Chapter Text
“Are you an idiot? How do you still not understand these rules?” That, and the way his father's nails had dug into his arms, were the last nails in the coffin. S.Q. wasn’t exactly a stranger to harsh words. He had known them his whole life, either from his dad or from other students in the institute. But this was just one more little rock on top of a whole pile. He’d pulled away from his dad, eyes, and arms stinging, and had stormed off. He felt ridiculous. Like a pitiful child as he stormed off to his bedroom and threw his sketchbook down onto the bed. Thankfully, his father had not followed him. S.Q. knew full well what his father would do to settle his anger. He would throw himself into his work for the night, then act like nothing happened the next day, and he would too because his father would not care how angry he was. S.Q.’s emotions were not ones he was willing to take into account. The knowledge of this was not enough to stop S.Q. glancing over his shoulder as he rummaged through his drawer for his flashlight and good sweater. Just one night. That was all he needed. He’d done this before. He had been younger then, with zero plan.
But he was older now. This was not the plan of a little boy curious about the town across the shore. It was not the actions of an active imagination finally coming to fruition. It was a long, slow-burning need to get out. The culmination of seventeen years on an island. Seventeen years of steady, choking, constricting control under the hands of his father. He loved him. Really, he did. At least he told himself that every day, and he believed it most of the time. But in moments like these, when that constantly suppressed anger in both of them reached its climax and came out in harsh words and a departure to separate rooms, it was hard to remember. And that’s when rationality typically went out the window.
S.Q. felt lightheaded, hands trembling as he shoved his sweater into his drawstring bag, along with his gloves and the pocket knife he used for whittling hidden in the bottom of his drawer (his father didn’t like him handling knives, but S.Q. had a knack for making little figures with bits of wood he found in the forest). Plans like these had laid in the back of his head since he was old enough to understand the lonely, isolated feeling that lingered in his chest. Once his bag was packed he creaked the door open and poked his head out. The coast seemed to be clear. The door to his father’s office was on the far end of the room, and the exit was on the wall adjacent to it. The office door was closed and, presumably, locked. All he had to do was walk across the room and leave. He could do this. He could. He took a slow, deep breath, and ran across the room. He threw open the door and closed it clumsily behind him, tripping on his own feet. He slammed into the wall outside the door as he regained his footing. The door slammed closed behind him and he winced at the noise it made. Usually, if his dad was absorbed in his work he would ignore absolutely everything around him. But even he couldn’t ignore such a loud slam, and so late at night. Which meant S.Q. had to get a move on. He rushed along the hallway, barely looking down towards the yellow stripe that guided students around the institute. His feet, donned in boots he had yet to grow into, were all but silent against the smooth stone floor.
It took a moment for him to process when halfway through his walk out of the institute he slammed right into someone. He stopped halfway to the ground, strong arms catching him, pinning his arms to his sides. He thought he might’ve rather fallen. This man's grip was rough and it did not relent, even when S.Q. found his footing.
“Where are you off to in such a rush, chicky?” He froze. Everything had been going so well, too. S.Q. shoved his elbow into the man's side and pushed away, but his arm was caught again by a strong hand in the crook of his elbow. Now he stood face to face with the man, his arm caught tightly in his grasp. The man was unusually tall. In fact, he was much bigger than S.Q., rising well above him. He was struck with a terrible sense of dread when he saw the watches that hung on his wrists and the suitcase sitting on the floor where the man had dropped it to grab him.
“I’m just going for a walk.”
“Then why rush? Are walks not meant to be leisurely?”
“They are but I’m just uh- eager to get outside.”
The man raised an eyebrow at him, the disbelief clear in his eyes. His grip on S.Q.’s arm did not lessen, it tightened in fact, as he stepped closer to him. “Running away, are you? I know who you are. You’re Curtain’s boy.” The man contemplated this for a moment, clearly mulling over the reward for stopping a kid, the headmaster's son no less, from running away. Finally, he said “I think it’s time we get you back to your dad, now” S.Q. glanced around, searching for something, anything , that could help. He had nearly been out, he was not giving up now. And there was the briefcase, sitting right there on the floor. He could reach it if he just -
S.Q. kicked up and out, right at the man's knee. It wasn’t a particularly strong kick, the man was much stronger than him by miles and S.Q. was mostly skin and bones, but it was enough to catch him off guard. His grip on S.Q.’s elbow slipped only for a moment, but that was all he needed. He stooped down and grabbed the suitcase, then swung as hard as he could. He heard the ‘thud’ and the man cry out in surprise. But he was gone, had dropped his impromptu weapon and ran before he could see the aftermath of his attack. His feet slammed much less gracefully against the floor, his lungs burned, and his knees began to ache as he ran. If his father hadn’t noticed his absence before, that man was sure to tell him what had happened.
He did not stop when he shoved the doors open and ran out into the courtyard. He let the cool air of an early-autumn night breeze whip against his face as he continued to run. He could see a few executives give him sidelong glances as he ran past them and onto the trail that led to the docks. He stumbled several times, but each time regained his footing, until out of breath and knees scraped he heard the rushing of the water against the docks, as the last ferry of the day got ready to make its way to Stonetown harbor.
He ducked down and out of sight and watched as now-empty shipping crates were loaded onto the boat. He pulled the hood of his coat up and walked as swiftly and unassumingly as he could onto the boat. Once he was on, he ducked behind one of the crates and hugged his knees tightly. After what felt like an eternity, he felt the boat lurch and move forward. The breeze swept down and tousled his hair, bit against his cheeks and his nose, and seeped right through the fabric of his coat. He almost didn’t mind the way he shivered in the cold night air.
He must have drifted off to sleep on the ride over. Because suddenly the boat lurched, his eyes fluttered open, and he heard the commotion of the boat is docked. He was leaned against a hard surface, snuggled into the crook between the crate and the inside of the Ferry. A short half-wall that sported a slim, silver railing. His eyes flickered upwards towards the sky. It was entirely dark now, stars spattered the night sky like freckles and the moon hung in the middle of it, providing a ghostly blue light. If he had to guess, S.Q. would’ve assumed it was around nine or ten. He rose, slowly, to his feet. His knees protested. After being hugged to his chest so long they ached sharply with the movement. The way was clear. The workers had all clocked out for the day. He was safe to make his way off of the boat.
Though he knew the way was clear, he crept as quietly as he could, in case any workers may still be lingering. He really had only a vague idea of the way the Ferry and its crew worked. That seemed to be the extent of his knowledge on most things outside of the island. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t frustrating. He crept from the Ferry and onto the sidewalk. From here he could see the shoreline, all jagged rocks and small patches of sand. He was sure he’d find a clearing if he just started walking. So, that’s what he did.
The sidewalk soon led off into a trail that wove through the forested area. The trees were so tall and thick that S.Q. could hardly see the sky from the ground. He was shrouded in the darkness of the forest and could hardly see a thing. He swung his bag from his back and tugged it open, fishing around blindly for a moment before his hand found the flashlight. He clicked it on, lighting the path in front of him. The flashlight wasn’t quite as effective as he’d hoped. He could see only a few feet in front of him and outside the thin beam of light he cast he could see nothing. He kept walking and the trail sloped downwards, further into the trees.
As he walked, the forest seemed to only get thicker and the trail sloped further downward, almost a straight drop. S.Q. found himself crouching, crawling along close to the forest floor. The terrain was bumpy and slick and hard to navigate. Though he had experience (Nomansan Island was very similar in its landscape), he had never navigated it in the dark and wet. “Ah, jeez-” he huffed, as he slipped and fell backward. He caught himself on a rock and hissed as it dug into his palm and sliced across it. He stumbled back to his feet and shone his flashlight at his hand to assess the damage. Across his palm was a line of red, that was already dripping over his fingers and spattering onto the ground. He hadn’t been cut so deep he’d need stitches, but he would need to wrap his hand as soon as he got the chance. First, he had to find a clearing to set up camp.
He kept forward until the trees began to stop feeling like they were closing in on him. He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking. Maybe an hour or so. At any rate, he wanted nothing more at that moment than to lay down and sleep, right there on the forest floor. But he didn’t want to risk falling asleep in a patch of poison ivy, so he kept walking.
Another ten minutes in and he was beginning to doubt his plan. His dad would notice his absence eventually. And what if he couldn’t find his way back in the morning? The forest looked different at night, and he had never navigated it before. He had barely packed any proper supplies. He couldn’t even remember if he’d brought bandages in case he got hurt. Tears began to spring into his eyes. He couldn’t exactly turn back now, and if he tried, he risked getting lost. He couldn’t see a thing and this flashlight was not as bright as he’d hoped it would be. Just as he was beginning to despair at these thoughts, the ground gave way beneath him.
He yelped as he slipped, falling onto his back and knocking the wind right out of him. It didn’t stop there, he slid down further, tumbling right down the steep hill he had inadvertently come upon. It was a sheer drop, nearly straight down. He attempted to dig his heels in to stop his fall, but it didn’t do much to slow him. When he finally stopped falling, he landed harshly on his feet, pain shooting sharply through his legs as he stumbled forward and fell flat on his face, the wind effectively knocked out of him for the second time. He groaned and made to push himself up, but his arms were exhausted, along with the rest of his body, and he simply fell flat again.
Over the ringing of his ears, he heard something that confused him. It was the sound of two women speaking in hushed voices. He could’ve sworn there was no one in these woods. Perhaps he was so tired he was hearing things. But that seemed unlikely. And he had enough to worry about without hearing voices.
“What do you think… He could be a threat.” Said one voice
“He’s a child, Number Two.”
“You can never be too careful. You know that perfectly well, Rhonda.”
S.Q. lifted his head, and as his vision cleared, he confirmed he couldn’t be hallucinating. He couldn’t come up with something like this. Standing in the small clearing were two women, one of whom was holding a very bright lamp. One was short, with dark skin and hair, which was braided intricately. The other was tall and thin, dressed entirely in yellow, which rather gave S.Q. the impression of a pencil. Upon seeing him move, the pencil woman tensed. “He’s awake.” she hissed.
S.Q. was beginning to collect himself, and the most prominent emotion as he gathered his thoughts was confusion. Behind the women was a cabin. There weren’t supposed to be any houses up here. S.Q., though he had not been off the island since he was very little, had read quite a bit about Stonetown and its surrounding woods. As he had found just moments before, the terrain out amongst the trees was laid with steep falls, rocks, and rivers, and was overall uninhabitable. As far as everyone was concerned anyway. Perhaps they just didn’t feel like spending time leveling the forest. Part of him was thankful for that, he enjoyed nature, the thought of it being taken down for a city wasn’t a pleasant prospect to him. Either way, this house should not have been here. In fact, none of what he was seeing in front of him- The women, the cabin, the telescope that sat by the sand- should be here.
“Who- who are you?” He asked as he sat up, hugging himself as though he might be able to squeeze the soreness from his bones.
“We’ll ask the questions here.”
“Number Two, please -”
“What? As I said, you can’t be too careful!”
The shorter woman sighed, stepped forward (ignoring her friend's protests), kneeled in front of S.Q., and smiled gently at him. “Are you alright?” she asked. S.Q. nodded silently, feeling as though all words had escaped him at the moment “May we ask your name?”
“Uh- it’s uh- S.Q.” He said. She nodded and offered her hand, which he took gratefully, and helped him to his feet. He stumbled slightly but did not fall again. Though he did feel like laying down and going right to sleep. He could see the woman, who he assumed was Rhonda, more clearly now. She was barely taller than S.Q. and had a kind face, she was backlit by the lamp her friend held behind them. After she’d helped S.Q. up she turned to her friend.
“Go tell Mr. Benedict we have a visitor,” she said. The other woman, who by process of elimination must have been Number Two, looked hesitant to leave Rhonda alone with S.Q. for even a moment, but Rhonda insisted, and Number two went to fetch Mr. Benedict, whoever that was. S.Q. cleared his throat.
“Um, ma’am?”
“Please, call me Rhonda”
“Okay… Rhonda, may I ask what exactly you’re doing out here? I mean- as far as I’m aware, there aren’t supposed to be any houses out here, but,” he gestured to the cabin “here you are.” Rhonda’s expression changed to that of anxiety as he spoke.
“Ah, well… I’m afraid that’s rather-” Her gaze turned from his face to his hand which was still gesturing towards the cabin. Her eyes widened slightly and, seeking a change of topic, she took his hand gently. “Oh dear, your poor hand. How did this happen?”
“Oh, I fell. Got sliced on a rock.” Rhonda ‘tsk’d and started to lead him towards the cabin, saying something about patching him up. He was a little hesitant. But there was something about this woman that he found trustworthy, so he let her lead him inside. As she stepped inside she called out.
“Mr. Benedict, can you please bring me the medical kit? We have a visitor who could use some patching up.” S.Q. took in his surroundings. The inside of the cabin was very cozy. It was a square room, with a small table nearly in the dead center, and just next to the door was a small area that seemed to act as a kitchen. There were a few doors, which assumedly led to bedrooms and a bathroom. On the right side, there was a small living room, with a comfortable-looking couch and some stools, as well as a short coffee table.
“Yes, of course, of course! Give me just a minute” came a voice from another room. S.Q. blanked for a moment, that voice sounded awfully familiar, but foreign to him all the same. Another moment later, a man entered through a door on the right by the living room, and S.Q.’s mind went entirely blank. This man looked exactly like his dad. There were a few superficial differences, for one his hair was curly and graying, and the way he dressed was starkly different from his father. But other than that, this man could’ve passed for Mr. Curtain if he wished. For a moment, all he could do was stare. The man, who must have been Mr. Benedict, noticed his staring and said, “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yeah you just… you look exactly like my dad.” upon his words, everyone froze. Both of the women's gazes turned to him, and the man’s brow furrowed.
“Your dad. May I… may I ask who your dad is?
“Oh, uh- He- well, we live across the water. He runs the school on Nomansan Island.” These words did not seem to help the anxious air that had entered the room.
“Your father is Mr. Curtain?” Mr. Benedict asked, sounding breathless. S.Q. nodded. Rhonda and Number Two had quickly made their way over to Mr. Benedict, who was swaying slightly on his feet. “I believe some catching up may be in order.” He said, then promptly collapsed.
S.Q, startled slightly as Mr. Benedict fell, caught by Rhonda and Number Two in a well-practiced movement. Upon seeing his panicked expression, Rhonda smiled reassuringly at him. “Don’t worry, this happens often.”
“Narcolepsy.” Number Two added, as though that explained everything.
“Often brought on by intense emotions.” Rhonda continued, “Don’t worry, this means he’s glad to see you.” That did not stop him from worrying. But it did make him feel a little better to know that this wasn’t out of the ordinary. The women laid Mr. Benedict down on the couch, then led S.Q. to sit at the table.
“So, you guys know my dad?” Rhonda’s smile had faded slightly, replaced by a rather sad look.
“Yes.” She said, slowly, as though trying to soften the blow of what she was about to say next. “Mr. Benedict is your father’s twin brother.” S.Q. felt like passing out himself. He was suddenly incredibly dizzy, the same ringing in his ears from when he’d fallen down the hill had returned. He felt as though he was completely shutting down. He’d known his father had a brother, had known they were twins, he’d also known that everything his father had ever told him wasn’t positive. Not that he had told him much. He tensed and turned his gaze towards the man laying on the couch. His father had told him this man was dangerous, that he had betrayed him. But… he didn’t exactly seem to fit the part. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he pictured his uncle. But it was certainly not the man laying just a few feet away.
“...get that hand bandaged,” Rhonda was saying. The ringing in his ears faded away as he was pulled back to himself. He looked back towards Rhonda, who had put a hand gently over his. She was holding a small bag in her other hand. He nodded.
Rhonda pulled up a chair next to him and instructed him to hold out his injured hand. He did as he was told. She then pulled out a bottle labeled ‘hydrogen peroxide’ and asked Number Two to fetch her a hand cloth, who complied. “This may sting a bit,” she said, soaking the cloth the other woman had brought her. He barely had time to register what she had said before she pressed the cloth to the cut across his palm. S.Q. inhaled sharply and pulled his hand away. Rhonda removed the cloth and grabbed his wrist. Gently, but firmly. “Hey, I know it hurts, but we have to clean it or it might get infected. It’ll only sting for a moment.” S.Q. looked at her skeptically. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? I’ll give you a countdown so you can prepare yourself.” S.Q. took a deep breath. Rhonda did as she had said she would, counting down from three before she pressed the cloth back against his hand. It did sting, but Rhonda had been right, it was only for a moment.
She pulled the cloth away slightly after a moment and wiped at the skin surrounding the cut, cleaning away the red that stained it. Mr. Benedict finally woke up and saw the sight before him. Number Two, who stood nearby as she watched them with her arms crossed, smiled “Ah, good, you’re awake” Mr. Benedict nodded and stood.
“How long was I out?”
“Only a few minutes”
“Good good,” he said, then came to sit down “It occurred to me I never got your name”
“It’s S.Q.”
“S.Q., that’s a very good name” He smiled at him. S.Q. smiled back, albeit more awkwardly. His mind was still racing. This man was supposed to be evil if his father was to be believed (which S.Q. was beginning to doubt), but this man in front of him seemed to be nothing but kind. “Oh, what happened to your hand?”
“He took quite the fall.” Rhonda said “Fell down that steep hill by the side of the cabin” Mr. Benedict winced at her words and S.Q. wondered briefly if he may have fallen there as well.
“What were you doing out in the woods so late at night?” Number Two asked, her voice was casual, but he sensed the slight interrogation in her voice as Rhonda reached for the roll of gauze on the tabletop. S.Q.’s cheeks flushed with shame. ‘I was being stupid,’ he thought bitterly ‘I thought I could actually run away, now I’ll just be in more trouble.’ Rhonda looked at him as she began to wrap his hand, taking note of his silence.
“S.Q.?” he was snapped from his thoughts. He looked at her. She looked right back at him, her gaze gently imploring.
“It’s alright if you’d rather not say.” Mr. Benedict added. He found himself inclined to open up, but mentally scolded himself. Didn’t this count as enemy territory? He shouldn’t trust this man. His father had said… Well, his father said a lot of things. A lot of things that had hurt him. And as much as he knew he should trust his dad, In the few minutes he had known this man, he trusted him more than his father, whom he had known his whole life.
S.Q. heaved a sigh. “I- Well, I ran away… sort of.”
“Sort of?” Number Two looked at him skeptically, clearly still not entirely convinced he wasn’t a threat.
“My dad and I got in a fight. I broke a rule.” Mr. Benedict tilted his head slightly, and S.Q. nearly withered, his father did something very similar. But this head tilt was not condescending. Mr. Benedict looked genuinely curious about what he had to say. “See, there’s this forest,” He continued “I’m the only student allowed in and I’m not allowed to bring friends.” He found once he’d started talking, it was hard to stop. “Well, I don’t really have many friends. Just one. My dad has always told me that when students are nice to me it’s usually just because they want something from him . And I wanted to prove him wrong so I brought my friend, Reynie,” here Rhonda, Number Two, and Mr. Benedict all paused and cast glances at each other, but S.Q. didn’t notice. “but my dad found out. He yelled at me. Called me an idiot... so I um- I left.” he finished and looked at them. All three were looking at him with sad, sympathetic expressions. His cheeks turned red again.
“But, y'know, obviously I was being ridiculous. Running away isn’t really the way to deal with that, I wasn’t thinking. I just-”
“S.Q.,” Mr. Benedict interrupted, his voice was so rife with emotion that S.Q. feared he might pass out again. “Does this happen often?”
“Not exactly… he doesn’t yell very often.” He said, no one’s expression changed. “He loves me, really , he’s just not very good at expressing it.”
“I see.” Mr. Benedict said, but he still looked incredibly sad.
“Well, what about you?” He asked and Mr. Benedict raised an eyebrow “I mean- I knew my dad had a brother but he never said much about you. Just that… that you betrayed him.” At this, Number Two scoffed, it was almost silent, but he heard it. S.Q. suddenly felt very self-conscious. Betrayed him? How silly could he be? It was probably just a misunderstanding. A simple falling-out. “He never told me what happened, though.”
Mr. Benedict took a deep breath. “Well, your father and I grew up together, of course. In an orphanage.” S.Q. nodded, this part he’d known. He was aware his father was an orphan, though just the very basics of what that meang. “We used to be very close. But one day, I was adopted by a family. And unfortunately, they only had room for one.”
“That’s it?” he asked. Mr. Benedict nodded. “So, my dad is mad at you because you got adopted, and he didn’t?”
“It’s a little more complex than that, but yes, that’s the gist of it.”
“But, you couldn’t control that, it was hardly your fault.” Mr. Benedict let out a half-hearted chuckle.
“Yes, well, to some that doesn’t always matter.” S.Q. frowned. He had gone most of his life believing his uncle was a bad man, simply because he had only heard his father’s side of the story. But clearly, there was more to it than what he’d been told. He opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a yawn. Mr. Benedict smiled at him fondly. “It seems like you’ve had a long day.”
S.Q. nodded “Um… do you- I mean would you mind if I maybe stayed... for the night? I don’t really have a way to get back so late at night.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of sending you back while it's so dark.” Mr. Benedict said, standing from his seat “Do you have a pair of pajamas with you?” S.Q. grimaced. He knew he’d forgotten something. Mr. Benedict smiled gently, “Don’t worry, you can borrow some. I think Milligan has a pair with drawstrings on the pants, those would probably be best.”
“Milligan?”
“A friend of ours. I’m sure he won’t mind. He won’t be back until the morning.”
Mr. Benedict led him to another room. Against the left wall, under a window, was a single bed. On the wall opposite to it was a suitcase with clothes that had yet to be unpacked. Mr. Benedict found a pair of pajamas and handed them to him “There we go. They’ll likely be too big, but the pants have a drawstring. I’ll step out and let you get changed.” Once he was alone, S.Q. felt all the events of the past few days crash down on him. The bags under his eyes felt like ankle weights and his whole body was sore. He let out another yawn and slowly got changed into the pajamas he’d been given. He felt a little awkward, changing in an unfamiliar room, but soon enough he was in fresh clothes that weren’t covered in dirt and leaves.
The pajamas were much too big for him, as Mr. Benedict had suspected. The shirt looked like a dress on him, and though S.Q. had pulled the drawstring tight, the pants still hung rather loosely, the legs falling past his feet. A bit of a tripping hazard. But they were soft and warm, and the size made it feel almost as if he were wrapped in a blanket.
He stepped out of the room, clothes tucked under his arm, drawing attention back to him. When the adults saw him in the oversized pajamas, they laughed. But, much to S.Q.’s surprise, it was not a cruel laugh. In fact, it sounded more like a parent laughing fondly at something endearing their child was doing. The only one not laughing was Mr. Benedict, who was simply smiling at him. Rhonda set down the cup she was pulling from a cupboard and walked over to him. She pulled at his arm so he raised them for her and rolled up his sleeve for him, did the same on the other side, then kneeled down to help him cuff the pants so he wouldn’t trip. S.Q. flushed again, this wasn’t something he was used to. His father had always stood by the idea that he should be able to handle himself as he had when he was S.Q.’s age. And on top of that, his father was not a particularly touchy person. He was not one for hugs, and on the rare occasions they had hugged, S.Q. had initiated, and from his father’s end, it had been stiff and awkward. A little pat on the back, and then it was over. This was not a closeness he was used to.
“I think they might be a bit big on you,” Rhonda said, then ruffled his hair gently. “Come, we’ve set up the couch for you.” and indeed they had. It looked incredibly comfortable. Two thick blankets were laid across the couch, and squishy-looking pillows were shoved into one corner. S.Q. sat down on the couch and had his suspicions confirmed. He sunk into the couch cushion and immediately laid against the back, his eyes slipping closed of their own accord. He really was not built for hiking. Especially not in the cold and the dark.
There was a small clatter as something was set down on the coffee table. S.Q. pressed his palms into his eyes to keep them open and set his clothes next to him. Number Two had set a tray on the coffee table. There were three mugs, all filled with hot chocolate, Number Two had already taken her own, and the other two adults were reaching for theirs. Tentatively, S.Q. reached out and picked up the last mug. He hadn’t had hot chocolate for a long time. Sweets weren’t really something his dad cared for and often dissuaded S.Q. from them because they were unhealthy. He was not an indulgent man.
S.Q. took a sip of his hot chocolate and realized, with mounting dread, that he liked it much better here.