Discovering the Future

Chapter 10- Chapter 4 (Part 1)

Disclaimer: I don't own Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children.

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Once I'd hopped and tripped and felt my way like a blind man through the woods and fog and reemerged into the world of sun and light, I was surprised to find the sun sinking and the light going red. Somehow the whole day had slipped away. At the pub my dad was waiting for me, a black-as-night beer and his open laptop on the table in front of him. I sat down and swiped his beer before he'd had a chance to even look up from typing.

"Oh, my sweet lord," I spluttered, choking down a mouthful, "what is this? Fermented motor oil?"

Enoch rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't surprise me if it was."

"Just about," he said, laughing, and then snatched it back. "It's not like American beer. Not that you'd know what that tastes like, right?"

"Absolutely not," I said with a wink, even though it was true. My dad liked to believe I was as popular and adventuresome as he was at my age--a myth it had always seemed easier to perpetuate.

Hugh grinned slightly and shook his head. "You little liar."

I underwent a brief interrogation about how I'd gotten to the house and who had taken me there, and because the easiest kind of lying is when you leave things out of a story rather than make them up, I passed with flying colours. I conveniently forgot to mention that Worm and Dylan had tricked me into wading through sheep excrement and then bailed out a half-mile from our destination.

Victor rolled his eyes and smirked. "Of course it was convenient."

Dad seemed pleased that I'd already managed to meet a couple kids my own age; I guess I also forgot to mention the part about them hating me.

"So how was the house?"

"Trashed."

He winced. "Guess it's been a long time since your Grandpa lived there, huh?"

"Yeah. Or anyone."

Horace shook his head. "If only you knew."

He closed the laptop, a sure sign I was about to receive his full attention. "I can see you're disappointed."

"Well, I didn't come thousands of miles looking for a house full of creepy garbage."

"So what're you going to do?"

"Find people to talk to. Someone will know what happened to the kids who used to live there. I figure a few of them must still be alive, on the mainland if not around here. In a nursing home or something."

Emma glared at the book. "That's insulting."

"Sure. That's an idea." He didn't sound convinced, though. There was an odd pause, and then he said, "So do you feel like you're starting to get a better handle on who your grandpa was, being here?"

I thought about it. "I don't know. I guess so. It's just an island, you know?"

He nodded. "Exactly."

"What about you?"

"Me?" He shrugged. "I gave up on trying to understand my father a long time ago."

"That's sad. Weren't you interested?"

"Sure I was. Then, after a while, I wasn't anymore."