The Demon and the Thief

“...he’s nothing but skin and bones...!”
“...incredibly lucky the child brought him straight to us...”
“...it’s starving, just like his father...”
“...holding on by a thread...”
“...that he’s at least twenty kilos below his match weight, and then there should have been at least an additional five to ten kilos added due to the pregnancy. The weight of the baby, the placenta, water and...”
“...useless lowlife scum...”
“... gets what he deserves...”
“...where’s Jack? Why will he not come...”
“...stupid, stupid, stupid...”
“...a plan...”
“...—sets foot in this house—“
“—bloody bastard—“
“—a whole bloodline—“
“—the disgrace—“
“...don’t like the way they’re evolving. Will Turner would turn in his grave—“
“—he never should have married her, the tart!”
“—that’s wha’ ye get when lawyers marry lawyers—“
“—bloody pimples on God’s green earth!”
The roar of laughter woke Peter from his half sleep. He’d been listening to the voices through a veil of slumber for some time, but not until now had the conversation become so unsettling that he’d have to open his eyes to see who the menacing laughs came from.
Six demons. Or six men. Whatever. They all had the features of his master, and Peter remembered them from the living room. They stood gathered around the bed in a half circle, watching him intently. Peter’s jacket and shoes were gone. His jeans as well. He hadn’t owned any underwear for a long time. All he had, was the t-shirt. Six of them and one of him. Six of them...! Six. This was it, wasn’t it? They’d rape him over and over, rape him and then they’d kill him and the precious baby. Yes, he could see it all now, picture in his mind how they’d line up to have him, to impale him with their manhoods, defiling his pregnant body. He envisioned them tying him on hands and feet and then pull out his nails with Peter screaming, with one of them raping him at the same time. Peter glanced about, but saw no instruments of torture, nothing which immediately spelled to him that this was part of a hideous plan. He saw a window, saw the white sunlight through the white curtains. Peter forced his limbs to move, and he moved across the well-proportioned bed. Suddenly it was gone, and all he saw was the floorboards. He reached for the window, but couldn’t reach the window frame. He slid off the bed and landed with a thump. He immediately got up, trying to get his tender limbs to work according to his desires.
“No no! Don’t touch him!” someone called, but Peter didn’t turn his head to see who’d come after him. He’d registered that there was movement in his direction, but he had no desire to glance up just to meet some demonic, distorted face. He was frightened enough as it was.
Had Peter but stopped to look, he would have seen concern. Nothing more.
Peter got up and peered through the window. Rocks, and marshes, and in the distance he spotted houses. Possibly Eoropie. Peter worked his fingers around the frame, getting the hasps off the hooks, opening the window, scrambling to get outside. The freezing winter wind hit him like a blow to the gut.
The Sparrows stood as frozen, watching the young boy open the window with shaky hands. They were perplexed, because not once did he stop to glance at them, or ask them who they were or why he was there. He was like a bird trapped in a cage, or an ant trapped in a glass house trying to find its way out, working, searching, blind to everything else but the way out. Only when the boy had opened the window and was half way through it, did it occur to Jacob Sparrow that it might be about time to stop the half naked boy from climbing out into the freezing cold.
“Stop him, stop him!” he shouted, and looked at the one standing closest to Peter. Michael read his mind, and leapt at Peter, dragging the twig-like boy back inside all the while attempting to hold on the writhing young man. Peter snaked his way out of Michael’s grasp, and landed promptly on the floor. He was getting dizzy and felt weaker than ever. Strong hands picked him up and placed him on the bed. Peter felt anxiety grasp him as he was put on the soft mattress. Being placed on the bed meant one thing only – they were going to rape him now. All six of them. Time and time again. It was going to be a long night, as he realized that daytime was fading. Peter felt tears pressing, and a lump forming in his throat. He was so frightened, so tired. This was the beginning of the end. The rapes would probably kill off the little life that was growing in his belly. Peter could see it in his mind, how the life slowly faded, dying, crying in death throes inside him, the noise reaching his ears on the outside. He ought to succumb to them, for they were demons just like his master Malachi, and they’d probably hurt him just as much for not obeying, for complying. He ought to be lying on his back and spread his legs, but it would mean the end of his child. Peter could not get himself to do that. He sat huddled at the headboard of the bed, his knees drawn up to his chin, shielding himself with the pillow while he tried to choke the sobs which forced their way across his lips.
Jacob could not bear it anymore. He just wanted to hug the life out of that poor, terrorized creature which sat sobbing in the bed before him. He 'd read Peter’s mind. They all had, in an attempt to map where Peter was, psychologically speaking. And what they saw, astounded them all. It was appalling to see how terrorized the twenty year old was, and to witness the manner of fears Malachi had planted into his mind. The boy made no attempt to cover his modesty. He was torn between giving himself away to them in an automated surrender, a routine no doubt incorporated by Malachi, and the newfound desire to protect the unborn young in his belly. Jacob watched as the boy, his judgement overcome by fatigue and terror, surrendered to the safety of the well rehearsed routine. Peter made his way to the middle of the bed, where he lay down on his back, spreading his legs. His sobs became more violent, as Peter was obviously admitting defeat to himself, and to the child, surrendering himself to the six bystanders. He thought himself to have no other choice. Jacob felt anger swell in his heart. A curse on Malachi bloody Sparrow Monterey for destroying such a beautiful mind!
Peter shielded his face behind the pillow. It instantly became a small hideaway. He could surrender his sorrow and his fear to that pillow, and hide his shame in it as well, but he supposed it would soon be taken from him, leaving him stripped of places to hide. Would they not attack him soon? What were they waiting for? He jumped as something soft touched his thighs, and he realized they were covering him with the sleeping blanket. Then, someone touched the pillow in front of his face, and Peter gave it up to whomever it was who was slowly putting it away. He glanced up, and happened to gaze into a pair of beautiful chocolate eyes which had been discreetly decorated with kohl around the rims. The eyes were set in an ageless, clean shaved face framed by soft brown billowy curls. The man smiled warmly at Peter. He was clad in a lavender green shirt which gave a warm tint to the colours of his cheeks. He moved his left hand to move away some strands of curls which had gotten in Peter’s face, and Peter immediately shrank away from the touch. He ignored the impulse to run, and tried to remain placid in the demon’s presence.
“We’re glad to have you with us, Peter” the man said. He smiled again. “I’m Jacob. And these are my brothers” Jacob motioned over to Michael, “that’s Michael, and next to him is my twin, Israel. And that’s Andrea, Christopher and Ivory. We're all uncles of Malachi. You're safe now, for he cannot reach you here. None of his brethren can. John will make sure they see sense, don't you worry. This farm, which by the natives is called 'The Lighthouse Farm', is one one the Sparrow family's many cradles around the world. You and the baby are quite safe here. This room, which you can see is quite big, should do plenty for you and the baby, and in time, we can build a wall to split it in two" Jacob motioned into the room, " so you can have some privacy when the boy gets a bit older" Jacob smiled, speaking softly. Peter watched as the others departed. He ehard them going downstairs, leaving him alone with Jacob. "I'm a physician, Peter, and I'm also well trained in the arts of a midwife, so rest assured that you're among friends, all right? Now, why don't you rest while I get you something to eat. How does that sound?" Jacob asked afterwards, trying to make eye contact with Peter, but the boy's eyes kept darting to and from. Neither did he reply, and Jacob thought it best not to pressure him any further.
Jacob had just come downstairs as they all heard a soft thump from the outside. Scrambling to the window, they saw Peter barely managing to get up from the freezing ground he'd fallen down onto. Getting outside, they poured over him immediately, picking him up and carrying him back into the house. He was whispering deliriously, pleading over and over again for his child, for Malachi to forgive him. They carried him upstairs and he was put into bed with an extra pair of blankets on top, and Peter could do nothing but watch as Michael and Christopher brought hammer and nails. The window was promptly sealed, and Peter, in his delirium, not being able to tell fantasy from reality, sensed he'd gone from bad to worse. No longer at the mercy of just one demon, but six! And the baby – why had it betrayed him to them?! Oh yes, of course. If they were Malachi's uncles, then the child was related to them, and on their side and not Peter's. The friendliness, the helpfullness with directions, the voice telling him where to go, had been a sham, a hoax.
Michael stopped to look at Peter for a while. He wanted to say something, to perhaps apologize, for it did seem a bit dramatic to enter upon Peter's bedroom and nail the window shut. But they'd seen no other alternative. There was no chance at making eye contact. Peter only but stared with eyes wide open with fear at the hammer Michael was holding in his right hand, and Michael thought he could see the horrors Peter was undergoing in his mind, reflected in those staring eyes.
"Let's not..!" Jacob broke the silence. He was trying to find the proper words, and he continued: "Let's just take one step at the time. One hour at the time. It's the little things which matter now, savvy?" Michael and Christopher nodded. Just as they did, Ivory came in through the door carrying a tray with food. It was a classic breakfast tray with feet, designed to be a small table on the person sitting in the bed.
"That looks delicious, Ivory, thanks very much."
"Here you go, Peter" Ivory told the boy, placing the tray over his thighs. "Here's a little bit of everything since I don't know what you like, so... do give it a try!" Peter suddenly looked up to meet his gaze for a brief second. It was like something had broken Peter's downward spiral, broken the panic attack. Ivory's face lit up as their eyes met, and he smiled.
Ivory was young. Younger than him, perhaps four, perhaps five or six years younger. It was his voice which contained both masculinity and boyhood in one, the child as well as the young man taking form, and Peter did not see the same knowledge, that indefinable agelessness of the elder demons who'd lived to see centuries pass. Ivory was oozing divinity and inexplicable innocence, and every movement told Peter that here was something in the making, something yet untouched, unmolded. A demon with boyish limbs and manners. In other words, Ivory seemed nice. But Peter did not dare to look at him for too long, for he looked down just as a part of his imagination was beginning to make him see things, ugliness and demonic features, horns growing from Ivory's chins and forehead. No, Peter would rather look away and keep the memory of the nice boy's innocent face. He had been given a gift in the shape of a memory; a glimpse of a beautiful face, a memory Peter could cling to when he tried to fall asleep at night. He was so grateful for this gift; he could not stop tears from falling.
Peter's reaction upset Ivory, and the young Sparrow turned speechless to Jacob for an answer, while he muttered in despair: "Did I do something wrong? Why is he crying?" Sensing he had to save the situation, Jacob replied: "Uh, Peter is extremely tired. He's pregnant and not feeling so good. He's just very, very tired, I think. Why don't we leave him alone for a bit, so he can settle down and eat undisturbed. Maybe you and Peter can have a chat later?" Jacob proposed softly, leading Ivory out of the door along with Michael.