"DO YOU RECOGNIZE THIS PLACE?"
Eszter and Wesley stood out in the open field of trees, engulfed in utter darkness, only lit by the shining moon hanging over their heads. While silence fell between Eszter and Wesley, they were surrounded by hundreds of sounds; there was croaking and buzzing, and it was so loud Eszter looked around for the source of the noise.
The bushes rattled with the wind, trees swaying like a gentle dance. Croaks and clicks sang among the dark.
They were teleported into the deep forest, far from civilization. While there wasn't a single soul with them, nature's music gave Wesley a shiver.
Wesley turned and studied their surroundings; even though the trees looked the same, Wesley could never forget this place. The trees are the same as it was, with powdered snow starting to shape over the earth. Wesley remembered the first night of the white winter; it was the start of a nightmare.
Eszter acknowledges Wesley's silence. "Wesley?" she frowns hesitantly. Eszter felt an unexpecting urge as if something was telling her not to ask, to keep her questions to herself, but she couldn't. "Is this your memory?"
He swallowed. "Yeah," Wesley uttered.
Wesley supposes Eszter will finally get the opportunity to know more about him than he likes to admit. While he knew more about her, Wesley wasn't prepared to tell Eszter anything about himself. Wesley wasn't ready. After all this time, he wasn't prepared to accept his chosen life. Everything went downhill from there, and Wesley wasn't sure if he could bring himself to move forward.
However, as smart as she is, Eszter seems to sense the sudden shift; with no ability to access Wesley's mind due to protection, Eszter recognizes the broken look on his face. She knew it all too well. They knew the risk of taking this door as their only escape, and while they agreed to go through with it, Eszter was beginning to grow worried. There's so much they've kept from one another, how they felt during traumatic events, their biggest accomplishments, and their greatest mistakes. It would unfold before them, exposing their scars and making them feel small.
There was no going back. Eszter needs to get to Wanda before Agatha can take her powers and possibly kill her. That was the only thing keeping Eszter from turning around and running scared; she needed to warn Wanda before she was too late.
"Why are we in the woods?"
"Because we're near my home," Wesely collects his memories deep in his mind. He looks toward the direction of his cottage. "Come on, it's this way."
Eszter followed. "You live in a cabin or something?"
Wesley shrugged. "Something like that."
"How long is this going to take us? We need to get back to Westview before Agatha kills Wanda."
"My mother likes to put on a show. She was always fascinated by how quickly someone can break from themselves. Agatha always tested me, tested my strength and weaknesses," Wesley started. "She always told me that the past will only drag me down, make me weak. I was conditioned to believe my opinions . . . my emotions were nothing but a distraction for success."
Eszter had a sense she knew where this was going. She breathed, distraught, afflicted for Wesley. A teenage boy she had just met, who she knew nothing about, yet Eszter felt for him.
"It used to take me hours to find my way out of here."
"I'm sorry--"
"I don't need your pity," Wesley retorted. He felt embarrassed.
Wesley has always been private about his past, never wanting to talk about who he was and where he came from. At first, it was because it always hurt Wesley, and that was a distraction from his studies. Welsey was forced to shed who he once was to become who he is now. But after a while, his story was like the ink of a pen; after so many times of use, the ink got lighter and lighter. In Wesley's case, his past life felt like it wasn't even real.
He mourned what was once his--grieving for the memories he'd given up for the sake of Agatha and the life she gave him.
"It's not pity, Wesley. It's called being compassionate," Eszter argues with a light eye roll. "I might be rude, sometimes, or act like I don't care, but I do. I have a heart, you know."
"I didn't know the Dark Witch even had one," Wesley teased, meeting Eszter's gaze with a taunting smirk.
Eszter scoffed in mock offense; she shoved his arm lightly. "You should be lucky I even have one," the witch laughs with her chest. Then it was quiet. "But I am sorry. Agatha doesn't deserve you."
Wesley smiled through the bitter memories. "It's a cruel world. You do whatever you can to survive."
"Is that why you learned magic from Agatha?"
"I was a kid when I met Agatha," Wesley hated the heavyweight growing on his chest. Whenever he thought about it, it was a dark and heavy feeling, remembering the night he sold his soul. "I was a desperate teenager trying to save my family. I didn't care what I had to do. I just wanted to help in any way that I could."
"There's nothing wrong with trying to help your family," Eszter reassures. It was almost a relatable situation that Eszter had never known they shared, like a near connection that somehow pulled them together. "If doing whatever you could to save your family is bad, then I must be a horrible person for what my siblings and I did just to keep each other safe."
"But that's different."
"How's that any different? There's no shame in wanting to protect your family, Wesley."
"It just is, Eszter. Just leave it as that."
"No."
"No?"
Eszter shoved at Wesley's shoulder until he was forced to stop walking, facing Eszter with a puzzled expression when he met her angry eyes. Eszter was annoyed.
"I know literally nothing about you, Wesley, yet you seem to know so much about me. I don't trust you, and if we go through this together, I need to know who you are."
The silence sat heavily between Eszter and Wesley. Their personalities clashed perfectly, yet their stubbornness was like two bulls butting heads. To each their own past traumas, Eszter and Wesley understood each other on another level, even while Eszter knew nothing of Wesley. It didn't take a genius to see the two were more similar than they realized.
But Eszter hated that she knew nothing about Wesley, even though they were working together to stop Agatha from gaining more power. They were to save Westview as if they were partners, yet Eszter hadn't a clue who he was. Coming to her under false pretense, Eszter wants to know who Wesley is. Wesley wasn't as bad as it turned out, and maybe it would be good for Eszter to have someone as knowledgeable as he is.
The tension was loud; you could hear a pin drop. Eszter sensed maybe there was more to Wesley's story than he was letting on. His silence was like a hint that Eszter nearly missed, but she wanted to hear him say it.
"How do you know Agatha?" Eszter pushed again.
The world warped and spun around them, capturing their attention.
Eszter turned and watched as the trees spun around her. When it stopped, she and Wesley stood before an old cottage home. It was small and dinky, built with cinderblocks; what was supposed to be windows were covered with rotting wood, and the roof was poorly made with the woods shaved from trees. The cabin looked as if an amateur built it. It looked like an abandoned building with nothing but the wildlife living inside, but with one look at Wesely, Eszter knew that couldn't have been the case.
Coughs echoed from inside the house; without proper doors and windows, the sounds reached outside.
"Mother," Wesley breathed in awe. His eyes widen with a distant expression shimmering.
"Wait!" Eszter yelped when Wesley ran for the cottage.
Not wanting to be left behind, Eszter followed close behind, dodging the branches and rocks along the way. Eszter looked up at the misshaped cottage, noticing the bricks didn't fit well together but held together. Hundreds of trees surrounded the cottage, and it was home to many farm animals near the side of the cottage. Eszter could hear pigs and cows from aside, goats singing randomly.
Wesley pushed the wooden door open with a creak, not bothering to wait for Eszter as he walked through his childhood home. However, Eszter didn't care; she was too busy looking around, starstruck. Everything was old and anything like her home. Welsey held many secrets, but this was far from anything Eszter imagined.
Eszter walked around the living room while snooping around, eyeing the different types of trinkets, books scattered on the table, and picture frames decorating the walls. One in particular caught Eszter's attention; she stopped to look at it. In a circular picture frame that was brown and cracked, Eszter realized it was a portrait of a little family. With two parents sitting in the center of the frame, they were surrounded by three children.
Welsey looked much more like his mother than his father, though he shared many of his father's features. It was strange to look at something as private as their family portrait. Eszter felt like she was invading his privacy, but she couldn't deny her curiosity. Eszter noticed another photo with just Wesley and his two siblings; she didn't know anything about them, but she wondered what happened to them.
A wave of coughs boomed from the back rooms, alerting Eszter. Finally pulling herself from Wesley's life, the witch finds her way back to Wesley. It wasn't hard to find him in this small cottage, especially since it had three main rooms--the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. She passed the small bathroom and found a bedroom, two beds crammed inside a small space. It was heartwrenching; Eszter felt a tug at her chest when she stood at the doorway, listening to the rough coughing and soft cries from one side of the room. On one side laid Wesley's parents from the portrait; they lay beneath the covers, shivering from the cold, but their skins were covered in a sheen layer of sweat. Tissues clutched in the woman's hand, coughing sickly into it.
Across the parents were Wesley's siblings; they wept in their sleep, brows furrowed in pain, arms clutching their tiny bodies. They looked just as bad as their parents. Even with the sickness spreading between them, Wesley was the only one who wasn't.
"Mother, I'm here," Wesley kneeled beside his mother's bedside.
The woman gave one last throaty cough. "Wes, dear, you shouldn't be in here. You'll catch the cold if you stay in here."
Wesley shook his head as he fought the tears battling to spill. "I don't care," he squeezed his knees, knowing he couldn't touch anyone. "Who else will take care of you guys?"
Wesley's mother smiled weakly, cooing under her breath. "Baby, you don't need to take care of us. We just need to sweat it out, and we'll be fine. You won't be helping anyone if you continue coming here."
"I have enough coins to buy some medicine," he assures. "I will go into town and buy some for everyone."
"We only have enough for just one bottle, Wes."
Wesley frowns like he doesn't know why his mother speaks this way. He had enough for a bottle, so it should be enough. One bottle was better than none. Wesley wouldn't just sit here and watch his family grow sicker by the day. He's healthy enough to run to town and buy one for them.
"So? You will all share it. I'll be back before nightfall with the medicine, okay? I won't be long."
"Okay, baby," the woman finally says. Her voice was nothing but a whisper. She hadn't the energy to argue with her son and merely wanted to fall asleep to allow her body to heal. "Don't be long."
"Never."
Wesley waited another moment as he watched his mother fall asleep with her tissue clutched between her fingers. He continued to sit beside his parents' bed for another moment before he rose to his feet, glancing at his siblings' bed. Wesley approached their smaller bed, wondering how all three of them shared such a small bed. He smiled depressingly to himself when the memories resurfaced, some hidden behind a locked door, feeling faint. Wesley remembered bits of his childhood with his family, and that was because he had to erase them from his head.
"What's their names?" Eszter eventually spoke up.
Wesley glanced over his shoulder to see the witch had kept to the doorway as she watched the interaction silently, but when Wesley met Eszter's gaze, they spoke a thousand words. Wesley could tell she was curious. He would be, too, had he been in her position, but he wasn't. Instead, he had to make the hard move by reliving his past that he wished he could forget.
"Her name's Charlotte Martin," Wesley says into the silence. "My mother. She got sick from taking care of my little sister. It eventually spread throughout my family, and I cared for them when I never caught the sickness. "
"She seems like a lovely woman," Eszter smiles sadly.
"She was. So was my father, Benjamin Martin. They were the most loving and gentlest people I've ever met. They were the best parents a child could ever have. Even though we grew up with nothing, my parents made every minute of it special," Wesley couldn't bear to meet Eszter's gaze. "Matilda and Thomas, twins; they were three years younger than me. They were a bit of a troublemaker but generous and loved to help whenever possible. Those two loved the idea of living on a tiny farm."
"When were you born?" Eszter finally asks.
She noticed the different things in Wesley's cottage that weren't seen in her time. With the lack of electricity, Eszter realized how outdated their house was, living off-grid. Eszter speculated it for a moment, but when she reached the bedroom, she immediately noticed everyone's attire; they wore gowns and poofy sleeves to bed. It wasn't anything like what she was used to.
Wesley's reaction gave her another sign that she was right.
"It's been so long that I can barely remember," Welsey admitted. He barely remembers it like he once used to, but it's been so long that he must've forgotten. It wasn't something he celebrated too often, mainly when he lived with Agatha. "Eighteen-eighteen, if I remember correctly."
Eszter gasped in disbelief, wondering if she had heard him correctly; 1818? Wesley was born in the 1800s but looked impossibly young for a dead man. But there was no way, right?
"I'm sorry, did you just say eighteen-eighteen? As in the eighteen hundreds?"
"Pretty much."
Out of everything Wesley had ever uttered out of his mouth, this was by far the strangest and most confusing thing Eszter had ever heard. It was so odd that it sounded unreal. Honestly, Eszter didn't believe a single word he said.
"You're kidding," she tested, but when Wesley didn't budge, the witch couldn't believe her ears. "Dude, you're old!"
"Yeah," Wesley smiled through his heartbroken tears, but it was a bitter feeling. He was angry, but he didn't know who. He was just angry. "But I was a kid once."
"What did you do to help them?" Eszter asked, but she seemed to know the answer already. "What happened after?"
Wesley looked at her briefly before he walked back into the living room, with Eszter following close behind. He stopped when he noticed the front door was no longer the wooden plank he remembered but a solid door with intricate designs engraved into the stone.
"What's that?" Eszter eyed the door curiously.
"The next chapter."
Without hesitation, Wesley approached and opened the new door, but it wasn't the wooded area; the door led to another place far from Wesley's home that he remembered much. The two entered and walked into a darkly lit room, and if it weren't for Eszter's ability to see in the dark, she would've been blind. After one more step inside, the door slammed shut behind them. Eszter stared at it for a second longer before turning around, walking further into the house.
"Where are we now?"
"So, you've come back," a wicked voice sent chills down Eszter's spine.
Eszter wished she could conjure her magic because she recognized that voice. Like a soldier in war, Eszter moved into a fighting stance, ready to attack if she needed to, but it would be pointless. The witch had forgotten she was in a place that didn't acknowledge her, for she didn't exist in Wesley's memories. To her, she was merely a ghost watching a memory that had nothing to do with her.
"Please, it's my family," Wesley approached Agatha at her altar. She didn't look any different than now. "They're sick."
"And so you sought a witch to fix them?" Agatha cocked a brow, somehow amused by Wesley's despair.
"I've heard the tales of a witch living in Fort Payne, who could do impossible things that mankind cannot," Wesley stepped closer into the room, unable to tear his gaze away from Agatha's powerful stance. He was enthralled. "Whispers say she made a deal with the devil, giving up her soul for dark magic."
"And yet, a little poor boy has come to my aid. You seem to believe the words of others, do you not?"
Wesley stared at the witch with watchful eyes, but he was a desperate child back then. "If what they say is true, can you heal a sickness?"
"Of course, I can," Agatha jests. "Though, it'll cost you."
Welsey frowns. "I don't have money, ma'am. Please, if you could help with--"
"With what?" Agatha keens with a scoff. "With the kindness of my heart?" She clicks her tongue, shaking her head, chuckling. "Oh, kid. I could care less. Not everything in life is free because someone asks nicely."
Wesley swallows anxiously. "I would give you anything in return, I swear. Please help my family," he pleads desperately. "I'll do anything."
Agatha lit up with excitement, somehow more intrigued than making money. Eszter watched sickly at the interaction; she was appalled that Agatha would take advantage of someone as young and vulnerable as Wesley. He was just a little boy trying to look out for his family, yet Agatha had exploited that for her sick game.
"Anything?" Wesley nods. Agatha hums. "Okay, Wesley Martin, I will help, but only on one condition."
"I'll do it," he said in a heartbeat.
Wesley didn't know he sold himself to the witch.
✨
After they revisited Agatha's cottage, witnessing the moment Wesley lost his rights to the witch, neither of them uttered another word. They let the memory play out until the next door opened, sending them somewhere else.
So far, they've seen most of Wesley's memories; they'd seen his family sick, visited Agatha, then watched his family's death. Wesley was forced to return to Agatha with a pool of his own tears, yelling at the witch for deceiving him. The potion he gave his family had healed them, yes, but Eszter felt horrible for Wesley after.
"This wasn't part of the deal!" Wesley cried in fury.
He felt like a fool believing a witch could do any good in the world. With the stories he's heard as a child, picturing witches as demons, luring you in with their charm only for them to stab you in the back. Wesley figured Agatha would take pity on him, seeing as he was merely a child in her eyes; however, he was wrong.
"It was always part of the deal, Wesley," Agatha said, delightfully smirking. "You just never heard the rest of it."
"I will not be your slave."
"You're so melodramatic," Agatha rolled her eyes. "You won't be a slave but my apprentice. I can show you the ropes of magic, teach you my ways."
"I don't want to! I never wanted this! I only wanted to help my family from death," Wesley wept in horror.
"Think about your family, Wesley. If you do this, imagine how many more people you could save."
Agatha manipulated Wesley. He believed he could make the world a better place, but instead, he was locked away, forced to suffer his ordeal. Ever since then, Wesley was practically adopted by Agatha. At least, that's how she introduced him.
As much as Eszter wanted to ask him about it, she figured now wasn't the best time to ask. It would've been fair, considering Wesley talked so much about her, but the flesh of his wound reopened like a sharp knife to the skin. Eszter couldn't fathom the turmoil battling inside Wesley's head, but she knew better than to ask a broken man for his thoughts.
Eszter figured he would lash out as she once had, so she let him handle the memories peacefully.
"Another door," Wesley announced.
Eszter could say she was surprised to hear his voice, but she focused on the door; it wasn't connected to anything, merely standing in the middle of the woods. Eszter frowned as she studied it, trying to determine if she recognized it.
"Anything?" He looked at Eszter.
She frowns. "It's not yours?"
Wesley shrugs. "Not that I know of."
She stares at the door hesitantly. They've both had to go between several doors of their past, and as hard as it's been, Eszter was hoping this was the exit.
"Well, only one way to find out."
✨
Eszter opened the random door and was about to walk further into the room but stopped short when a small child ran passed her. Eszter and Wesley glance at each other before the girl walks inside, looking around.
They were in a sitting room, similar to a living space, with no TV. There was a large, ugly rug centered in the middle of the room, colors mixed with reds and blues and whites. In one corner, there was a red stain as if a child had spilled juice there, something Eszter remembers. One long couch sat in front of the window, with two single sofas on each side and a crooked coffee table in the middle. It was dull and lifeless, looking like a dump.
Wesley knit his brows as he looks around curiously. He spotted a couple of kids running around, giggling to themselves, some walking with books clutched in their little arms, and some alone. For as long as Wesley's been alive, he's never stepped foot in a place like this, meaning this wasn't his memory.
"Where are we?" Wesley asked.
"It's the orphanage," Eszter breathed. She wasn't sure what she was feeling, but there was something thick in her throat and a heaviness in her chest. Eszter nearly stumbled from how hard the wave hit her, but she remained stoic. "The one I grew up in after my parents' death."
Wesley turns toward Eszter, but the witch refuses to meet his gaze. Her eyes swelled with tears because she knew who would be here. It's been so long since she saw him, and to see him again, dream and all, Eszter didn't care.
"Essie!" He called from the stairs. Eszter turned around and stared at him like a deer in headlights. She didn't move. She couldn't. Eszter's feet were stuck to the ground, and her breathing hitched.
"Pietro," Eszter gasps.
So, this was Pietro--the real Pietro. Wesley knew of the guy, of course, but he's never seen him. Wesley was a brother himself, so he could imagine how Eszter must feel to be able to see her brother again. He knew of the pain it came with the loss of someone you loved.
"Where did you go?" Pietro neared, nearly throwing Eszter off balance. "Are you okay?"
Eszter could feel her heart beating increasingly, and the words were stuck to her tongue. She had so many things she wanted to say to Pietro, but they would mean nothing; Eszter was stuck in a memory with its own storyline, meaning her words of grief wouldn't affect anything. It would be like talking to a wall. Eszter could say a thousand things and tell Pietro everything she was dealing with, but for now, she wanted to reminisce.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay," Eszter reassures, reminding herself that she was only thirteen in this memory. To Pietro, Eszter had no other trauma but their parents' death. "Where's Wanda?"
Pietro didn't acknowledge Eszter wiping her eyes, or maybe because it was a memory playing on repeat.
"She's upstairs. We were just talking about . . ." Pietro silently hinted. Eszter took notice, nodding. "Come on. We've been waiting on you."
But another door had appeared on her right, and Eszter knew that it was never there. She knew this was the last time she would ever see her brother; maybe someday Eszter would learn her magic and bring him back, but for now, she wanted to hold on to this moment.
"Wait," Eszter reached for Pietro's arm, stopping him. She merely stared at him as he stared back, but there was confusion behind her eyes. Unlike Eszter's glossy ones, he remained unfazed.
"Eszter, we gotta go," Wesley warned from the door, eyeing Eszter cautiously. He knew that look, but he didn't dare pull her away from Pietro. He had been like that once upon a time, but his lifetime was gone.
"Essie?" Pietro furrowed his brows.
Her lip trembled even as she pursed her lips, but she couldn't fight the feeling. Eszter could feel her hands shake by her sides, so she tightened them into fists. Eszter heart crushed beneath the weight of the pressure, and the tears in her eyes welled so much that they began to spill over the lids. Eszter was an emotional wreck, and she hated that about herself.
"Y--You take care of yourself, alright?" Eszter stammered when her throat started to close up. She mustered enough strength to calm down, telling herself not to get too emotional. "I want you to look out for yourself. Not anyone else, got it?"
But Pietro didn't know what she was talking about. "It's just a protest, Essie," he chuckles softly. His arm slipped from Eszter's grasp as he started returning upstairs. He calls over his shoulder. "Meet us in my room!"
Eszter sniffled quietly as she watched Pietro disappear up the stairs but not daring to follow after. She needed to pull herself together because none of this was real.
"Eszter," Wesley softly calls once more. He studied the witch quietly as she kept her back toward him. Wesley knew it would get difficult the longer they were here, but he's been through this a million times; after seeing his family through his memories, Wesley no longer succumbs to his defeat. "We've gotta go."
She nodded silently, wiping her tears dry before turning around. "Let's go," Eszter said, devoid of emotions.
Together, Wesley and Eszter walked through the final door.
☁︎isabel's thoughts☁︎
an insight into Wesley's past. It was kind of cute seeing these two kind of bond, even though Eszter still doesn't completely trust Wesley.
I've got at least a couple chapters left, which is kind of expected. Ahhh!