Whispers (Brahms/The Boy)

Chapter Two

I awoke to the sound of birds singing. A lifting of the gloom in the hallway indicated it was day rather than night, but I had no idea of the time. I stared at the ceiling, listening to them, enjoying the freshness of it but wishing it would cease and let my headache ease. The birds, of course, ignored my silent pleas and sang. Any other day I'd be willing them on, thankful of the morning chorus or the evensong. Now, I'd take up a broom and chase them, scattering their refrain onto the beats of their wings. Even though it was the animal kingdom's version of a baby's laugh...

A baby's laugh...

I sat up sharply, my head swimming and vomit threatening to rise as quickly as I had. I looked up at the door to the attic, expecting the darkness which had taunted me inside to be leering at me. It was closed. An ordinary door in an ordinary doorway. The stairs were just steps to take you up or down, depending on your preference or kinship to a Grand Ol' Duke. I touched my head and felt a lump which throbbed as if the pressure from my fingertip had somehow activated it.

"Ow!"

My moan fell flat against the walls of the hall. The echo was as dull as the inside of my head, woolly and thick with a cloying, rhythmic pulse. I returned my attention to the area I was sitting and saw the photograph and the now broken candle, extinguished. I picked the picture up and studied it. The Denholms were unmistakeable and the boy's resemblance to Albert was too close to be coincidental. It wasn't simply his clothes. The hair, too, and even the eyes, as much as porcelain and membranes and cells can look alike. I shook my head, instantly regretting it as a wave of nausea hit me. I gulped air, resisting the urge to become reacquainted with whatever had yet to be digested from my Carbonara of the previous night.

I turned slightly, preparing to push myself up and froze. Albert was sitting next to me. I was unsure how I'd missed his presence though he was quite the quietest child I'd ever looked after. But... how had he come to be beside me? He should have been in still in the room, behind the locked door. Once my head had cleared and I'd managed to stand, I would have had to figure out how I'd find my way back inside and continue to look after my charge. I must have managed to do so last night, with the blow to my head preventing the memory from rising through the fog which persisted behind my eyes. Why I'd brought him here, to the foot of the stairs, I couldn't imagine. At least I had the foresight, in hindsight, to resume my duties.

I pushed myself up, gingerly, and swept up the doll.

"You didn't get into any trouble last night, did you?" I asked, smiling. It was always a good idea to be jovial around children. They responded to the moods they encountered and happy begat happy. "No wild parties or anything?"

I took Albert's silence to be a negative.

"Good boy," I said. "I think you deserve some breakfast."

Breakfast could have been supper for all I knew, but the light of the hallway felt new rather than hours old, so I assumed it was still before noon. Any meal, to my mind, before 12:00pm counted as breakfast. 'Brunch' was a posh name for those who didn't like to admit they'd slept in and were eating too close to lunch time. When I finally managed to reach the kitchen, my unsteady gait becoming steadier as I walked, I found my assumption to be accurate. It was barely 9:00am, the day still crawling into the eyes of those who walked upon the Earth. This side of it, at least. Breakfast was still a viable option. An inspection of the refrigerator prompted me to make a pair of omelettes, something quick yet filling. I had something I planned to do and thought both Albert and myself needed something to keep us going.

After clearing up and freezing the remains of Albert meal - effectively all of it - I took the doll up to my room and dressed. My hand was sore from the burn, so I applied some salve and a bandage to ease, if not stop, the pain. I was unsure of how to tell Albert of my plan, knowing he wouldn't like it. His parents definitely wouldn't approve. What else could I do? In the photograph, the way they were standing with the boy... It was too close. Too familiar. Too familial! Bizarre thoughts were running through my head, skating in a frantic figure eight which was preventing me from collecting them into something resembling sense. I needed to pen them in somehow, and I could think of only one way to do so.