That night, all Phillip wanted to do was sleep. It wasn't that late when he arrived home to his little apartment, still in time for dinner, in fact, but he pulled off his shoes and slumped into his armchair. With ink still stained on his sleeves and a final close of his eyes, he was out.
"I'm sorry, Father."
"What do you mean you broke the pen?" Mr. Carlyle snarled.
"I didn't mean to," the young man choked, "it was an accident."
Phillip was a grown man, but suddenly he was eight again - pleading with his father, hoping against hope that he wouldn't be beat again, please God, not another beating—
Mr. Carlyle rose his cane. He didn't even need it to walk - the cane had one purpose. A purpose that Phillip knew all too well.
Phillip screamed. The cane didn't strike him, but his arms - they bled. He screamed as the welts burned his skin with an invisible touch.
The bleeding wouldn't stop, wouldn't stop, wouldn't stop—
With a gasp, Phillip startled awake. It took him a second to realize where he was, and what was that thing he was hearing—
Somebody pounded on the front door.
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Burn (Barlyle) (COMPLETE)
FanfictionPhillip pushes Barnum away after the fire. Barnum struggles with what to do about the secrets of that night.
