{ Edited - 27th April, 2024 }
Emma dipped the torch into a pail filled with ice, causing the flame to sizzle and vanish. Suddenly, our attention shifted as we noticed a man standing in the doorway, gripping a flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other.
Enoch pulled his arm out of the ice as Emma, Bronwyn, and I formed a protective circle around the trough to shield Martin from sight. "We didn't mean to break in," Bronwyn said. "We was just leaving, honest!"
"Stay where you are!" the man shouted. His voice lacked any inflection, devoid of any accent. The beam of light made it impossible for me to catch a glimpse of his face.
"Mister, we ain't had nothing to eat all day," Enoch whined, for once sounding like a twelve-year-old. "All we come for was a fish or two, swear!"
"Is that so?" said the man. "Looks like you've picked one out. Let's see what kind." He moved his flashlight from side to side, almost like he was trying to separate us with the light. "Step aside!"
He did so, and the light glided across Martin's body, revealing a scene of vivid destruction. "Goodness, that's an odd-looking fish, isn't it?" he said, entirely unfazed. "Must be a fresh one. He's still moving!" Martin's face was illuminated by the beam, causing his eyes to roll back and his lips to move silently. It was a reflex, a mere response to the fading life that Enoch had bestowed upon him.
"Who are you?" Bronwyn demanded.
"That depends on whom you ask," the man replied, "And it isn't nearly as important as the fact that I know who you are." He directed the flashlight towards all of us and talked as if reciting from a confidential file. "Emma Bloom, the girl who could levitate, was abandoned at a circus when her parents couldn't sell her to one. Bronwyn Bruntley, berserker, a taster of blood, didn't know her own strength until the night she snapped her rotten stepfather's neck. Enoch O'Connor, dead-riser, born to a family of undertakers who couldn't understand why their clients kept walking away." I witnessed all of them back away from him. Next, he directed the light towards Jake. "Jake. Such a peculiar company you're keeping these days."
"How do you know my name?"
He coughed lightly before speaking, and his voice sounded completely different when he continued. "Did you forget me so quick?" he said in a New England accent. "But then I'm just a poor old bus driver, I guess you wouldn't remember."
Bus driver? Impossible, this man before us sounds like Mr Barron, back in Germany. "Mr Barron?" Jake and I exchanged doubtful glances simultaneously, shooting each other suspicious looks. We were both surprised that we knew this man's name.
The man burst into laughter and then cleared his throat, causing his accent to change once more. "Either him or the yard man," he said in a deep Florida drawl. "Yon trees need a haircut. Give yah good price!"
"How are you doing that?" Jake said. "How do you know those people?"
"Because I am those people," he said, his accent became flat once more. He chuckled, enjoying the bewildered horror on everyone's faces.
"What's happening?" Emma said. "Who is this man?"
"Shut up!" he snapped. "You'll get your turn."
"You've been watching me," Jake said. "You killed those sheep. You killed Martin."
"Who, me?" he said innocently. "I didn't kill anyone."
"But you're a wight, aren't you?"
"That's their word," he said.
"How'd you know where to find me?" Jake asked.
"Why, Jake," he said, his voice changing yet again, "You told me yourself. In confidence, of course." He now spoke with a middle-American accent, gentle and refined. Lifting the flashlight, he directed its light to illuminate his face.
"Dr Golan," Jake's words were barely audible over the sound of the pouring rain.
I stumbled backwards, leaning against Martin's trough, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over me as if I had lost all sensation in my body. "The neighbour," Jake said. "The old man watering his lawn the night my grandfather died. That was you, too."
He smiled.
"But your eyes," Jake said.
"Contact lenses," he replied. With a flick of his thumb, he effortlessly produced a blank orb. "Amazing what they can fabricate these days. And if I may anticipate a few more of your questions, yes, I am a licensed therapist—the minds of common people have long fascinated me—and no, despite the fact that our sessions were predicated on a lie, I don't think they were a complete waste of time. In fact, I may be able to continue helping you—or, rather, we may be able to help each other."
"Please, Jake," Emma said, "Don't listen to him."
"Don't worry," Jake said. "I trusted him once. I won't make that mistake again."
Mr Barron carried on as if Jake's words had fallen on deaf ears. "I can offer you safety, and money. I can give you your life back, Jake. All you have to do is work with us, you may possess something I need, within your little group of friends."
"Us?"
"Malthus and me," he said, turning to call over his shoulder. "Come and say hello, Malthus."
As he stood there, a shadow emerged in the doorway, and within seconds, an awful smell engulfed us. Bronwyn couldn't help but gag and took a step back, while I prepared to unleash a powerful bolt with my charged fist. However, just as I was about to strike, Jake gently touched my arm and silently signalled me to wait.
"This is all I'm proposing," Barron continued, trying to sound reasonable. "Help us find more people like you and hand over the Ymbryne. In return, you'll have nothing to fear from Malthus or his kind. You can live at home. In your free time, you'll come with me and see the world, and we'll pay you handsomely. We'll tell your parents you're my research assistant."
Ymbryne? Ah crap, he's talking about Miss Peregrine.
"If I agree," Jake said, "What happens to my friends?"
He made a dismissive gesture with his gun. "They made their choice long ago. What's important is that there's a grand plan in motion, Jake, and you'll be part of it, and so will . . . Kira" He grinned as he glanced at me and then back at Jake.
Oh, he did not just expose me like that in front of everyone... Jake glanced at us, carefully studying each of our expressions, before redirecting his attention towards Barron with an unwavering response.
"Well?" said Barron. "What's your answer?"
"I'd die before I did anything to help you." Jake snapped.
"Ah," he said, "But you already have helped me." He began to back toward the door. "It's a pity we won't have any more sessions together, Jake. Though it isn't a total loss, I suppose. The four of you together might be enough to finally shift old Malthus out of the debased form he's been stuck in so long."
"Four?" I repeated.
"Oh, no," Enoch whimpered, "I don't want to be eaten!"
"Don't cry, it's degrading," snapped Bronwyn. "We'll just have to kill them, that's all."
"Wish I could stay and watch," Barron said from the doorway. "I do love to watch! But Kira and I have places to be in,"
"Kira's dead, what are you talking about?" Emma snapped.
"Oh, so little Miss Peregrine's daughter didn't tell you her secret?" Barron happened to stride towards us out of the blue. "Took me forever to figure out, I daresay, she'd fit in with the Wights if she chose to work with us, but I very much doubt it," said Barron locking eyes with me as we stood face to face.
"Anita?" said Jake, Jake's tone made it clear that he was confused, but I could tell he was just pretending not to recognize me.
I felt embarrassed as I glanced at the others, even though I attempted to conceal it, the truth was clear - I was Kira. I was the girl who blended in, hiding my real self from everyone. Barron placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
In an instant, he forcefully pulled me away from the wall, swiftly turning me around to face my friends. Before I could even react, he firmly clasped both of my wrists and discreetly placed something metallic behind my back. Despite being aware of the situation, I found myself being handcuffed.
"Well, I think it's time if Kira confessed something to her mother," said Barron as we walked together, he hooked his arm with mine. In a hurry, he guided me out of the ice house and abruptly made me spin around. It was then that I noticed he was shutting the kids inside. In an attempt to subdue Barron, I forcefully banged my head against his, causing him to stumble. Although he fell, he remained conscious.
As soon as he stood up, he swiftly took hold of my arm and encouraged me to face the other way. Together, we retraced our steps along the path that the group and I had entered from. By the time we reached the entrance of the loop, I had already started resisting, attempting to delay Barron. I hoped that someone inside the house would spot me with an unfamiliar man, alert Miss Peregrine, and take cover.
I attempted to bonk my head into Barron's jaw, and if I'm fortunate, his face, but this only led to a gun being slammed against my head, nearly causing me to lose consciousness. He shouted at me to cease my actions, warning me that next time he would aim for my knees. Barron then pushed me towards the front porch, knocked on the door, and patiently waited for a rather "special" individual to answer. When she finally did, the expression on her face clearly conveyed her concern for my well-being.