Brother Bethune & Baird: Part One (complete)

My father has a library he likes to keep hidden away, filled with old tomes and ancient texts that he likes to keep for himself. He does that with a lot of his possessions; his money, his jewels, and me. He keeps me locked away in his home, only allowing me access to a few rooms in the house, none of them ever visited by other people.

Needless to say, my father is not a well-liked person, but he is my only contact with the outside world, so I try to remain on good terms with him. If he’s feeling kindly, I often get gifts or a pat on the head; if not, he forgets I exist. This is why the library is so important.

I’m not supposed to enter this wonderful room, but I found a secret entrance with a ladder under my bed. I’ve been visiting the library in secret as often as I can, whenever I can, for years. I pore through the books, reading about all the beauty and darkness out in the world. Most of the books seem to touch on all the unnecessary evil in the world, and much of what I read seems dark and hopeless. Yet through these black pages, I am able to discover small heroes and glimpses of light in an otherwise dark world.

One day, I discover a book hidden away in a drawer. The drawers are usually locked, but on this afternoon, this drawer is only stuck. Part of the book’s cover is wedged between the lock and its clasp, so when I give it a good sharp tug, the drawer opens.

The book cover is red, save for the ripped fragment which has been sacrificed to the lock. There is no writing on the cover or the spine, which makes me think it could be a journal. When I open the book, all the pages are blank. It doesn’t seem right that such a book would be kept locked away. I know my father has reasons for everything he does, but locking up a blank book for no reason seems like a stretch.

I take the book and shake it out, wondering if there is something stuck inside. I comb through the pages and confirm that every single page was indeed blank. After a long period of trying to be a sleuth, I give up, tucking the book back into the drawer. It’s obviously nothing, or perhaps something I have no way of deciphering.

I sit for a moment, looking towards the huge circular stained-glass window, which is cut into slices like a pie. Each slice bears a name I can’t read - except for one. At the center, in another small circle, is my father’s name in the same language: Pan.

It’s been so long since my mother came here, seeking solace in the arms of Pan after escaping a loveless marriage. My poor mother had no idea what she was coming to, but not many do when they first meet Pan. She soon became swept up in his world, twisted around his finger. I was the first child born to him in ages. He hadn’t had any since he pissed off the Swans. It was immediately after my birth that me and my mother were locked away. Once I grew, Pan decided I didn’t need my mother, and the two of us were kept separate. 

My only daily contact besides my father was the strange mute creature who delivered my meals and whatever approved gifts my mother sent me. I felt sorry for this creature. They always seemed so sad, although it was hard to make out their face. They were mostly long limbs striped black and white. They never stayed long. They wouldn’t dare. 

Why this book is making me think about all this, I don’t know. I sigh and start to close the cover when I notice red writing on the page. It was blank before, I know that for a fact! Had I seen any sort of writing, I would have been reading it.

Scrawled out in bold handwriting is a small message. Nothing fancy, nothing even introductory, just the words: ‘HELP ME’. A statement as catching as anything, and frightening as well. For a moment, I wonder if I wrote it myself when I became lost in thought, but this is not my handwriting, and already the words are fading. More red ink fills the page. This time, it looks like normal print, but the handwriting is the same as before.

“I do not know who you are or even if you are a good person. I am out of options and cannot be punished anymore than I already have. I have lost my family, and become entombed in this journal for the rest of my life, or until these pages turn to dust. I beg of you, if you are kind and willing to listen - I need your help.”

I hesitate for a moment, watching as the red ink settles and dries as if someone had just written it. But no one did. Is it a ghost? No. They said they were trapped inside the journal.

I find a pen on my father’s desk and scribble a reply under the red text. “Are you hurt?”

“Thank goodness.” The red ink appears below my question. “Right now, I am relieved! I am happy to be speaking to someone. Tell me, are you alone?”

“For now.” I write.

“Do you know anyone named Baird?” the red ink asks.

I frown. The name is completely unfamiliar. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

The red ink appears slowly this time, as if in disappointment. “That’s all right. I needed to try. Thank you anyway.”

I turn the page to continue the conversation. “Who is this Baird?” I ask. “Do you know where they are?”

“He is my brother.” the ink answers. “My younger brother, to be precise. And no, I have no clue where he could be. For all I know, he is under the same punishment that I am, trapped in a book, unable to reach out.”

“I’m so sorry,” I write. “Who are you? My name is Cybele.”

“You’re right, where are my manners?” he writes swiftly. “Despite the unusual and unfortunate circumstances, I am very pleased to meet you, Cybele. I am Bethune. I used to be a clown.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “A clown? Really?”

“Very true. But now I am trapped here.”

I frown. “Why? How?”

“It is a long story,” Bethune answers. “The why of it, especially. The how, I can tell you simply. It was the foul God, Pan.”

I nearly drop my pen at this, but I am not surprised. “Pan is my father,” I reply. 

The red ink doesn’t appear again.

“He keeps me prisoner too.” I write quickly. “I was separated from my mother years ago and he keeps me in a small part of the castle. I am only kind to him because he is all I have.”

“I see. So he has not changed whatsoever.” Bethune replies. “I suppose there must be constants in the world. I am sorry you are treated like this, I truly understand. My sister was very nearly in the same state you are. Actually, it is because of her that I am here.”

I quickly write my question. “Is she okay?” 

“I hope so. Baird and I had to find somewhere safe for her, so we took her back to the home of our father. He grew up in Scarebrooke. But when he died, our mother was charmed by Pan and had our baby sister, Ballura. So, I guess that means she’s your sister too.”

I shake my head. I’ve never even heard of the name. But I may have seen it, because the stained glass window lists the names of all my siblings. 

“That is why I am trapped here,” Bethune continues. “Baird and I took Ballura away to somewhere Pan could not touch her, where his power was useless and unnoticed. The only reason Baird and I returned here was to try and save our mother. Unfortunately, Pan found us first. I woke up like this and I still have no clue what he did to Baird. I’m so horribly afraid and I am fast losing my mind.”

Up above, I hear the shuffling of the black and white creature coming to my door to deliver my meal. I act quickly, closing the drawer, then taking Bethune as I hurry up the ladder. I scramble under my bed, then pop out just as the sad, strange creature opens the door.

He stands there for a moment, looking down at me as I knock dust bunnies from myself. I sneeze and stand up abruptly. As I do, Bethune falls from my lap to the ground.

“Sorry about that,” I say. “I didn’t hear you knock.” I walk up to him and take my tray of food, but he doesn’t let go right away. I have to yank at it for him to finally release it, but he lingers there, seeming to stare off into my room.

“Thank you,” I say a little loudly. “Has my father returned yet?”

He sways from side to side. Good, my father might not return home for a while at this rate. At least if I’m lucky. 

“Thank you,” I say again, and force the black and white thing from my room. I pick up Bethune and go to my desk, where I fetch one of my own pens. 

“Who was that?” Bethune asks.

“I’m not sure. Someone my father keeps around.” I answer. “I think he’s sad.”

“I know the feeling.” Bethune writes slowly. “I don’t even know how long I have been trapped in this book. All I know is the distance between these blank pages, and somehow my soul lies in between them. I just want to go home.”

My heart goes out to Bethune. I understand what it means to want something you can never return to. “Where is home?”

“Scarebrooke,” he answers. “Well... it’s not so much an actual place as it is a destination.” He writes fast and excitedly. “You see, Scarebrooke is an attraction within the Children of the Night Carnival! It’s where my father grew up, and for a while, that is where my family lived. Well, until my father passed away. My mother was so heartbroken, we left for a while. That’s when Pan got to her.”

I can understand Bethune’s pain completely. “I’m so sorry. He did the same to my mother.”

“I have heard many tales of Pan’s children,” Bethune writes. “I think the only person he likes is himself and everyone else is kindling for his fire.”

“That sounds right.” I write back. “He keeps me isolated. I’ve only ever seen him and that creature from before. I feel suffocated sometimes. The only chances of escape I have are those books.”

“You deserve more than books.” he tells me. “Unfortunately, at this moment, that is all I am. If I could, I’d be more.”

I smile to myself, realizing for the first time that I’ve made a friend.

That evening, I fall asleep at my desk, waking up when my back starts to hurt. Pan has still not returned, so I am able to talk to Bethune all day. After that, I sleep with Bethune under my pillow.

I wake a second time when I hear something in my room. I feign sleep, listening to the sounds of someone shuffling about. At last I sit up in bed, staring through the darkness at an even darker shape. It stands over my desk, rummaging through the drawers and shelves. Then it turns away, coming back towards the bed. 

I quickly lay back down and cover my head, hoping the figure doesn’t see me. For a moment, I think it is my father, but no. If he was looking for something, he would have screamed at me to find it for him. As I lay there, I feel something under my pillow. A hand, searching for something. I quickly grab Bethune, but the figure’s hand grabs it as well. I struggle, pulling on Bethune while the figure tries to pull him back. I knock over my lamp, which is switched on as it hits the ground. In the sudden glare, I see the intruder. It’s the sad one, the only other thing I make contact with. Only he is not made entirely of limbs. A mass of them grow from his head, and are now pulled back into a ponytail. Underneath them is a strikingly thin body with extremely long limbs. The figure’s face is pure white, painted with black features so he resembles a mime. His face looks as though it is made from hands wrapped around an object.

“Let go!” I nearly lose my grip on Bethune and fall forward. “Please!” I struggle to keep the red book in my hand. “He’s all I have!”

A hand reaches out and pushes against my face. I bite down on a finger and he recoils, loosening his grip enough that I slip away with Bethune in my hand. I fall off the side of the bed so that it’s between us.

Bethune opens up, and he begins to write. “Are you okay?”

I look over the edge of the bed to see that the creature is miming crying. The way the face moves, it manipulates the makeup to create black tears falling from the eyes. He sees me watching and reels back, kicking aside the lamp so the light doesn’t shine on him. Despite this, he makes no sound. Anything he touches is silent, as if all noise falls dead around him. There is no rustle from the curtains, no sound to his footsteps. The lamp doesn’t clatter until it is far from him.

It is then that I realize the mime appearance may have been connected to who he was before. Bethune had mentioned he was a clown, and that his brother had been a performer as well. I take my pen and ask the question.

“Was Baird a mime?”

“What does that have to do with anything? Yes, he was! But are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I scribble quickly as I stand up. I walk around my bed, getting closer to the creature weeping in the corner. His long limbs form a cloak around him, hiding him away as he cries.

I kneel down beside him, and he turns sharply away from me. “Are you Baird?” I ask gently. 

The face shifts, mimicking a shocked look with a gaping mouth. His eyes glimmer bright white in the blackness. He nods, a bit dramatically.

I open up the journal, facing the pages towards him. “This is Bethune.”

Shakily, Baird takes the journal. He clutches it, then holds it over his face as his body doubles over, as if weeping with joy. Then he lunges towards me, wrapping one of his long arms around me. He kisses my forehead and prances happily. 

Baird taps the pages of the journal and shrugs. 

“Oh, here.” I hand him my pen. “You can write to him and he’ll reply to you.”

Baird seems fit to burst as he takes pen to paper. Watching, I can see Bethune answer in return. After a moment, Baird looks up and offers me his hand. His fingers are very long and have more than two joints. 

I take his hand in mine, and his smile grows bigger. He pulls me beside him, letting me see the conversation between him and Bethune. I learn that when Pan punished Bethune, it was my mother who intervened. At this point, she had just been separated from me, so she had taken pity on Bethune and Baird, who had done everything and risked more to save Ballura. To save Baird, my mother convinced my father she wanted a pet. Pan was bored with all her pleading, which she knew, and he had grown lazy. He turned Baird into a pet, but his magic was weak, and my mother was able to fix Baird as best she could.

“There must be some way we can fix your brother too,” I say to Baird. I squeeze his hand tight. He feels so warm. 

“I think we need to get out of here first.” Baird writes in the journal. “If we can find a way out of this tower, and back to our home at the Carnival, then I think we can find a way to save my brother.”

“We can’t risk getting her hurt.” Bethune argues. “Imagine what her father would do to her if he caught her escaping.”

“I don’t care.” I write back firmly. “At this point, I would rather he punished me or locked me away inside a book, because that might as well be what I am!” I squeeze Baird’s hand again. “If I have to keep living like this, I won’t make it.”

Baird kisses the top of my head and nods. “I will protect you, just like your mother did for me.” He writes.

“Is she okay?” I whisper. “Please, tell me she’s all right.”

Baird writes in Bethune again. “She only stays here because she knows you are here. Pan keeps no tabs on her, other than to ensure that she is no one else’s.”

I sigh and lean my head against his shoulder. “I’m glad.”

“Listen.” Bethune writes urgently. “If we are going to escape, I need to know everything you both know about this place. Baird, I assume you are able to explore much of this place?”

“I can.” Baird writes. “But here is another idea: rather than something complicated, I’ll throw myself through the stained-glass window in the library, and use my extra hands to create a walkway down for her.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Bethune’s voice can almost be heard screaming as he writes this. The soft sound echoes through the room, like a distant voice in a cave.

“Yes.” Baird replies bluntly. “But you can’t make me do anything. You’re just a book.” He looks at me and smiles, giving me a thumbs up.

I blink a few times, but then I smile. “It’s dramatic and crazy. I’m with you, Baird!”

I show Baird the ladder under my bed. He takes the ladder down into the library and uses it to smash through the window. Once he’s broken enough of the glass away to make a sizeable hole, he steps out. I gasp in shock. He seems to walk out into the air.

He poses, bending over with a hand at his waist, then offering me his hand. I stare at the shattered glass and his invisible perch. They are all that stands between me and my freedom. I swallow the lump in my throat and take his hand. As I do, I feel solid ground under my feet, but there is really nothing there.

“Wow,” I gasp. “You are a very good mime.”

He poses proudly, jutting out his chest and pretending to snap a pair of suspenders. Then he starts walking downstairs, minding me as I follow behind him. At last, I touch real ground and look up at the shattered window. I see it fall and shatter all at once. Colored glass spills down the wall like a waterfall, and nothing is left of Pan and his legacy for me to see.

Baird taps my shoulder. I turn to see him bend and act out opening a car door. 

“Well,” I sigh, “the stairs worked.” I act like I step inside and Baird closes the door. He walks around getting into the driver’s seat. He sits down and puts on a safety belt. He then frowns at me, pointing to my seat. He rolls his eyes and pushes me back into the seat, the seat I can actually feel!

Baird puts on my imaginary seatbelt and pats the top of my head. He fiddles with invisible car keys, then smiles widely as he seems to find the correct one.

I open up Bethune and quickly write. “Can Baird make his mimicry real?”

“What do you mean?” Bethune asks. “What is he doing?”

Baird turns the invisible key, and I can feel my seat vibrate as if an engine has started. But everything is silent and invisible to my eye. “He just started a car.” I write to Bethune.

“What car?” Bethune’s writing is bold and pressing up against the page.

Baird starts driving away, and I let out an involuntary scream of terror. It feels like I’m flying above the ground at seventy miles per hour.