A Peculiar Time in 1944 - A Millard Fanfic (Miss Peregrine's Home) #wattys2020

Chapter 80

"People made such a fuss over her, and it drove Jack mad." {Myron Bentham, pg 198 book 3}

Seven Stages of Grief: Stage Five – Depression, final realization of the inevitable

MILLARD POV

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the concrete room. Hugh was sitting with his back to the wall of his cell, his knees to his chest. He flinched every time he heard another punch. Enoch was across from him gripping the bars of his cell, his knuckles white as he glared at the two guards. One was holding Millard's arms behind his back while the other threw punch after punch at his face. Claire had one hand over each mouth trying to silence her sobs as tears fell down her cheeks. Millard's usually unseen face was now streaked with red after a particularly hard punch to his nose. The blood had been smeared diagonally as his head whipped to the side with each strike.

None of the peculiar children knew what had started it. They'd just been put in their cells when Caul had come back – presumably from the Circus Loop – and had taken a couple of their guards off to the side. The three had talked for a short time, the look on Caul's face getting angrier and angrier. The only thing they could guess was he was upset about their three friends getting away, but what did three peculiars matter when he'd finally captured the last free ymbryne? After talking with the guards Caul stormed past their cells and pointed to Millard has he passed ordering his men to "Make an example of that one."

At first they'd all shouted and yelled, screaming, "Let Millard go!" and "Leave him alone!" but the wights acted as if they weren't even there.

Millard groaned in pain and the wight finally stopped. Millard's head hung forward in his barely conscious state. The wight that had been hitting him opened the door to his cell and the other guard tossed him inside. He used what little energy he had left to brace his fall, not wanting to smash his sore face into the concrete floor. He heard the metal bars slam shut as they left the hall. He heard the others shouting for him.

"Are you alright?"

"Come on, Mill, get up."

"You can do it."

But he couldn't. His arms wobbled and he fell forward into unconsciousness.

AURORA POV

The road had narrowed and arched over a chasm with a shroud of green mist that was coming from the sulfurous boiling river below. The bridge was narrow, arched in the middle and built from clean marble. It wasn't finished though, there was a twenty foot gap right after the slope so if someone were running across it quick enough, they wouldn't have time to stop before they were pitched over the edge. Looming faintly beyond was a long wall of white stone and beyond that a high tower, so tall the top was lost in the clouds.

"No one crosses their bridge without permission." Came a voice from behind her and she turned to see a woman with paper like skin and yellow eyes that were peeking out from beneath her long oily black hair.

"And the ones who do have permission?" she asked hesitantly and a wide wrinkled smile exposed the woman's brown teeth.

"The only thing that comes back is their drippings." She'd said quietly but still someone overheard her.

"Ohhh." They moaned covering their ears in pain, "What I wouldn't give for a vial of that."

"For just a drop, just a drop!" another shouted. "A drop o' their drippings!"

"Stop! It's torture! Don't even mention it!"

The addicts were too busy with their own suffering that they either ignored or didn't notice when Aurora slipped away and ran back the way she'd come.