Oliver looked around as he walked down the stairs of the catacombs, making sure no one was around. It was cold as he can visibly see his breath while he stood against the wall. 

His hand held on to the railing as he kept going down. It has been years from the looks of it to have someone coming down here. 

He just wishes Jane isn't doing anything reckless while he investigates it. As soon as he sent Brook's letter, he waited for Jane to sleep in order to investigate the letter the woman from before had before she died. 

The echoes of his shoes were the only sound to be heard and it made him stiffen at how many steps he had to go. He stopped in his tracks as he can hear groaning from a few more distances away. 

The answer to some of their questions would be there. 

Walking down to the final steps, Oliver looked around and was surprised to see one cell in front of him. The distance between him and the cell was narrow but with his oil lamp, he took notice of the walls. 

His eyes narrowed on the cracks in the walls. He knew the factory was old but he didn't realize how old it was. 

Vincent was a perfectionist. He sees something wrong with the factory, he immediately puts himself to work. But for some reason, the cracks on the walls were not recent. 

He heard a low groan and walked toward the cell. Oliver stopped as he saw someone from the cell reaching out for something on the ground outside of the cell. 

Oliver glanced at the ground and frowned at the dirty doll. It wasn't of porcelain or anything from the toy stores. It was a makeshift doll with a torn arm. The stitching was also bad as well as the blue dress was almost torn. 

The red yarn clung to the doll's head for hair and saw the golden buttons for eyes. For some reason, he felt familiar with this and looked up at the person behind bars. 

"You're not Vincent," a gruff voice spoke as he kept reaching for the doll. 

Oliver blinked. It was a man coming in a low voice. He looked down at the doll, picking it up. "Is this yours?"

"...What do you want? You seem far from home, kid," the man shuffled as his eyes kept glaring at his hands holding the doll. 

"You are right," Oliver spoke, lighting up the room more with his oil lamp. "My wife is waiting for me at home. But I just wanted to get some answers."

"This isn't the place you get answers, kid," the man coughed. 

Oliver nodded, not surprised that it wasn't going to get easy. He went through his pockets and took out the bloody paper. He couldn't see the man's reaction but he can tell the shadow stiffened. 

"A woman died a few days ago," Oliver started. "She knew something and I wasn't able to comprehend what she was saying. Do you know her? Why did she have a slip that directed me to you?"

Oliver waited as the man scooted himself closer to the bars, showing his grimy hands. His hand was outstretched out to him. "Give me the doll."

"I'll give it to you once you answer. What do you know about the Night the Witch was Tamed? My friend deserves justice and I need it now."

The man quietened as he brought his hand back to the bars, silently looking at the young man. Oliver took notice of his heavy beard covering almost the man's face. But he saw how strong the man's eyes were. 

"Why so curious after it happened a decade ago?" the man asked back. 

"No one speaks of it. Do you know what happened?" Oliver asked. 

The man was silent as he leaned on the bars, clenching his fist. "Do you know the reason why no one talks about it, kid? It's not something one talks about so carelessly."

"So you do know it. What happened that night?" Oliver held onto the doll tenderly.

"Why should I tell you? You're just a runt who doesn't know what will come to him," the man gruffed, shaking his head. 

Oliver bit his tongue. He doesn't know this man, true. Can he really trust what he says? But this can also be the day he can finally figure out what happened and finally get justice for Brook's family. 

"My name is Oliver," he started. "My wife is the sister of a girl who was called the witch. The same witch who was tamed 15 years ago. Vincent attempted to kill her when she traveled to Africa."

Oliver flinched as the man aggressively reached out and grabbed his collar, bringing him closer to him. Oliver tried to move away but although the man was malnourished, his hands were calloused and had a strong grip on him. 

"The girl...does she have red hair?" the man glared at Oliver. 

Oliver had to refrain from groaning at the bad breath gave but he stopped as soon as those words came out of his lips. 

"Yes. The girl's name was Brook Quinn."

The man's grip on the boy's collar trembled as the man started to tremble too. Oliver couldn't see well of the man's expression but he could tell how much the man was holding back a cry. 

"Tell me, boy..." he started as he looked at Oliver in his eyes. "Is she alive? I need to know."

"...yes. She's living her life in Africa with the man she loves."

The man stiffened as he looked at the boy owlishly before giving a heartfelt laugh, confusing Oliver. 

The man can only laugh as tears spilled from his eyes and grip the doll he snatched from Oliver. 

"A man, huh? He better be treating her like Queen, then."

"How do you know her?" Oliver asked, not bothered by the man taking his doll. 

The man grinned, showing the doll to the boy. Tears kept falling as he showed the small doll with red yarn hair and a blue dress. 

"She's my daughter."

Published: October 30, 2022

Word Count: 1062