Chapter Text
"I don’t think this is a good idea," Lucy said as she watched Lockwood and George set out a chair in the centre of the library.
Up until that point, they had done everything by the book, which was surprising for them. They'd done their research before going to the scene so they had arrived knowing they would be confronting the ghost of Edmund Strand, an agent who had disappeared ten years ago and his visitor had been plaguing a rickety abandoned warehouse on the Thames for a year. His body had never been found but then it made sense given that people believed he had fallen off an old walkway, been injured and drowned in the Thames as the warehouse flooded. A grim way to go.
But they had handled everything by the book. They'd found the old notebook that had been his source, contained it in a silver glass box. It wasn’t their fault the box had been from a bad batch, that just enough of Edmund Strand had been able to leak out for him to develop a psychic connection with Lockwood.
Given that they had learnt so much from exploring the psychic connection between Lucy and Annabel Ward, the boys were eager to see what they might get from Lockwood having a go.
"We don't know what it will do to you," Lucy said. "I couldn't breathe."
"You could have had a panic attack," George said.
She knew he wasn't deliberately being dismissive but that didn't change how Lucy felt about what he said.
"There were no bruises on your neck," Lockwood pointed out diplomatically. "It doesn't seem like anything physically happened to you. But it would have been very distressing."
Lucy shook her head, pointing out that they couldn’t know for sure. She knew it was strange coming from her. Normally it would be her or Lockwood left to try and convince George to go along with their schemes. Things were different with psychic connections though. George wanted to know more. He wanted to be able to understand. Lockwood had been initially hesitant and she knew he would be trying to put a stop to the scheme if she had been the one about to try and open up a link like that again. But, as it was only his life on the line, Lockwood was remarkably receptive to the idea.
“We don’t even know what he died from,” she pointed out.
“And this is likely the only way we will be able to find out,” Lockwood told her. “He was one of us. He deserves to be remembered properly. His family deserves answers.”
Lucy looked toward George who nodded along.
“You just want to see how a seer handles a psychic connection.”
“We got some really good stuff last time,” George shrugged.
“And I almost lost control.”
Lockwood had already settled into the seat. He offered her a reassuring smile, saying that they had a better idea of what they were doing this time.
“If anything happens… If I even get out of this chair, you can snap me out of it, Luce.”
Lucy grimaced. Sometimes the boys in her life were incapable of seeing sense. She glowered at the notebook on the side before she opened the replacement silver glass container. Already she could feel the grim energy rising from it.
Sometimes it was hard, when a source felt so gloomy and intense, for Lucy to remember that the person who was tied to it probably hadn’t always been like that. Annabel Ward had almost killed them all more than once but she had been happy and in love and rising to stardom when she had been alive.
By all accounts, Edmund Strand had been on the same upward trajectory. In fact, most descriptions of him reminded Lucy of Lockwood, which was probably why the two had been able to form the link in the first place. Edmund had been driven, dynamic and heroic, plagued by tragedy. It had been only weeks before his death that his long-term girlfriend, a sensitive, had been killed while working the night shift at a graveyard. Relic-men. And he’d been an orphan since the age of four when his father had drunk himself to death. His mother had died when he had been two due to complications surrounding the birth of Edmund’s closest surviving relative, his younger brother. It was for his sake that Lockwood seemed so focused on getting answers.
Lucy slowly approached Lockwood with the notebook. She glanced toward the window, wondering if they should delay a little longer. The rising sun might weaken Edmund a little more, spare Lockwood from having to possibly face the same thing she had.
Lockwood insistently held out his hand. He gave Lucy a reassuring smile as she hovered the book over his palm.
“Me and George are going to be right here. Don’t let him take any… Was liberties the word you used?”
“Yes,” Lockwood said. “And I can assure you I don’t intend to.”
Lucy held his gaze. She believed him. But she also knew him. He wouldn’t let Edmund Strand take liberties but Lockwood’s idea of what a liberty was, about where the lines should be, wasn’t as strict as she wished it was. He would be willing to do a good distance past safe if it meant solving the case.
“Don’t let yourself get carried away,” she instructed.
“Just reckless enough,” Lockwood vowed.
Lucy shook her head and let the notebook drop into his hand. Then she stepped back. Lockwood squirmed about on the seat for a moment, getting comfortable. Then his eyes slipped closed.
“Don’t you need your eyes open to see?” George said.
“Just trying to get into the zone,” Lockwood told him. “Your adoring stare can be a little distracting, George.”
“Adoring? You’re nothing but a lab rat, Lockwood,” George replied.
“You remember you did this to me too, right?” Lucy asked, hoping that if she made the joke confidently enough it would sound like she was completely calm.
George merely offered her an innocent smile. When they turned back, Lockwood had his eyes open.
“Performance issues?” George asked.
“I’m pretty sure we were quiet for Lucy,” Lockwood said, a hint of frustration working its way into his voice.
“Listeners need quiet,” George smirked. “Can’t quieten things for a seer.”
“Yes, you can,” Lucy said.
She reached out and flicked off the light. The room became very dark. Lucy listened out for a moment, heard Lockwood giving a quiet chuckle.
“Thank you, Lucy.”
“Now we can’t see him,” George protested. “What if something goes wrong?”
“We can switch the lights back on once he’s gotten the connection with Edmund going,” Lucy reasoned.
Within moments, Lockwood was reporting that he was beginning to see something.
“What?” George asked, impatiently.
There was a pause. Lucy went to reach for the light switch. Panic began to grip her. What if she turned the light on and saw Lockwood slumped over in the chair, unconscious?
Just as her finger brushed against the switch however, Lockwood spoke. He told them he was seeing the warehouse they had been forced to face the ghost in.
“Definitely seems like he died there,” Lockwood said.
Lucy turned on the light. She would see how unfocused Lockwood’s eyes were. It was obvious he was no longer seeing the library of 35 Portland Row.
“He’s creeping along. Clearly not meant to be there. Definitely worried about getting caught.”
“Why did he go there?” Lucy asked.
“He’s… He’s there to get justice. Someone he cared about… She was hurt. No, killed. And he wants to know why.”
Lucy’s eyes widened as she suggested maybe there had been more to the girlfriend’s death than just her being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“He’s looking through… There’s boxes of paperwork. Order forms. The Penel Salt Company.”
The name seemed familiar to Lucy. She tried to place it. But it was George who came up with the answer first.
“They were a fake company, a front for some Relic-men to launder their money,” George said.
Lockwood nodded.
“They were a part of it. He’s going to write some notes. Something’s making… Ah, there we go. A payment was made two days after his girlfriend was killed. Clearly something was taken from the graveyard. But that wasn’t in the report about the murder.”
Lucy wasn’t sure where Edmund’s deductions ended and Lockwood’s began and she didn’t like it. How could they properly monitor him if they had no idea who was even in control at any given moment?
“Maybe it was an inside job?” Lockwood mused. “Graveyard owner fails to report sources being stolen so he can get a bit of the cut?”
Suddenly, he sat up straighter.
“There’s someone here.”
“Someone?” Lucy frowned.
“More than just… Four men. They’re far bigger. They’re…”
Lockwood got to his feet. His hand flew to his rapier. Lucy was only thankful he didn’t draw it. She moved toward him, wondering if she should take the weapon from him. His eyes were still shut. He was seeing what Edmund saw. And if he started waving his rapier around blindly she and George could easily get hurt.
“They’ve seen me!” Lockwood hissed.
No. No. Lucy felt panic wash over her. Lockwood was too far in. They needed to pull him out of the connection before something happened.
“Lockwood,” she called, trying not to sound too worked up. “Lockwood!”
She took a step toward him. George yanked her back just in time to stop Lockwood’s lightning-fast rapier draw from slashing at her cheek.
“We need to wake him up,” Lucy said.
She drew her own rapier, glad it would at least give her the option of parrying Lockwood’s strikes if required.
“This is why we made you do yours in your pyjamas!” George hissed.
Lucy was forced to deflect a strike that would have cut into George’s arm. The next slash of Lockwood’s deadly rapier cut through the air right by her face. She felt it brush through her hair.
“What do we do?” Lucy asked. “You know about psychic connections.”
George spluttered, telling her he had always said it was weak science. It wasn’t like there was a set series of rules to be followed.
“We should try to get the source away from him,” George managed.
Lucy nodded. Clutching the notebook in his spare hand, Lockwood was swinging his rapier wildly, desperately trying to defend himself against attackers he could not see. The moments were not like Lockwood at all. Yes, there was his flare, his precision, but none of his genius, his strategy. Lucy could tell Lockwood was utterly losing control of the connection.
“I’ll keep him busy, you grab the notebook,” Lucy said.
“Lucy, as amazing as you are at distracting Lockwood, surely there is a way we can contain him without one of us having to step into the range of a rapier being wielded by a fencing prodigy?” George all but shrieked back.
Lucy chewed on her lip. Then she nodded.
“George, find something heavy.”
“Heavy?” George questioned.
Lucy barely had time to reply before she was stopping a violent lunge toward her. She began backing up, forcing George out into the corridor. The last thing she wanted was to leave Lockwood but she knew she and George would be useless if they ended up impaled on Lockwood’s rapier.
George returned with a large paperweight, going to pass it to Lucy.
“No. Throw it. Aim for where Lockwood got shot.”
George’s eyes widened but he didn’t try to argue. He drew in an understudy breath, throwing the weight. It slammed into Lockwood’s upper chest, forcing a cry of pain from his lips. Lucy had hoped the pain would be enough to get her friend back. It wasn’t. But it was enough to give her an opening. She twisted her rapier, trapping Lockwood’s against it in a move he had shown her. Then with a flick of the wrist she had forced the rapier from his hand.
“Lockwood,” Lucy called.
She threw her own rapier to the side, closing in on him. His tight, terrified breathing broke her heart. She was reminded of being cornered at the Winkman’s auction, of the terror and grief that had gripped him then.
“Lockwood, please, look at me. Really look.”
She reached out, one hand on his cheek while the other reached for the notebook.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. That’s not happening to you. You are here. You’re with me and George. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
She worked the notebook from his trembling fingers, feeling Lockwood press his cheek into her hand. His eyes flickered. For a moment Lucy was sure the keenness had returned, as sure they focused on her. But, even as she pulled the notebook away from him, it was fleeting. Tossing the notebook as far from Lockwood as she could, Lucy called his name. Lockwood shoved her away from him. He tripped and fell, lying there for a moment. And then he curled up into a foetal position, covering his head the best he could.
“Lockwood!” Lucy screamed. “Lockwood!”
She turned to George.
“How did he stop it before? How did-”
“He called her name. Annabel’s name!” George rushed.
His notes had been completely abandoned.
Lucy knelt beside Lockwood.
“Edmund! Edmund! You have to stop this! Please!”
Lockwood was yelping and groaning, reacting as if dozens of blows were raining down on him. She caught snatches of the pained, terrified look on his face as his hands shifted about his head. Lucy reached out to touch him and he slowly began to still. Relief bubbled up inside her. She felt a sob break past her lips.
“Lockwood?” she said, coaxingly.
Slowly Lockwood unfurled himself. Lucy tried to catch his eye, going to ask how he was. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at something across the library, something neither Lucy nor George could see.
“The curtains!” George gasped. “I opened the curtains!”
Lucy got to her feet, stepping over Lockwood.
“NO!” Lockwood suddenly shouted, lifting a hand to shield his face.
Then he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. He crumpled to the floor, unmoving.
Lucy threw open the curtains. The room seemed to stop. Edmund’s notebook lay calmly on the floor beside Lockwood. Lucy could hear nothing but her own horrified pants as she took in the sight.
"Lockwood?" she managed, voice tight.
He was so still. Deathly still. Still enough to make her skin crawl.
Slowly Lucy realised why the stillness had her so unnerved. Lockwood's chest wasn't riding and falling. She threw herself at his side, listening for any sign he was breathing.
A terrible silence rang in her ears.
"He's not breathing!" she gasped.
She heard George drop his notebook. He rushed to her side, hands shaking as he helped her check Lockwood's airway was open.
"Call an ambulance!" Lucy ordered, placing her hands on Lockwood's chest.
Tears were spilling down her cheeks as she began CPR.
The doctors wouldn't tell them anything. They wouldn't let them see Lockwood. Family members only and legally they were just his employees. When asked if there was any family to call, Lucy and George had glared at the receptionist.
Hours passed. Chairs were moved outside Lockwood’s room because the two refused to move and their pacing was getting in the way. A doctor interviewed them about what had happened and then wandered off to make some calls. No one else would talk to them. Glowers were offered in their directions when they tried to glance into the room.
It was just after lunch when someone cleared their throat before them. The two looked up, frowning when they saw Barnes standing there.
“Why’d they call you?” George scowled, forgoing the greetings.
“Because human experimentation is an insurance matter,” Barnes replied. “And with Lockwood having no listed next of kin, legally I have to take responsibility for his medical matters if he is incapable of doing so.”
George grimaced. He grumbled under his breath that he had been telling Lockwood to get him listed as his next of kin for months.
“Why is Lockwood incapable of taking care of his own matters?” Lucy asked.
Barnes let out a very tired sigh. What scared Lucy was that it wasn’t exasperated. It wasn’t the sort of sigh that said ‘what mess has Lockwood brought me today?’. It was the sort of sigh that came when someone signed a death certificate.
“He is in a coma,” Barnes admitted. “Might be for a long time. There isn’t much medically wrong with him. A few old wounds he probably shouldn’t have been working as hard as he has been but… This isn’t a medical issue. It’s a psychical one.”
“Can we see him?” Lucy asked.
“The doctors aren’t keen on the idea,” Barnes admitted. “But they’ve never seen anything like this before. And Lockwood would want you there.”
It chilled Lucy to the bone to see Lockwood like that.
He was lying so still, looking deathly pale. His usual clothes had been placed with a hospital gown, his skin littered with sensors and IVs. He’d been intubated. His heart rate was steady, so steady that Lucy was sure it was relying on a machine to keep it beating. His mental activity was haywire, showing Lucy he was still in there, still in distress.
George covered his mouth as he entered. Lucy felt fresh tears coming. Even Barnes had to swallow tightly at the sight.
“The doctors have a theory,” Barnes said, hollowly as he led them to Lockwood’s bedside.
Lucy couldn’t stop herself from her hand with Lockwood’s. She reached up, touching his cheek, trying to ignore the medical equipment that was keeping him alive. She sent out a desperate prayer for it to be enough, that his eyes would flicker open and she’d know everything was going to be okay.
There wasn’t even a twitch.
“What’s their theory?”
Lucy hated George in that moment. She hated him for being able to pull himself together. She knew the sight of Lockwood was killing him. She knew he wanted to fall apart as much as she did but somehow he was finding the strength to do what Lockwood needed them too while she was reduced to a pleading, desperate mess.
“They believe Lockwood was psychically linked to Edmund Strand and experienced the moment of his death. The scene you described just before Lockwood collapsed. It appears Edmund Strand was shot after being beaten by four men.”
“And what does that mean for Lockwood?” George demanded.
“We don’t know,” Barnes said. “If anyone has ever done something like this, they’ve either been pulled out before they could be killed or died before they could be helped.”
Lucy grimaced. Of course Lockwood would have to be special. Ghostlock wasn’t good enough for him. He had to invent a new way to get his body to shut down, a new way to let a ghost take him away from her.
She had told him. She had told him he had lost his chance to die without anyone caring. She had made that very, very clear to him.
She wanted to hate him for how much it hurt. But she knew she couldn’t. She wasn’t capable of hating him, no matter how much she wished she could sometimes.
“There has to be something we can do!” Lucy roared, turning sharply to Barnes.
“We are going to try everything we can, Miss Carlyle. But I need you to be realistic. There is a chance Mr Lockwood may never wake up.”
George shook his head. He exploded into a whirlwind of suggestions, demanding Barnes show him all the notes the doctors had made. The inspector soon agreed, going to leave the room with George at his heels. He lingered in the doorway, looking back at Lucy.
“Miss Carlyle, I don’t think I am supposed to leave you in here alone with him,” Barnes said.
Lucy’s steely gaze told the inspector it was a battle he was sure to lose. Within moments he and George were gone, leaving Lucy alone with Lockwood.
She wished something would change, there would be some development. Lockwood was never so still, never so predictable. He would probably be disgusted by the regular, steady bleeping of the heart rate monitor, be ecstatic with the thought of his mind doing tricks and somersaults that the machines were having trouble comprehending.
Lucy squeezed his hand, staring down at him.
“Please wake up,” she whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek.