§4. The next morning, inside the hut:
This is what would have happened had the gentlemen gotten their way:
The Witch would have woken up tied to a chair. Her nose would have been black, humungous, and blue. Or it certainly would have felt that way.
“Gentlemen!” she would have tried to call out. But it would have come out like this: “Gmmmtlmmmm!” She would have found out that, to her horror, someone’s smelly socks were stuffed in her mouth.
“She’s awake! She’s awake!” The Other Nolan would have been the first to rush towards her.
And when the Other Frye would have approached her, the Witch would have instinctively winced. She would have reached for her nose, but would have found out that, to her horror, she was firmly tied to the chair she was sitting on.
The Other Brett would have kept his cool distance. It would have felt uncanny seeing him standing there from another perspective. Wasn’t that herself? Or, rather, wasn’t that him? The “I” that’s looking through the Witch’s eyes? How were they both places at once?
“Gmmmmtlmmmmm!”
The Other Nader would have stared at her face. “What is she trying to say?” He would have touched her chin and tugged on her hair. “She’s so hideous!” Then, without any shame or compassion, he would have thumbed her eyeball. “Look! She’s flinching! Do you reckon she feels any pain?”
“Gmmmmtlmmmm!”
“She must.” The Other Frye would have stared at his hard knuckles.
The Other Brett would have finally approached her. He would have studied her as though she were a specimen. “What troubles me most is that she was so very easy to capture.” He would have touched her chin and tugged on her hair as well. “Do you reckon witches lose their magical abilities with age?”
The three of them would have pondered the question for a while.
Finally, the Other Nader would have pointed accusingly at her. “Witch!”
“Mmmm!”
He would have continued. “If you aren’t a charlatan, undo your ropes! Vanish from here!”
The Other Brett would have looked at the Other Nader with shock. “Are you insane? Why would you suggest such a thing?”
“Because if she could, she would have already done it by now! But she can’t!” The Other Nader would have grown increasingly confident. “Even if her life was at stake, I don’t reckon she’d be able to wriggle her way out.”
The Other Brett would have gotten an intrigued look in his eye. “I…disagree.”
“Do you?”
The Other Brett would have walked to his desk and would have grabbed some matches.
But enough! Enough! No more is needed.
We are back to the real reality--the one in which the Witch has disposed of Nader. The one in which Frye has died in his dreams.
Brett is back on his knees, imploring the Witch.
“Well?” she says. “Should I forgive you?”
Brett was disgusted with himself. He shook his head from side to side and said, “No!”
“Then what shall I do?”
“I repent! I repent!” Brett was no longer afraid of the harm that would come to him. He was an awful person.
“Shall I kill you?”
“If you must!” he said.
“But no. You’d rather be useful, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes!” He looked up at her. “Of course!” And it was true. If he could do anything to actually help the Witch, even the littlest--
“Then be my little bird! Fly for me and contribute some chirps! Tweet, tweet! Tweet, tweet! I want to hear your songs every morning. Though I’ve thousands just like you, if one of you is silent, I’ll notice! And if any of you see some wretched men approaching my house--”
“Then we’ll tell you!”
“Do you promise?”
“I do!” Brett said.
“And do you agree this is fair?”
“I do!” Brett said.
“Then go on and fly!” The Witch pointed to the smashed window. “Right through that hole! Go on!”
Brett looked at himself. “Like this?”
“Yes! Launch yourself through! If you can fit, you’ll be fit to be a bird.”
Something told Brett she was lying to him. But what did it matter? If this was to be his death, then so be it.
He got up from his knees and charged towards the window. And with arms outstretched, he launched towards the hole and…!
For one moment, he felt the glass strip away his flesh. But no, no. It didn’t hurt!
His sliced body hurled onward and onward onto the ground. But he himself was fine.
He was soaring up above, something new. Something new and respectable!
The Witch called out to him. “And remember, my little chirp! Blessed is the sparrow that is thankful for its wings. Don’t wish for anything more and you will find heaven in the skies.”
And though he couldn’t reply, he showed his gratitude by speeding through the clouds and making his way towards the forest nearby.
And though he couldn’t say anything, he showed his commitment by forgetting he was ever a man. It took a few days, but what is a week in the life of an immortal bird?