Dance of the Will'o'wisp

A certain Madness

Bree looked at him like he was mad. Was he playing with her? What were they on around here?

"Are you mad?" she said, kicking the chair back with her feet and standing, backing away rapidly. Gwen opened his mouth as if he meant to say something, and then closed it with a sigh, dropping his head into his hands. She headed towards the door, eyes darting to use anything in her defence, her heart beating painfully against her chest. There was a vase in the corner, and Bree's heart lifted for a split second. If she could get past these people, she could take Birch and go home, to her father and her mother and explain to them what had happened...

Because she'd feel it if they were dead. She'd be able to feel it.

Wouldn't she?

"Bree-"

Harvey's voice was strained, so much that Bree hesitated slightly before swinging a punch into his face. He rocketed back with a cry, his hand grasping his face, where blood was rapidly seeping from his nose. Using the distraction, she whirled round and kicked her foot into his stomach, before turning around to Gwen, a devilish look in her eyes. She barred her teeth at him as he raised his hands in mock surrender, though his expression was genuinely surprised.

He glanced worriedly at Harvey, who was glaring at Bree through the blood on his face with horrific anger. There was no satisfaction in perceiving it. Bree felt empty.

"My parents," she breathed heavily through clenched teeth, "are not dead. I do not know what you people want, but when I tell my father what you have done-"

"You cannot, Bree Teller," said Gwen firmly. Slowly, he lowered his hands. "Because he is dead."

Bree screamed, a sound so piercing that it rung inside her own head seconds after it ended, and leapt towards him. At a speed that most definitely not human, Gwen moved aside, a sharp intake of breath sounding from his lips as he watched Bree stagger and try to regain her balance. She looked up, furious, and leaped again, this time swinging a punch that hit home at the last moment. Gwen winced, buckling slightly as her fist connected with his stomach, but then he was upright again, just as she swung for another blow-

Her hand was caught mid-air.

Furious, she whirled around, anger boiling and conjuring up infinite insults to fire at Harvey, and paused.

It was not Harvey. It was a little boy, four years old, with rumpled black hair and tired brown eyes. His eyelids were dropping with fatigue, and as he looked at Bree, his mouth fell. Birch was dressed in blue pyjamas that were obviously too big on him; they draped off his shoulders and feel down way past his waist. Apart from the clear signs of weariness, he looked as he always did, adorably rumpled and healthy.

"That boy has a nose bleed," Birch inquired bluntly, pointing a plump finger in Harvey's direction. The blond boy was breathing heavy, the blood on his face drying to hard clumps. It was still pooling from his nose, which was bent slightly to the left. Bree looked at her brother blankly. "You must help him," he ordered firmly.

Feeling oddly helpless, Bree settled her anger and reached forward towards the little boy, but he flinched away, frowning. Then, seemingly oblivious to the smug look on Harvey's face and the heavy silence of the room, he walked carelessly over to the blond boy and pulled at his sleeve. Harvey looked at him as if he were some type of rodent who had made its way into his house.

"I do not need help," Harvey muttered, pulling his arm away from Birch and wiping the sleeve across his face. The blood smeared, but still kept flowing.

"Birch," Bree said as gently as she could, shooting a glare at Harvey. Her little brother glanced between the two, worry furrowing in between his eyebrows. "Why don't you go get some tissues from the sink over there?" She pointed towards the small basin in the corner. Birch, looking happy that he could be of help, bounced over to the direction she was pointing in.

"You thought we would have harmed him," Gwen inquired thoughtfully, seeming to appreciate her personal space and taking several steps away. "But we did not. We are not going to harm you." His voice was defensive. "Not if you do not harm us. We are trying to help you. If you will just listen."

Bree glanced worriedly towards where Birch was stood, collecting tissues from the drawer of the sink, humming absently to himself. His air was calm, so much that it settled her nerves slightly. Though her hands still shook, she found it in herself to slouch forward and release the tension from her posture. A moment later, her brother was beside her, and Harvey was stood to the left of Gwen, taking the tissues with a grateful smile. Bree looked to Gwen as Harvey cleaned the blood from his face and held the material to his nose.

"There is something I have for you," Gwen said carefully. His hand disappeared into the pocket of his pants and drew out something sealed in a white envelope. "Harvey attempted to give it to you at your home." The front was stamped with italic handwriting so familiar that it hurt her head to look at it.

Bree's stomach flipped. She knew what it was before she was even handed it.

 It was a letter from her parents.