Wendy House

[Dr Adjective]

As a small girl, Bethany had appeared in a musical adaptation of Peter Pan. Peter and Wendy, specifically. She had, of course, been cast as Wendy Darling. Why wouldn't she have been? An angelic little blonde girl with professional vocal training already, and parents willing and able to lean on the levers of influence to get their darling the role she obviously deserved. At the time, she'd reveled in the role. Wendy was perfect, the epitome of a wholesome feminine influence and motherly, nurturing authority. Everything Beth was supposed to grow up to be.

Looking back on that story as a young adult, Beth often interrogated the themes in her mind. Of course the face value message of the existential fear of growing old was there plain to see, but there was more to it in her opinion, especially when considering other versions, adaptations, sequels. The utopian lifestyle of the Lost Boys, the seemingly inherent greed and cruelty of the adults, the notion that "all grown-ups are pirates". Was it an exaltation of traditional norms, the unusual but functional nuclear family with Peter and Wendy as mother and father of the younger boys? Some kind of anarcho-primitivist call to return to the woods and regress to an almost feral state typified by unsophisticated children? A showcase of an anarchist society based on mutual aid? And then what of the pirates? Was the message that growing up meant being vicious, hateful, fighting and killing for resources and enforcing that worldview on anyone that might try to make a change? And yet, the portrayal of Peter and Wendy as the archetypical parents to the Lost Boys. Were they not grown ups too, or just playing at being so? Was being a responsible adult either a lie or a child's game of make believe?

Was that what adulthood was to J. M. Barrie?

What was adulthood to Bethany C. V. Lyon?

[Bethany Lyon was at the Hot Spring. She's lead Przemyslaw Ziemiak here with her.]

The journey down wasn't exactly second star on the right and straight on 'til morning.

There was a degree of ambiguity to her role, as she shepherded the blinded Przemyslaw down the mountain and into the relative shelter of the mine's processing building. Was she the nurturing mother? The protective father? A bit of both, really. Walking so slowly, even cautiously, afforded Bethany the chance to think on her situation. Two major lines of thought dominated her ruminations, being comparisons to two classic tales: Peter Pan, and the Lord of the Flies. The obvious starting point was the stranded children, of course. In one, they found a leader, organised against a common enemy, and lived in relative plenty. The other was closer to Bethany's reality. Up on the mountain she'd tried to be that leader, that father-mother-parent-thing guiding lost children to a better purpose than senselessly fighting to the death for a one-in-a-hundred chance at going home a broken shell. There was the other comparison to Peter Pan, could any of them really go home again after this? Were they not already changed, the version of them before the abduction already figuratively dead? Can you truly go home when the journey changes you?

Arrival at the mine gave her a more pressing concern, however. Safety. When they were moving, it was a simple notion: if danger presented itself, they would run or they would fight. But settling in for the long term changed things. Could the building be defended?

It was cold inside, but drafty was certainly preferable to open-air windy. Bethany guided Przemek in first, thinking it easier than trying to lead him through the doorway from the other side. The pair found themselves on a central walkway, with branching paths splitting off ahead of them. As she'd seen from the outside, many of the windows were already shattered, letting in the cold wind sneak in and the invading snow pile up near the breaches. Selecting an area with fewer broken windows and more barriers against both wind and lines of sight, Beth made the last steps of the journey, urging caution as she led Przemek down the stairway to the little patch of shelter she'd chosen. A makeshift Wendy House for her wounded companion to recover in, as much as he could be said to recover from such a maiming.

"Home sweet home."

Her voice penetrated the silence suddenly, dry and bitter. It was obviously not her idea of comfort.

"No professional doctors here though, I'm afraid."

[RC~]

Przemek was not getting used to the pain. In fact, the wound still stinged and all he wanted it to go away. He was scared the whole time they had gone down the mountain, if it wasn't for the fact that Bethany and him knew each other for that long, he probably wouldn't have trusted her. There were only a handful people he trusted to guide him, but he was grateful that she did guide him.

"I feel angry," he said in a sad tone, the voice cracking slightly. He touched his face, and the wounds that stinged felt dry.

"Aracelis has to pay for this." He felt guilty even saying that. It was how he felt, but it felt wrong being angry and wanting revenge.

"I want to kill her for what she's done to me."

Then, he began to sob.

[Dr Adjective]

Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

Bethany knew it reflexively. Revenge was no way to proceed, that’s what she’d been taught to believe. In the real world it made sense: why waste effort on spite, why dignify those that wrong you with your anger? Just keep doing good, respond only as much is as needed for your own ends, not for its own sake.

But she wasn’t in the real world, was she? There were no authorities to dispassionately dispense justice on her behalf.

If she were all on her own, then was an eye for an eye not the only law that could still exist?

Przemyslaw was sobbing. Bethany briefly wondered how that worked, with his eyes being as they were. She couldn’t blame him. Their lives were already over, but in her boundless cruelty, Aracelis had forced the poor boy to live what remained of his in pain, fear, and ignorance. She’d want to rip the bitch’s eyes out herself, if it were her. In normal life, that instinct to get even was why she was such a keen supporter of an ordered, dispassionate justice system.

Shame she didn’t have that any more. Shame for Aracelis.

After a time thinking, silent but for Przemyslaw’s sobbing, Bethany spoke up.

“The only justice we’ll see here is our own.”

She let that sit for a moment. Was she really considering playing sheriff and executioner? Was that her?

“I believe we were provided with first aid kits. Would you like me to look for painkillers?”

[RC~]

„I don‘t usually take medicine, but if it makes the pain go away...“

Przemek tried to avoid all substances that could remind him of the substances he took. Besides, he never needed painkillers. He had a good immune system and whenever he got a cold or so , he simply waited it out. God bless.

He was pretty sure his wounds already got infected though. It was pretty painful.

„What did we do to deserve this?“

There had to be a reason they were chosen.

[Dr Adjective]

"Why us?"

Bethany didn't have an answer for that. So she made sure she was slightly louder than she otherwise would've been in rummaging through her pack to find the first aid kit. Why them? Did he mean that literally, or more figuratively? Why did I get caught in the rain, because of meteorological phenomena, or because I did something to deserve it? Would either answer even change anything anyway?

The first aid kit was surprisingly comprehensive, though obviously the scissors that came with it were as far from a usable weapon as it was possible to make them. Had she any training in first aid, she might've known how to dress Przemek's wounds, but being that she'd struggle to even identify most of the equipment before her, she decided to stick to painkillers. Ultimately she found aspirin and ibuprofen. Those two, alongside the absent paracetamol, she recognised as common pain relief, not that she knew what the difference between them was. She held both out for her companion to look at, an almost automatic action, before remembering that he could of course not see them.

"Pick your poison, aspirin or ibuprofen?"

Why them, though?

Beth had previously wondered if she was in Hell, given the cruelly ironic circumstances she'd woken up under. But obviously she was still alive, just in a figurative lower-case-h hell. Thinking back to what she knew of the other schools that had been targeted before, she couldn't think up an obvious connection. Maybe it was random? Or whichever trip they figured had the weakest security? It was hard to imagine they'd been specifically singled out for punishment. So perhaps Przemek did want a more spiritual answer, not a literal one.

"Do you believe that we're being punished, Przemyslaw?"

[RC~]

„Maybe,“ Przemek replied.

He stretched out his hand, unknowningly where he was stretching it out to.

„I‘ll take ibuprofen.“

He was about to ask about Ethan‘s whereabouts, but he really didn‘t want to know.

All he had in mind was Aracelis‘ act. Anyone else whp would do such cruel things and provoke violence, too. Aracelis probably won‘t be the only one acting selfish and violent.

[Dr Adjective]

Next order of business was water. First Beth popped out two ibuprofen and dropped them into Przemek’s outstretched hand. Then she brought both their daypacks together, and grabbed water and bread from each - she didn’t expect to need every last pill in her first aid kit, but the food and water wasn’t so easy to justify sharing

Indeed, it occurred to Bethany briefly that she could quite easily take all of his supplies. Justify it as consolidating them safely under the person who still had her sight. Hell, she could put him out of his misery, and the “punishment” for him. On paper she could, at least. In practice, the notion of euthanising her new friend felt repulsive.

Why? Wasn’t it a mercy to end his suffering?

She handed the water to him first.

“There’s bread too. I assume it’ll go bad faster than the rest.”

She took a swig of her own water. How long did she need to ration it for? A week? More? Hard to guess how long she could expect to survive.

“So.”

Bethany had never been anxious about speaking. Starting conversations didn’t typically trouble her. But this was a heavy topic.

“What are we being punished for?”

Neither of their pasts were ones they were entirely proud of, she knew that. Bethany wasn’t going to be the first to spill her regrets, though.

[RC~]

Did it even matter whether the bread molded faster than the rest of his supplies? Przemek was going to expire sooner than that bread. The expiration date being significantly shortened by Aracelis and her bat.

What they were punished for? Well. Did Przemek wasnt to spill his heart out in front of Bethany? On live television? He didn‘t want to. He wasn‘t in a Church. This wasn‘t confession.

Przemek tried to change topics.

„Are you scared?“

[Dr Adjective]

“Am I scared?”

Of fucking course she was. She’d have to be crazy not to be scared. She was talking to a boy who just got his face stamped into a nail bat, and she’d watched three people die in recent memory. That she wasn’t utterly petrified was testament to her ability to compartmentalise and put a brave face on.

Bethany took a bite of plain bread. It sure did taste plain. Quite a step down from the lifestyle she’d become accustomed to.

“Of course I am. But, I suppose,”

A little more water, then she closed up the bottle. It needed to last, unless she could magic up a decent heat source to melt some snow.

“Death is certain, isn’t it? There’s a sort of peace in accepting that.”

So why was she still persisting? Protecting Przemek gave her a sort of purpose, but why do that? Just to make herself feel better while she carried on surviving just to… not die yet? Unless she liked her chances climbing over some hundred teenage corpses for a ticket home as a fundamentally changed woman?

“I’m afraid of dying, but I think I’m starting to accept that I will die.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Maybe Beth didn’t like her chances, maybe she didn’t believe she deserved to go home, but she hadn’t entirely given up hope. Not just yet.

[RC~]

Satisfied with Bethany‘s answer, the relatability of it, was comforting. Finally Przemek had the guts to drink his water and swallow what he assumed to be ipuprofen drops in his hand.

„I am scared of hell. Not of heaven.“

Przemek had the feeling he had killed somebody. Bethany probably had nothing to fear, having had a clean state.

„I think Ethan-”

No. Don‘t ruin this moment. Don‘t talk about Ethan. He went away.

[Dr Adjective]

“…fell.” Beth finished for him, after a pause to study what little she could make out of his facial expressions. The ghastly mess of his face didn’t seem to trouble her as much any more. Turned out anything can grow normal, after long enough.

“It was an accident. And we don’t know if he made it.”

That smug Danya character had mentioned daily announcements, hadn’t he? So they’d know by next morning, Bethany reasoned. Know if Ethan survived, and if not, how much blood the terrorists chose to place on Przemyslaw’s flailing, panicking hands.

Not that Bethany believed for a second that Ethan was still alive. She just had to try to believe it anyway.

After a long pause, and the growing sense that a change of subject was in order, the girl spoke up again.

“Did you have college plans, Przemek?”

[RC~]

"I wanted to become a paramedic. Now, I don't think that's going to be an option anymore."

Przemek didn't want to bring the mood down, so he tried to think of something positive.

...

...

Well, he couldn't. So he just asked the same question to her.

"What about you?"

[Dr Adjective]

The silences were so very telling. The whistle of wind through lips of broken glass punctuated the duo’s awkward conversation, asking the question neither could satisfyingly answer: what do you talk about when you’re waiting to die?

“Harvard Law. That was the plan.”

With half a slice of bread in her right hand and little appetite to keep forcing its blandness down, Bethany used her left to tidy her hair. A small measure of control she could still exercise.

“Or the next best. Then my father’s firm, then the state Party.”

The lofty ambitions beyond that she left unsaid. He’d only asked about college anyway. The thought of making it as far as the White House had seemed a faraway dream before their lives had been taken away, getting there from Survival of the Fittest was an even more implausible fantasy. First woman President would be one thing, but first child-murderer President?

“I‘ve had my path laid out before me for a long time.”

The cold wind kept on howling. Bethany didn’t hear laughter in it any more, at least.

“Medicine is good, though. Noble.”

[RC~]

"Well, it would've been hard and stressful, too, you know."

So at least there was that. Maybe he would've failed anyway. If, if, if.

He touched his wound on his face, reassuring that it dried up. Then, he smiled at the wall, because he had no idea where Bethany was.

"Do I look bad?"

[Dr Adjective]

Did he look bad? Was the Pope a Catholic?

"Honestly?"

In almost any other circumstance, there'd be some humour in it. Other circumstances wouldn't have him permanently disabled and facing imminent death anyway.

"Dreadful."

Bethany shifted, adjusting her skirt. It was pretty, sure, but impractical. Uncomfortable for sitting on the floor and inflexible for hiking snowy mountainsides. But what else did she have to wear? At least with it on, she had two layers keeping her legs warm; leggings were surprisingly good for insulation, but Beth didn't like her chances of staying warm with just those. Her free hand continued brushing back stray hairs, also impractical, also potentially a vital means of keeping her head warm. Perhaps she could stand to cut it shorter though, if the medical scissors were actually up to the job. Bethany cared a great deal about her appearance, yes, but with death on the line practicality had a whole new kind of appeal.

"Aracelis,"

Bethany stopped as abruptly as she began. Thought over exactly what she wanted to say.

"If I see her again,"

Was she really considering this line of thinking? Some small part of her was aware that she was probably on camera, that friends and family might one day hear her words. Did she want to be remembered as someone eager to wade into the violence? Did being remembered fondly outweigh being alive?

"I can't give you back your sight. But I could let it be unto her."

Her parents would probably hate her inverting that passage like that. Maybe she didn't care any more what they thought.