Chapter Text
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Everywhere, everything, wanna love you
'Til we're food for the worms to eat
'Til our fingers decompose
Keep my hand in yours
- Everywhere, Everything by Noah Kahan
“Edwin?” A voice, loud and reverberating in his mind, presses on his skull. “Edwin.”
Nothing is here. Wherever here is.
“What are you?” He answers. Tongue dry and unmoving. His own voice reaching and trying to grasp on to the other. Trying to make sense of the nothingness.
“Silence, child.” It quiets slightly. Rewarding the reply, but effectively ignoring his question. The pressure on his skull worsens however. Not yet painful, but unavoidable.
“I am here.” It pulses around him. No figure or creature or even entity to witness. It just is. Terrifying, but very fascinating.
“I don’t understand.” He admits. Bothersome, he thinks, to not know about something so clearly urgent. A flood of incompetency hits his ribs and washes over his body. So overpowering he wonders why he ever thought he could succeed. He’s here on borrowed time. There’s nowhere he can run. Freedom is a lie.
“None of that.” It chimes like a choir of Christmas bells. Mending his unstable consciousness as you would like a steady hand handling thread and needle.
“Prone to spiraling and seeking inward blame. I pity you. Though I find your plight tragic, it will play until its conclusion. How unfortunate. Time works tick by tick. An endless road forced into wicked resolution. Necessary but just as mournful.” It almost sighs. A soft rumble in the air that pulls unease out from his skin.
“You’re being rather cryptic.” He tries not to groan. He’s had his fill of riddles for a lifetime. Though he fears another eternity's worth is due if fate is as cruel as he predicts.
“Hm. You truly do not know what the future has prepared? It’s a sight to behold.”
“No. I can’t say I do. Though you seem to be noticeably better informed.”
“In a sense, yet it helps little. I’ll watch as I always do.”
“Are you always so brazenly creepy?”
“Do you ask such questions to everyone?”
“You would know if you’ve been stalking me as you professed.”
“Stalking? No. Observant. I see what others ignore. I witness pain and comfort its subjects. Ever changing in constant turmoil. Inevitable as falling sand. Do you not see the exquisite cycle? The stunning bond of breaking and repair? I suppose I should expect less of someone so deep beneath the current.”
“Maybe I’d understand if you didn’t use so many nonsensical metaphors and describe this ominous hobby of yours normally. I don’t see what I have to do with any of it.”
“Don’t you? It’s no mere sport, child. You are aware of forces far greater than me, and yet choose to stay unknowing.”
“Quite the opposite. I would love to know your purpose and why you are here. And yet at present I don’t have the means. I’d suspect you understand my plight, as you put it, and that being without my books or resources, or ability to move for that matter, greatly weakens my capability of solving the mystery of your identity.”
It appears to ponder. A breezelike thoughtfulness brushes past him.
“I am Closure.”
“Oh. As in the personification of the feeling or. . . ?” He asks in hope of later writing the information down.
“You could say as much. Or as little.”
“Alright. That still doesn’t tell me what you want with me.”
“Does it not? Edwin, I want nothing from you. Have I not made my intentions clear?”
“Not particularly.”
“Edwin. I am here as a warning. Down this road you’ve chosen there is great hardship. As is the case with any journey. I have no way to ease your burden. Not until it is time.”
“You, Closure, the apparent embodiment of resolution, can’t assist me?”
“Says something, doesn’t it?”
“Funny.”
“Apologies. I only mean there is a time and place. Give yourself grace. Be honest. Be true.”
“I understand the concept of time. I’ve experienced a lot of it, actually. I can handle whatever it is.”
“Alone?” The word hangs and seems to drop slowly as a rigid and all encompassing flash of foreboding care.
“Pardon?”
“Will you undertake this alone?”
“That was my assumption after everything you said, yes.”
“That is the fork in the road. Such clear choices that spread in chaotic paths.” The air grows warmer. Odd. It doesn’t feel warm. But it radiates an empathic light that he knows is hot on his skin.
“You should work on your delivery for the next person you try to help. I don’t quite know what to take away from all this.” His mind is ablaze with more questions, but as Closure says, time is not on his side.
"Perhaps. Or, it may be that you're only able to hear what you want to hear. It is common to block out unwanted advice. I only wish for you to sleep easy and that your ever after comes swiftly.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem as ghosts can’t-” He’s speaking out loud.
Edwin sits up, bracing himself for possible disaster. Cluttered but organized desk. Messy and surprisingly comfortable couch. Familiarly packed bookshelves. The office doesn’t look any different as he stands up from his spot in the middle of the room. He must’ve not been gone for long wherever he went. It helps put him at ease for the moment. He brushes off his clothes and smooths them out thoroughly.
“Is there space for me here? Other than the dusty couch.” Crystal’s voice catches his ear and Edwin turns as she walks through the door into the office. She throws her bag on the couch and it kicks up some aforementioned dust amid the blankets.
“I mean, somewhere yeah, else we can make some.” Charles follows behind her. His smiling gaze focusing on Edwin. “Mate, we can make space, yeah? Maybe even get another room if we’re expanding and all. Personally, I’m not too keen to work in the same room as the high and mighty Dotty.”
“She doesn’t approve of that name, Charles.” Crystal says exasperated, but amused.
“She doesn’t approve of our existence. I can call miss ‘don’t address me’ what I bloody like. Besides, it’s a totally brills name. Right, Edwin?” Charles strides across the room and leans on their desk. Hands in pockets while casually addressing Edwin.
“How long were you two gone?” Edwin can’t help but ask. He hasn’t moved from the middle of the room. The unknown is gnawing on his brain. Its teeth are blunt but strong as his inability to fully form a complete idea of what just happened feeds into his frustration. It pities him. Or so it said. What does that entail?
“Uh, like, a couple minutes? We were just going down to pick up my bag like we said. Charles showed me around some. Why? Did something happen?” Crystal answers and stares at Edwin from her claimed seat on the couch. Her eyes trace his posture in study. The scrutiny isn’t unwarranted, but leaves him feeling exposed.
“Nothing important.” Edwin reasons. At least, not important to share. Not when he hardly knows what it was. It gave him a name, a purpose, and then vague hints of his future. What is he supposed to do with that? Specifics are a detective’s best friend. Omens of impending doom don’t crack cases.
Charles is staring at him now too. Edwin feels for his notepad, but stops once the pocket comes back empty. He slumps with a soft sigh. He’ll have to start a new one. A setback no doubt. The loss of his notes is disappointing but it won’t-
“Here.” Charles taps Edwin’s shoulder with something. “I kept it in my pack and forgot to give it back to its rightful owner. I’m sure it missed you.”
Edwin takes his notebook from Charles’ hand. It looks intact other than a singe mark on the small spine. He flips through it to see all pages accounted for. Some ripped and torn. Others are stained with all kinds of unknown substances from all sorts of cases. It brings back a feeling of comfort having his work returned.
“Thank you.” He finds the next blank page to start more notes. He requests a pen, reaching an open palm towards Charles and waiting. Without looking, one is placed in his hand for Edwin to immediately begin writing. A thought stops him momentarily.
“How much of it did you read?” Edwin looks up with an eyebrow raised.
“Just the Hell stuff. Your mapping skills are wicked good. I couldn’t have gotten to you without it. Well, at least not as fast. Would’ve found a way down eventually.” Charles grins, teeth showing and eyes wrinkling. Bright and goofy. Edwin sighs.
“I still can’t believe you. Thinking of going to get me and still going through with it.” Edwin looks back down at the page. Starting a profile for his newly met 'friend' or whatever it will be to him.
“It didn’t take much thought, mate.”
“I suppose that’s the problem. It should’ve been a thought that came and went. Not followed.” Edwin waves his hand, showcasing proper protocol. “Like that. Thought gone and certainly not heeded.”
“Say whatever you want, but I wouldn’t change anything I did.” Charles’ eyes soften. “I told you, Edwin. I’ll gladly go to Hell and back for you. You're my best mate.”
Edwin won’t lie. The sentiment causes as much bliss as it stings. Edwin believed Charles when he said the confession didn’t affect their relationship. But oh, does he wish it did. No. He can’t think like that.
He loves Charles. Thus he must respect his boundaries. If it’s not mutual there’s nothing to be done. Nothing to be said. His silent heart throbs in response. A reaction not uncommon recently. He focuses on writing, refusing to meet the eyes looking at him.
Crystal clears her throat. “I guess I’ll go talk to ‘Dotty’ and figure out the space issue.” She stands, making her way out, but stopping to turn around while opening the door. “Get me if anyone comes in with a new case. Otherwise we can check out that trash monster Mrs. Fernsby came in complaining about.” She offers a small smile then exits, closing the door behind her.
Edwin finishes the last of his notes. No apparent side effects of the encounter. Other than a mild headache, reminiscent of the pressure he felt while conversing with it. Although it could very well be a coincidence. His constitution has been strange ever since returning from Hell. Occasional pangs or buzzing tingles. It could be a result of so quickly jumping between the different planes.
Charles watches Edwin silently. A patient and curious stare that Edwin is all too familiar with.
“Yes?” Edwin looks up again to confront Charles’ gaze. “What is it?”
“Are you okay?” Charles asks, face scrunched in cautious concern.
Edwin blinks at him. He can’t be that easy to read. Besides, he's fine.
“I am. Why do you ask?”
“Mate, you just asked us how long we were gone. You can’t be that time blind.”
“It was a reasonable enough question-”
“And you were just frozen in the middle of the room when we came in. Do you read standing up now? It was proper Blair Witch style.” Charles teases.
“I can stand and read where I please. Besides, that movie is the man standing in the corner of the room.”
“Shit, I think I closed my eyes during that part.” Charles rubs his neck. “Awful movie to watch at night. I kept seeing stuff afterwards.”
Edwin’s mouth twitches, trying not to smile when reliving the memory. “I remember how jumpy you were. I don’t know why you wanted to watch such a movie when you know how it makes you. You shrieked like a banshee when that poor woman came in, scaring away a client in record time. You should be proud.”
Charles pouts. “Don’t remind me. It’s not my fault you're so unaffected by subjectively good horror movies. And yeah, I hate them but also you’ve got to try and experience the classics.”
“You must admit it’s rather ironic.”
Charles tilts his head, still smiling. “What do you mean?”
“Charles,” Edwin makes his way to his chair and desk. “We work as ghost detectives. We see the most grotesque and horrifying creatures on a daily basis. We’ve dealt with demons and evil witches. Even worse, we’ve met absolutely vile humans that have done the utmost evil crimes imaginable. So forgive me if it’s a little amusing that so-called ‘horror’ movies scare you more than they have any right to.”
Edwin sits down at the desk and sorts the scattered paper into a few piles to ready them for filing. Charles steps next to Edwin. He takes a seat on the now neat desk facing his partner. Charles’ knee bumps into Edwin’s. An accidental touch. Nothing more.
“So, you’re okay?” Charles shouldn’t ask him that. Not when those eyes make him feel so valuable. Like if something was wrong Charles would bleed, break, and kill to heal him. Nevertheless, Edwin has far too much damage to ever be repaired. So, Edwin smiles back.
“Never better.”
He gasps. Breathe shallow and fast. The corridor oozes blood and smells of death. Doll heads and all too familiar body parts scattered alongside rocky debris. He pushes himself to stand. His hands are covered in wet blood. It sticks under his fingernails but doesn’t dry. It runs down his arms pooling on the floor. He can’t stop his body from shaking. Eyes jittery, scanning for escape.
Deep groaning and distant screeches have his feet moving without any input. His right eye is blurry with what he assumes is more blood. His head pounds in pain as his scratched feet pulse in agony with every step.
It’s hazy. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. It can’t be real. God please.
A creaky roar echoes through the hall. His bones rattle in delirious panic. He can barely keep his limbs moving. They stumble over each other. Audible laughter rings in his ears. Who’s laughing? Is someone here?
He freezes. Suddenly facing the source of the intense giggling.
“This is it?” Charles' smile is wide. His voice is a deep hum in Edwin’s brain. “This is what I came to save you from?”
“Charles.”
“What a shitshow. It’s what you deserve though, right? Apt, as you would say.”
“Charles.”
“What?”
“I- don’t leave-”
“Oh, stop that. You want me to stay in literal Hell with you? Are you actually asking me that?”
“No, I just-”
“You know, Edwin. I really thought you were an uncaring, selfish, prick who barely deserved the people around him. One who at least had a great best mate who cared about him.”
In a blink the two are face to face, noses almost touching. Edwin can’t look away. Tears start to mix with the blood.
“But now I know you just stay with him because of some perverted obsession. So stereotypical. You can't even be repulsive creatively.”
“You're wrong.”
“Bullshit. You only stick with him cause you hope he’ll eventually want you back. Just a desperate degenerate that barely keeps it in his pants. I mean look at you. What else could you be? A cat king's toy, maybe. Perhaps a traitor's seduction target. Never a serious option.”
“Why? Why can’t I be?”
Charles’ smile drops. A beat passes.
“Aw, poor Edwin. You know why.” He moves to whisper into Edwin’s ear. Cold breath against his cheek. “You already know.”
Edwin’s body falls back. Slamming onto the ground with a reverberating BANG. The floor rumbles. A thundering twisted body wails in victory over him. Edwin screams. It’s too late.
Edwin sits up abruptly. His vision coming back to him slowly and in blurry pictures. He blinks away the nightmare. Nightmare.
His chair squeaks as he shifts, surveying the still room. Desk and room once again unchanged. He’s alone. City lanterns beam in from outside. Combined with the lights inside the office they cast a yellow hue across the books and walls.
He inspects his hands. No blood. He moves each finger and finds nothing noticeably wrong. He places a hand over his chest. Taking a few deliberate and slow breaths to ground his phantom of a body.
Ghosts don’t sleep. That shouldn’t be up for debate. Edwin rubs his face in an attempt to calm his mind. So he can think without flashing back to that hallway. To whoever was pretending to be Charles. Fake or not, Edwin hates it. He hates that those memories haunt him. That he’ll never escape Hell no matter where he goes. It’s not fair.
Of course Edwin would be the first ghost in history to fall asleep and of course it’d inflict vivid visions of his worst fears. Only he would be so lucky.
He leans back in the chair. Staring at the ceiling and listening to the soft drops of rain beginning to fall outside. He’s safe. Charles and Crystal were off dealing with that garbage monster or whatever it will end up being. While he was in the middle of trying to find texts that might help in uncovering the mystery of Closure. Or an entity claiming the name. Despair had been quite the character. Edwin will get to meet the whole family of humanoid emotions if his luck persists.
Is exhausting the right word? No, it’s not right. He shouldn’t feel like this. It must be some curse or ailment. A contagion that will cause his head to explode. He’d much prefer that to whatever torment is stalking him now. He must ask Charles. He could be experiencing similar symptoms.
What if Charles is suffering just the same? Edwin wouldn’t forgive himself.
Out of everyone in the universe, Charles chose to stay with Edwin. After just meeting no less. It’s difficult to think about. The shivering body of a dying Charles in the glow of Edwin’s lantern. Eyes distant but distraught through the darkness. Soaked clothes loosely covered in a dirty blanket. A petrified stare, hoping, pleading for comfort. Begging for mercy. Craving safety. For everything to be okay.
Edwin isn’t brave. And though it was foolish to stay so near death’s next target, he couldn’t leave. He stayed and tried so hard to be that comfort. Compassion Edwin had always wished for, but never been granted. Explaining the supernatural world as a distraction. Reading until dawn to act as company. And after all of it, Edwin’s expectations of a one and done service were proven wrong. This specific person didn’t want to go. No. He wanted to stay.
It’s pouring rain outside. He hopes Charles and Crystal stay safe.