Page 19 of Losing Wendy

“They took Michael,” I cry. “They took him this way.”

“I know,” says John. “I know.”

We race through the halls, and slowly my eyesight corrects itself, bringing the walnut-paneled corridors of my familiar home into focus. My mind races for where they might have taken my brother. The manor itself is huge, but there’s a staircase at the end of the hall that leads…

“Toward the stables,” I tell John. “That way, they could make a quick escape if they needed to. Take him hostage if they needed a way to get me to cooperate.”

“A back-up plan.” John nods.

We throw ourselves into the tiny winding staircase, our haste accentuated by our panicked breaths and the pads of our footsteps.

It’s only when we reach the bottom of the staircase, toward the stables, that we hear him. Inside, my sweet little brother is whimpering. “It’s okay, Michael. Mommy’s got you. Don’t be scared. Mommy’s got you, Michael.”

John and I exchange quiet glances. The accuracy with which Michael has captured our mother’s voice chills the space between us.

“Something wrong with you, ain’t there, boy?” says a low voice from the other side of the door. “Something not quite right.”

On any normal occasion, hearing anyone insult Michael would incite rage within me. At the moment, I’m too preoccupied with coming up with a plan to get Michael out of the stables and to safety to dwell on it.

I jerk my head to the side. Toward the stall whose adjoining wall has a hole in it that John and I used to crawl through as children. It was too small for a horse to get through, so my father never bothered fixing it.

John blinks at me from behind his glasses. His eyes go wide as I step out from behind the barrels, my hands raised above my head.

“I’m here,” I say, my voice shaking. “Please, surely you don’t need my brother. Just let him go and I’ll come with you.”

The bald man’s eyes sweep over my figure, hay needles already sticking into the fabric of my ball gown.

“Captain didn’t expect you to put up a fight. Surprised you made it this far,” he says.

I swallow, my eyes trained on Michael. He’s plucked the button off his non-collar and is twirling it in his fingers as the bald man keeps his hands firm on his shoulders.

“Just let him go. Captain Astor doesn’t want him anyway.”

The bald man’s eyes go to slits. “Pardon me, but were you there when the captain told me to take this one away?”

I shudder at what the cruel captain might have planned for my innocent little brother. How deep he’s allowed revenge to leak into his heart.

Just then, a steel horseshoe comes flying. It smacks the bald man’s head, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he slumps backward. Michael yelps, then skitters out from underneath his grip and toward me.

“It’s okay, Michael. Mommy’s got you,” he says, threading his hand through mine.

John appears from the shadow of the stall behind the bald man, staring down at his unmoving body.

He’s wondering if he killed him or not.

“We don’t have time to check,” I say, remembering Evans wandered down this way at some point.

John nods, then we’re off.

We make it up the stairs and down the hall when we hear the yell. A glance through the window reveals the captain and his men, their figures warped in the glass of the windows from the section of manor across from us. From the looks of it, Evans has met back up with his crew. There’s only a bridged walkway between us and them.

John and I both reach for Michael, and we sprint through the hallway and down another set of stairs. As soon as we reach the door at the bottom of the steps, we hear angry voices on the other side.

There’s nowhere else to go.

We’re surrounded.

We’re in a viewing room. One that looks out into the courtyard. If it were daylight, there would be speckles of colored light painting the floors and benches.

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