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Lockwood was being a brat. He knew it, even if Jess hadn’t told him twice already, but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself.
“Do we have to go to this party?” he whined for the tenth time.
“Yes,” it was his mother’s patient voice from the passenger seat. His whining never seemed to phase her. “There are a number of important people who will be there that your father and I need to speak to.”
“But why do we have to go? Why couldn’t we stay at home?”
“Because Mrs. Poplar has the night off,” his mother said serenely. Mrs. Poplar was their nanny. She was old and very nice and quite easy to fool into thinking you’d only had one biscuit when you’d already eaten three. She was a good nanny.
“Jessie’s old enough to babysit me. I’d much rather watch movies and eat popcorn all night than wear this stupid suit!” He pulled at his collar, trying to loosen the tie that was constructing his neck uncomfortably.
“You look very handsome, darling,” his mother said.
He gave a long suffering sigh and looked over at where Jess was staring resolutely at the buildings sliding past outside her window. She looked very nice in her party dress, with her hair plaited and held with a velvet ribbon.
“You look dumb,” he whispered to her. Nothing like getting your frustrations out on your sibling. At least then you weren’t alone in your aggrieved state.
She ignored him.
“You’re going to trip in those shoes,” he tried again. Her shoes had tiny heels on them. They’d been a Christmas present and she wore them with great pride, though she did tend to wobble alarmingly in them.
Her eye twitched. He was getting warmer.
“You only dressed up because you think Quill’s going to be there, but he’s not!”
That got her. Her head whipped around, a glare on her face.
“How do you know?” she whispered darkly.
“Oh come on,” he groaned, but he was grinning. “It’s so obvious the way you smile at him. You like him.”
She sniffed haughtily. “What would you even know of such things,” she said haughtily.
“I’ve watched all the same movies you have,” he pointed out very reasonably. “Even that stupid Jane Austen, Scent and Scentiblity or whatever it was.”
“You are such a child,” Jessica shook her head. “Anyways, that’s not what I meant. Why do you think he won’t be there?”
“Because he’s working at Fittes now,” he said triumphantly. “I heard mum and dad talking about it.”
Her eyes flicked to their parents who had gotten caught up in a deep discussion of someone or other’s academic grant prospects. She bit her lip, but didn’t say anything.
“I bet he trips over his rapier on his first job,” he said smugly.
She glared at him again. “Watch it, you little bug,” she threatened, “Or I’ll kick your tiny little arse.”
“You and what army?” he said, jutting his jaw out in a tough way. She was twice his size and could absolutely kick his arse if she wanted to. Luckily he knew how to toe the line, being just sweet enough to stop her from ever really wanting to pummel him.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Poplar about the thermometer trick,” she whispered fiercely.
“I’ll tell her you taught it to me!” he hissed back.
“So? She’ll never believe you. She likes me too much.”
That was probably true. Mrs. Poplar never seemed to trust him for some reason.
“But Jessie,” his voice took on a wheedling tone. “If she thinks I’m sick, she’ll let us watch movies all day. She’ll bring me soup and tea and you can build a blanket fort and we can hide inside and not have to do piano lessons or homework or anything.”
She screwed her mouth up like she was thinking about it.
“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. Then she grinned at him and he laughed.
“I love you, Jessie,” he said, in that deadly serious but effusive way of six year olds.
“I love you, too,” she said. “Even when you’re being a brat.”
He stuck his tongue out at her. She stuck her tongue out right back and they both giggled. Jess went back to looking out the window as he kicked his feet, scrunching his toes in the uncomfortable shoes. When he was an adult, he would never wear such stupid clothes.
“Are we there yet?” he asked his parents. They continued talking, ignoring his interruption.
He strained his neck, trying to see where they were. To his disappointment, they were hardly a half mile from home, just about to enter the Euston Tunnel.
A cold fear gripped him.
“Jess,” he said. She had gone back to ignoring him.
“Jessica!” he said more urgently.
“What?”
“We can’t go in there!”
“Go in where?” she asked.
“It’s the tunnel, Jess! We can’t go in there!”
“Why not?”
He reached for her hand, but the lights outside suddenly gave way to the concrete walls of the tunnel, plunging them into darkness. He was beginning to panic.
“Jess! Please, I don’t want them to go. Don’t let them go! I don’t want them to die!”
Everything was dark. He was looking across to where Jessica had been a moment ago but he couldn’t see anything. Where was she?
“Jess?” he asked in a high, desperate voice. “Mum? Dad?”
Somehow he knew he was alone. He would always be alone.
A sudden wall of sound struck him, throwing everything into chaos. A crunch, a crash, a screech.
When it stopped, he was standing in the tunnel, the car not ten feet away, crumpled beyond recognition. He began to run, a scream clawing its way up his throat, but he knew he would never reach them in time—the flames were faster than he was. They were engulfing the car, and for a moment he saw Jessica’s silhouette glowing against the window.
He’s out of bed and running before he even registers what’s happening. He tears open his door and stumbles blindly to the one place he knows he’ll be safe. He practically collides with the door, scrabbling at the doorknob, but he can’t find it. He is panic blinded and nothing is as it should be. It feels like the world is cracking open—or maybe that’s his ribcage—and he’s half crying, half shouting.
His hand finds the doorknob, practically at the level of his hip. When did it get so low? When did I get so tall?
That’s when he comes fully awake.
Lucy finds him there on the landing, his head pressed against Jessica’s door, his hand frozen on the doorknob.
“Lockwood?” she asks softly.
He swallows, unable to speak, his brain still too full of the echoes of his nightmare. She approaches cautiously, her feet light, her breathing strained. She hovers behind him, a warm and patient presence.
“Old habit,” he whispers finally.
“What’s that?” she asks, drawing nearer.
“When I used to have nightmares, I’d crawl in with Jess. Mum would always take me back to my own bed, tuck me in and give me a kiss, but Jess would let me stay. She never kicked me out.”
He can feel the adrenaline subsiding, giving way to a chilling despair that he doesn’t want Lucy to know about, doesn't want her to see.
“I’m alright,” he says, forcing his muscles to unclench one by one. “I’m alright, you can go… go back to bed.”
Lucy’s hand brushes against his shoulder, whispering over his bare skin, down his arm. He doesn’t move, doesn’t respond. His nerves are ice but his eyes are fire and he’s stuck between wanting to pull away and wanting to submit to whatever mercy she can show him.
Lucy wraps her hand around his wrist and he lets go of the doorknob. She tugs and he follows, unable to think, only able to obey the gentle pressure. His eyes won’t focus properly and he stumbles on the steps. Lucy is there for him, like she always is. She ducks under his arm and wraps her arms around his waist, guiding him, supporting him.
He’s barely aware of moving his own feet, let alone where they’re going, so it’s a surprise when he finds himself in the attic, staring down at his old bed. Lucy’s bed. He looks over at her, unsure what to do. She pushes him gently into the bed and he crawls under the covers.
Lucy follows him in, pulling the quilt up over both of them.
“Leave the light on?” he whispers and she does.
He feels her arm wrap tightly around him from behind, her face pressing into his back, her knees bumping into his thighs. He feels safe, but not whole. He doesn’t know if anything will ever fill the hollowness inside him.
“You know you can always come up here,” she says softly, her breath fanning across his shoulder blade. “I don’t mind.”
Lockwood can’t speak, so he just nods.
He falls asleep to the sound of Lucy’s breathing and the creaks of the old house settling around them.