William trudged home with his thoughts weighing on him as heavily as his guitar. A few angry notes had been enough to turn the Hymn of the Whole's gentle guidance into a terrifying weapon. He hadn't meant to channel his anger into the song, but his fury over Mother getting hurt had roared to a crescendo until he had no choice but to let it out.
Was this how Father felt whenever he flew into a rage? Or was his anger more carefully honed? For all the pain he'd caused, Father had never hurt anyone on accident. One moment of carelessness had been enough for William to force Burdock into a frenzy, to say nothing of the poor bird that had been reduced to a mass of bloody feathers.
He could never allow himself to lose control like that again. Though none would miss the bird Burdock had mauled, the consequences would be far more dire if he attacked a person or, worse, if William accidentally influenced a human. He'd already made Mother call upon Dr. Hughes when she knew as well as he did that the doctor's presence always angered Father. What else might happen if he allowed his anger to control not only himself but also those around him?
As he drew closer to home, William realized he might have done so already.
Before he set foot inside the house, William already heard the sharpness of Father's voice cutting the air, answered by Emma's unmistakable high-pitched protest. A protest that was growing louder by the second.
Quieting his breathing until each exhale whispered past his lips, he slipped inside and eased the door shut behind him. His muscles tensed in anticipation of a sharp rebuke from Father, but for once, he didn't so much as glance at him. No one did.
They were too busy engaging in a heated discussion around the fireplace.
"All I'm asking is for you to start the fire." Father thrust a fistful of kindling onto the waiting logs as if he could ignite the blaze with nothing but his temper. "You've done it countless times before, yet now you can't be bothered?"
"I don't want to burn my fingers!" Emma held up her hands as if she was afraid they'd burst into flames at any moment.
"You won't as long as you do it properly," Father said, his stony gaze unwavering.
"I don't know how." Emma sniffled as a telltale whine crept into her voice. If Father kept pressuring her, she was bound to cry.
William longed to comfort her, to hold her in a hug and tell her he'd take care of everything. But he couldn't. Drawing attention to himself would only fan the flames of Father's anger.
Mother knelt beside Emma. "I can show you how to do it, sweetie."
"Don't enable her," Father said sharply. "She knows full well what she needs to do."
"She was gone a whole year, Philip," Mother said. "It wouldn't surprise me if she's forgotten."
Father curled his hands into fists at his sides, making William's stomach quiver as he silently prayed for the Lord to keep Emma and his mother safe. "Do not take her side over mine. Coddling the children like this is how William grew into such a disappointment. We must teach Emma to be obedient lest she turn out like him."
He took a step toward Emma.
"Wait!" William rushed forward, any thoughts of avoiding Father's notice abandoned. "Let me help her."
"Look who finally decided to come home." Father turned to face him with cold fury burning in his eyes. "Not so sick now, are you? Funny how you felt well enough to get out of bed the instant I went to the forge. No wonder Emma has turned into such a disobedient brat with you setting such a poor example for her."
"I told him to go outside for a while," Mother said quickly. "He seemed like he could use some fresh air."
"With that?" Father gestured toward the guitar strapped across William's back. "If he feels well enough to waste his time on silly little songs, he ought to feel well enough to work."
"He needed to rest his mind, not just—"
Father held up a hand to silence her. "I see where they get their behavior from. I'll deal with William later." He set his hand on Emma's arm. She trembled beneath his touch, staring up at him with wide eyes. "For now, Emma needs to start the fire like a good little girl and stop whining."
"But I don't know how! I can't—"
CRACK!
Father's hand struck Emma's cheek so hard she hit the floor with a thud. Emma wailed and fled to her room as Mother pressed a hand across her mouth to muffle a cry of her own.
"Leave her alone!" William roared. Gone was the heavy weight in his gut, the trembling weakness in his limbs. Only the fury that burned in his arms like molten lead remained as he rushed to stand between Father and the hallway leading to Emma's room.
"That was long overdue." Father's voice was as level and hard as his anvil. "I suggest you mind your tongue, boy. I have half a mind to remind you of your manners, too."
William's throat tightened, but he refused to back down even as his voice was reduced to a furious hiss. "If you ever hurt Emma again, I'll kill you."
Father laughed. "Don't make promises you'll never keep. You and I both know you're too much of a coward to do more than snivel and cower like the rat you are."
William grabbed the poker from beside the fireplace, the long, sharp piece of metal weighing heavily in his hand. "I mean it, Father. I will never allow you to hurt her again."
Mother leaped between them, her eyes wide and filled with tears. "Stop it, both of you!"
"Get out of my way." Father curled his fingers around Mother's shoulder and yanked her to the side. She cried out in pain, but Father kept his eyes firmly fixed on William. "If he's going to pretend to face me like a man, I will fight him like one. Better I teach him a lesson than let him run his mouth and return home in a casket."
Father stepped toward him with his hands curled into fists.
Before either of them could lash out against the other, a blur of black fur raced between them with a high-pitched squeak. Burdock.
"That damned rat is still here?" Father roared. "You worthless whelp. Could you not even dispose of a single rodent on your own?"
"I..." William took a shuddering breath as the strength fled his muscles, leaving him trembling. Damn him, he wasn't strong enough to stand his ground. He had to get away. Had to keep Father from killing Burdock. Had to make sure Emma was alright.
William lowered the poker. "I couldn't find it when I looked for it in Emma's room. I'll go take care of it right now."
"After you let it escape last time?" Father snorted. "No, you're going to go tell your sister it's your fault neither of you are getting supper tonight. Consider yourself lucky that I am letting you both off so lightly."
William's gaze darted to his mother. Her hand gingerly rested on where Father had grabbed her shoulder, but nonetheless, she offered him the faintest wisp of a smile and a nod. She would be alright. "I will, Father."
The door to Emma's room was locked. Faint sobs and hiccupping breaths came from the inside.
William's heart ached as if Father had reached into his chest and squeezed it. This was his fault. He should have kept his anger under control so it wouldn't bleed into the Hymn of the Whole and influence Emma. He should have intervened sooner so he would have faced the brunt of Father's wrath instead of her.
He should have protected her.
William lightly knocked on the door. Careful, measured taps just loud enough for Emma to hear him without the noise drawing Father's attention.
A gasp pierced through Emma's crying, followed by whimpering. The sound faded as if Emma was trying to muffle her crying.
"It's just me," William said quietly. "You're safe."
"Go away!" The door groaned as something pressed against it.
William's stomach twisted. She was so terrified of someone hurting her that she'd braced something against the door to keep him from forcing his way in. Though the being on the other side of the door was only his sister in body rather than mind, his eyes burned with tears at the thought that he'd failed her so badly.
"I promise I won't hurt you," he said. "I just want to make sure you're alright."
Silence. A soft sniffle.
The door unlocked with a faint click. Footsteps scurried away from the door. When at last Emma spoke, her voice was hoarse and heavy with tears. "Come in."
William eased the door open and tiptoed inside, taking care to lock it behind him. The room had scarcely changed since the last time he'd been inside, but the only difference he saw sent claws of shame and sorrow tightening around his heart until his chest physically ached.
Emma lay curled in on herself atop her bed, hugging her stuffed bear tightly and burying her face in its raggedy fur. Sniffles punctuated each breath she took as her chest rose and fell in shuddering breaths. Any trace of the sweet, cheerful little girl he used to know was long gone, leaving only this desolate shell in her place.
"I'm so sorry," William whispered. "I should have been there to protect you."
"It was supposed to be safe here," Emma said between hiccups. "I thought humans were supposed to love and take care of each other, like the Whole."
"Most do, but Father is... different." William inched closer to her bed, keeping his hands where Emma could see them so she'd know he wasn't going to grab the guitar off his back and try to control her with the Hymn of the Whole. "Could you show me where he hurt you?"
Emma pointed at the bruise blooming across her cheek. The reddened skin was already darkening into an ugly shade of purple. Father would be especially irritable until it healed, William knew. Though he would doubtless try to excuse the injury as the consequence of careless, overly boisterous play, any visible signs of harm always made Father paranoid.
If nothing else, William at least knew how he could help her heal. "I'm going to get something Dr. Hughes gave me. Wait here."
When William returned with the ointment he'd received from Dr. Hughes, he was surprised that Emma had left her door unlocked and had scooted closer to the edge of the bed, swinging her feet back and forth as she waited for him. He unscrewed the jar and scooped a thick glob of ointment onto his fingers. "This will only hurt for a moment."
Emma gasped, her whole body trembling as she held her stuffed bear in front of her like a makeshift shield. "Don't hurt me!"
William grimaced. Of course she wouldn't understand medicine was often unpleasant. Much like Burdock, the rat inside his sister remained ignorant of many aspects of human life. "It'll help you feel better sooner, and it only hurts for a few seconds. I promise it's safe." He spread the ointment on the fading bruises on his wrists. Though the salve stung his wrists, he forced his lips into a smile. "See?"
Emma narrowed her eyes, her nose twitching as she carefully examined where he'd spread the medicine. She looked at him, then the jar, then back again. She lowered her stuffed bear to her bed, only to cross her arms with a scowl.
"You can put it on yourself if you want," he said.
Emma sniffed the mixture inside before taking a fingerful and smearing it across her cheek. Shudders raced across her body as she grimaced, only for her to smile a few seconds later. "You weren't lying," she said. Though her voice was still hoarse from crying, the worst of the redness had left her cheeks, and her breathing had eased into a regular rhythm.
"I'd never do anything to hurt you." William gingerly took the ointment back from her and put it in his pocket. "Do you think you'd feel better if I sang to you?" That had always cheered Emma up when she had a bad day, at least before she and the other children disappeared.
Emma bared her teeth in a snarl. "The Hymn of the Whole is not yours to wield."
William held up his hands. After seeing her so vulnerable and scared, he'd nearly forgotten he wasn't truly talking to his sister, just the rat controlling her body. "Not that. I was thinking I could sing something Mother used to sing to you—Emma, I mean—when she was little. It always helped her get back to sleep after she had a nightmare."
Emma stared at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Nodded.
William sat beside her on her bed and pulled his guitar into his lap. The familiar melody of Mother's lullaby flowed from his lips as smoothly as honey as he caressed the guitar.
As she listened, Emma's lips moved silently as if she was trying to remember the lyrics. It wasn't long before the soft notes of Mother's song stopped her sniffles and eased the tension out of her shoulders. Even as the faint pitter-patter of tiny feet announced Burdock had survived Father's efforts to kill him, William didn't take his eyes off of Emma for a moment.
Near the end of the first verse, Emma scooted closer to William. He eased the guitar off his knees, still singing even as he ushered Emma into his lap.
Her body was different than he remembered. Beyond the increasing heaviness of a growing child and her shorter, sharper movements as she climbed onto him, his arms detected the creature lurking within his embrace. The weight of the rat pressed against Emma's stomach, with each shift of its body making her abdomen quiver.
Yet, despite the rodent that had stolen Emma's body for its own, William refused to let go. He kept singing softly until what was once his sister yawned and fell asleep as he stroked her hair.
He knew this wasn't his sister. Maybe it never would be again, but for now, she was the closest thing he had to what he had lost. With Mother's lullaby filling the room, William felt as if everything was finally alright, if only for as long as he kept singing.