peregrine perched beside him on the edge of the cushions and Enoch hovering nervously by the arm of the couch.
"How are you feeling, Mr Somnusson?" Miss Peregrine asked, but Horace just dragged his eyes to her wearily and slurred out a response they couldn't understand. Miss Peregrine frowned worriedly. "I'm sorry to do this to you dear, but we really do need you to sit up again. I'm sure the last thing you want is to fall asleep and have another nightmare."
Horace just turned his face into the cushions, shuddering.
"No… no no no…"
Enoch wasn't sure if his response was to her words or something in his own mind.
"Come on," he said, kneeling in front of Horace and putting a hand on his shoulder. "You can get up, I know you can."
Together, he and Miss Peregrine managed to pull him upright while Horace shuddered, cringing in pain. Horace felt like his bones were made of broken glass. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling sick and aching all over. His head felt impossibly heavy and his throat burned from all his tears and screaming. By the time they had sat him up, he was breathing in jagged gasps and he barely had the strength to keep himself vertical.
Horace let his head sink into his hands, murmuring out a fervent stream-of-consciousness, pleading for the pain and exhaustion to stop.
Enoch and Miss Peregrine sat either side of him, holding him in case he fell forwards.
Miss Peregrine glanced at Enoch over Horace's shoulder.
"From now on I think it's best that Mr Somnusson stays here unless absolutely necessary," she decided. "He isn't in a state to walk anywhere alone, and I don't trust him to be stable walking with anyone except for Miss Bruntley and her added strength. I won't risk him falling and injuring himself." Her gaze drifted to Horace, who looked absolutely shattered, and her expression filled with pity. "And besides that, he needs to be resting as much as he can. That means no more walking to the dining room Mr Somnusson, no more trips outside, and certainly nowhere alone. We want you to be as safe and in as little pain as possible."
Horace didn't seem to hear her. Miss Peregrine turned to Enoch to assess his response, and he nodded. In truth he was just relieved to have someone else here to make the decisions and be the responsible one. Some of the tension had relieved from his shoulders already.
"How are you feeling now, Mr Somnusson?" she asked gently. Horace muttered out a slurred response, not raising his head from his hands. Miss Peregrine's brow knitted with concern, her hold on his arm tightening as Horace started to sink forwards. "Is there anything we can do for you?" she asked. "Mr O'Connor and I are here to help you, in whatever small way we can."
With great difficulty, Horace managed to drag his head up to meet her eyes. His were slightly bloodshot and shining with tears, his expression vacant and exhausted.
Miss Peregrine's kind, earnest face swirled in front of his as though an image in disturbed water. Horace felt queasy just looking at it. He shuddered and turned away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.
"Go away…" he found himself pleading, the words feeling like lead in his mouth. Even speaking felt near impossible now, and he had to force a heaving breath in to recover. He could hear Enoch saying something, some indignant rebuttal to his words, but it just filtered away into incomprehensible sounds before it reached Horace's brain.
Distantly, Horace became aware of a coldness creeping over his skin, of the sound of hollow wind and people wailing. He slowly lifted his head, staring wide-eyed as the room became a world of shifting greys, like ash and fog swirling before his eyes. Then his head went light and his strength gave out and the vision pulled him under.
Enoch cursed under his breath as Horace suddenly went boneless, falling backwards with glassy eyes while he mumbled something about fog in his brain.
"Snap out of it," Enoch said, squeezing his shoulder nervously. "Wake up, come on."
Horace's mumbling had become more fervent now, almost fearful, and tears began to spill from his wide eyes. Enoch's heart sank as he began to fight and scream.
Horace was trapped in the visions.
There was no point to these, no sense at all. Just endless overlapping scenes of horror and violence, so fast and so loud that he thought his head might burst. He couldn't move, could barely breathe, couldn't close his eyes.
Wailing children, staggering from a radioactive blast zone with their skin peeling off. A passenger plane colliding with a skyscraper. He saw a mother drowning her own children, a husband throw acid in his wife's face.
Horace was thrown to the floor, he was set alight, he was flayed alive.
He was all of these suffering people, all at once, and he was himself, paralysed and screaming as he drowned in the all the pain of the world's future, present and past.
When he came to, he was choking on tears, shuddering so much that he could hardly stay upright.
His head hurt so badly that he couldn't even make a sound; his expression twisted in a silent scream as he curled in on himself, digging his nails into his skull.
"It's alright, just breathe," Miss Peregrine said gently as Horace let out an agonised sob.
"Hurts," he gasped out through tears, the most he could manage before his breath was stolen again.
"I know dear, I know."
Finally, the pain began to fade. Horace forced air back into his lungs, choking past heaving sobs. His whole body felt wrung out, as though he'd pulled all his muscles at once. Everything ached and felt like lead; he could hardly move.
The horror he'd seen in his vision had left him cold and hollow, his chest carved out. He doubled over, shaking with the shock of it.
Miss Peregrine's brow knitted as she took in his haggard expression and the tears in his eyes.
"Oh you poor child," she said quietly. Horace wept as she put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug.
Enoch watched him helplessly, feeling more useless to Horace than ever.
Finally, Horace's sobs faded out. He pulled away from Miss Peregrine and wiped his eyes with trembling hands, taking slow, deliberate breaths in an attempt to calm himself. His gaze was trained on some point in the distance, his expression pained and full of fear.
"You alright?" Enoch asked quietly. When Horace didn't respond, Enoch took his hand, and Horace squeezed it hard enough to hurt.
"Scared," Horace whispered, his voice empty and far away. He never met Enoch's eyes, still staring straight ahead.
Enoch watched him with dread.
Me too, he thought.
Despite his fear, Horace's eyelids began to sink closed again, before he jolted and forced them open, trembling. Enoch could see the exhaustion carved into his harrowed expression. When they sank closed a second time, he didn't try to fight it.
"Horace," Enoch said forcefully, and Horace startled, then dragged his half-lidded gaze towards him. "Listen to me. You need to try your best to stay awake. Okay? Or you'll have a nightmare again." When Horace just continued to watch him blankly, Enoch said slowly, "You'll see bad things again. Do you understand? If you fall asleep, the bad things will come back. So you need to try and stay awake, okay?" Silence. "Okay?"
Horace's head drooped and he shut his eyes, resting his forehead on Enoch's shoulder.
"Okay…" he mumbled.
"What? No- Horace, I just said-" Enoch sighed, pushing Horace off him and holding him upright by the shoulders. "You need to stay awake."
Horace just slumped forwards, his chin hitting his chest. Enoch looked to Miss Peregrine for guidance.
"I have an idea," she told him, rising stiffly from the couch. "I'll be back in a moment."
Enoch nodded mutely as she headed for the kitchen, struggling a little to keep hold of Horace now that he didn't have another set of hands to help keep him upright.
Horace didn't make it easy for him; his eyes drooped closed once again and his muscles slackened, falling forwards until Enoch caught him.
"Horace," Enoch said tersely, shaking him with his free hand as Horace started to lose consciousness. "Come on, stay awake. Hey-"
He shook him again and Horace's head jerked upwards, his eyes opening blearily. Miss Peregrine appeared in the doorway with something wrapped up in a tea towel, but by the time she had crossed the room to them, Horace's eyes had closed again, drifting in and out of consciousness.
Miss Peregrine sat on Horace's other side, unfolding the tea towel in her lap and taking out some ice cubes, which she placed in Horace's upturned palms.
Horace immediately woke up, staring confusedly down at the ice cubes in his hands. But after a moment his eyes turned glassy again and he slumped against Enoch, his hands falling open so that the ice cubes began to slide down his palms.
"No no, hey- stay awake," Enoch insisted, pushing Horace off of him.
"Stay awake, Mr Somnusson," Miss Peregrine echoed, quickly pushing Horace's fingers so they curled into fists around the ice cubes.
Horace's eyes snapped open again, and he forced his head up.
"What…?" he mumbled, confused.
"Squeeze your hands, like this," Miss Peregrine told him. "Focus on the cold and try to stay awake."
Horace did as she asked, staring numbly down at his hands as he weakly clung to the ice. It seemed to work, if only a little; Horace was blinking fast, swaying slightly with exhaustion, but he was able to fight to stay awake.
That was how they stayed for the next hour; Horace, empty-eyed and trembling, clinging white-knuckled to blocks of ice in an attempt to force away sleep; Enoch and Miss Peregrine sitting either side of him, passing him fresh blocks of ice every time they turned to water in his palms, talking to him, talking about nothing, just trying to pass the time and keep his mind off it all.
Eventually though, the ice turned to uncontrollable shivers and aching hands, and he couldn't stand it anymore. Enoch stood and went to collect the blankets they'd left behind, returning to wrap them around Horace while he shuddered. Enoch frowned, noticing that Horace's fingers had stiffened from being so tense and cold, his hands shaking and bruised from holding the ice for so long. He took both Horace's hand in his, rubbing them to get some circulation going and bring some warmth back. Horace just stared at him emotionlessly, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and far away.
Enoch felt bitter dread begin to fill his chest.
"How long is he supposed to keep this up for?" Enoch asked, looking to Miss Peregrine. "What happens when the ice ain't enough to keep him awake anymore? What happens when nothing is enough?"
Miss Peregrine looked pained.
"I don't know how this ends," she admitted quietly. "But we just have to manage whatever symptoms he is facing now, in this moment. And the next, and the next. One problem at a time."
Horace had pulled away from him now, hugging his arms around himself with tears in his eyes.
Enoch's gaze trailed to the ground. His mind was so loud with a thousand overlapping thoughts and worries and what-ifs, and the idea of silencing all of that to focus on one clear goal felt insurmountable.
"How are you so good at this?" Enoch muttered bitterly. "You're so calm, and you know what to do, and you don't mess up like me-" His voice shook and he scowled, glaring down at the floor.
"Many decades of practice," Miss Peregrine said kindly. "Don't be too hard on yourself Mr O'Connor- you have supported him this far, even when I could not be here to help, and I am ever grateful for it. I'm sure Mr Somnusson is too."
Enoch glanced at Horace, feeling sick. He was bent over double with his fingers knotted white-knuckled into his hair, shuddering as he mumbled to himself and tried desperately to fight the waves of exhaustion threatening to pull him into another nightmare. Enoch didn't feel like he'd done Horace any good at all. In fact, he'd probably made him worse. He'd probably done all the wrong things and now Horace was the worst he'd ever been and it was all his stupid fault.
Miss Peregrine watched Enoch with concern, seeming to read all of his self-deprecating thoughts just by looking at him.
"Why don't you have a rest?" she asked him, and Enoch looked up at her immediately with a frown. "Mr Somnusson is stable for now, let me care for him for a while. My turn is long overdue."
Enoch shook his head.
"I already had a rest," he spat, offended. "I don't need another one."
"Have another anyway," Miss Peregrine said, her voice firm. "It would do you some good to clear your head, I think."
"I'm fine," Enoch muttered.
"Even if I believed that, my advice would not change. You have done a fine job caring for him on your own, but now you have help and it makes no sense to both be here when we should be working in shifts."
Enoch scowled down at his hands.
"But you're not going to take a break when I come back," he said. "Are you."
Miss Peregrine smiled slightly, caught.
"I'm an ymbryne," she said simply. "We don't take breaks. You, on the other hand, are my ward. And wards most certainly take breaks when their ymbryne tells them to."
"But-"
"Mr O'Connor," she sighed, a little exasperated. Then her tone softened. "It's nearly dinner time; go and eat with the other children. I won't have you exhausting yourself anymore, I have already failed you enough in that regard this week."
"I-" he went to retort, then saw from her expression that she had no intentions of backing down. "…Okay," he relented bitterly.
…
Enoch headed towards the sounds of his friends' overlapping voices, but when he discovered that sound was coming from the kitchen, he balked. The moment he set foot in there, they would rope him into some form of dinner prep that he really did not have the mental capacity for right now.
Instead Enoch stormed into the dining room, agitated by Miss Peregrine's dismissal and lost in anxious thoughts about Horace. He collapsed into a chair and didn't realise he wasn't alone until someone spoke.
"Everything alright?"
Enoch jumped and spun around to find a floating cap in the chair to his left.
"Yes," he said tersely, shooting Millard a death glare and hoping it was enough to shut him up. It wasn't.
"Really? Because you seem unhappy. Anything you want to talk about?"
"No," Enoch muttered with a scowl, then to distract him, said, "What are you doing?"
"Researching, still," Millard replied, and it was only as a book floated up off the table that Enoch realised it was covered in an overflowing pile of old books and Millard's own hastily scribbled notes. "I know it's to help Horace and all, but I do find it quite fun. It's nice to use my brain for something productive. Working in Devil's Acre is not for intelligent folk, let me tell you."
Enoch rolled his eyes, picking up a book of his own as a welcome distraction. He absentmindedly picked at the corner.
"You must fit right in then," he jabbed.
"Ha ha," Millard said sarcastically. "I'll bet you're glad you've got my fact-finding brain on this case, now aren't you?"
Enoch's gaze fell to the table.
"Yeah okay, I am," he admitted reluctantly. "But don't go getting a big head over it. I know how to research too."
"Why don't you help me then?" Millard suggested. "I mostly brought these books back because of our conversation earlier; I thought it might make you feel better if you were helping find information too."
Enoch stared down at the musty old book in his hands. He didn't really see how this was better for Horace than actually being with him, but if the Bird was going to enforce mandated rest then he figured this was a good enough alternative.
"Fine," he muttered.
"Excellent," Millard said, and shoved a huge pile of dusty books towards him. "Two shillings says I find something before you."
Enoch glared at him.
"I don't need a stupid bet to make me care about this," he snapped.
"Neither do I, but it helps," Millard shrugged.
Enoch rolled his eyes and turned his attention on his book- a dusty old hardcover titled 'A Definitive List of Malignant Dream Aberrations Experienced by Miss Evangelina DuPart.' He wasn't entirely sure what all that meant, but it seemed promising.
But after twenty minutes of flipping through it, it became clear that the book was mostly just a list of whatever nightmares some self-important lady from the eighteenth century had dreamt up. Somehow, Enoch didn't think reading about the fifth time she lost all her teeth in a nightmare was particularly helpful to Horace's situation. He snapped the book shut in frustration and shoved it into the discard pile, before grabbing the next one and starting again. Beside him, Millard remained skimming through text and flipping through pages with an efficiency that could only have come from decades of practice. Enoch was considerably slower and his brain was already hurting from the first page of his new book. Frowning down at it, he forced his attention to the page.
Nearly an hour had passed since he'd first started looking, and Enoch was no closer to finding anything. He could hear the clink of plates and glasses from the kitchen as his friends collected dishes to set on the table- pretty soon he and Millard would be kicked out to make way for everyone else, and Enoch couldn't help but feel like a bit of a failure for not finding even one thing in all that time. No wonder his friends always got home looking so tired and defeated after hours of this. Enoch sighed, resting his cheek on his fist dejectedly as he turned the page to another wall of text.
Suddenly, Millard's chair scraped back with a terrific screech that made Enoch jump. He spun around to glare at him.
"What's your problem?" Enoch snapped.
But Millard was paying his indignation no mind, having leapt to his feet and now staring down at the open book on the table.
"I've… I've found something," he said quietly, seemingly stunned.
"What?" Enoch cried, and then he was on his feet too, craning to see.
Millard recovered from his shock and scooped the book up into his arms, rushing to the doorway towards the rest of the peculiars.
"I've found something!" he cried excitedly, this time loud enough for everyone else to hear.
The conversations in the kitchen stopped abruptly as every head in the room spun to him in surprise.
"What!"
"You have?"
"What does it say?"
There was the sound of rushing footsteps as they all crowded into the room
"I'll get Miss Peregrine!" Emma said, running towards the living room.
Millard had the huge leather-bound book in his arms as the peculiars all crowded around him, impatiently waiting for the Bird to arrive so they could hear his answer.
Enoch looked up as Miss Peregrine hurried into the room. She caught his eye and must have seen the worried frown on his face; he didn't like the idea of Horace being left alone.
He's alright, she mouthed and Enoch relaxed slightly.
"Miss Bloom tells me you have found some information?" Miss Peregrine prompted Millard, waiting for his answer as he skimmed over the pages.
"Well? What is it?" Enoch said impatiently.
"It says here that there is a condition unique to clairvoyant peculiars, named Helmund's syndrome, after the peculiar who first discovered it. It's caused by exposure to the present day outside of a loop, with symptoms beginning anywhere from minutes to hours after leaving the loop membrane."
"But that would be before they've even started ageing forward," Hugh frowned.
"What does that even mean?" Jacob asked. Millard glanced down at the book again.
"It's based on Helmund's principle that a peculiar's internal clock is set with the looped day as the present, and anything after that date is therefore the future by comparison. But when a peculiar enters the actual present day, which is potentially decades after the loop was made, suddenly many of those years which used to be considered the future are now in the past. Obviously a clairvoyant peculiar's visions show the future, so when the definitions of what is the future and what is the past suddenly change, it can cause mild symptoms in some clairvoyants that disappear once they're back in a loop."
"Symptoms like Horace's?" Olive asked.
"They're certainly quite similar," Millard said, and began reciting from the book. "Lets see… dissociation, short-term memory loss, confusion… oh- and a slight increase in frequency of visions." He raised his head. "Essentially, the symptoms are due to their peculiarity attempting to reprogram itself to the current time. The longer they spend in the present outside of a loop, the further into this process it gets."
There was silence for a moment as the peculiars considered this new information.
"It does sound like what has been happening to Horace," Bronwyn conceded, "though I'd hardly call his symptoms mild."
"And it was still happening while he was working in the Acre," Enoch pointed out. "That book says it should go away once he's in a loop."
Everyone looked to Miss Peregrine for her input.
"It certainly explains some Mr Somnusson's symptoms," she said, "but he has others that you haven't listed. Does it mention anything about hallucinations or fevers?"
"I'm not sure," Millard admitted. "Give me a moment…"
He looked back down at his book again, scanning the pages for extra information.
"Bear in mind, this book is quite old, it may be outdated," he added in between reading. "Horace has also been in the present for months, not hours, so his symptoms could be worsened by that."
"That's another thing," Enoch blurted, realising. "Why have the symptoms only just started now? Why hasn't this been happening from the moment we got here?"
"I didn't even think of that," Emma said, her eyes widening. "But he's right- why would that happen, Millard?"
"I don't know, let me read-" Millard said hurriedly, trying to hold the heavy book and turn pages at the same time, while fielding their many questions.
"Does it have something to do with his reset internal clock?" Hugh asked.
"Oh yes, maybe that's what's making it worse!" Bronwyn nodded. "Does it say anything about reset internal clocks, Millard?"
"Hold on-" Millard spluttered.
"Of course not," Enoch scoffed. "No one knew that was possible before us."
"Well then does it talk about being in the present for months?" Bronwyn suggested defensively. Enoch screwed up his face in annoyance.
"That wasn't possible before us either!" he snapped, exasperated. He turned to Millard. "Just ignore her, she's talking rubbish."
"That's cruel!" Claire cried, taking Bronwyn's hand. Bronwyn nodded, turning to Millard.
"I ain't talking rubbish, am I Millard? You tell him!"
"Give me a moment!" Millard begged, stressed by all their competing demands.
He frantically turned pages and the book suddenly overbalanced, tumbling from his hands before he managed to awkwardly catch it. As he straightened up, something slid out from between the opened pages and fluttered to the ground. A single piece of paper.
Millard stooped to pick it up and read it quickly as the peculiars fell silent.
"What is it? What does it say?" Olive asked. Millard looked up. They couldn't see his face, but they could tell by his sudden change in energy that he was excited.
"This is it!" he said eagerly. "This is exactly what's happening to Horace!"
Miss Peregrine cleared her throat and held out her hand, and he passed it to her. The paper was frayed around the edges and yellowed with age. It was covered, front and back, with neat cursive writing. It looked easily a hundred years old.
"I didn't have the chance to read the whole thing," Millard admitted as she began to skim over it. "But from what I saw… you can't tell me that isn't Horace's condition."
"What does it say, Miss?" Emma prompted.
"It appears to be torn out of a peculiar hospital's medical records, or perhaps a nurse-ymbryne's diary," Miss Peregrine said. The peculiars listened with rapt attention as she began to read aloud.
"October 10th, 1890. The first and only known documentation of severe Helmund's syndrome leading to hospitalisation. Patient was a clairvoyant peculiar male, approximately 93 years old in loop years, physical age unknown. The individual was found wandering in the present day outside of a loop, and had undergone extensive ageing forward at the time of his rescue- potential full regression of physical age to match loop age. Individual showed signs of Helmund's syndrome upon discovery, including memory loss and frequent visions."
Miss Peregrine turned over the page, and continued reading.
"When taken to the nearest medical loop and treated, the individual's symptoms did not desist after crossing the loop membrane as expected, but increased in severity over time. The individual began experiencing debilitating symptoms unprecedented following ageing forward and undocumented for Helmund's syndrome. For nine days the individual experienced abnormally heightened frequency and intensity of prophetic dreams, occurring both in wakefulness and asleep, as well as physical symptoms of exhaustion, memory loss, paranoia, hallucinations and fever. Vision frequency and intensity increased exponentially over time. The individual was treated by several qualified ymbrynes during his stay, until-" Miss Peregrine's voice faltered, and a shadow passed over her face.
"Until…?" Emma prompted, looking worried.
Miss Peregrine looked up at them with a strained smile,
"Until he made a full recovery," she reported happily.
They breathed a sigh of relief, the peculiars all smiling.
"Thank the Bird for that!" Hugh cried.
"I'll go tell Horace the good news," Bronwyn beamed, rushing off towards the living room.
Millard moved behind Miss Peregrine, trying to read over her shoulder.
"Could I see-?" he began, but Mis Peregrine hastily shoved the paper into her coat pocket before he could read it.
"There is nothing to see," she assured him. "The man made a full recovery, and Mr Somnusson will too."
Miss Peregrine's gaze followed Bronwyn through the doorway to the living room, and once she determined Horace was not alone, she turned to them again.
"Now, if anyone needs me, I will be-" her voice wavered strangely but she squared her shoulders and smiled again. "I will be back in a moment."
She hobbled out of the room and around the corner, leaving the others to their celebrations, but Enoch was not fooled. He left Millard's side and went after her.
"You're lying," he said as soon as he rounded the corner behind her. The Bird froze on the stairs, her back to him. She stiffened in indignation, but didn't turn around.
"Excuse me, Mr O'Connor! That kind of accusation is extremely-"
"I know you are. I know you're lying. That's why you won't show me your face."
"Mr O'Connor-" she started weakly, but Enoch cut her off.
"That bloke didn't make a full recovery. He died, didn't he?"
Miss Peregrine didn't respond.
"Tell me the truth!" Enoch begged, voice shaking.
Finally, Miss Peregrine turned to face him. It was obvious she was trying her best to push her emotions away and keep her expression calm, but she couldn't stop the tears that welled in her eyes. Slowly, she nodded.
Enoch's heart fell out of his chest. He'd known the truth already, but seeing it confirmed suddenly made it real.
"The man's organs failed after battling the nightmares for over a week," Miss Peregrine said quietly. "I… I presume he died of exhaustion."
Enoch felt sick. The room was spinning. The ground felt loose under his feet.
"But- no, no- the cure! We were trying to find out what this was so we could- could find a cure, there must be a cure, there has to be a-"
"There is no cure," Miss Peregrine said quietly. "I thought perhaps there was hope, but…" her voice faded out and she shook her head. "You can't heal something like this."
Enoch felt strange, like he wasn't really in his own body. All he could do was stare at her, frozen and numb.
"You must promise me you will not tell the other children," Miss Peregrine said, walking down the stairs towards him with urgency in her eyes, "And especially not Mr Somnusson. It would only scare them."
Enoch felt his shock turn to searing anger at her words.
"What?" he cried. "No. I can't keep doing that, it ain't fair, I can't just-"
"You have to," Miss Peregrine said sharply. "It is vital that no one else knows."
"Why?" Enoch snapped, not caring that he was yelling at her. "You keep making me lie- why, why? Why does it have to be me? We should tell them, they can help, they can-" he was hyperventilating, panicked and rambling, "I- I don't know what they can do, but it'll be something! Millard- tell Millard, he'll find a cure, he'll fix this, he'll-"
His voice broke and he went silent. Miss Peregrine tried to hug him but he dodged out of the way.
"I'm so sorry," she said, her own voice trembling. "You were not meant to know any of this- I- I wanted to protect you like the other children, I-"
"I don't need to be protected," Enoch snapped at her. "None of us do! We need to tell them, let them help us-"
Miss Peregrine shook her head, wiping her eyes.
"I wish there was something that could be done, something that could be gained from spreading this knowledge," she said quietly. "But this is a sickness of his second soul; something that serious would take years, decades to create a cure. The rest of my wards would be just as lost and hopeless as you or I, desperately trying to find a cure that doesn't exist."
Enoch was shaking, unable to meet her eyes. Miss Peregrine continued unsteadily.
"And that's not the worst. Can you imagine how much worse everything would become if Mr Somnusson knew he was dying?"
Enoch swallowed hard.
"He'd be terrified," he realised.
"They would all be terrified," Miss Peregrine said gravely. She shook away the thought. "Please, you must promise not to tell them. Even Miss Bruntley. No one can know."
Enoch glared down at the ground for a moment, unsure of how to feel. Finally, he met her eyes.
"I… I promise," Enoch managed to choke out.
"Thank you," Miss Peregrine said softly. Her expression was dark, a storm of barely hidden emotions. There was silence for a moment, then Enoch managed to voice what he'd been thinking all along.
"So this is it then," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "The nightmares will just keep coming and coming until…" he swallowed hard, barely able to say it, "…until they kill him."
Miss Peregrine wouldn't meet his eyes. She turned away, hurriedly dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. Enoch's heart leapt into his throat.
"Please tell me that ain't true," he begged, already fearing her answer. "Miss? Is he going to die?"
Miss Peregrine took a deep breath and turned back to face him. Her cheeks were tearstained, and for someone who Enoch had always thought of as an unstoppable force, she suddenly seemed frail.
"I cannot know for sure," Miss Peregrine said. Enoch got the sense she was doing her best to seem optimistic for his sake. "The man who died had already aged forward, and was therefore physically older and weaker than Mr Somnusson. If Mr Somnusson's body can hold out until his peculiar soul realigns with his internal clock, it is possible that he will recover where the man could not."
Her expression darkened and her eyes welled with tears again before she could stop them.
"However," she continued, her voice suddenly shaky, "in his current state, I would not rate it likely."
Enoch staggered. He couldn't breathe. His heart was hammering too hard in his chest, and he suddenly felt like he might collapse.
Miss Peregrine's brow furrowed with concern and she stepped towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Enoch shrugged her off, feeling sick.
"I am so very sorry, Mr O'Connor, I never meant for you to be involved in any of this. That first day I let you stay with him…" she shook her head, "I never should have placed this burden on you."
Enoch was still and silent, glaring at the ground. He didn't trust himself to speak. Finally, he swallowed, taking a shaky breath in.
"No, it's… it's okay," he said quietly, looking up at her. "Like you said, he might get better, right? He'll be okay."
He forced as much optimism into his voice as he could muster, hoping that if he believed it enough, it might come true.
Miss Peregrine nodded.
"We have to keep hope, for Horace's sake."
…
They went their separate ways; Miss Peregrine heading back to Horace's side, Enoch walking back into the dining room in a daze, feeling like a weight was crushing his chest. His heart was beating too fast, his stomach was in knots. No matter how much he forced air into his lungs, he couldn't seem to get enough. Enoch was sure that if a single person tried to speak to him now, he would fall apart.
But when he returned to the room, he found everyone still in there, all talking about Horace. Enoch froze, feeling numb and aching at the same time. His head felt like it was floating above his body, and suddenly he couldn't move; all he could do was stand and stare as they continued on, oblivious to his presence.
"Well it is strange that Horace has been so affected by this if most people recover," Emma said.
"Yeah, and with only one other person getting it this badly before him, ever… that's pretty unlucky," Jacob said.
"Unless there's something else making it worse," Hugh suggested.
"I'd say it's almost certainly his reset internal clock causing the severity of his symptoms," Millard replied. "It must somehow affect his peculiar soul in a similar way to ageing forward, and that's why both Horace and the man in the notes have almost identical symptoms." He sighed. "I just wish Miss Peregrine had let me read over the document properly- I could have gleaned more information from it."
Then he shrugged. "Ah well, at least we've gotten to the bottom of things! This is going to be a fascinating new area of research…" his voice trailed off, lost in thought.
"Maybe let Horace recover a bit before you start poking and prodding and asking him a thousand questions, yeah?" Hugh pointed out.
"Somehow I don't think he feels like one of your scientific interviews right now," Emma added, and Millard laughed sheepishly.
"Oh. Right."
Enoch turned away, feeling sick. They were all so calm- how were they so calm? He wanted to scream that there was no recovery, that Horace wasn't going to get better. He wanted to scream at them so badly it felt like a lump in his throat and his eyes started to sting. He stormed out of the room before they could notice him, his chest feeling too tight to breathe.
Enoch started to head for the living room to check on Horace, but the prickling in his eyes soon became tears as he walked further, and by the time he reached the doorway he was furiously wiping them from his face.
Horace couldn't see him like this. No one could.
Enoch took a shuddering breath and spun away from the living room at the last second, feeling lost. Everywhere he turned there were people who would see his face and see his tears- if nothing else he was too ashamed to let that happen, no matter how badly he wanted someone to just hug him while he broke down.
Feeling like he might implode at any second, Enoch darted towards the stairs, taking them two at a time as panicked gasps began to fill his lungs. He all but sprinted for the spare room, immediately shutting the door behind him and smearing his tears as they started to stream down his face without his control.
He couldn't seem to stop hyperventilating, his breaths getting quicker and and more choked as he paced the room in a daze, fingers knitted in his hair.
He's going to die he's going to die he's going to die-
Enoch shoved a pillow over his face and screamed into it until he ran out of air. As he stood trying to get his breath back, he heard a creak and turned to find Emma standing awkwardly in the doorway. Enoch lowered the pillow stiffly, staring at her as though he had just been caught red-handed.
"…Everything okay?" Emma asked, looking between him and the pillow in bewilderment.
"I'm fine," Enoch muttered quickly, tossing the pillow onto the bed and folding his arms defiantly. He hoped she couldn't hear how badly his voice was shaking. Emma raised an eyebrow at him.
"Are you sure about that?"
Enoch scuffed his shoe over the floor, his face hot.
"How long were you standing there?" he asked, embarrassed.
"Long enough," Emma said, crossing the room to him. "Is this about Horace?"
She must have seen the fearful look that crossed his face at the mention of Horace's name, because her eyes filled with pity.
"You know he'll be okay, don't you?" she asked him. "I know you're upset about this- we all are- but you heard what those medical records said. He's going to get better."
Enoch just winced and looked down, honouring his promise to Miss Peregrine by keeping his mouth shut. There was silence for a moment.
Emma hesitated, then said somewhat awkwardly,
"You know, Enoch… if you ever need to talk about any of this…"
"There's nothing to talk about," Enoch snapped gruffly.
"Well, I disagree," Emma insisted.
Enoch sighed.
"Look, if you want to be someone's therapist, why don't you go comfort Horace? He's the one who's sick, not me."
Emma seemed unconvinced, but she didn't try to argue.
"Alright, if you're sure," she conceded. "But there's no shame in talking to one of us about this if you change your mind. We're your family too."
Enoch glared at the ground.
"Thanks. But no thanks."
Emma hesitated for a moment longer, then sighed and walked out. The moment she was gone, Enoch sank to the ground.
It didn't feel real. None of this felt real. This was someone else's life, not his. Definitely not his. Things like this just didn't happen. Any moment now he would wake up and find it had all been one long, horrible nightmare. He'd probably tell Horace about it and see what he thought the dream meant.
Enoch laughed softly at the thought, but then the smile on his face twisted and sank and his laughter faded into tears.
Thanks for reading! I'll do my best to upload the next chapter ASAP