Lucy was awakened rather rudely.
"Lockwood! Lucy!" an all too familiar voice shouted through the thick wooden door. "Are you in here? Are you decent?"
A groan next to her, and something warm shifted beneath her touch. "Yeah George, we are. Why the fuck are you asking?"
"Mate, it's ten in the morning. Mary's already downstairs and breakfast time is nearly over. Though, I'm not so sure you would even want to eat any of that, to be fair. But still, get your asses out of bed, or else I'm going to have to drag you out. And I would really prefer the first option because I'm not sure there's enough bleach for my eyes to forget those images."
"Oh, as if you're one to talk! And we are decent!"
"Whatever you say!"
At first, Lucy had been too tired to make sense of the conversation happening overhead, still half immersed in her dreamless sleep, but by now, she had caught on.
"Oh, fuck off," she was calling out now, rather rudely herself. "We'll be right down."
She could hear what sounded like George's snickering moving further down the hall, and she wanted to raise her head to glare daggers at the door - but was caught off-guard when her head hit something hard before it could quite get there. Lockwood's chin.
And that was when last night's memories returned to her in full, excruciating detail: The fog, getting ghost-touched, lying awake in her bed, and then, finally, falling asleep on Lockwood's shoulder.
Only: It wasn't quite his shoulder that she was laying on anymore. Lucy distinctly remembered leaving some distance between them before falling asleep. Lockwood had looked so uncomfortable at the prospect of being so close to her, after all. However, during the night, that distance had vanished, had evaporated into thin air.
No, now she was basically laying on top of him: Head tucked under his chin, her chest flush to his, legs entwined to the point where she didn't know where she ended and he began.
Legs entwined to the point where she didn't know anymore where she ended and he began?
Oh God.
Slowly, she dared to look up at Lockwood. To her mortification, she saw the same horror she felt mirrored in his eyes. Quickly, before she could think too much about all of the places his skin touched hers, she sprung up and darted away from him, nearly stumbling and falling over in her haste
"God, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I- I didn't notice-"
Lucy could feel her cheeks redden under his gaze. Of course, she knew what must've happened during the night: Her body must've acted on its own accord, free from the shackles of any resolve or common sense, and moved closer to Lockwood.
It was something she had often imagined before, in the silliness of daydreams: What it would be like to wake up with his arms around her, safe and warm in this little bubble his breath against her brow would create.
But she had never wanted it to happen this way. Without his consent.
Shame and regret were things gone wild in her head then. This was bad. So bad. Kind as he was, he had let her sleep on his shoulder, and what had she done? Violated his obvious boundaries. And God, he looked so uncomfortable now-
"I really didn't want-" Lucy started again, trying to explain, trying to take back what must've transpired during the night, but Lockwood just shook his head slowly with a downward glance.
"It's alright, Luce. I understand. I'll meet you downstairs." And with that, he was gone. He didn't smile, didn't hesitate. He just opened the door and walked out.
Lucy hated herself for it.
But at this moment she hated the green shimmer poking out beneath her backpack's material even more. Anger at herself fuelling her veins, she stomped over and finally lifted the latch of the skull's jar.
"What do you want?!" she screamed at it, not caring if she was too loud.
A cackle came back, a ghastly, mean one, and Lucy was about to shut the latch again when the skull finally spoke up. "No, wait, don't do that! I was laughing with you, not at you! I thought we could catch up, old pals as we are! Come on, talk to me, Lucy!"
"We're not pals," she said through gritted teeth, placing the jar on her bed and gathering the things she needed to get herself ready. "We don't need to catch up."
"Oh, that's too bad. I really wanted to congratulate you on driving Lockwood away like that! You're right, you don't need him! In fact, I think you should leave him to the ghosts the next chance you get!"
"I will certainly not do that!" Lucy halted in her efforts to violently brush her hair. "Why are you talking to me again, anyway? Calmed down from your temper tantrum at Bickerstaff's?"
"You mean when I nearly got my soul sucked into a torturous void and had to watch my master be destroyed?" he asked calmly. "No, I will never be over that!" he screamed. "But alas, your immense efforts in trying to get yourself killed last night convinced me that without me, you will die due to sheer dumbness sooner rather than later. Not a problem for me, personally, but you are the only person that can hear me. It gets rather lonely sometimes, you know."
"Oh, I'm about to make it a lot lonelier-"
"Jesus, woman, hold on for a second! I just said I would help you figure out whatever is wrong with this place. And something is wrong here, that much I can tell you."
"What, seriously? Goodness, sound the bells! Thank you so much for your input! I would've never thought of that," she called out with heavy sarcasm. "And you did not say you would help me. You said you had no problem seeing me dead."
"Semantics, Lucy, semantics. Your hair looks atrocious, by the way. No amount of brushing is going to salvage that ."
She tousled her hair a few times. "What do you mean? Looks fine to me."
"That's because you're not seeing the back. Really greasy. Not even Lockwood would want to touch you in that state, I'll tell you that- Hey, don't throw your brush at me! Where are you going? Don't leave me here!"
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Downstairs with George and Mary, Lockwood was a mess. Only internally, of course. No, externally, he was smiling brightly, making polite conversation with Mrs Draper while trying to find something on the so-called 'breakfast buffet' that seemed edible.
"I hope you've all slept well," Lockwood said as he joined Mary and George at their table.
George shot him a look. "Not better than you, I'd assume."
Lockwood thought he heard Mary giggle, but he decided not to stoop to their level. "Yes, I slept very well too, thank you. Even though the beds are rather uncomfortable."
"Are they, now?" George was barely succeeding in stifling his laugh now, and Mary wasn't doing much better as they shared pointed looks.
Lockwood's face fell, and annoyed, he let his butter knife drop back onto his plate. "I don't know what you two are implying, but nothing happened between Lucy and myself. I was only making sure that she was alright after having been ghost-touched."
"And you had to get into her bed to do that?"
Lockwood was this close to pulling out his rapier. The now bubbling laughter of his two companions didn't ease this urge. But finally, he just took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on buttering his toast instead, knowing the two had to drop it sooner or later.
"So, anyway," George said after having calmed down a little. "Where'd you leave Lucy? We need to get going soon if we want to get something done before nighttime."
"She might still be getting ready, I guess? I don't know, I left her in her room."
"Rake," Mary uttered beneath her breath as she flicked a page in her newspaper, and that was all it took for George to break out into bellowing laughter again.
Lockwood swore he would've drawn his rapier right then and there if, at that moment, Lucy hadn't entered the dining hall.
Immediately, his thoughts were with her. Her hair was wet, presumably from a quick shower, and she wore blue, as always. Lockwood thought that ever since he had met her, his heart had started turning blue, too.
Mary's and George's laughter turned into strained coughing fits as Lucy drew closer and sat down next to Mary.
Lockwood tried to analyse her facial expression, tried to look for any signs of distress or sadness or, in his wildest fantasies, even happiness, but came up empty. Her face was guarded in a way that it hadn't been in a long time. Not with him, at least.
It made his heart hurt all the more.
Of course, upon waking up as they did, he had expected her to pull away. Had expected her to run, appalled at Lockwood for keeping her so close, even if he must've been doing it unconsciously in his sleep. He had even expected her to call his bluff, to finally realise how much her presence affected him. And yes, of course he had expected her to reject him upon noticing.
He just hadn't expected it to hurt that much.
But here she was now, smiling tentatively at him, and how could he not smile back? How could he not let her know that no matter how often she broke his heart, he would never fault her for it?
Rationally, he knew that he needed to stop getting lost in her gaze. That he needed to free his head from her. He had heard what she'd said upon waking up, after all: She didn't want this. Had never wanted this. Had never wanted him.
But by now he'd tried so often to shut her out again, to forget about the indentation she had left on his very being, only to find, again and again, that his heart was only ever hers to break. Every wayward, jagged piece of it bore her name. And if she wanted to, he would watch her ruin him with a smile on his face.
It was a futile attempt, trying to express all of that through sliding a plate with two already buttered slices of toast towards her, but it was a start.
And the grateful smile she gave him was more than enough.
"We should talk to him first, then," he heard George say. "After all, this is where the cluster seems to have its origin. And with no real clue where or even what the source could be, or who is even haunting us, it's the best place to start."
"Not to mention he's suspicious," Mary agreed whilst chewing. "I certainly wouldn't notice if my mum got ghost-touched in the middle of the night, even if I had better sight."
"Who's suspicious?" Lockwood asked, fighting to get back on top of the conversation.
George gave him a side-eye. "Sam Colby, of course. The nephew of the first couple to have died during this cluster. I told you about him yesterday. He found them only minutes after their deaths, even though they died in their sleep and alas, weren't reported to have screamed."
"Ah, I remember. Well, we shall pay him a visit then - but we do have to keep ourselves hidden, I suppose. Even though he doesn't appear to be affiliated with Jacobs, it wouldn't be the smartest idea to tell him we're an agency. Mary, would you mind telling him you're looking into him as part of your research for Jacobs' investigation? That would certainly be believable. And as for us-"
Now, a bright smile appeared on Lockwood's lips, one that George seemed to be alarmed at.
"We do not need disguises, Lockwood," he said, wanting to nip this line of thinking in the bud before it could get too far.
"But he might've seen us in a newspaper!"
"He really won't have," Mary said.
"Maybe he's a man of culture!"
"He will recognize me anyway, Lockwood," Lucy argued. "We went to primary school together. Mary can say that she's bringing us along for support, and that's that. As long as he doesn't know I'm actively working in an agency, we'll be fine."
Lockwood stayed silent only for a few seconds. "I think we should at least do an accent."
Lucy shook her head in a way that suggested suffering. "I'm not doing an accent."
"Well, I will do one."
"Please do not."
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The door swung open only a few moments after Mary had rang the bell, and a blonde, young man seemingly around Lockwood's age appeared at the threshold.
"Howdy, partner!" Lockwood greeted him with a blinding smile, and Lucy could've banged her head against any available surface. "How are y'all on this mighty fine day?"
Lucy didn't know why out of all the possible accents, Lockwood had chosen what seemed to be an abomination of a Texan one, but frankly, what bothered her even more was that he had apparently forgotten that according to his one plan, he wasn't the one supposed to do all the talking.
"I'm-" Lockwood started, but Lucy wasn't going to let him continue.
"My boyfriend," she finished for him and held up their interlocked hands as if to prove it, but secretly, she was pinching him hard. "Sorry, he hasn't been in the country for long. Still gets overexcited about every English person he meets."
"Ow!" Lockwood mouthed at her but had the good sense to stay quiet after the look Lucy gave him.
Luckily, Mary took her clue. "I do apologise," she said to the young man now eyeing them up and down in distrust. "I'm Mary, this is my sister Lucy and her... British and American friends. All of them are experts in the field of hauntings. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I work for the Jacobs agency here in town. We were tasked with solving the cluster haunting that is occurring right now. You are Sam Colby, aren't you?"
"The very same."
"Wonderful. We think the tragic deaths of your aunt and uncle might've been the starting point for this cluster, and as part of our investigation, we need to find out as much as possible about it. Would you terribly mind answering a few questions for me?"
Sam's gaze swept over them once more as they all tried their best to give him their brightest, most innocent smiles. Lucy held her breath as Sam's eyes rested on her for a few seconds. Had he recognized her?
But then, after apparently having let Mary's words ruminate in his mind, he finally sighed and opened the door just a tad wider. "Alright, I guess. Come on in, you lot."
Gratefully, they stepped in one after the other under Sam's careful watch. The house wasn't big but filled with narrow hallways and rooms that were typical for England. Sam led them to a tiny sitting room, where all of them managed to cram themselves onto a single small couch with Sam taking the chair opposite them.
"And this will help with getting rid of whatever... that thing is?" Sam asked, honest concern in his voice.
Mary nodded. "Yes. We are going to stop this, but we need to know as much as possible. Every bit of information you give us could be vital, so please, don't hold back."
Sam took an obvious breather and closed his eyes for a second. "Alright then. I don't like to talk about it... to... relive that night, but if it helps you end this, then alright. What do you want to know?"
"First of all," George started, glasses pushed back onto the furthest point of his nose and notebook out, "this isn't the house it happened in, is it?"
Sam shook his head. "No, that was over on Cotton Street. Belonged to my uncle. This here is just a temporary flat the city council offered me. With them not being able to find the source yet and all that."
"Could you relay to us the events of that night in detail, please?"
"Sure, okay. My uncle and I came home from work around six. I work-" He stopped, took another breath, "sorry, worked together with him for his company. We're craftsmen for every sort of stuff - my uncle lived in Germany for a long time and learned to do electrical engineering there whilst I mostly taught myself how to do some plumbing, as well. He took me in after my parents died." Sam grew quiet. "Now I have to carry on the business alone. But, sorry, back to your question: We got home around six and ate dinner. Nothing eventful happened. We watched some telly, and then we went to bed. I found them dead around two o'clock after I saw a dark shade vanishing through the wall."
"So you have sight?" Lucy asked, and he nodded.
"Yes, a little bit. Nothing spectacular, not like the talent you guys must have."
"And you don't have any listening ability?" George asked pointedly.
"No."
"The coroner could determine that your aunt and uncle only died minutes before you found them. Did they scream then?"
Sam's face took on a pained look, and Lucy felt a bit sorry for him. "No, why?"
"Then how come you found them so close to their deaths?"
The room had never felt as tense as now, with all of the four agents leaning forward, totally concentrated on analysing every expression that would cross over Sam's face.
But his face only hardened. "Ah, I see," he said, "you think I have something to do with their deaths."
The ensuing silence seemed to be answer enough for him. He stifled an incredulous laugh. "So you actually do. Some agency you work for. Now tell me, did whichever bastard did your research tell you why my uncle had to take me in? Did they bother to look into it? Because if they did, you might know that my entire family has been taken away from me by ghosts."
Lucy felt Lockwood stiffen next to her, but Sam wasn't done yet. No, he was speaking himself into a rage. "When I was seven, my mother, father, and brother were all killed by a ghost in a house that had just been cleared by one of those precious agencies a week before! I watched them die right in front of me whilst I was hiding under the damn bed! So no, I did not kill my aunt and uncle, the only two people in my life who have ever been decent to me! I loved them-" His voice broke, and Lucy could see tears glistening in his eyes. "They were the only thing I had left. And now they're gone, too."
Lucy's eyes shifted to Lockwood. He was usually the one to smooth over things when something went sideways with clients, but right now, he seemed frozen. And she could only imagine why.
Lucy felt bad, too. Of course, she knew why George's line of questioning had been necessary, but she too had been blamed for deaths that hadn't been her fault. She too knew the feeling of internalised blame sticking like bile to your throat, not washing away however much water you drink.
"I'm sorry," she said therefore, "for making assumptions as we did. And I'm sorry for their deaths and your loss. It shouldn't have happened." Sam was looking up at her; she had caught his attention. She didn't see any viciousness in his look but wonder instead. "However, why were you near their rooms when they died? How did you know to look for them?"
Quickly, he wiped away the tears in his eyes. "I- I felt the earth shake."
George frowned. "But I thought you don't possess touch?"
"I don't, it wasn't paranormal- it was a normal earthquake. A small one, but still noticeable. I was still awake when it happened, I think that's the only reason I felt it. I wanted to go and check on them just to make sure they were alright because my aunt has always been very scared of storms and the like. That's when I saw the figure floating through the hallway. But that's really all I can say about that."
George's pen scraped quickly over the paper. "And your house had no prior history of hauntings? No deaths or violence you're aware of?"
Lucy heard water dripping out of a loose tap in the kitchen and her head whipped in that direction automatically. Sam's eyes followed her curiously.
"No," he answered after hesitating, "nothing we were ever aware of. But it's the same thing for everyone else, isn't it? People just... die in this town, and no one even has any idea of where the ghosts come from."
Sam looked intently at Lucy at his last words, with something like longing in his eyes. "Please, help us."
She wanted to say something, but Lockwood beat her to it. "Well, y'all won't have to worry for too long anymore," he said, and of course, he still talked in this dumb Texan accent, "this ain't our first rodeo, after all." He winked at Sam before standing up. "Now, if this was everything-"
"Wait!" Sam called out, immediately getting up too. "I want to help you! I want to help with finally getting rid of this thing that murdered my aunt and uncle!"
"Yeah, no can do, I'm afraid," Lockwood apologised whilst herding his colleagues (and Mary) towards the door. "You see, neighbour, we have a strict contract with the Jacobs agency and all that... Insurance just wouldn't cover it."
"Oh, come on!" Sam followed them into the hallway. "I know who you are! And I know that, except for Mary, you sure aren't working for Jacobs!"
That, however, made everyone halt their efforts to leave.
"Ah," Lockwood said with a tight smile. "So you've figured me out. I knew I should've worn a disguise. But pray, tell: What gave me away? My good looks? My distinctly eloquent pattern of speech?"
Sam looked at him in confusion. "What? I have no bloody idea who you are, mate," his eyes found Lucys', and she braced for the worst, "but who I would recognize anywhere is Lucy Carlyle. You are the only survivor of the Wythburn Mill Incident."
Lucy froze.
"I followed your story at that time," Sam carried on. "Jacobs took everything from you. All of your colleagues died because of his cowardice, and then he tried to blame you for it. You wouldn't work for him again or for his brother. You wouldn't even come back here again if it was up to you. No, I think you're here for your sister. I think she's realised that, whatever this is, is much too big for Jacobs to handle, and she's asked for your help. And you came."
Lockwood moved to stand protectively in front of Lucy, hand hovering above his hilt ready to defend her, but Lucy wasn't having any of it. She came out from behind Lockwood and walked right up to Sam until she nearly stood on his toes, fire threatening to spill from her eyes. "And what if I did? You gonna run to Jacobs?"
She was ready to unsheath her rapier at his smallest provocation, but his reaction surprised her: He started grinning at her. "God, no. I am cheering you on, actually. Really, you don't have to worry about me going off to tell somebody. I'm glad you're here to investigate this. I've been a fan of yours for a long time actually, and I know how good of an agent you are. You will actually be able to solve it, unlike that useless bastard."
Lucy took a step back, slightly overwhelmed. "Oh."
Sam laughed warmly through crooked teeth. "So really, I mean it when I'm offering you my help. I will do anything I can to help you end this. So that no more people have to lose their loved ones to ghosts."
"Terribly nice of you," Lockwood chimed in and started pulling Lucy towards the exit again, "but we're more than capable of handling this ourselves. Come on now, Luce, we've got to go. People to meet, leads to follow up on, you know?" He directed that last bit at Sam again. "Best not to waste any time."
"But I could be useful!" he called after them. "As a craftsman, I get to go inside people's houses fairly often! Everyone needs something fixed these days. I could be on the lookout for you!"
"You just do that!" Lockwood answered him whilst already in the prospect of closing the door. "Call us if you see anything interesting!"
"But I don't have your-"
The door clicked shut in that instant. Lockwood didn't bother to reopen it. Instead, he happily linked his arm with Lucy's and started walking down the street, not caring for her protests or those of his colleagues.
"I'm rather starved. But what about you, my dear?" he grinned at Lucy and threw her a wink. Like so often, she was caught off-balance by it, her complaints stuck in her throat all of a sudden. "I think it's time for our lunch date with the Whites."
A/N:
*Sam lowkey flirting with Lucy*
Lockwood's inner monologue: BITCH