𝟬𝟬𝟳, bertie
𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡
— 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗘 —
BEAU WAS SENT BACK DOWN INTO THE BASEMENT WITH A STACK OF BLANK PAPER AND A PACK OF CRAYONS.
the last thing he wanted to do down here was colour like the child he was supposed to be, but what else was he supposed to do?
he was at least relatively grateful for the items, if only to pass time or distract from the reality of his situation, even for a while.
beau didn't begin colouring right away. he couldn't. not after that.
instead, he dragged his frail and injured body back to the mattress, eyes dull but periodic sniffles still escaping him.
every movement burnt like hell, but maybe if he could sleep for a few hours the pain would ease.
getting to sleep wasn't easy. not with his back on fire.
it didn't help that the mattress was itchy and stiff and beau was in new clothes no longer fully covering his skin from the fabric of the mattress.
it took a long time, but finally beau's eyes fell shut.
his slumber didn't last long, but just long enough to distract from the beating he'd received.
when he awoke, he had almost expected to see his familiar blue walls, plastered with his drawings of dinosaurs and butterflies. had almost expected gwen shaking him awake and laughing at this complaining.
but none of that happened.
when he opened his eyes, all he could see were those familiar greay, bleary walls. haunting him.
beau shifted slightly. his back still hurt, but it seemed muted now.
slowly, he pulled himself upwards, allowing his eyes to fall on the papers and crayons sitting right where he'd left them.
he blinks slow, frowning in contemplation before decisively crawling over to the pair.
beau laid on his stomach and grabbed a crayon from the pack.
crayons. not pencils.
crayons didn't need to be sharpened.
he sighed, clutching the green crayon in his hand and beginning to sketch it along the bottom of the page in downwards streaks
then he grabbed a black crayon, sketching three figures, each in ascending order of height.
then he labeled them. 'beau', 'gwen', and 'finney'.
each had a smile on their face, and each was holding the others hand.
beau grabbed the brown craying to draw streaky strands of hair, topping off with a big, circular sun and a scribble of blue in the sky.
beau set the crayon down, staring at his completed drawing with a still face, fingers gently brushing the stick figures of his siblings, wondering if the last time he'd see them would be via stick figure drawings.
beau didn't stop drawing there. he drew on those pages until the morning sun turned into the rising moon and beau no longer had available light.
he drew all kinds of things.
rainbows, animals, dragons, dinosaurs. and most of the drawings included him and his siblings.
sometimes they were riding the dragon, other times fighting it. sometimes they were sliding down a brontosaurus' back like it was a slide.
the drawings allowed beau to escape, if only for a little bit. placing him in a dream world where things never went wrong. where they were still all together, making up stories and play fighting.
beau's head fell as the light finally escaped the room and beau could no longer make out his drawing, placing the crayons back in the package and setting it against the wall along with the very few pieces of remaining paper.
he gathered his finished drawings, sitting them all in a pile by the mattress.
it'd been another day and a bit without seeing the man, and beau wasn't sure if he was relieved or worried.
the man had hurt him. hurt him really bad.
but the man was also his only source of food and proper drink.
if the man never came back, he wouldn't get hurt anymore. but if the man never came back, he would die of starvation.
beau remembered hearing about it in a show once — the rule of three's.
three minutes without air. three hours without shelter (in extreme circumstances, at least). three days without water. three weeks without food.
beau had air. shelter, however dingy and unappealing, was still provided. water, he always had options (the toilet sat dormantly around the corner). food was the only variable. food relief on the man.
beau didn't think it had even been a week yet, but then again time seemed to move differently down here. there was no way of telling how the hours passed other than night into day and vice versa. but if he slept through the night onto daybreak, how would he know a day had even passed?
beau doubted the man would leave him alone for three weeks. in fact, three weeks seemed like a ridiculously long time. to be down here, at least.
three weeks without seeing finney or gwen. three weeks of being lost.
the numbers seemed impossible.
beau couldn't even count on all his fingers and toes how many days that was.
too many.
way too many.
he wondered if people were still out there looking for him.
how many days had it been?
how many days would it take for everyone to give up on him?
how many days would it take until he had no way out?
probably not long.
the first day he heard sirens. wailing down the street every few hours. he screamed, attempted to let his voice reach them.
the second day there were sirens, but only twice.
by that beau could guess to be the third day there was one siren.
beau didn't know how many days it had been now, but he hadn't heard sirens in at least one night and one day.
had they already given up?
the police, maybe. even his dad.
but beau refused to believe that finney and gwen would give up that quickly.
they wouldn't.
they couldn't.
WHEN BEAU OPENED HIS EYES NEXT, THE ROOM LOOKED DIFFERENT.
once bare, the walls were now plastered with the same drawings he had made before his sleep, scattered unevenly along the walls.
beau sat up, surprise evident on his face as he scanned the walls, still not seeming any more lively despite the the colourful drawings.
beau's eyes turn to the front of the room, barely flinching as his eyes landed on the man, sitting on the bottom of the stairs with the top half of his mask missing. by his feet, a familiar tray of food.
it was no longer a shock to find him sitting there just watching him. it wasn't the first time, and beau doubted it'd be the last.
he was relieved, though, noticing the tray of food as his stomach grumbled hungrily.
the man stood, taking notice of beau's attention being captured by the drawins.
"thought we could liven the space up a bit" he said, something akin to fondness in his voice.
"they're pretty good" he says, head tilting in that same creepy way.
beau watched the man warily, just waiting for him to lash out just like he did last night. "i guess.."
the man took a few steps forward, now in the room.
"i know you're scared. and i'm sorry. i'm sorry that i hurt you" he said, approaching again and crouching just in front of beau, his big calloused hand cupping beau's cheek as it had so many times before.
"but naughty boys must be punished. if you're not naughty, you don't get punished. good boys get treats" he said, removing his hand to plonk a finger on beau's nose, pulling his hand away again to stand, hands clasping behind his back.
"i've been meaning to ask.." he began, acting as though he were pondering something. "what is your name?"
beau stiffened just slightly.
in all this time he hadn't even noticed that the man didn't know his name. or at least let on that he didn't.
beau stared warily, contemplating the lie on his tongue.
the man seemed to take notice, head tilting again. "i'd recommend not lying to me. if you lie, i'll find out. your name will be published in the papers soon enough with a big ol' picture of your adorable face" he said, pinching the boys cheek.
"besides.. lying is naughty. and you know what happens to naughty boys"
beau just gulped, lips parting with a shaky sigh.
he caved.
"beau.. beau blake"
the man tilted his chin up slightly, pleased.
"good boy, beau" the man said, reaching behind his back and tossing beau something.
the boy picked it up — a newspaper.
as he held it, his blood ran cold.
his face on the front page, name in big bold letters alongside a large 'MISSING' font.
the man knew all along. he had known his name. he had just been waiting for beau to lie.
to lie so he could punish him again.
or did he prefer this? when beau was obedient and didn't break the rules?
beau preferred this. beau doesn't like getting hurt.
the man approached the door again, picking up the tray and bringing it over to beau, placing it in front of him.
"see what happens when you're a good boy, beau?"
beau just nodded stiffly, the man potentially smiling behind the mask, potentially wearing a blank face.
but his eyes scrunched and he pet beau's head again, approaching the door.
but beau was feeling bold again.
"wait!"
the man stopped, turning just his head back.
"what's.." beau whispered, suddenly nervous, "what's your name?"
the man didn't turn around, just turned his head forward and laughed.
a deep belly laugh that sent an unnatural chill running down beau's spine.
"you know i can't tell you that, beau. but.. you can just call me.. bertie. how 'bout that, hey? you call me bertie, i call you bowie. there. now we really sound like best friends. you look cute in my clothes, by the way, little deer"
beau just nodded slowly, but bertie was wrong.
they would never be best friends.
never ever.
finney and gwen were his best friends, not the man who stole him away from them.
beau would never forgive him.
date posted ; 16/02/26
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