Slowly, very slowly, the circus began to rebuild. At first, Phillip cried with happiness at the thought of being out of the house, finally. But that happiness soon ebbed away to horror - the kind of horror that he only knew how to comfort with contact and communication. But he was simply a memory to the circus troupe, a whisper in the wind that could never again be reached.

Barnum was all smiles as he helped the family he'd brought together rebuild. The circus was healing in some ways, yes, and he found some basic function coming back to him. He no longer needed Charity to remind him to eat, no longer needed her to remind him to move, and he spoke to his daughters once more. They too had been quiet and resigned - not old enough, yet, to understand death, but old enough to understand that Phillip was gone and never coming back. They understood that their daddy had been sad, but they were delighted to see - in their young, naive eyes - that their father was starting to get some of his spark back.

But when all he could do was observe all day, every day, with nobody around to tell him to mind his business, Phillip noticed things that the others - Charity, the girls, the circus troupe - didn't. Barnum was all smiles again, but his eyes were dull. He became resigned when the others spoke of Phillip too much, and, though he ate, he was always the last one done during mealtimes.

The worst thing, the thing that tore at Phillip's phantom heartstrings for reasons he couldn't describe, was when he cried at night.