dylanwritesgood - Tumblr blog

dylanwritesgood · 1 year ago

Text

I Will Hold Your Hands To Stop Them From Shaking

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 9.000

Read on AO3

“You don’t have to know how to dance”, Charles says, and he is so close that Edwin can make out the shadows each eyelash paints onto his face. If he had a breath still, the sight would take it. “I never learnt it either. Just move with the music, and I promise that if I spin you ‘round, I won’t drop you.” _____ It doesn't take Charles forever to figure out the rest.

Watching Charles move is easy. Maybe it’s the easiest thing in Edwin’s life right now; it’s definitely something that he hasn’t only started recently, but something that he has always done. Even before he knew what it meant. Because it is so easy.

Everything about Charles seems to be in motion, like motion is what he is deep inside, bright and fluid and everywhere at once, because no place can hold him. None deserves to hold him, not for long. Crystal once told him that Charles used his brightness, his smiles and his constant movement, to cover up all the pain in his past, but Edwin secretly disagrees: there is some of that, he can see that now, but that’s not where it comes from. Where it comes from, that magnetism that ensures that everyone they have ever met grows to love him, is just Charles. Just who he is inside, and who he always would have been, had they not tried to beat it out of him when he was still alive.

And love him, they do. Crystal most certainly does, Jenny almost smiled at him two days ago, and even their new minder – who Charles insists on calling Charlie – seems to struggle to push down a growing affection towards him. She will lose, Edwin knows it for certain. It’s beautiful to see, because that is just what Charles deserves, and it’s… it’s difficult at the same time. Or rather, it was a little easier when there was only Edwin who loved him.

Because love him, he does. Looking back, it’s almost impossible to believe that it has taken him thirty years to realise it, that it took a crow-turned-boy to make him see, a cat king who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, but oh, he loves him.

Loves him to a point where he almost feels like he has a heart again, because he thinks he can feel it beating, just like he thinks he can feel it stop when Charles touches him, smiles at him, gets out that new cricket bat they got and twirls it just to show off. Loves him so much that he feels like it’s not only the reason why he was put on this Earth, but why he died, why he crawled out of hell and why he was permitted to stay here after all. And looking back at it, it was all worth it for a single moment of watching Charles sing a Joan Jett song to himself, spinning in between his steps when he thinks he’s alone.

“I’m voting for the bloke who got mysteriously shanked at the Troxy”, Charles casts in his lot, twirling a pen he is not writing with between his fingers. He’s positively glowing in the warm, late afternoon sunlight. “You just want to go to a concert venue”, Crystal interjects, raising a perfect eyebrow, before chucking a piece of nectarine at him. Charles catches it effortlessly, of course he does, and tosses it right back. They look positively domestic, sitting on opposite sites of the couch they got for their human co-detective, playing with fruit. Edwin aches.

“So what? Nothin’ wrong with having a bit of fun on the job, is there?”, Charles is grinning, looks over at Edwin, who tries not to notice that the brightness of his smile doesn’t waver for a second. “C’mon, mate, back me up here!” “I’m afraid that merely getting stabbed doesn’t sound like something that would necessitate a supernatural investigation”, Edwin answers, and even then, the light doesn’t dim in Charles’ eyes. “I’m sure the normal, living police is more than enough for that.”

“You guys are no fun”, Charles whines and catches another piece of fruit from mid air. “Also, I’ll have you know that the Troxy’s a nice place, people don’t just get stabbed in there.” “Well, apparently they do now.”

“Can you please wipe that smug smirk off your face”, Crystal hisses just after the bouncer waves her through the doors of the Troxy. Edwin, who can only see the back of Charles’ head, still knows that he absolutely doesn’t. “What, I’m only happy to go and see a gig with my mates!”, he shoots back, and Edwin watches the little skip in his step, like he is dancing to a beat that hasn’t started playing yet. “And do a bit of work on the side, of course.”

It’s difficult to regret the decision to take this case, because Charles is glowing, has been since Crystal purchased the ticket to the concert this afternoon. Edwin does not know the act that will be performing and he doubts Charles does either, but that doesn’t seem to matter for a second.

The other two bicker for a few more moments while Edwin tunes out of the conversation to check their surroundings – they are here on a case after all – until Charles spins around on his heels, looking at Edwin expectantly. “Well, have you ever? Was that even a thing in your time?” “Excuse me?” “Been at a gig, mate!” Charles spreads his arms like he is trying to show Edwin all the wonders of the world, his smile so wide it seems to split his face apart. Edwin’s metaphorical heart gives out for a second.

“I haven’t had the, uh, pleasure, yet”, Edwin answers, even while he tries to avoid touching anything in his near vicinity. It’s sticky, just looking at it. “I wish I could tell you that I know you’re gonna love it, but I guess we’ll have to see about that”, Charles tells him, half laughing, and Edwin finds himself smiling, too.

He knows he’ll end up loving it, even if not because of the reason Charles is thinking of.

“Just let us enjoy, like, three songs”, Charles all but begs when the show finally starts. “I swear, after that I will be good and I won’t complain at all when we go work. Just three.” Crystal is holding onto the drink she bought earlier, but she doesn’t say anything, just turns to look at Edwin. Who is powerless to do anything but nod. “Aces! Thanks, Edwin.”

And Charles slings an arm around his shoulders for a second, pulls him into an almost hug, before he turns back to the stage, leaving a cloak of warmth across Edwin’s upper back. Music starts playing, but he doesn’t really notice it, and why should he? Charles is cheering and clapping and moving with the rhythm, and even if Edwin cannot see his face, he can see the joy in him so clearly that it is burnt into the inside of his eyelids every time he blinks.

Charles is the sun, he’s radiance personified, he’s-

He turns around to face Edwin, the music temporarily stopped as the singer says some words into the microphone, and he extends a hand, palm facing upwards. “Do you wanna dance? Shouldn’t leave your first concert without having danced at least once.” Charles is smiling, but it’s different now, encouraging somehow.

It works, because Edwin’s body is moving before he knows it, hand reaching out to take Charles’ like it is nothing when it’s everything instead, when it’s like he can feel the weight of Charles’ fingers in his. “I’m not a prolific dancer, I’ll have you know”, he mutters when Charles pulls him closer, even though chances are that Charles figured that out himself quite easily. “Don’t have to be”, comes the answer, and Charles is so close now that Edwin can make out the shadows each eyelash paints onto his face. If Edwin had a breath still, the sight would take it. “I never learnt it either. Just move with the music, and I promise that if I spin you ‘round, I won’t drop you.”

Another smile, one that Edwin reciprocates, and then the band starts again and Edwin is still not listening to the music. Instead, he is trying to follow Charles when he starts swaying to it, distributing his non-existent weight from one foot to another. It seems to be working because Charles laughs, head thrown back and happiness painted in broad strokes across his entire being, and puts a hand on Edwin’s side, like he is trying to guide him. Like Edwin wouldn’t follow anywhere he is going anyway.

“You’re getting it!”, Charles shouts at him over the music, too loud and yet not loud enough, and then Charles is lifting their joined hands for everyone and no one to see, the hand on Edwin’s hip giving him a little push and Charles is spinning him. Doesn’t drop him, just like he promised. It’s silly and a little immature and it makes Charles laugh and Edwin follow suit; it’s wonderful and thrilling, and then Charles glances behind Edwin’s shoulder at Crystal.

Who he would rather be dancing with, of course. But who has been to concerts before, and who might garner attention they do not need when being spun by an invisible hand.

Charles’ eyes dart back to his, and his smile is the same, and Edwin thinks, thank you, thank you for this, and means it.

They don’t find much, but for once, that doesn’t matter too much to Edwin, because Charles keeps glowing for days afterwards. There’s an extra spring in his step that carries him all the way up to the victim’s flat, where Crystal finds the clue that leads them to their rather unsatisfying explanation to their mystery: the brother of a mistreated ex-girlfriend, who saw an opportunity for anonymous revenge. It’s worth it, all of it, every time.

“But if you haven’t tried it, how do you know it doesn’t work?”, Charles asks, partly incredulous, partly amused. “You might be able to eat! Do you know how much I miss eating? What I would give for, let’s say, a day where I could eat again?” Charlie, since she hasn’t settled on another name yet, scoffs, and primly sits down on the sofa. “As I have explained, I have no interest in trying any kind of sustenance that is offered here on the mortal plane. The thought disgusts me.”

Charles groans and flings himself back onto the armchair – they keep getting more and more furniture, it seems – so that his head is hanging off it, upside down, looking at Edwin. “Edwin, I’m right, yeah? You know that I’m right.”

“He’s right”, Edwin tells Charlie, and even upside down, Charles’ smile lights up the entire room.

It’s late at night, around four a.m., Crystal is asleep and Charlie hasn’t shown her face in the office in the last few days, so it’s just them. Nights like this are Edwin’s favourite – he has never spoken it aloud, but he suspects Charles knows anyway, might even feel the same occasionally – and they have become… not rare, but less frequent than they used to be, because Crystal has no established sleeping schedule and Charlie drops in whenever she feels like it anyway. But, oh, Edwin has missed them.

They do not have an active case right now, will probably pick a new one come the morning, so it really is just them. Charles is trying to balance a ball on his cricket bat, spread out on the couch he seems to enjoy much more than he wants to admit, Edwin has just picked out a new book after finishing his last one, and there is space left between Charles’ feet and the armrest on the sofa. It’s not a choice Edwin makes, sitting down next to him. Where else would he go?

There is enough room for both of them, and yet Charles lifts his legs when Edwin approaches, even though it means dropping the ball right into the hollow between his neck and chest. And he lets Edwin settle there, caught between the cushions and Charles’ feet, as if it is the easiest thing in the world. And really, it is.

Without thinking, Edwin rests one hand on Charles’ ankle, fingers circling his leg, while he picks up the new book, a novel this time. Charles does the same with his ball, throwing and catching it when it comes back down a few times, before putting it back on the cricket bat. It’s familiar, it’s new; it’s how Edwin wants to spend eternity.

“Watcha reading?”, Charles asks eventually, after the ball has dropped another three times, and while being interested in Edwin’s reading isn’t that uncommon for Charles, it startles Edwin slightly. He glances over at Charles, who looks like he has been watching Edwin for some time, and shows him the cover. “East of Eden”, he tells him for good measure, “a novel, for once.” “Even though you don’t have a friend to talk about them with anymore?”

Charles seems genuinely curious, and while Edwin does occasionally finds himself missing Monty and their conversations, it still seems like an odd thing to ask. “Of course I have someone to talk to about them. I have you, don’t I?” Although it takes a moment, it makes Charles smile; he looks almost a little wistful and Edwin isn’t sure if he likes that expression on his handsome face.

“Well, yeah. But it’s not like I can talk back about them, innit?” Charles tosses the ball again, catches it effortlessly, and maybe Edwin has to stop with the novels after all, because for a second he thinks, just like he has caught me every time I needed catching. “I could read it to you, if you wanted me to?”

He doesn’t expect much – Charles doesn’t enjoy books like Edwin does – but Charles nods immediately, tosses the ball again, catches it, and looks at Edwin with a smile that fits his face much better. “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot, actually.”

“I am telling you, this is something the police will be able to solve on their own, and if it isn’t, they should most likely lose their jobs, because they are incredibly incompetent”, Charles repeats for what feels like the sixth time, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He just so stops himself from rolling his eyes. Crystal has become a somewhat valued member of the detective agency, however, sometimes, it is like she simply doesn’t want to understand what he is telling her.

“They have been trying to solve it! For two weeks!” Crystal looks as exasperated as Edwin feels, which, at least, is some comfort. Maybe the frustration will make her more likely to give up her ludicrous idea of helping with a perfectly run-of-the-mill hit and run. “Charles! Back me up on this!”

For a second, Charles just looks between them, obviously amused, then he throws an arm around Edwin’s shoulders, squeezing him close to his side. “Sorry, Crystal”, he replies, and Edwin can hear the smile in his voice, wants to trace it with his fingertips, “I’m with my best mate on this one.”

“You wanna read to me again?”, Charles asks that same night after Crystal has gone to bed, lifting his legs to make room for Edwin. As if he knew his answer already. He does.

“I didn’t think you enjoyed the story this much”, Edwin remarks as he settles down between the sofa and Charles’ legs, reminded once more that this might be his favourite place in the world. His hand finds Charles’ ankle, only that this time, he touches not only fabric, but skin as well. “It’s alright”, Charles replies, shoots Edwin a little smile. “I’m mainly enjoying you reading it to me.”

If he had still a heart to pump blood through his astral body, Edwin is certain he would be blushing, because of Charles’ words, the sliver of skin pressing against his palm, or both.

Slowly but surely, it becomes a regular thing between them. Once or twice, occasionally even three times a week, Charles will look up at him from the sofa, lift his legs in invitation, and say, “Read to me?” And Edwin will slide into the best place this world has to offer, put his hand around Charles’ thin, graceful ankle, and start reading to him about the Salinas Valley.

Things are quiet, for their standards, because they are approaching Halloween and the ghosts are preparing for it like the living do, perhaps more so, when Charles looks up from the strange tablet computer Crystal is trying to get them to use. Charles, admittedly, is much better at it than Edwin, but at least in Edwin’s eyes, that was to be expected.

“This might be interesting”, Charles says and turns the device around so Crystal and Edwin can see. “A magician’s assistant went missing during a show, her body was found half an hour later, but halfway across the country. And in two places. They have no idea how she got there, it should be impossible. Nor how she got cut in half. Sounds supernatural to me, doesn’t it?”

Edwin scans the article for a second; it does sound interesting, sounds supernatural, but… “We don’t exactly have a client though, do we?” “I know, but I’m sure that if we find the ghost of that assistant, and she hasn’t passed on yet, she would be interested in solving it. And it would be a proper mystery again, you love those.” Charles smiles at him, because he knows he has won already; Edwin does love those. Slowly, he nods.

“Great. Crystal? You’re on board?” This time, he needs to do no convincing at all, because Crystal is grinning already. “Oh, absolutely. Magical nonsense with an actual magician? I’m so in.”

They take the train to Cambridge, where the body was found after disappearing in Manchester, and Edwin bites back every comment he might make about how much quicker it would be to travel via mirror. His point still stands, of course, but Crystal is now part of the agency, and, mostly against his will, Edwin has started to grow fond of her. And more importantly, Charles has. So they file into the small, dingy train wagon, where Crystal has booked not one, but three seats for them. It’s thoughtful, if not frugal, but as Crystal reassured Edwin when he brought it up, her parents have more than enough money and also owe her something for not even noticing when she disappeared.

It makes sense, in a way.

So they sit down, Crystal pulling out the tablet computer and a pair of oversized headphones, making it look like she is talking to someone over the internet instead of them. Quite a clever disguise, Edwin has to admit.

“So, I think the best plan of action is to first go to the site where they found the body. If the ghost is still on the mortal plane, then she might be hanging around. And if not, Crystal can maybe read something around the place, find out about what happened that way.” Charles says, and snatches Edwin’s spare pen right from his breast pocket to twirl it between the elegant fingers Edwin usually tries not to notice. “And anyway, we are getting out of town for a bit again, and that by itself is pretty exciting, isn’t it?”

Exciting might not be the word Edwin would choose, but he has to agree that a change of scenery is welcome. He nods, while his gaze follows the motions of his pen, the flex of tendons under Charles’ skin. When he looks back up, Crystal is watching him with an expression he cannot quite place.

“I don’t think I have ever been to Cambridge”, she finally says, although Edwin can hear the expression in her voice still. “So, yeah, sure. Nice to see something else. How about you guys?” “We were there in, what? ‘92, maybe? Definitely in 2006”, Charles replies, not noticing the expression at all, but then again, it isn’t directed at him. “The case of the missing sledgehammer and the Coca Cola vending machine, and the one with the electric monk.”

“I would posture that the first case had more to do with the man that went missing, but otherwise, Charles, you are quite correct”, Edwin replies, and he is not thinking about how they were back then, not wondering if, even twenty years ago, he had been this hopelessly in love with Charles. He suspects he was, but he is too good a detective to allow himself to spend more time wondering about it, lest he lose himself in the question.

“The electric – you know, all things considered, I don’t want to know, just forget I almost asked”, Crystal starts, then stops again, making Charles laugh. “Don’t worry, explaining the whole thing would take too long for this train ride anyway”, he comments, “and I would rather just enjoy it. Haven’t been on a train in a long time, have I?”

“And how does one enjoy a ride on the British National Rail? I don’t think that has ever been done before”, Crystal asks, but Charles just smiles. “Like this”, he answers and turns around so he faces the window, settling back against Edwin’s shoulder to use him as a backrest. The position is slightly awkward, doesn’t seem like one in which Charles will truly be able to enjoy the view, so Edwin adjusts his body slightly, turning it towards Charles’ back and puts the arm Charles is resting against over his shoulder, leaving it stretched out across Charles’ chest. Who grasps his wrist like Edwin does his ankle when he reads to him, holds onto it and settles back like they have done this a thousand times before. They haven’t, but Edwin allows himself the quiet hope that maybe, they will.

The expression doesn’t leave Crystal’s face for the entire train ride.

They arrive at their destination, a street corner with a quite charming looking French restaurant and a church on either side. Apparently they had found half of the woman’s body in the courtyard of the church, the other half in some bushes across the street, but, as Crystal informs them while reading off her phone, without any blood around the pieces. It is mysterious, and Edwin would be lying if he wasn’t itching to solve the puzzle.

To speed things up, they split apart, with Charles and Crystal going to the church, where the top half of the body was found, while Edwin walks over to the small square on the other side. Finding the spot where they had found the corpse is easy enough; police tape is boxing it in and the bushes are trampled around it to the point where Edwin almost pities them.

He walks through them, grateful that the twigs and thorns cannot snag at his spectral clothing, but there is nothing to be found that the police, or their boots, have left untouched. And just as Crystal said, not a single drop of blood that would suggest someone’s cleaved-in-half body had been left there just two days earlier. It is disappointing until he hears his name called from behind him, Charles running up to him with his curls bouncing, his steps light and sure. He’s a vision, just like he always is, and Edwin loves him to the point where it feels like it is splitting his body apart at the seams.

“Edwin!”, Charles calls out again and comes to a halt in front of the police tape. “We found the ghost! And she is even willing to pay!”

Amina, as the ghost in question is called, turns out to be a woman in her late twenties, with long, dark hair and a faint German accent, wearing something akin to a 1920s cocktail dress which she had apparently died in, although there is nothing left to suggest she had ever been split into pieces. “This is Edwin, my partner”, Charles introduces him, and Amina gives him a smile that looks practice and sincere simultaneously. “Well, you are a delightful addition”, Amina comments, her voice deep and warm, one eyebrow elegantly arched.

“I strive to be, at least”, Edwin replies, “Now, can you tell us anything about what happened to you?” “Of course. It isn’t much, though. I was on stage, and we were about to perform one of our usual tricks. Nothing crazy, just your standard disappearing assistant. Arnold did his speech, like he always does, then I stepped into our little cabinet and he pulled the curtain shut, so I could get into the hidden compartment below the stage.” She pauses for a moment, then adds, “Actually, I only remember opening and stepping into it, not getting inside. And then I found myself here, in Cambridge, where we had been only a few nights ago with the show. Not too far from where we had been staying, actually.”

“So you recognised the place?” “After a little while. At first, I was just very confused.” She shrugs her shoulders, one of the straps that holds up her dress falling down; she doesn’t fix it. “But my grandmother was a medium and used to talk about ghosts quite a lot, so I caught on relatively quick, all things considered. I spent some time trying to figure our what had happened myself, but now you and your little trio of detectives are here, so at least I will be able to sort this out before I pass.”

Edwin has the distinct feeling that she’d take a drag from a cigarette if she could, but like this she just stops talking, a moment of silence stretching between them.

“I tried to do a reading, but all that I could find out about this place and how Amina ended up here, is that she did. A flash of light and then there was a dismembered torso lying on the ground”, Crystal eventually says, gesturing at the floor. “Not exactly helpful, is it?” “Well…”, Edwin starts, glances over to Charles and realises that they are thinking the same thing. Charles is quicker.

“What colour did the light have?”, he asks and Edwin can’t help but smile at him; Charles gives him the quickest of looks, one corner of his lips upturned. “The colour?”, Crystal asks back, a second slower than expected, “Sort of…. green, I guess? Does that mean anything?”

But Charles is already looking at Edwin, the smile fully formed, and it’s in unison they say, “Oh, yes.”

It’s a spell, of course it is, but it’s more than that: it’s a portal, and a shoddily made one, too. Edwin tries to explain, but he, quite honestly, doesn’t have the patience for it, so in the end, Charles takes over. Sits Amina and Crystal down and goes through it step by step: that the portal was done by someone who obviously didn’t have the practice, that it worked well enough to transport half of Amina at a time, but not all of her, and that that is why there was no blood. That the only question is if it was done maliciously or by accident.

“Your magician, the one you work with, is he, you know. A real magician?”, Charles asks, keeping his voice soft and sweet, although Edwin isn’t certain Amina needs it. For someone recently murdered, she is taking it in stride. “Oh no, it is all an act”, she answers easily, “Nothing but slight of hand, tricks, that kind of thing.” “So no way he could have created the portal?”

“I don’t think so? And why would he want to? The whole point is that I come back after I disappear, so getting me here, cut in half, would defeat the purpose, don’t you think?” She looks at them, one by one. “Also, Arnold, he is a little bit of a dork, but he is kind. Has a bit of a crush on me, if I’m being honest. It’s… sweet. Or something.” She smiles, almost pityingly, in a way that, if Charles had looked at him like this when he had confessed his feelings, would have broken the heart he doesn’t have into the smallest pieces. Edwin hopes against all hope that Amina never let her magician see that smile.

“Okay, so-”, Charles starts, and there is something wrong with his voice; when Edwin looks over at him, there is something off about his expression, too. Like there is something he wants to say but can’t. For a second, their eyes meet, then Charles focusses back on Amina. “We’ll still talk to him. After all, it was his cupboard the portal was in. Anyone you could think of that might have wanted to harm you otherwise?”

Amina shakes her head, and Charles nods, but the smile he gives her looks almost frail.

Once they’re on the platform for their train to Manchester, and Crystal has left them behind to get herself a few snacks for the ride, Charles suddenly turns to him. “Edwin”, he says, and there is an urgency in his voice that Edwin doesn’t associate with it at all. “I just- you know that that is not how I think of you, right?” “What?” “Like Amina”, Charles tries to explain, and if possible, he sounds even more urgent, more intense. “I don’t see you how she talked about her magician friend. Arnold. I never will. I never could. And I need you to know that.”

Standing there, he looks so earnest, so fierce, that Edwin wishes it still could take his breath away. Because it doesn’t matter that Charles isn’t in love with him, as long as he loves him like this: fully, completely, enough to be afraid that Edwin might be hurt by someone else’s comments about a person he has never met.

He permits him himself a little smile, because of course, Charles would notice, before he puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “I know”, he answers and sees the tension wash out of Charles’ form within a second, his gaze dropping as if he has to collect himself before looking at Edwin again. “I know you never would. I didn’t doubt it for a second. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” Charles almost breathes the word instead of speaking; when he looks up at Edwin again, his eyes are dark and full of affection, full of gratitude Edwin isn’t sure he deserves. After all, the only reason he knows it is because Charles has proven it again and again. “I’m – God, I’m glad, I don’t know what I would have done if you had ever thought it was like that with us.”

And he hugs Edwin to his chest, all that intensity, that urgency captured between two arms; Edwin sinks into it like he might not have permitted himself to a few months ago, and wishes he still had a sense of smell so he could breathe Charles in.

Their trip to Manchester is uneventful, Crystal munching on chocolate while listening to a podcast, and Charles looking out of the window at the scenery, this time, unfortunately not leaning back against Edwin’s chest. However, like this, Edwin gets to see the joy bloom on his pretty face whenever they pass something that delights him in particular. Because that is Edwin’s pastime: watching Charles.

He gets caught doing it, too, but then again, it doesn’t feel like getting caught at all, since Charles just smiles at him when he notices Edwin watching, points out something in the fast-moving distance. A cow, maybe, a cloud formation that reminds him of something. And then he turns back to the window, and Edwin goes back to watching him, the slope of his nose and the arch of his eyebrows, the sharp cut of his jaw. The darkness of his eyes and how they light up so easily, so often.

If he could, he would stay here. Maybe not for eternity, but maybe a decade or two.

Neither of them has been in Manchester in a decade, so it’s like stepping into a new city when they finally arrive. Charles takes off immediately, looking around the train station in wonder, but before Edwin can sigh and watch him, or maybe do the reasonable thing and follow, Crystal stops him.

“There is something going on between you two”, she doesn’t ask, just states, like she knows she is right. Which, of course, she is. Since it seems foolish to try and deny it, Edwin just nods. Doesn’t know what to say, if she wants an explanation, or just to let him know that she has noticed.

“Charles has told me about hell and all that”, she continues, and again, Edwin nods; he figured as much. In fact, he is quite grateful for not having to do it himself. “But it isn’t trauma bonding, not that you guys would need any more of that. It’s the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. Something has changed between you and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“It has”, Edwin confirms, and Crystal squints at him like she is trying to read him. “But not to worry, it’s nothing bad. Just complicated, I suppose.” His response draws a laugh from Crystal, her eyes sparkling with mirth and like Edwin has completely misunderstood her. “Oh no, Edwin, I know it’s nothing bad”, she replies, laughter still colouring her words. “I just wanted to know if you felt like telling me what kind of good thing it is, since Charles doesn’t seem to.”

Finding the magician turns out to be easier than expected. So easy, in fact, that they almost don’t, because looking in the venue where Amina disappeared seems too on the nose, all of them agree, and just stop by because Crystal wants to do a reading for clues where he might be. Which turns out to be the same theatre, sitting in the front row with his head in his hands, looking to Edwin like his shoulders are carrying the weight of existence itself.

“Uh… hi?”, Crystal tries to introduce herself, and it’s like pulling at the strings of a marionette how fast his head snaps up, red-rimmed eyes staring up at her. The Astonishing Arnold is a man in his thirties, hair dyed black and a little moustache over his upper lip, and he is devastated.

It’s pain Edwin cannot comprehend, and hopefully never will have to, but one he can empathise with; it looks like he thinks losing Charles might feel like. Without thinking, he turns his head, almost to make sure that Charles is still there, only to find that Charles is looking at him already, the same kind of understanding painted in bold strokes across his face. This was no little crush, and that makes Amina’s response to it so much worse.

“Hello”, Arnold says, quickly wiping at his eyes. “Are you… lost or something?” Crystal shakes her head and Edwin can see her make a quick calculation, decide on a plan of action. She is truly getting quite good at this. “I’m here about Amina. I’m a medium and I want to help.”

Her name is enough to draw a sob from Arnold’s lips; Crystal glances over at them quickly and Charles gives her a thumbs up, a brittle-looking smile. She’ll take this one. “I talked to Amina”, Crystal continues, “I want to help her find out what happened, so she can move onto the afterlife. She mentioned you and that she really cared about you. Said you were the kindest person she knew.”

She’s twisting Amina’s words, but Edwin cannot blame her, not when Arnold looks so broken down by what happened, not when a lie might ease a little of his pain.

“And she said she knows that you have nothing to do with her death”, Crystal continues, “That you would never do something like that.” A tremor runs through Arnold’s body, like an earthquake, a cosmic event, and then he drops his gaze to where he has clenched his hands in front of his chest. It looks like he is praying. “That’s where she is wrong”, he finally says, and it’s a confession, it’s a plea for help. “Because I did.”

It turns out to be a failed ploy to woo Amina, in the end. A portal to transport her to a restaurant they had been meaning to go to back in Cambridge, the little French place on the corner, where a reservation and a bottle of chilled champagne was waiting for them. Arnold would join her after the show, with a bouquet of roses he had stashed away in his dressing room, to ask her to give him a chance.

“I knew she didn’t feel the same way”, he admits, tears streaming down his face. “But I thought maybe I could win her over. I’ve loved for so long, I thought maybe that could be enough, that I could love her enough for the both of us. And I figured, real magic, that would impress her. That would impress anyone, right?”

Only that Arnold had no experience with real magic, had only found a volume of spells on one of their trips by chance and had practiced on objects first, then small animals. It had worked, well enough that he thought he was ready to do this, without realising that while his portals were able to transfer the bunnies and birds that they kept for their shows from one side of the room to the other, they couldn’t yet handle a grown woman and this much distance.

“It was only after the show that I started freaking out”, he continues and Edwin’s heart aches for him, more so than it did for Amina. “When I was preparing to go through the portal myself I found a strand of her hair, cut off, looking like it had been singed. Amina was always so careful with her hair, so I knew something was wrong. The portal itself looked different, too, like there was static running through it. I called her, because I know that she always keeps her stupid Apple watch on, even during the shows. We had so many fights about that.”

He sniffles, the ghost of a smile passing over his face at the memory, followed by a wave of fresh tears, most likely caused by the realisation that they will never have that fight again. Crystal reaches into her pocket and hands him a tissue, and Edwin drops the hand he is holding his pen with for a moment, glad that his fingers don’t have the ability to cramp any longer. Yet, he shakes them out; when he stops, there’s a hand reaching for his.

His non-existent heart seizes up in his spectral chest and he looks over at Charles, who is holding onto his hand, intertwining their fingers. Charles looks back, raising an eyebrow as if to ask, is this okay? and Edwin nods, although he isn’t sure if it’s the right answer to give. Not because he doesn’t want to hold Charles’ hand, but because he isn’t sure if he will be able to concentrate on anything but this, now.

The notes, in any case, will have to be written later.

Arnold is drying his tears, and Charles’ fingers are slender between his own, elegant and strong, and Edwin is trying his best to listen when Arnold starts speaking again and yet isn’t sure if he succeeds.

“She didn’t pick up”, Arnold says and it’s like his heart is breaking within the words, “Of course she didn’t. And I started panicking, but I didn’t know what to do. Go through the portal myself and try and look for her? Call the police? Drive to Cambridge? Before I decided on one thing, I got a call and they told me they had found her. Gotten my number from the stupid Apple watch.”

He shakes his head, like he is still not sure how to process any of this; in his lap, his fingers are tearing the tissue apart, bit by bit, but Edwin isn’t sure that Arnold even notices. “I tried to confess to the police”, he continues, every word a sob, “But what was I supposed to say? That I created a magical portal to take her to dinner, but instead ended up cutting the woman I love into pieces? They would never have believed me. I wouldn’t believe me, if it hadn’t happened to me.” There is a pause, and Edwin can see that Crystal is trying to find the words to say something, but Arnold beats her to it.

“When you see her again, tell her I am sorry”, he asks Crystal, no, begs her. “Tell her I never meant for this to happen. Tell her… tell her I love her.”

Another wave of tears and the fingers around Edwin’s hand tighten; when Edwin looks over, there are tears in Charles’ eyes too.

“I will”, Crystal promises, and Edwin hopes that something so small can be enough.

In the end, they don’t tell Amina anything. Instead Charles brings her to Manchester via mirror, where she crouches down before the man that loved her above all else, and there is pity in her eyes, but genuine affection, too.

“Tell him… tell him it’s okay”, she says softly, and reaches out to hold his clasped hands in hers. “Tell him I forgive him. And… even if I am not sure if it’s the truth, tell him I would have said yes.”

Walking back to the train station afterwards is a quiet affair, each of them lost to their own thoughts, until Crystal stops them between the bustling crowd, the cafés and stores. “You two go ahead without me. Use the mirror to get back”, she tells them, “I could use some time alone after all this.”

“Are you sure?”, Charles asks, trying and almost failing to give her a smile. “We can be quiet.” “Yeah, I really am. I’ll see you in a couple of hours”, she says, and squeezes Charles’ shoulder like Charles had held onto Edwin’s hand; to make sure he is okay, to let him know that she is. “After I have eaten my weight in Gregg’s sausage rolls and Cadbury crème eggs.”

The agency is quiet, almost empty, without Crystal here, and it is a strange thing to realise. Before Edwin can contemplate what it means, Charles has flung himself down onto the couch, looking up at Edwin with wide, hopeful, beautiful eyes. He lifts his legs a fraction, and Edwin knows his answer, the same answer as always, before he has heard the question. “Read to me?”

“He followed the Rio Grande past Albuquerque and El Paso through the Big Bend, through Laredo to Brownsville. He learned Spanish words for food and pleasure, and he learned that when people are very poor they still have something to give and the impulse to give it…”, Edwin reads, aware that this time, Charles is doing nothing to keep his hands occupied. He’s just lying there, his feet in Edwin’s lap, listening. If it means anything, Edwin isn’t sure what it is.

“I wish I could fall asleep like this”, Charles interrupts him, smiling softly when Edwin looks up from his book. “It would be nice, listening to the story and your voice and just drift off.” Edwin’s fingers tighten around his ankle unwillingly; Charles must notice it, if he doesn’t, then he at least hears the warmth, the heaviness in Edwin’s voice when he answers. “Do you want to pretend to? I’ll keep reading, but you could close your eyes.”

“Yeah”, Charles replies after a moment has passed, and a bit of the light that has been missing in his gaze returns. “That sounds really nice, actually.” And he settles back, letting his eyes flutter shut, and Edwin continues reading.

“He developed a love for poor people he could not have conceived if he had not been poor himself. And by now he was an expert tramp, using humility as a working principle…”

Crystal returns a few hours later, when the sun has long since set.

They are still on the couch, positions unchanged, but Charles’ eyes are closed and the blanket Edwin had thrown over them earlier is concealing where Edwin’s thumb is brushing circles against the thin skin of Charles’ ankle. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at them for a moment, then sits down into the armchair and lets her head fall back against the cushions.

Edwin continues reading.

It’s morning, but just so, the first rays of sunlight forcing their way through the clouds. A few days have passed since Amina’s case, and slowly, they seem to be getting back to themselves, which is why Edwin looks up from the book he is reading – by himself, this time – and asks, “Why didn’t you tell Crystal about the confession?”

Charles keeps his eyes on the tablet computer for a few more seconds, then glances at Edwin, shrugging his shoulders. He’s only wearing a shirt, his jacket discarded on the armchair, and somehow, it makes every motion even more distracting. “Wasn’t my story to tell, was it?”, he replies easily, like he never even considered it before. “Didn’t know if you’d want her to know, either.”

Edwin isn’t sure about that himself, but he knows that he wouldn’t have blamed Charles if he had told Crystal. After all, he deserves someone to share his feelings with that isn’t Edwin, even if it hurts a little to admit that. It was just the two of them for so long, is all.

“I wouldn’t have minded it”, he says, and Charles chuckles a little at that, sets the tablet aside. “Not minding and wanting something are different things, though. Do you want me to tell her?” “I’m not sure”, Edwin replies, then considers it for a second longer. “I do, if it would help you.”

“Help me? With what?” There is genuine confusion written on his face, and Edwin can’t help but smile at him. “As I have gathered”, he replies, “it is considered helpful to talk to one’s friends to solve a problem.”

A pause, then Charles laughs, a soft, sweet sound that makes very little sense in this particular situation. Until he says, his voice so warm and so full of affection it makes Edwin tingle all over, “Edwin, mate. Your feelings have never been a problem. Not to me.”

They find another case a few days later, a simple one. A missing necklace that is supposed to be given to a daughter, like it had been given forty years ago to their client. Crystal finds it easily, hidden behind cracks in the floorboards, and when blue light starts glowing behind their client, Charles reaches out and takes Edwin’s hand in his. Not to make sure that he is okay this time, Edwin thinks, but just to hold it.

By now, they have made it through almost half of East of Eden; sometimes Crystal joins them, but today, it’s just Charles and him. “You know”, Charles says in the pause between two words, which is a surprise, because Edwin thought he was pretending to sleep. His eyes are closed, after all, and Edwin has gotten him a blanket to cocoon into twenty minutes earlier. “Sometimes it reminds me of dying, you reading to me like this.”

The words are a slap to the face, delivered in a warm, relaxed voice. “Oh. Oh God, if I had known, I wouldn’t have- “, Edwin stutters, trying to stand up, but Charles’ eyes fly open, his hand reaching out to hold Edwin in place. “No, no, no, this is brills, that’s not what I mean at all”, he says quickly, sincerely, and Edwin settles back against the cushions, still unconvinced.

“I didn’t really think about how that would sound”, Charles chuckles, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Sorry for that. I just… I guess, dying isn’t that bad a memory for me. Sure, it sucked, it was really cold and kind of hurt, but you were there. Talking to me. Reading to me. And, to be honest, I hadn’t felt that… not-alone for a long time prior to that. So, yeah, this reminds me of dying, because dying wasn’t that bad. And probably the most important thing I ever did in my life.”

He gives Edwin a smile that would heat up his cheeks, if he still had the ability to blush; like this, it just makes warmth bloom in his chest, where his heart would be. “You dying isn’t that bad a memory to me either”, he confesses, something he has felt a certain amount of shame about until this very moment. “I didn’t want you to die, of course, but if you hadn’t…”

His voice trails off, because he cannot bring himself to say it, not sure if it would be too much, but he doesn’t have to. “Then we wouldn’t have this”, Charles completes his sentence, sitting up so he can grasp the hand Edwin had been holding the book in, squeezing it tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go again. “I know. Seems worth it, to me.”

Another smile, utterly sincere, then Charles settles back against the cushions. “And thank you, for letting me stay.”

The door opens, and Crystal steps out of the room Charles dragged her into a few minutes earlier. Something about her expression is conflicted, unreadable, but when she sees Edwin watching her, her eyes soften, even if the struggle doesn’t disappear. One, two steps, then she stops and looks at Edwin.

“Good for you”, she finally says, and even if Edwin doesn’t know what she is referring to, he knows she means it.

“Wanna come upstairs?”, Charles asks, rocking back on his heels. “Look at the stars for a bit with me?”

It wasn’t how Edwin intended to spend the evening, since they have a new case and he should do some research, but Charles looks at him with a ghost of a smile on his lips, hope in his gaze, and Edwin loses the battle before he has even decided to fight it. “Of course, he replies and closes the book without noting where he stopped reading.

If he could feel, the night air would be crisp and fresh against his skin. Like this, it’s just clear, lets the stars shine brightly against the darkness of the sky. They used to do this more often, back when they first set up the agency; why they stopped, Edwin cannot quite say. Because it’s nice up here, the sounds of the busy streets mostly muffled, just enough space for the two of them. It’s intimate, it’s theirs, and Edwin hadn’t even realised that he missed it.

Charles is standing with his back to him, fussing around with something, cursing under his breath, so Edwin cranes his head back to see more stars. Long ago, he learnt the names of the constellations over London, but right now it seems difficult to recall a single one.

Before he can remember, a note rings out, strange and unexpected, and when Edwin looks down to find the source, Charles has turned around, Crystal’s Bluetooth speaker glowing with a dim, purple light behind him. He’s playing music, and it makes Edwin smile, even if he doesn’t recognise the song, because, of course, Charles would want to have something playing in the background to watch the stars.

“It’s the band we saw back at the Troxy”, Charles explains, and he looks nervous, almost. Hands clasped together in front of his body, fingers tangling and untangling, the smile on his lips bearing an edge Edwin isn’t familiar with. “You know, the stabbing case. I thought, maybe you would like to dance? The song is the same, even.”

His gaze drops and when he looks up at Edwin again, it’s from beneath his lashes; it’s enough to set Edwin’s immortal soul aflame. Charles has always been beautiful, Edwin had known that since the first moment he had set eyes on him, but he looks ethereal now, a painting, a statue carved in marble and gold.

He nods, because he doesn’t trust his voice, and Charles smiles so wide it’s blinding. Ducking his head once more, he steps forward and takes Edwin’s hand in his, puts the other one on his waist, and although they have only done this once before, it feels like like it is their rightful place. It feels like coming home.

Edwin’s other hand settles on Charles’ shoulder, and it feels so easy to start swaying in time with him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other so he can continue to look at Charles, who is looking back so openly, like he wants Edwin to read every single of his thoughts, his feelings. He can’t, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying.

“It might sound a little silly”, he finally says, and Edwin wants to kiss the words out of his mouth, wants to listen to his voice for the rest of time, “but I never thought about this. Never considered it. I’m not sure why, but in the end, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because I love you. I’ve always loved you. Ever since you read me detective stories so I wouldn’t die alone.”

He smiles and Edwin is combusting, he’s being torn apart, he’s bubbling over with happiness and with love and with gratitude to be here with Charles, to have gotten the privilege of knowing him, loving him.

“You know when I said we would have forever to figure out what the rest between us meant?”, Charles asks, and Edwin nods, speechless. “I don’t think we’ll need that long. I think I’ve figured it out already.”

And he leans in, slowly, like this is a moment he wants to savour, and kisses Edwin with so much love, so much devotion, he can feel reverberate through every part of his soul. His hand slides from Charles’ shoulder to cup his face, and Edwin was wrong before. Because this is its rightful place.

This is coming home.

#fic rec #dead boy detectives

77 notes · View notes

dylanwritesgood · 2 years ago

Text

I'm reblogging this bc it's spooky season and I'm gonna make you all be sad with me. ✌️

Ghost of You | 1

masterlist | ko-fi | ask

Part: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

Summary: Eddie was so full of life, so full of fire, Gareth thought he was invincible—until he wasn't. After the accident, Gareth can't let go. He's determined to talk to him one last time. The universe has other ideas though. Rating: Mature (no sex, just a lot of death and heavy themes) WC: 2,142 Warnings: Death, car accidents, grief, underage drinking, the occult A/N: Your probably-not-local death witch advises you to not ouija and drink, but if you're gonna be stupid, you'd better be tough! But seriously—if you do wanna mess with occult shit this spoopy season, do your reading first.

It started with a ouija board. It was something stupid Eddie had picked up from somewhere and insisted they all try to summon a spirit in Gareth’s parents’ basement. Gareth, who was fourteen and worshipped the ground Eddie walked on, had hesitantly agreed to lay his fingers on the planchet that night at Eddie’s urging, even when Jeff and Kevin wouldn’t. Nothing had happened. The planchet hadn’t moved, the candles hadn’t flickered, and eventually, they gave up and moved on to arguing about what slasher film they were going to watch. The board had stayed in the basement ever since, forgotten.

But then Eddie died. Freak car accident, that was all. He’d seen a dog in the road, and Eddie—who couldn’t even bear to kill a fly—killed himself avoiding it. So goddamn stupid, a waste of a young life. Gareth was so angry with him for swerving. So goddamn angry with himself for letting Eddie leave his house so late when he should have just stayed over. But Eddie had been twenty and full of life and invincible. Until he wasn’t. At least angry was better than numb. Angry was familiar.

But Gareth couldn’t hang onto his anger forever. At some point, just as the numbness gave way to anger, the anger gave way to loneliness. Gareth was missing half of himself, torn asunder and bleeding scarlet and messy over everything in his life. He snapped one too many times like a scared stray dog at Jeff, and only months later—when grief finally let Gareth up for a breath of air before plunging him back into the black, tumultuous pain to drown again—did he realize he couldn’t remember the last time his friends had come around to try and drag him to the surface for a little while.

So it started with a ouija board, and Gareth stumbling down the stairs to his parents’ basement, drunk on the contents of their liquor cabinet and wanting answers. Why did Eddie insist on going home? Why did he swerve? Why did he leave Gareth? Why did he leave Gareth. Why, why, why.

His hands are trembling too hard with alcohol and grief to even attempt to light the jar candle he’d found upstairs with the lighter Eddie had forgotten in Gareth’s room some unknown day. So he sits in the darkness, fingers poised on the planchet the way Eddie had shown him and he waits.

He waits because he doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s supposed to say something, there’s a ritual to open the session or something, but he can’t remember it. So it’ll have to do, Gareth and his grief in a dark midwestern basement, wordlessly crying out to anyone who is listening to bring Eddie back to him.

“Eddie? Are you there?” Gareth’s whisper breaks the silence, surprising him, as if he hadn’t given his tongue permission to speak.

Nothing happens. He didn’t know why he was expecting anything to happen. Nothing happens, but then Gareth swears he can feel the planchet stir beneath his fingers. It’s a subtle thing, like the way his sister’s cat stirs ever-so-slightly as it dreams before settling back into a deep sleep. He can’t even be sure he felt it.

“Eddie?” He gasps, “Eddie, is that you?”

Hesitantly, as if someone or something is struggling hard to make progress, the little piece of cheap plastic scrapes toward one corner of the board. Upper right. Gareth knows there’s something in that corner, but he can’t remember what it was and he can’t see the board in the darkness.

“Eddie—Eddie, hang on. I can’t see. I gotta let go to light this fucking candle,” Gareth says to the empty basement.

He feels sober now, hands sure as he flicks the striker and depresses the button of the white lighter. Once the candle is lit, scenting the air with warm apple spice, Gareth looks back to the board. The planchet is still resting where he’d last felt it, the tip of it pointing to a wreath-ensconced NO.

Oh. His heart crashes back to the bottom of the pit inside him. But… someone is there. Someone pushed that planchet and his shaking fingers. Gareth shakes out his hands and touches the planchet again.

“Okay, I’m listening. Who are you?”

Gareth painstakingly follows the gentle nudge of the plastic pointer against his fingers. He can’t explain the sensation but it feels… alive. Weak, but alive and struggling against the tips of his fingers to herd them in a direction. So he lets it. It crosses the board and wavers between A and B as if it can’t pick one. It finally jogs right, then left, before setting off across the board again. The journey ends back at the B. Gareth’s waiting for it to continue, but it feels like the life’s gone out of the planchet. He plays back the letters in his mind, pushing their shapes into phonemes his mouth knows.

“Barb? Is your name Barb?” Gareth asks softly.

He knew a Barb. She’d been close to Eddie’s age. She drowned, back in Gareth’s freshman year. Her mom had called her Barbie, and she’d liked pink, and Gareth would never forget her mother’s horrible scream when the first clods of dirt bounced off the lid of Barb’s coffin as they buried her.

The planchet feels alive again beneath his fingers, the subtle, electric feeling is back as it inches its way to the upper left corner. Gareth doesn’t even need to look to know what it says. YES.

“Are you… is your name Barb Holland?”

The planchet starts its journey towards the other corner, but it stalls somewhere midway between the two, wavering. It starts back towards YES before pausing, and then dragging towards NO, only to freeze again. Gareth watches it sympathetically.

“You don’t know, do you?” He whispers, heart breaking all over again for this person who’s lost who they were. The planchet flinches towards YES, so he takes it as an answer. It must be hard to move it.

“It’s okay. Do you know if you… did you drown? Is that how you got here?”

Again, the planchet wavers midway between answers, trembling as if distressed. Gareth eyes the candle from the corner of his eye, observing quietly as the flame flutters. Don’t know.

“You’re okay. It doesn’t matter, Barb.” He murmurs, looking around the darkness of the basement as if he could see who was there with him.

“I’m trying to find my friend, Eddie. He’s… I don’t know how this works—if you can see him, I mean. But he’s an idiot with long, dark, curly hair and a stupid smile and he’s my best friend and he left me.” Gareth wasn’t sure when the tears started, but they were coursing down his face now as he blathered on to a dark and empty basement. He chokes on a sob, “You haven’t seen him, have you?”

The pointer slides slowly to NO, but continues on to spell out S-O-R-Y, which gets the point across. It’s a little hard to indicate a repeated letter this way.

“If you see him, will you tell him Gareth is looking for him?” He pleads. He should feel silly, asking a dead girl for a favor but Gareth will do anything, no matter how silly, just to talk to Eddie one last time. The planchet slides to YES, but it’s slowing. Gareth can feel the heaviness of it.

“You can’t stay, can you? You’re getting tired,” he realizes aloud. The pointer weakly stirs over YES again. “Okay. Okay. Um, I’ll let you go.”

He winces at himself. I’ll let you go, as if it’s a phone call.

“Goodbye, Barb.”

Gareth waits for the planchet to move again, but it doesn’t. He’s left sitting there, the candlelight holding back the darkness, staring at a piece of dead plastic. Reluctantly, he folds the board back into its box and snuffs out the candle. He doesn’t quite know what to make of what he accomplished tonight, but he feels… a little less alone.

It takes Gareth another few days to gather up the courage to try again. In the moment, he’d felt calm, but as soon as he’d packed away the board, blown out the candle, and crawled into his own bed, Gareth had a panic attack. He’d talked to a dead person. He doesn’t really know how it all works—if he can only contact spirits who died nearby or if it’s kind of a generalized pool of dead people waiting to answer like some great spectral call center sort of thing, but Gareth thinks he was talking to Barb Holland. He has no evidence that it was her, but he can just feel it. Gareth had talked to a girl that’s been dead for three years. That was worth panicking over.

This time, he lights the candle first, then sits cross-legged on the floor with a bottle of vodka and takes a pull from it as he finds his courage. He thinks maybe being drunk had helped before, so he’s just trying to replicate what he did last time. Science is about being able to get the same results the same way twice, right? He also thinks that someone told him that one needs to take notes for it to be science, but he doesn’t dare write down what happened to him a few nights ago. It takes him another drink and a few more minutes to finally psych himself up enough to lay his fingers on the planchet again, but he does. And then he waits.

Once again, nothing happens. Gareth is annoyed before he remembers what he did last time. His whisper is still shaky as he addresses the darkness just outside the ring of light cast by his lone candle.

“Eddie, it’s Gareth. Are you there?”

It’s an agonizing few moments before Gareth can feel the planchet come to life under his fingertips. He bites back a sob when the pointer slides to the upper right corner of the board. He wills down the tears, though, and clears his throat.

“Okay, who’s here, then?”

Once again, the plastic piece struggles across the surface of the board, but Gareth is trying so hard to make sure he doesn’t interfere. B… A… B... A... It lingers for a moment and Gareth can practically feel it trying to make a decision. It must, because it slips to R and then goes still. Gareth waits politely to see if there’s anything else they want to say before speaking.

“Barb? Is that you?”

The planchet staggers like a drunk, weaving its way towards YES. It feels like there’s a question mark that’s unspoken, though. Before he can say anything else, it makes a firm little circle around YES and then starts to spell again. B-A-R-B-M-E-B-A-R-B-M-E-B-A—

“Whoa, whoa whoa. It’s okay,” Gareth murmurs, applying just enough pressure to still the pointer, “You’re Barb. Got it. Hi, Barb.”

The pointer hesitates, before slipping to HELLO. Then it moves to the G and hovers there expectantly.

“Yeah, it’s Gareth again. You remember me?”

It doesn’t move. Then, it gets caught, jerking somewhere between YES and NO. She doesn’t know.

“Okay,” he soothes, “It’s okay. We talked a little a few nights ago, but we didn’t say much.”

E-D…Y. Gareth perks up, his heart leaping to his throat. Did Barb find Eddie? Was that Eddie? Did she bring Eddie to him?

“Eddie? Yeah, we talked about Eddie. I asked you to tell him I… I needed him if you saw him. Did you? See him, I mean.”

NO. S-O-R-Y. Gareth deflates. The pointer begins to spell again. S-O-R-Y-S-O-R-Y-S-O-R-Y-S—

“No, no, no. It’s okay, Barb. It’s okay. I’m… I just miss him. I’m sorry,” Gareth says softly, “That was a lot to ask.”

The pointer rattles a little under his touch, but it isn’t him that’s moving it. Suddenly, it’s practically yanked out of his hands as it zips across the board, spelling out her message.

H-E-L-P-M-E-H-E-L-P-M-E-H-E-L-P-M-E-H-E-L—

Just as suddenly as it started, it stops. The pointer feels abandoned, like he’s the only one there now.

“Barb? Are you okay? How can I help?” Gareth asks in a worried voice. His palms are clammy and he can feel goosebumps rising on his skin. He hates how it feels. “Barb? Are you there?”

He waits a painfully long time before he realizes she’s gone. That burst of frenetic energy must’ve burned her out. He slides the planchet to GOODBYE.

“Bye, Barb,” he whispers into the night.

Back in his bed, Gareth still can’t shake the fearful twisting in his gut. He tries the techniques Ms. Kelly taught him to deal with the panic attacks, to no avail. Finally, it hits him—he’s not afraid for himself, he’s frightened for Barb.

8 notes · View notes