Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Client

“Now I usually wouldn’t go through all the trouble, but it really is a beautiful home. Mid-19th-century construction, recently renovated, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a modest garden, and situated in a good neighborhood. Could sell for well over three million pounds but even after the listing has been reduced 3 times no one wants to buy it.”

Crystal looks first at Edwin, lips pursed and one eyebrow raised in an unimpressed expression, then at Charles, staring just past the potential client's left ear, obviously having tuned out the woman's explanation long ago.

Crystal thinks the case the woman presents could be an interesting one—if only because the client is still living, rather than a ghost. Crystal has found that, despite ghosts and living people being from the same stock, they have very different ways of operating—and not just in the physical sense. She’s noticed that the dead tend to get straight to the point of things, not wasting time on pleasantries or idle conversation, despite having all the time in the world to do so. The living—who are usually short on time and always in a rush—tend to over-explain or beat around the bush, taking forever to actually get to the point.

The young woman occupying the client's chair came in first thing in the morning. In the 20 minutes she has been in the office, she has told them a lot of things. Including…

Name: Alice Morrow

Current Occupation: real estate agent

Tragic backstory™: almost drowned as a child

Job history: Tried to be an artist, made no sales in the first year. Works for her father’s company now.

Pets: Two cats, Honey and Clover

Relationship status: It’s complicated

Opinion on smartphones: overpriced but essential

Diet: flexitarian

What she has not told them is her problem. Well, at least not a problem that the Dead Boy Detective Agency can help her with—her relationship problems are her own.

“Of course, the home is not to my taste,” the client says, somehow still talking, “I know Victorian architecture is appealing to the masses, but I have always found it to be quite busy. Not enough people appreciate the bold yet simple looks of the neoclassical style.”

And now they know the woman’s opinion on architecture, great.

Edwin raises a hand before the woman can begin on columns and friezes, “Yes, thank you for your explanation. This has all been very… thorough but I fail to see what this has to do with us.”

“Well, I need your help to sell the house,” Alice says as if they should have known that already.

“Right,” Charles says slowly, having tuned back in once he heard Edwin’s voice, “That’s not exactly what we do though.”

“No, of course. I know. But there is something… strange about the house.”

“Like what?” Crystal asks.

“The house is… sad,” Alice responds.

“Again, we can’t help with selling the house. Maybe try some decorations. That’ll brighten the old place up,” Charles suggests.

“No, you misunderstand. The house doesn’t look sad. The house is sad. It is depressed.”

“How do you figure?” Edwin says, sitting up in his chair now that the client has said something potentially interesting.

“It’s the energy of the place. It messes with the emotions of everyone who enters. Some sort of sadness. Like grief or longing or maybe it’s heartbreak,” Alice struggles to explain, “As if the house has lost something important. Clients can hardly be in the house for more than an hour before they want to leave.”

“Have you felt this ‘sadness’?” Edwin asks, putting the last word in quotes through tone alone.

“Oh, yes,” she confirms, “I try not to go into the house anymore, though. The problem is the house feels so depressing that no one wants to live there. Which means no one is interested in buying it, which is truly just dreadful for my sales rate.”

“Yes, that does sound dreadful,” Edwin says distractedly as he jots down notes in his pocket book.

“Is there anything else unusual about the house? Strange noises or lights? Temperature changes?” Charles prods.

“Well, it is an old house. During renovation, we tried to keep as many of the original components of it as possible—it adds character, you see—the floors are all original and they creak anytime there is so much as a slight wind and the glass in the windows is all warped so it casts strange patterns during the day. And the furniture-”

“Right, I get that,” Charles interrupts, “But is there anything that stands out?”

“No, this is all to be expected from older structures. It really is just the feeling that concerns me.”

“Have you noticed it in any particular room?” Edwin asks.

“No, the whole house seems to be affected. Though it is stronger in some rooms than in others.”

Edwin notes this down then asks, “Have you tried anything to remedy the situation before coming to us?”

“Well, I tried. Only, I didn’t know what to do about it. So, I posted about it on reddit to see if anyone had advice. And, someone commented that I should contact you.”

“Wait, you heard about us from reddit?” Crystal asks confused about who could have posted about the agency online.

“Reddit?” Edwin says, sounding out the word, “What is reddit?” Edwin asks. Crystal doesn’t particularly feel like explaining the internet again, so she chooses to ignore Edwin’s question. When she doesn’t answer he turns to Charles, who just shrugs.

“Yes,” Alice confirms, “They said you were the best! So, what do you think? Can you fix it?”

Edwin doesn’t say anything immediately, as he thinks it over.

Charles leans into Edwin’s space and nudges him, “Come on. It sounds like a simple cleansing. If we start now we’ll be home by the end of the day.”

“Yes, it does sound simple. Which is why we should not waste our time on it. Someone else can take care of it. We have more pressing cases,” Edwin whispers back.

“Look at it this way, it will be good practice for Crystal,” Charles presses.

“Yeah,” Crystal agrees, eagerly scooting her chair closer to the boys—knees almost bumping Edwin’s—to join the conversation, “I’ve never done a cleansing before.”

“Which means you might muck it up and waste more of our time,” Edwin says cattily.

Crystal rolls her eyes, “You’re the one always telling me I need to make myself useful.”

Edwin sighs, and lifts his hand from his lap to push sharply at the air. It’s a familiar gesture that tells Crystal and Charles to move out of his space, “Fine,” he concedes.

Crystal shares a successful smile with Charles before they both scoot back to their original positions.

“There is the matter of payment,” Edwin directs towards Alice.

“Right,” Alice heaves a relieved sigh and starts rummaging in her purse, “Now I was told you don’t normally accept money, so I brought something else.”

Alice pulls out a glass jam jar from her bag. It makes a rattling sound as she puts it on the desk.

“Are those,” Crystal begins, leaning closer to see what’s inside, “teeth?”

“Yes, baby teeth,” Alice confirms.

“Where did you get them?” Charles asks, picking up the jar and turning it so the teeth clink against the glass.

“You find all sorts of things in old houses,” Alice says proudly.

Crystal is used to accepting weird things as payment for their services—and now that she has her parents credit card again, she doesn’t need money—but, “We’re not seriously gonna accept teeth for payment, right?”

“Of course we are,” Edwin says, “You wouldn’t believe the number of spells that require human teeth,” He turns back to Alice, “We accept, if you have the time I would like to understand more about the house and its history.”

The Process

There is a procedure that the Dead Boy Detective Agency follows for every case. It involves collecting all relevant information about the subject from the client—then double checking that information because the client is usually biased, ignorant, or both. While double checking they also look for any information the client may have left out, which is usually a good 70% of it. Before Crystal and her magical internet, the boys would visit library after library collecting any information available, a process that could take days or weeks depending on how difficult the case was. Now, Crystal can find most of the information online within an hour. In the rare cases where the sources aren’t available online, she can usually find out which libraries or offices have physical copies for the boys to sneak in and grab. Once they have enough information to narrow down what they are dealing with, Charles shoves all the necessary materials in his bag and they head to the site, often getting into more trouble than they anticipated.

And when the rates of near misses and property damage reached “unacceptable levels”, Edwin instituted a new step in the process.

It goes like this. They gather all the information about the case, as usual, then Edwin and Charles draw up a list of the most likely causes. Before they head out, Crystal will sit in the middle of the couch in the office, a notebook open in her lap. Charles will be perched on the arm of the sofa with one foot resting on the cushion and the other foot dangling on the floor. Edwin will tell him to get his foot off the sofa. Charles will not listen. Charles' eyes will track Edwin as he alternates between pacing the length of the room and grabbing random books from the shelves and adding them to a steadily growing pile on the coffee table. Edwin will spend the next 1-2 hours explaining very complicated things very quickly, only the first 20 minutes of which will relate directly to the case. Edwin will also reference several 1000+ page books that he will insist Crystal read as background for the case, most of which will say the exact same thing. Crystal will attempt to take notes for the first 3 minutes of the lecture before she loses her place and gives up. Charles will occasionally interrupt Edwin’s speech with facts he thinks are relevant and Edwin will say Thank you, Charles—genuinely or sarcastically depending on if he agrees. Charles will eventually try to distract Edwin with a topic that is completely unrelated and Edwin will take the bait. Crystal will, at some point, lose interest and cut off Edwin's rant about 13th century fertility superstitions, or benign fungi, or whale feeding habits, or whatever topic he accidentally veered into. Edwin will ask “Do you have any questions?”. Crystal will say “No”.

Later, when they are actively on the case, it will be very obvious that Crystal still has no idea what to do. Edwin will notice, affectionately insult her, then give a clear and concise explanation of what is happening and what to do about it while Charles holds back the problem. Crystal will use her powers, Charles will hit something, Edwin will use magic, and the case will be solved with just as much property damage as all their other cases.

And, since Crystal is a physical learner, she will remember the short, hectic, hands-on, property-damage-ridden lesson more than any amount of speaking or reading could offer. But, every time there is a new case, she still sits in the middle of the couch for the pre-case lectures because Edwin likes explaining, and Charles likes goading, and Crystal has a lot of time on her hands now that she is no longer using it to be a bad person.

So, after interrogating Alice, confirming her details, sleuthing for the history of the property, sending Edwin to find the original documents for the house, tuning out a 1 hour and 37 minute lecture, and ignoring 2,863 assigned pages about cleansing rituals, the three finally go to the house. And, when Crystal, Charles, and Edwin are standing in front of the mid-19th-century, recently renovated, four bedroom, three bathroom, Victorian house with a modest garden in a good neighborhood, Crystal stops the two boys on the front lawn and asks, “So what's up with the house again?”

The Residue

“As you should already know,” Edwin explains exasperatedly, “physical structures can sometimes capture the psychic energy of events that occurred within them.”

He glances at Crystal to ensure that she remembered at least this fact. She does, but only because it’s what he told her about the Devlin house, and that was not an experience Crystal would soon forget. She’s still trying to figure out how to explain it to her therapist in a way that won’t get her immediately placed on a psychiatric hold.

“Wait, are we walking into another Devlin house?” Crystal asks, already debating abandoning the case.

“I do not believe so, no,” Edwin is quick to reassure, “That case was the result of a very specific trauma. What I am referring to is something decidedly less extreme. You see, emotions hold a sort of psychic energy. When a very strong emotion occurs in a space, it can linger in a physical area, leaving a sort of psychic residue. Usually it hangs in the air—though sometimes it can attach to frequently used objects, such as a toy or clothing. In most cases, the residue will fade with time. However, the more profound the original emotion the longer it stays. This residue then goes on to infect others that enter the space.”

“It happens all the time,” Charles adds, “Like at sporting events. Say the home team loses a really big match. The disappointment and mistrust from the thousands of people in the crowd can stick around and affect the next match. Makes the team all nervous and the crowd all angry. It can cause a cycle of losing sometimes.”

“Exactly.” Edwin agrees, “In the event that the residue stays for longer than expected, a simple cleansing ritual in the area in which the emotion is associated will wash away the effects.”

“Edwin and I did a cleansing at Wembley once,” Charles explains, “Cause England kept losing. It worked and they won the next match. It was brills!”

“Yes, I still don’t quite know how you talked me into that,” Edwin complains, as if Charles needs to do anything more than look mildly disappointed to convince Edwin to do what he wants.

“So, what happened in the house that caused the emotions to stick around?” Crystal asks.

“That, I am not sure about,” Edwin says disappointedly, “I could not find any event that could have had such an effect, at least not in public record. Alice also confirmed that no one has died in the house—the previous inhabitants both died peacefully of old age in hospital—so it is unlikely a tragic death caused it. Though, now that we are here the house does look rather familiar. Have we been here before, Charles?”

“Don’t think so, mate,” Charles answers, looking up at the structure from where they linger on the front lawn, “Don’t think we’ve ever even been in this area before.”

The house looks pretty much like every other old house Crystal has seen while working cases. From the outside, the house looks pretty welcoming. Crystal understands what Alice meant when she said the original components added to the character to the house. The old glass windows look particularly beautiful as the mid-afternoon sunlight dances in the panels. Crystal had learned quickly in this line of work that not everything is as it appears, even with the curb appeal and apparent lack of tragic event, something happened that tainted the building.

“So, if nothing happened to cause the residue,” Crystal says, “then why is it here?”

“Well,” Edwin begins, “The same effect can also be caused by strong, prolonged emotions. If one or both inhabitants suffered long-term melancholia, the effect would be the same. That would actually explain why Alice said the entire house was sad and not just a single room.”

“So what? They were so sad for so long that it changed the energy of the entire house?”

Edwin nods, “That is correct.”

“That's…sad,” Crystal says, not able to find a better word to describe it.

“Quite.” Edwin agrees.

“Well,” Charles exclaimed, trying to bring the mood back up, “More practice for you, Crystal. Just means we’ll have to do the cleansing in every room.”

“Yes, lots of work to be done,” Edwin adjusts his coat confidently, “Let's get started.”

The Amethyst

Luckily, Alice had given them a key to the house, so there was no need for Crystal to add another break in to her long list of crimes. She didn’t exactly expect trespassing, stalking, and minor theft to be a regular part of her life once she committed to helping people, but it was better than when she did all that just because.

Crystal braced herself as she turned the key, preparing herself for the sadness Alice warned them about. As she entered the hall, she could already feel the effects of the house pressing down on her. Her chest grew heavy, like her heart had turned to cement. Her nose started to tingle, and warmth grew behind her eyes, warning of imminent tears. Edwin had warned her that she might be more susceptible to the residue because of her powers, but she wasn’t expecting to be pushing back tears immediately.

Crystal recognizes the feeling. It wouldn’t be right to call it grief, there is something more to it that Crystal can’t place, but the effect reminds her of the feeling of loss she’s become so accustomed to after Port Townsend.

After Niko.

Crystal read once that trauma could erase memories. That it's a way for your mind to protect itself from pain. For a while, she thought that's what had happened to her missing memories. That her mind was protecting her from pain. She wasn’t wrong, in a way. When she got them back, despite fighting so hard for them, she couldn’t figure out if their return was a blessing or a curse.

Then the most loving person she’s ever known died to save her. In the height of her grief, when the knowledge that she’ll never see her friend again became too much, Crystal couldn’t help but wish that that memory would go away just like the others. 

But trauma doesn’t just erase the bad memories, it erases the good ones too. Crystal learned that sometimes the good memories are the only things that can pull her out of a grief spiral. Now, Crystal would never want to give up the good memories of Niko just to cover up the bad ones, because then all you’re left with is a feeling of wrongness with nothing to look back on and feel okay again. Accepting that Niko’s gone and cherishing the moments Crystal had with her make the grief more bearable.

Whatever the house is doing to her, the good memories aren’t the comfort they usually are. Instead of soothing her grief, now they only seem to fuel it.

Crystal covers her mouth to suppress a sob.

“You alright?” Charles asked softly, looking entirely unaffected besides his concern for her.

“I-yeah-I just,” Crystal took a deep breath to try to get her emotions under control, “You don’t feel that?”

“Kind of. It’s dull though. Kind of like watching a bad sad movie. Like, I can tell I’m supposed to be sad, but it doesn’t quite hit right.”

“Lucky,” Crystal murmurs, still struggling to breathe through the crushing feeling.

“Sorry,” Charles says genuinely, “Probably a ghost thing. Right, Edwin?”

When Edwin doesn’t respond, Crystal thinks that he had already wandered deeper into the house, but when she looks he’s still there, looking into the house with a small frown on his face and brows furrowed softly.

Crystal wouldn’t be surprised if the house is affecting Edwin more than Charles. While the events in Port Townsend were traumatic for all of them, Charles has been learning to open up about his fear and grief and anger. He’s an emotional wreck sometimes, but at least he is working through it. Edwin, on the other hand, acts okay. Sure, he’ll talk about the events—the Cat King, the Night Nurse, Monty, Ester Finch, Hell, Niko—but only as facts that happened. No mention of his emotional process behind it all. When prodded, all he does is say, “I’m handling it,” then acts more antagonistic than usual until the topic is dropped. Despite how much he tried to hide it, Crystal can still see it, sometimes, the sadness behind his intelligent and kind eyes.

“Edwin,” Charles calls again.

The boy turns to face them, green eyes blinking as he seems to pull himself out of his own thoughts, “What?”

“The residue? It feels weaker for us, yeah?” Charles repeats.

“Oh, right,” Edwin confirms, still somewhat affected. Charles reaches out a hand to touch the older boy but before he can Edwin turns his attention to Crystal and notices her shining eyes, “It appears to be affecting you quite strongly, though. I suppose your psychic powers are amplifying it,” his voice softens slightly, “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine. I might just have to,” Crystal brings a hand up to fan her face in a desperate attempt to keep the tears away as her breath becomes shaky and her voice tightens, “Step out for a minute.”

Edwin’s look of sympathy mixed with distaste at Crystal's show of emotions, actually forces a watery laugh out of Crystal.

Edwin takes a small step away from her at the sound, as if not wanting to catch anything from her, “Charles, do you have any amethyst in your bag?”

Crystal can’t help but laugh again at Edwin’s display of revulsion despite the tears that have finally escaped despite her best efforts. Edwin keeps his nose wrinkled but looks quietly pleased that he was able to make her laugh, even unintentionally.

“Amethyst!” Charles exclaims, pulling a jagged purple and white stone from his bag.

“Perfect,” Edwin grabs the stone and takes a few careful steps toward Crystal again, “Take this. It will help to balance your emotions. It works best as a necklace so it is close to your heart. It will be less effective in your pocket b—hm!” Edwin cuts himself off with a strangled yelp as Crystal grabs the stone and shoves it in her bra.

Crystal feels immediately calmer. She can still feel the sadness around her, but now it feels more like the typical bittersweetness she feels when she thinks about her loss, less like an unexpected late-night grief spiral.

“Works great, thanks,” she says, using the sleeves of her shirt to wipe the tear track and snot from her face. Edwin recoils again at her unsanitary display but doesn’t comment on it.

“I- suppose as long as it helps,” he says, absently wiping his hand on his coat.

“Right,” Charles says, “Now that that’s solved. How do you want to do this?”

Edwin clears his throat, “Well, we should start with the rooms where the feeling is the strongest—those will be the areas the inhabitants spent the most time in—so the living spaces or the main bedroom. For simplicity's sake, let us start on the ground floor and move our way up. We will have to work quickly, it is rare but there is a chance the remaining residue will keep re-infecting the cleansed rooms.”

“Brills! Crystal, can you do a walk about the floor and see which room is the strongest?”

“Sure thing,” Crystal agrees easily, sniffing one more time, and walks further into the house.

The Dawson Home

Alice wasn’t wrong when she called it a beautiful house. While you could tell the building is old based on the architecture, with short ceilings and narrow halls, the refinished flooring and fresh paint worked wonders in making the place look newer.

The ground floor consists of the entry hall with a staircase to the upper floor, a large reading room with built in bookcases, a cozy seating area with a fireplace, a half bath, a dining room with a built in bar, a kitchen with all new appliances, and a sun room that opens into the back garden.

Crystal walks slowly through each room as the boys trail behind her.

As they explore the house, they pass a number of old but charming pieces of furniture. The pieces must be part of a set as they all share the same dark wood finish and delicate floral carvings. Edwin’s fingers graze over the pieces as they pass, that same frown from when they first entered back on his face.

“Thought houses for sale were supposed to be empty,” Charles comments, “Or have fake furniture.”

“Yes, usually, but this is the original furniture.” Edwin answers, “You can see it matches a few of the built-in pieces, like the bookcases or the fireplace. Alice said they come with the house.”

“Hm, quite nice for old furniture. Kind of cool that they kept all the old stuff. Looks neat,” Charles says, impressed.

“I suppose it is a nice feature, but it is all in the wrong place,” Edwin complains.

Charles laughs, “You an interior decorator now?”

Edwin pauses before retorting, “It could look better, is all,” then adds pedantically, “And it is not old, it is antique.”

“Is that what you are, Edwin?” Crystal takes the shot, “Antique?”

Edwin huffs dramatically and Crystal and Charles snicker good-naturedly.

“So, what else do we know about the house?” Charles asks as they pass through another room.

“Well, from the details Alice left and the records I was able to find at the library, the house was originally owned by a Richard Dawson. He lived in it with his family until the 1890s, when he quietly gifted it to his daughter and her husband as a wedding gift. The house remained under the Dawson name, with the daughter and husband as the only residents, until it was sold in 1953. The house has changed hands a few times, but no one has lived in it since.”

“Seems like a lot of space for two people,” Crystal says, making her way back to the reading room at the front of the house, “What did they need four bedrooms for?”

“Well, one was for them, obviously. The other an office, another a guest room.”

“How do you know?” Crystal asks, always wanting to know what complicated shit went on in Edwin’s head for him to reach his conclusions with such confidence.

“I don’t know.” Edwin admits hesitantly, “It was just a guess.”

Crystal feels vaguely disappointed.

“Well, what about the last one?” Charles wondered.

Edwin shrugs noncommittally, “I don’t know. Nursery?”

“Did they have children?” Charles asks.

“Not that I could find,” Edwin sighs disappointedly, “Though, many of the records for this area were destroyed during the second World War.”

“Course they were,” Charles says, unsurprised.

The Cleansing

“This is it,” Crystal states as they reenter the front reading room, “This is the room with the strongest residue.”

“Let's get started, then. Charles, could you—,” Edwin turns to Charles but cuts off as he puts a small bowl in Edwin’s hand, “Ah, thank you, Charles,” Edwin says sweetly then turns back to Crystal, “Do you remember what I told you about cleansings back at the office?”

“Yes,” Crystal lies, “But why don’t you go over it again.”

Edwin gives her an unimpressed look but begins to explain as Charles starts setting something up in the middle of the room. “Cleansings are quite simple and very versatile. They can be used to clear emotional residue, calm auras, reset mystic items, and even counter minor hexes. They employ the use of purifying materials to capture the unwanted energy then convert it into a disposable form. This ritual is best performed during a sunny day like today, as the sun’s light will act as another conduit for purification. Charles is placing purified water in the north, soil in the south, sage in the east, and lavender in the west. I have matches, copper bowl, and tuning fork. The note of the tuning fork guides the cleansing, so there must be silence until the ritual is complete. Now to conduct the ritual,” Edwin says and begins to act out his instructions as he describes them, performing each action like they are steps in a dance and his description is the count, “The caster begins at south and places a small amount of the soil into the copper bowl then enters the circle. Next, they will light first the sage, then lavender, and go to center. As the herbs burn, the caster will hit the tuning fork against the copper bowl. Do not interrupt the note. As it rings the energy will coalesce into the bowl as a solid or liquid. Do not drop or spill it. Once the ringing has stopped, walk forward and carefully pour the contents of the bowl into the water at north. After that, that ritual is complete.” Edwin steps out of the circle and he turns sharply to Crystal, “Understood?”

“Sounds easy enough,” Crystal nodded confidently.

“Good. Now do it,” Edwin pushes the matches, bowl, and tuning fork into her hands.

“I-wait-me?” Crystal fumbles, “You don’t want to do it for real first?”

“Crystal, I understand that doing something for the first time can be nerve-wracking, but I have every confidence that you can do it,” Edwin says, oddly reassuring. Crystal almost feels touched, “Besides, should you somehow fail even this simple procedure I shall be here to fix your mess. Now stop being a coward and do it.”

There’s the Edwin she knows and tolerates.

Charles gives her a thumbs up in support as Crystal walks to the bowl of dirt, repeating the steps in her head as best she can.

“Any time now,” Edwin prods even though Crystal has been in position for maybe a second.

“Shh! I’m doing it!” She hisses.

Crystal repeats the steps in her head one more time before taking a breath and starting. She performs each step just as Edwin did, only a little more clumsily. She struggled to hold the bowl and tuning fork in one hand while she lit the match with the other, but she managed. Once lit, the smoke from the burning herbs rises aimlessly in the air until she strikes the tuning fork against the copper bowl, at which point the smoke curls around the room in a clockwise fashion, sweeping through the air in searching waves before funneling into the bowl. The clear note of the tuning fork rings for longer than Crystal thought possible, but by the time it silences the fire from the herbs has died out, smoke no longer lingers in the air, and an inky black liquid sits in the bowl. Crystal walks forward and tips the liquid into the water where it dissolves and takes the heavy, depressive atmosphere with it.

Crystal takes a deep breath and a small amount of weight lifts from her chest.

“Nicely done,” Charles grins, “Now only fourteen more to go.”

“Wait,” Edwin holds up a hand, “Are you sure it’s done? I am still feeling a slight melancholy.”

“I still feel it a bit, but I felt it lift,” Crystal says, “It’s definitely worked.”

“Me too, mate. I can’t feel anything in here anymore.”

“Oh.” Edwin sounds confused, “Perhaps I am still feeling the other rooms.” Edwin appears to think for a moment before regaining his usual energy, “Nothing for it. Let us move on then. Dispose of the water and the ashes, please. We can reuse the soil, come along.”

Edwin strides out of the room. Charles and Crystal share a brief look of concern before doing as he asked and following.

The rest of the rituals on the ground floor are performed quickly. Crystal is tasked with setting up and performing all of them. By the time she finishes in the last room, she thinks she has it down to a science, despite Edwins grumbling that she still takes too long.

Moving onto the second floor, they begin the process again. Edwin was right about one of the rooms being used as an office, if the dark wood desk with flowers carved into the edges is anything to go by. The other two rooms remain a mystery though, as they are completely empty.

The sad feeling, while still present in all of the house, is significantly lighter on the upper floors. That is, until they get to the master bedroom.

Maybe the feeling was always strongest in this room, or maybe it only feels stronger now that the rest of the house is cleansed, but the wave of grief Crystal feels as she passes the doorway causes her breath to catch. Under the grief Crystal can still feel something else, some stubborn thing that the grief is wrapped up in but the amethyst in her bra soothes the feeling before she can name it. Edwin, who was following behind her, stops before entering the room, a small gasp escaping his lips as he peers inside.

“What’s wrong?” Charles questions from the hall.

Edwin hesitates on an answer so Crystal answers for him, “The sadness,” she explains, “It’s stronger in this room.”

“I-yes. That must be it.” Edwin says slowly, then crosses the doorway, a shudder running through his form.

Seeing how affected the other two were, Charles takes a breath before following with a big, dramatic step through the doorway. His form remains braced as he waits to be overwhelmed. When he apparently isn't, he relaxes and says with a thoughtful look, “Not that bad.”

Crystal rolls her eyes and sets up the items. She has to put the soil on the slats of the antique bed frame since it encroaches into the middle of the room, but Edwin says as long as she can reach it, it shouldn’t affect the ritual. Edwin and Charles sit on the bed frame as Crystal performs the steps, Charles watching her and Edwin studying the fancy floral engravings on the frames’ footboard.

After Crystal completes the ritual and dumps the collected residue, Charles claps his hands, startling Edwin, “Well that’s that then. Job well jobbed. And look,” he nudges Edwin then points out the window at the sun still in the sky, “Day’s not even over.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Edwin says noncommittally as Charles disposes of the used materials and packs away the others.

“Is something wrong?” Crystal asks quietly while Charles is distracted, knowing Edwin is less likely to admit to whatever is bothering him if there is too much attention on him.

“I don’t know. There is something. I just—” Edwin trails off as he thinks then shakes his head as nothing comes to him, “No matter. The job is complete. You performed adequately, if slowly.”

Crystal scoffs at the kind-of compliment but says ‘thank you’ anyway. With the rituals over Crystal expected the house to be a little more… cheery, but, even though the house is cleansed, she still felt a little sad. She supposes she just got used to the ambiance of loss and needs to adjust to the lack of it.

They leave the room in silence. Usually, they would be cracking jokes or replaying the day’s events after the case was completed, but now they were just quiet.

The silence persists as they walk down the hallway and descend the stairs. Crystal looks into each room they pass mournfully as she thinks about Niko again. She still mourns Niko, but it comes in waves now. Some days she can talk about her lost friend for hours and the only thing she feels is fondness but there are some days where she sees something small that reminds her of Niko and it’s all she can do to keep from crying.

Niko probably would have known exactly what to say to make Crystal feel better now.

Crystal is just about to open the door to leave when she hesitates, actually taking a moment to think when recognition hits. The lingering sadness wasn’t coming from her. It was still the house. It had simply receded and then crept up again.

Crystal pulls her hand away from the doorknob and turns sharply. “It’s still here,” she says.

Both boys are frowning.

“You’re right.” Charles confirms. “I can feel it still.”

“The ritual should have worked, but.” Edwin runs a hand through his hair, “Perhaps we did not work fast enough? The infected rooms must have reinfected the whole structure again.”

“So, what now?” Crystal says, feeling guilty even though she knows it’s not really her fault for working too slow.

“We will have to start again.”

Again, With Feeling

This time, Edwin sends Charles and Crystal upstairs to cleanse the upper floor while Edwin cleanses the ground floor. Edwin hopes that with all of them working simultaneously, the sadness won’t have time to spread again. Luckily, Charles had enough equipment in his bag for them all.

Crystal goes back to the main bedroom while Charles goes to the office. As she crosses the boundary again, the same wave of grief and something more hits her, stronger than any other room. Just like before, the amethyst dulls the feeling before she can place it.

Crystal ignores the house’s feelings and rushes to set up the equipment. As she goes to place the soil on the bed frame, she accidentally kicks the foot of the bed, hard. Crystal mutters a swear as she brings her foot up to clutch at it. When her sense of balance does not cooperate, she sits on the bed frame and cradles her injured foot with both hands. Crystal remains seated as the pain in her foot slowly ebbs. She is surprised, though, when her frustration is dulled in the same manner that the grief from the house was. She thought the amethyst would only affect external influences, not her own responses.

When the physical pain recedes enough to stand again, Crystal takes a breath then places her hand on the footboard to leverage herself up, but when she makes contact, she is hit with another wave of grief. This one stronger than any time before, but now she can hear a distant sobbing as her eyes flicker white, her psychic powers struggling to process a vision. Crystal rips her hand away and throws herself off the bed frame. She closes her eyes and heaves deep breaths from her position on the floor.

When she opens her eyes again, she looks back at the bed frame. This too has dark wood with hand-carved floral designs that match the rest of the furniture that was left from the previous owners. Alice said they add character to the house but maybe that's not the only thing they add.

Maybe, Crystal thinks, maybe that’s why the cleansings didn’t work. Maybe it’s not the air or the rooms holding the emotional residue, maybe it’s the furniture. Something the previous owners used often enough that they left their own impression in the wood, just like the floral carvings.

Whatever feeling is attached to the piece, it was strong enough to trigger a vision—almost. For some reason, it didn’t go all the way through. Something was fighting it, but it wasn’t Crystal.

She brings a hand to her chest, poking the crystal in her bra. Or, she thinks and hates herself a little for the pun, maybe it was.

She pulls the rock from her shirt and places it on the floor. The ambient sadness is stronger now, but she can tell it is still being suppressed. She picks up the rock again and puts it just outside the door frame. Her eyes water as Crystal feels the sadness fully again.

Crystal slowly approaches the bed frame then sits down again, keeping her bare hands carefully in her lap for a moment. She braces herself, then cautiously reaches out her hand. When it makes contact with the foot board, she hears the sobbing again, and she is drawn out of the present in a swirly haze. Her vision and hearing taken over by echoes of the past.

~~~~~

There is a woman lying on the bed.

The bed has a dark wood frame with floral carvings. This frame will soon spend the next 70 years sitting unused and empty in an unused and empty house, but for now there is a mattress and dark green pillows and a matching duvet.

And, there is a woman lying on the bed.

She is wearing a black tea-length dress with black kitten heels. There are tears falling freely from her eyes and settling into the lines on her face. Her blood shot eyes make the green in her irises more striking. She lies on her side, facing the empty side of the bed. She brushes a loose strand of white hair from her face then lies her left hand on the empty pillow next to her, the gold band on her ring finger catches the light of the afternoon sun.

“I’ll join you at the end of the day, my love,” she cries, “Once he comes home.”

~~~

The vision shifts.

~~~

The same woman lies on the bed. White and gold hair covers her face as she sobs into a pillow. Her breaths shake her entire frame until every inhale sounds painful. A man lies next to her. His brown hair shot through with gray and ruffled from sleep. There is heartbreak clear on his face as his own tears stream silently down his cheeks. He tries to comfort the woman with a gentle hand running down her back, but even as he does, he knows it is hopeless. There is no comfort he can offer that will make it better.

“He was here,” She sobs, “He came home.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he chokes out, “But it was only a dream. He’s gone. He is in a better place now.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t.” he despairs, “But I have to believe it. ”

~~~

The woman lies on the bed. Her hair is loose and tangled, her white nightgown rumpled and sweat stained. Her eyes stare dully at nothing, open but not seeing anything.

The room is lit by sunlight and birds chirp from outside. The man appears beside the bed and crouches down, trying to catch the woman’s attention but her eyes remain unfocused.

The man sighs and brushes a hand through her greasy hair, “It’s a nice day out. Perhaps we can go on a stroll later,” the man pauses, waiting for the woman to react, she doesn’t, “You must get up soon. This is not healthy.” Another pause, “Will you at least eat something? He would want you to take care of yourself.”

The woman does not respond.

“Alright,” the man says gently, expression hopeless as he stares at the woman. He kisses her hair, “Perhaps tomorrow.”

~~~

The man sits on the bed, his hands buried in his deep brown hair as he sighs. There are clicks of heels on hardwood as someone paces, but there is no view past the bed.

“What are they playing at?” The woman’s voice sounds. Only now, instead of choked from grief and interrupted by sobs, it is angry. Loud. Each syllable spat out in wrath, “First they say he’s run away to join the army even though none of his things were missing, and now they say this? As if He would be so cruel?”

“They tried, my dear,” The man says with something restrained behind his words, as if he wants to be angry too but needs to be the calm one right now. For her.

“Tried?!” She shouts, “Can’t you see? They’ve given up! But I will not! I refuse!”

~~~

The woman sits on the bed. Gold hair pinned in an elegant up-do and the beginning of smile lines around her bright green eyes. She looks confused as the man kneels on the ground and holds her hand, resembling a man in prayer. The woman stares helplessly at the man’s glassy eyes.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” She whispers as the sun sets in the window.

~~~~~

Crystal gasps as she pulls her hand from the wood. Fresh grief and pain and loss swirling around in her head until she is able to condense it and think through the overwhelming emotions.

Those must have been the last inhabitants. The woman and the man in her visions. They had lost someone—someone who was never found—and it caused a pain so deep that it persists even now. The man’s grief w as a muted thing, present but only noticeable in the quiet moments. He chose to find comfort where he could and redirect the rest of his energy into care for the woman, whose grief was all consuming. Every moment since her loss filled with desperation and stubbornness as she held onto the grief.

It was the woman’s unyielding grief that remains in the house, but Crystal's view was limited to the bed, which means she was right. The residue is in the furniture, not in the rooms. How long had the woman spent crying on the bed or sitting silently on the ornate couch in the reading room, or having meals at the dining table with one unoccupied spot too many.

She stands up, about to shout for Charles to tell him, but she stops.

In the visions, Crystal could feel the woman's tight grip, but it wasn’t necessarily the grief she was holding onto. Crystal could see it if she just looked for it.

She sits back down.

This time when she puts her hand on the frame she does so with intention. Intention to push past the surface of grief and see what’s under it. The haze and echoes cover her again.

~~~~~

The woman sits on the bed. Her blond hair shines without a trace of gray. There are not yet lines etched on her face, but the potential for them can be seen in the crinkles around her eyes as she smiles adoringly at something out of view of the bed.

“Are you sure it looks alright?” A young voice says, unsure. The sound of fabric shifting is covered up by the woman's light laughter.

“Yes, darling,” she laughs, “You look very smart.”

“The sleeves are too long,” the voice complains, “It looks silly, and I don’t like the way it feels on my hands.”

“You will grow into it. It won’t take long now at the rate you’re going. But you can always pin them up if it bothers you.”

Fabric shifts again, “Like this?” the young voice asks.

“Yes, just like that.”

More fabric shifting, “Do you think they’ll like me?” the voice questions.

“They’ll love you,” The woman reassures. The young voice makes a disbelieving hum, “None of that now,” The woman scolds lightly, “Everything will be perfectly fine. You’ll see.”

~~~

A boy lies under the bed. He is small enough to scoot all the way to the back of the bed and not be seen, but he positioned himself further up. There is dust covering the sleeves of his shirt but he does not seem to mind, too wrapped up in the book he is holding, the cover just peeking out from under the bed. There is a small lantern just beside him, the feeble flame provides just enough light for the pages to be read and glints off the boy’s brown hair, revealing hints of gold.

There is the sound of a door opening. Heels click softly on wood before pausing. The boy turns a page. The clicking resumes, getting closer to the boy until the bottom of a floor-length dress covers the opening at the end of the bed. The dress nudges the book slightly and the boy scoots back.

The dress folds over itself as the wearer kneels down, until blonde hair and green eyes peek at the boy on the floor.

“Darling,” the woman says, “What are you doing under there?”

“Reading,” The boy answers and turns a page.

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

The woman huffs then clarifies, “Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“This looks like hiding.”

“Well I’m not,” he says, “The lantern, see. I knew you could see the light, so therefore, I knew you could see me, so therefore, I am not hiding.”

“Well reasoned,” The woman concedes then appears to think for a moment. She stands up and walks from the foot of the bed to the side, where she folds down again, until her belly hits the floor, and slides under the bed with the boy. The boy stares at her in shock before scooting over a bit to give her more room.

“You’ve dirtied your dress,” The boy says, still ignoring the dust on his own clothes.

“That’s alright,” the woman reassures, “It is only a dress.”

The boy hums then goes back to his book.

The woman lets the silence sit for a minute, resting her head on folded arms and watching the young boy.

“Why are you up here instead of at the party, with your friends,” she finally asks.

“They are not my friends,” the boy answers plainly.

“No? Why not?”

“I do not like them.”

“Why not?”

The boy huffs, annoyed at the line of questioning, “They are too… loud.”

“Loud can be good.” the woman answers.

“No.” The boy refuses, “I like my books. I do not need friends.”

The woman pauses again, looking at the boy with concern, “Friends are a good thing, darling.”

“Why?”

“They can help you. Listen to you. Make you happy.”

“You do that,” the boy says simply.

The woman still looks worried, but she smiles anyway, “Yes.”

The boy turns back to his book.

“How about this,” The woman says, “Come down and play with the other boys until the end of the party. At the end of the day, we can come back here and read for an extra hour past bed. Together. How’s that sound?”

The boy contemplates the offer, “Two hours,” he says.

“Hour and a half.”

The boy thinks, then sticks out a hand, “Deal.”

The woman takes the offered hand and shakes it seriously, “Deal.”

~~~

The woman and the man lie on the bed. They face each other, mirroring each other's positions, both resting on their sides with heads propped up on their arms.

“And then do you know what he says?” The man asks, semi-rhetorically.

“What?” The woman prompts anyway, an amused smile on her face.

“He says, ‘How do you stay on the ground with all that air in your head?’”

Giggles burst out of the woman, she attempts to smother them in her hand but it proves futile.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” The man says mock-offended, “The cheek on that boy! If this is the type of wit he has now I dread to think what he’ll be like when he’s older! He’ll get into all sorts of trouble.”

“Good,” the woman says resolutely, “Maybe now you will understand all the peace-making I’ve had to do because of you,” The woman raises an eyebrow at the man pointedly.

“Me?! I’ve never caused trouble!”

“Really?” The woman says sarcastically, “And what was it you said to poor Randy when we were courting and you’d caught him flirting with me?” she deepened her voice in imitation, “‘Did your mother hire a profit when she named you?”

“Well, it was well deserved,” the man defends.

The woman laughs and says teasingly, “Let us hope he learns to use his smart-mouth in a more productive manner than the one he inherited it from.”

~~~

The woman and the man lie on the bed, their upper bodies lean against the headboard. The boy is nestled comfortably into the woman’s side. His little feet kick and little hands gesture wildly as he speaks excitedly. The man and woman look at the boy with similar expressions; amused, attentive, and adoring.

“And then he tries to drink it before the fairy can tell him he’ll get ill! But before he does, the fairy takes it and drinks it instead. And then she gets ill!”

“Oh no!” the woman sounds dramatically.

“Oh, mama. It’s alright!” The little boy reassuringly pats the woman on the hand, “Because we saved her. Because Peter said that if we clap our hand and say ‘I do believe in fairies’ she will get better. So I did! And, guess what happened next! Guess!”

“I don’t know,” The woman says, “Tell me?”

“She did get better!” The boy cheers.

“Now, there’s a good lad,” The man says ruffling the boy's hair, who smiles brightly at the praise, “Top job, saving the fairy!”

“Yes! I did! But you know what? Granddad did not!” The boy tattles, pride flipping to outrage.

“Well, why not?” The woman questions.

“He said because fairies aren’t actually real.”

“Sounds like he was just being grumpy,” the woman says.

“Yes, probably,” the boy agrees before asking tentatively, “Are fairies real?”

The man and woman share a quick look before the woman asks back, “Well, what do you believe, darling?”

“Hm,” The boy taps his chin with a finger, “Yes,” he decides.

“Why do you think that?” the man asks genuinely.

“Well, fairies like sweets. And sometimes, I put sugar cubs in the garden and when I come back, they’re gone! So the fairies must have eaten them!”

“Yes, they must have,” The man stifles a laugh.

“Well reasoned,” The woman praises, as she runs a hand through the boy’s brown hair, “Sounds like you’ve got some solid evidence.”

“Evidence?” The boy sounds out the word, “What is evidence?

~~~

The woman lies on the bed. The boy lies with her, tucked under the green covers, small body barely making a bump in the sheets. The woman runs a hand through the boy’s damp hair. His eyes are closed in rest, but it is not a peaceful one. She watches his flushed red face and his brow’s crease in discomfort.

Footsteps thud steadily against the wooden floor.

“We should call the doctor.” The man’s harried voice sounds, “He’s been ill for too long. He’s still so small. What if he can’t fight it?”

The woman doesn’t respond. She continues to keep her eyes on the boy and run a hand through his hair.

The man continues pacing and muttering, he doesn’t notice when the boy’s eyes open blurrily.

“Good morning, darling,” The woman whispers with a soft smile. The boy on the bed looks at her but doesn’t respond. The woman frowns and continues to brush his hair back. The little boy catches the slight frown then directs his gaze to the man muttering and pacing anxiously.

When his hazy green eye’s meet the woman’s again, he tries to smile through the sickness and discomfort and says, “It’s alright, mama.” 

“Too right, darling,” The woman whispers, soft smile coming back, “Your father is just being silly. Rest now, all will be better soon.”

The woman keeps the soft smile until the boy’s eyes shut and his breaths even out again. Then the smile drops and she turns worried green eyes to the man, “Send for the doctor.”

~~~

The woman sits on the bed and a cry rattles the air. Her hair is loose and slick with sweat. She holds a bundle of white, lacey fabric. Nestled within that fabric, is a baby. The man sits next to her, one hand poking at the wailing child curiously.

“Stop that,” The woman scolds as the man pokes the infant’s cheek.

“Is he supposed to be this small?” The man asks.

“Yes. He was just born, my love. Of course he is small.”

The man considers this, “Is he supposed to be this loud?”

“Yes. The midwife said that crying is good.”

“The midwife also said that he would be born two weeks from now.”

“Well, it is not her fault he was impatient.”

“So impatient he could not wait for us to get to the hospital.”

“Maybe he just wanted the first place he saw to be home. It is good luck, you know.”

“What is?”

“Being born at home. My mother said it means that no matter how far he goes, he will always return here at the end of the day.”

“That sounds like a fairy story.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.” The woman says and strokes the infant’s rosy cheek, “But it is a nice one.”

~~~~~

“--stal. Crystal!”

Crystal is shaken out of the memories. Deep seated love mixing with the grief from the first set of memories until all she feels is a persistent ache in her whole being. When she opens her eyes, she sees Charles’s worried face peering back at her, his fingers clenched into her shoulders.

“What’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Crystal says, then stronger, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You’re crying,” Charles says, letting go of her shoulders.

Crystal brings her hands up to wipe at her eyes, not aware that she was crying but also not surprised.

“I’m fine,” she says again.

“Hm,” Charles sounds, unconvinced, “I finished the other rooms but didn’t see you, were you here the whole time?”

“Yeah. I just-She couldn’t let go.” Crystal says, trying to puzzle through the visions she saw.

Crystal wanted to know why the woman was holding on so tight to the pain, and she thinks she knows now. The woman wasn’t holding onto the pain, she was holding onto the love. Of course, someone doesn’t feel a grief this strong unless there was a love that was equally as strong before it, but instead of the love comforting her it only fueled her pain. The lack of answers tied with hope that he would come back caused what should have been comforting memories to tangle with the loss until they were inextricably tied together—until every time she thought of any memory at all she couldn’t help but remember that she couldn’t make anymore, at least until he came back. Her refusal to accept the loss left her stuck, and she never really moved past it. She never got closure. More than anything, it was the lack of closure that caused the grief.

Crystal doesn’t blame the woman. Though she’s never felt it before, she recognizes the desperation the woman felt. It’s the same look every lost soul has when they come into the agency, looking for help before they can allow themselves to move on.

“Alright,” Charles drawls cautiously, “I think you’ve been in the house for too long. You should go outside and take a break, yeah?”

“No, I’m fine. Really, I jus-” Crystal cuts off, as she realizes ‘the same look every lost soul has’. Her gaze drifts past Charles and stays there.

There’s a woman, sitting in the big window seat that looks out into the front garden. Her arms wrapped around her legs, which are tucked into her chest, and her head rests on the pane of glass. Loose blond hair falls down her back in waves as her eyes gaze resolutely out the window.

“Crys-” Charles begins but cuts off when Crystal looks back at him and shakes her head. Crystal flicks her eyes to the figure in the window then looks back at Charles. He gets the hint and turns around, immediately spotting the woman curled up on the bench.

He looks back at Crystal. Questions asked with a simple inquiring look: Who is she? Why is she here? What does she want?

Crystal holds up a hand: Stand down. I’ve got this.

Charles nods.

The Woman

Crystal takes soft steps toward the woman, trying to make enough noise for someone to notice but not enough to startle. The woman doesn’t react. Crystal keeps going until she is at the window. The sun is almost setting. In an hour, maybe two, the light will be past the horizon. It casts wavy patterns through the old glass panes, making the space look alternately dark and light.

There is a small space left open on the bench and Crystal takes a seat. The woman doesn’t look at her, but she pulls her feet a little closer to herself to give Crystal more room.

Crystal watches the woman as the woman watches the garden. It’s the same woman from her visions, there is no doubt about that, but which one is she? It’s not the young woman, adoration shining in her eyes, but it’s also not the older woman with white hair and time etching her face. This woman is the same one who looked at the love of her life and whispered What do you mean he’s gone?, her form stuck in the moment when she learned that she lost one of her greatest loves.

“He’ll be home soon,” the woman says, because she’s not watching the garden, she's watching the path, waiting for her lost boy to come home.

“I’m sorry,” Crystal says, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

The woman turns to her then. Green eyes holding so much intelligence, and kindness, but so much sadness too. They look familiar, in a way. “Everyone is,” she whispers.

“You loved him a lot.”

“I still do.”

“I know.”

The woman looks out the window again. Crystal looks to Charles, hoping he knows what to say. There’s no more room on the window bench but Charles still comes closer and squats down beside them.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

The woman turns to him, “Evelyn.”

“Suits you,” Charles says and grins cheekily, “Pretty name for a pretty woman.”

Crystal almost elbows him for it but the woman, Evelyn, smiles at him, though it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Who are we waiting for, then?” Charles says, including them in the act so casually, as if it was only natural that they would wait with her.

“My son,” Evelyn says, “It’s almost the end of the day.”

“That it is,” Charles agrees easily, not knowing what else to do with that statement, then “Where is he, your son?”

Evelyn sighs, “No one knows. He’s just…gone. He’ll be home soon though.”

“Sure he will,” Charles says. Crystal doesn’t know how he manages to sound so sincere. “Maybe we can help with that. My friends and I, we’re detectives. I can’t promise that we will find him, but we can try.”

Sometimes, Crystal knows, the promise would be enough. Just the knowledge that someone else cares, that someone will remember. She also knows that it won’t be enough for Evelyn.

“Detectives have said that before,” the woman says, “They gave up after a month.”

“Well, we never give up. We’re stubborn like that.”

“So is my boy,” Evelyn says, familiar green intelligent/kind/sad eyes aiming back out the window, “My Edwin.”

And if this were a movie, that's where the record would have stopped.

That’s what it felt like anyway, as Crystal’s entire body froze, even her breath halting in her lungs. She thinks of Edwin, their Edwin, pausing at the entrance of the house, running his fingers over the carvings of the original furniture, studying the bedpost with such intensity. She thinks of Have we been here before? and It is all in the wrong place and There is something. She thinks of trauma erasing memories, even the good ones.

“Funny old world,” Charles says, because he doesn’t know and he doesn’t suspect. Because why would he? Because there must have been thousands of boys called Edwin, and the house belonged to the Dawsons, and Edwin didn’t say anything. But, Charles didn’t see the little boy reading books and feeding fairies and being pedantic. He doesn’t know so he says as if it’s nothing, “We know an Edwin.”

“It was popular,” Evelyn says, “I liked the way it sounded. Edwin Payne. Like a knight in a fairy tale.”

And now he knows. Crystal watches the way Charles’s eyes widen and his mouth snaps shut.

“Yeah,” he says, after a slight pause, “just like a knight,” His eyes flick towards Crystal and he stands up, “We’ll be right back, Evelyn. We need to go find our friend,” he grabs Crystal's hand and drags her out of the room. It wasn’t the most subtle exit, but Charles wasn’t known for his subtlety and Evelyn was too absorbed in watching the garden to care.

The moment they enter the hallway Charles shuts the bedroom door and whisper-shouts, “What the hell?”

“I know.”

“No. What the actual hell!”

“I know!”

“Is that Edwin’s mum?”

“Yeah,” Crystal says reluctantly.

“Is this Edwin’s home? His childhood home?”

“Yeah,” She repeats in the same tone.

“Fuck!” Charles says with feeling.

“I know!”

“Why didn’t he say anything!” He doesn’t quite ask, knowing no one can answer that question but the boy it’s asked about.

“Has he ever talked about his childhood before?” Crystal asks instead.

“No! Of course not! It’s Edwin!”

“You’ve never tried asking him?”

“Of course I have, but it’s Edwin. He always deflects! It took me fifteen years just to find out Edwin’s birthday. Getting personal information from him is like pulling teeth!”

“His birthday? When is it?” Crystal asks, vaguely curious.

“No! if I had to wait fifteen years, so do you.”

“Whatever. I just saw his birth so it doesn’t even matter.”

“You what?”

“Well, not his actual birth, just after—”

“No,” Charles interrupts, “This isn’t important right now. Right now, we need to figure out how to tell Edwin his mum is waiting for him!”

“Okay, we need to come up with a plan. This is delicate so we need to be gentle—”

“Right,” Charles interrupts again, “I’m just telling him,” and he promptly throws himself down the stairs, skipping all the steps in a move that would have killed his knees if he had a real body.

“Charles!” Crystal shouts and follows him down the stairs, wasting precious seconds by taking them the normal way.

She doesn’t know what room Edwin is in, but she figures following Charles' shout of “Edwin!” will be good enough.

She finds them both in the dining room, Edwin was, evidently, interrupted mid-cleansing. Two fires burned on either side of him, the scented smoke rising and collecting in the ceiling without the chime to guide it towards the copper bowl.

“Charles!” Edwin admonishes immediately, “What do you think you are doing? Have you lost your mind? I was in the middle of the ritual!” He quickly uses the copper bowl to cover the herb fires, smothering them, then rushes to the window to open it. He mutters some spell under his breath and a wind blows through the room, pushing all of the smoke out of it through the window. Edwin drags a chair to the center of the room and steps on it to inspect the ceiling, then lets out a relieved sigh, “It did not stain,” and then with ire, “You should count yourself lucky!” 

Charles holds up his hands in a surrender “Yeah, look mate, I’m sorry. But this is important.”

Edwin’s ire immediately melts. He dismounts the chair and takes a few worried steps towards Charles, “What is it?”

Crystal interrupts before Charles can blurt it out in the most insensitive way possible, “I think I should say it.”

“No, I’ve got it!” Charles denies heatedly.

“I just think it will be better—”

“Um, Edwin is my best mate.”

“Stop gatekeeping Edwin. He’s my friend too.”

“Whatever, I can handle it.”

“When you’re not being an impulsive ass, maybe.”

“Well when you’re not sticking your nose into other people’s business, maybe I’ll stop.”

“I don’t see how this is any more your business than it is mine. I’m the psychic here, I think that makes it more my business.”

“Just because you’re psychic doesn’t mean you can claim everything.”

“Well, it’s been working so far.”

“Can someone please,” Edwin interrupts, “just tell me what has you both so bothered!”

“It’s your mum!” “Your mom!” they say at the same time, immediately looking chagrined at both having failed to deliver the news lightly.

Edwin looks at them like they’ve both lost their minds, “If this is a joke I don’t get it.”

“Edwin, mate.” Charles says, finally calm now that the big news is out there, even if it wasn’t understood, “There's a ghost upstairs, a woman who’s lost her son. And she's been waiting for him for a long time.”

“The emotional residue.” Crystal adds, “It’s not just the walls or the furniture, it’s her. Her grief.”

“So,” Edwin says slowly, “It is a ghost then? That would explain why the cleansing did not work.”

He doesn’t understand.

“No. Well, yes,” Charles says, “but it’s not just any ghost. It-she-I-” Charles turns to Crystal for help.

“Edwin,” She says carefully, “Do you recognize this house?”

Edwin stares at them both, clearly debating with himself whether to answer truthfully or not. “Well, I-… There is… There is something,” he manages.

“But you do recognize it?”

“It is more like I know that I should.” Edwin says slowly.

“Okay. And how much to remember about your life? Your childhood?” Crystal asks.

Edwin looks down his fists as he pushes them into one another, “Not much,” he admits like it’s shameful. Neither Crystal nor Charles say anything so he continues, pausing after every few words. “I know I had parents—and grandparents, I think. And we were…happy. But it is hard—in Hell—to think happy thoughts. With all the,” Edwin pauses, searches for a word to describe Hell. In the end he doesn’t find one. He simply waves a hand in the air as if the gesture encompasses everything he went through in Hell, “So I suppose, after so many years, the details just…faded.”

“Do you remember anything? Do you remember your parents’ names?” Crystal asks.

Edwin opens his mouth to answer but a sob interrupts whatever he may have said. He covers his mouth and shakes his head frantically, his form shaking with the effort to suppress his cries.

Charles wastes no time. He strides forward and pulls Edwin into a crushing hug. Edwin buries his face in Charles neck, hiding away. “It’s not your fault,” Charles whispers, “It’s not your fault,”

It takes a moment for Edwin’s shakes to subside, but once they do, Charles pulls away. He doesn’t go far, just enough to cup Edwin’s face in his hand. “It is not your fault,” He repeats, waiting until Edwin nods his agreement, “Now, there is a woman upstairs. An Evelyn, yeah? And she loves her son very much and has been waiting for him to come home for a long, long time. If you want, we can go up and see her. If not, that’s okay. We can come back another day, or not at all. Alright? It’s your choice.”

“But the case,” Edwin says miserably, latching on to the one thing that makes sense to him right now.

“This isn’t about the case anymore,” Charles admonishes gently, “This is about you, alright? I know it’s hard, but I need you to think about yourself and only yourself right now.”

“What if I don’t recognize her?”

“That’s alright. She’ll recognize you.”

“But what if it’s not her? What if you’re wrong?”

“Well, then that will be embarrassing for all of us,” Charles says lightly.

Edwin laughs brokenly, “Charles!”

Charles smiles proudly at making Edwin laugh, “Alright, serious answer. If I am wrong, then it’s okay. We'll still help her, like we always do. Then we’ll go home, and we’ll help you. We’ll find your history. We’re detectives, yeah? It’s kind of our job.”

Charles looks at Edwin, silently asking if he’s alright. Edwin nods tearfully in response.

Charles doesn’t let go of Edwin yet, “Yeah?” he asks.

Edwin nods again and responds on an exhale, “Yes.”

Charles grins reassuringly and steps back, allowing Edwin space to recompose himself.

“So,” Charles says once Edwin is somewhat back to his normal self, plus some red-rimmed eyes, “Do you know what you want to do?”

“Yes,” Edwin says with conviction, “I should like to stay. To see her.”

“And is that because you want to or because that is best for the case?” Charles checks.

Edwin hesitates before answering and Charles gives him a stern look, “It is for me, I swear it!” Edwin reassures frantically, then innocently, “It just also happens to be best for the case.”

Charles points at Edwin, “Fine, but you’re on thin ice.”

Edwin smiles lightly before getting serious again, “Well,” he adjusts his coat, “I suppose there is no time like the present,” and strides toward the staircase. His confidence falters slightly at the first step, hesitation only lasting half a second before he keeps going. If Crystal weren’t so used to his stubbornness she’d almost be impressed. It only fails when he makes it to the landing, his steps slowing significantly until they come to a stop several feet from the door to the master bedroom. Crystal and Charles, flanking him, come to a stop as well.

There’re a few seconds before Charles takes the initiative to nudge Edwin forward. Edwin makes a few complaining noises but allows himself to be moved until he is directly in front of the door, but he doesn’t open it yet.

“Right,” Charles says, trying to get the ball moving, “we’ll be right out here, mate.”

Edwin heads whips around to look at Charles “You’re not coming with me?”

“Do you want me to?” Charles checks.

“Well only if you want to.”

Charles grabs his hand, squeezes once, “Always,” he says and let’s go.

“Guess, I’ll wait here, then,” Crystal says, thinking Edwin wouldn’t want too many witnesses to what is bound to be a very emotional moment.

“Don’t be silly,” Edwin says, trying for haughty but falling flat because of nerves, “You’re coming too,”

“Really?” Crystal asks, surprised.

“Yes, what if we need your powers,” Edwin says unconvincingly, because of course he can’t admit that he finds her presence comforting.

“Really?” Crystal crosses her arms, unimpressed.

“Don’t think on it too much.” Edwin replies and turns back to the door.

He puts his hand on the door knob. Breathes in, breaths out. “Right,” he says. Breathes in. He twists the door knob. Breathes out. He pushes the door open.

The door creaks as it opens but the woman at the window doesn’t turn around. Outside the window, the sun hangs just above the tree line. It shines directly into the room, bathing it in a warm gold glow. Edwin enters slowly, eyes trained on the figure curled up with her head on the glass. He stops a small distance away, close enough that if they both tried to reach out, they would just miss each other. He observes the woman for a few moments, face devoid of any reactions that might have revealed what he was thinking.  

“Hello,” He greets faintly. 

The woman lifts her head off the glass. Her shoulders straighten as she turns to look at Edwin. 

Time seems to freeze as the two ghosts look at each other, eyes flickering frantically over each other’s forms, though their expressions remain painfully blank. Finally, Edwin’s head tilts, his brows drawing together lightly. “Mother?” he whispers shakily.

That’s all the woman needs. She shoots up from the bench, long dress trailing behind her as she takes quick steps to close the distance. She stops before him, one hand clutched to her heart. The other reaches up, trembling as it traces the path toward the boy’s face. Her hand pauses right before making contact, her expression pleading, as if afraid that she’ll touch him and he will disappear. Edwin tilts his head, closing the distance until her hand presses lightly against his cheek.

The woman gasps softly, “Edwin?”

The boy gives a miniscule nod, careful not to dislodge the hand.

“My darling,” she breathes reverently, eyes glistening, “you came home.”

“Yes, mama,” he confirms shakily, “I’m sorry I took so long.”

Tears fall from matching eyes as the mother pulls her son into her arms. Edwin has to bend down to wrap his arms around her but he still buried his face into her shoulder. The two cling to each other for a small eternity.

When the embrace ends, their hands stay entwined together.

“My darling, I have missed you.”

“I’m sorry.” Edwin whispers, “I could not—” his voice breaks off.

“No,” Evelyn comforts, “No need for that. I always knew you would come back.”

“I did not know you were waiting.”

“I would have waited forever.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

Evelyn wipes a tear from Edwin’s face, “What happened to you?” she asks.

Edwin shakes his head, not wanting to answer. Not knowing how to cover everything he has been through and not wanting to break her heart any more than he already has.

“It’s alright, my darling.” She says, giving him permission to do so anyway.

“A lot has happened,” he decides.

“Then come,” Evelyn says, pulling Edwin by the hands until they are both seated at the window, eyes only on each other, “Tell me your story. I want to hear everything.”

“It’s not all a happy story, mama,” Edwin warns.

“I know. Tell me anyway.”

And he does. Crystal and Charles watch from the edge of the room as Edwin cries, laughs, and rages as he tells her all that she missed. He waters down some parts and glosses over others, but at the end of it she gives him a soft smile, “And now?” she asks, “Are you safe? Are you happy?”

“Mostly,” Edwin says, “Yes.”

“Mostly?” she worries.

“Well,” Edwin gives an embarrassed laugh, “I do find myself in a fair bit of trouble these days, mostly of my own doing, unfortunately. But I am happy. And I have people that keep me safe.”

“I would expect nothing less,” She laughs, then says, “I am glad. Glad that you are happy, and that you are not alone.”

“Never,” Edwin agrees and then, “Oh! Speaking of,” He stands up and turns to Crystal and Charles, waving them closer, likely just remembering their presence. “This is Crystal, my friend,” He introduces when they get close, “And this is Charles, my—” he pauses, not able to think of a word to describe their relationship. Charles: his partner, his greatest friend, his greatest love, his soulmate, his everything. He doesn’t say anything, in the end, but the look in his eyes gives more justice to their relationship than any word ever could.

Evelyn nods understandingly, “He is yours.” she says significantly.

“Got it in one,” Charles agrees before Edwin can say anything.

“Hello again,” she greets, voice so much lighter than before.

“Hello, pretty Evelyn,” Charles flirts jokingly.

Evelyn laughs, “So charming,” then looks to both of them, “Thank you for finding my boy.”

“I don’t really think we can take credit for this one,” Crystal says.

“More a lucky coincidence than anything.” agrees Charles.

“Still, you offered to try. And you cared. That’s more than what anyone else did.”

Charles lifts one shoulder then drops it, “It’s what we do.”

Evelyn looks out the window again, the sky has turned a reddish-orange and only a sliver of sun remains visible, “Just in time too. The day is almost over. I think I have to go soon.”

“What?” Edwin asks, distressed, “You are leaving?”

A blue light glows in the room. Edwin doesn’t turn to look at it but his hand reaches out to find Charles and Charles meets him halfway, fear of separation and old habits guiding their reactions even with permission from the Lost and Found Department to stay on Earth. Despite the old fear, he can’t quite bring himself to run.

Evelyn looks at Edwin sympathetically, “All I wanted was for you to come home, so I could see you again. To know you are okay. Now I know you are, so I am ready.”

“But I just found you,” Edwin says.

“I am sorry we did not have more time together. But,” Evelyn looks down at Edwin’s and Charles’s clasped hands, “You have so much more to do. I know you will be alright, with yours. But I need to get back to mine,” she says, twirling the gold ring on her left hand, “I promised I’d join him once I found you. He’ll want to know all about you. He knew you would be great. He’ll be so proud.”

Evelyn turns to the woman who appeared in the blue light. Crystal almost feels like she should be afraid of the woman—she is Death, after all—but all she feels is comfort.

“Are you ready?” she asks Evelyn.

“One moment,” Evelyn requests. She brings her hands up to cradle Edwin’s face. She looks at him adoringly then stands on her tiptoes to kiss him on the forehead. He bends down slightly to make it easier.

“Be good.” She instructs when she pulls back. Edwin nods tearfully. Neither of them say goodbye. Evelyn pulls away and loops her arm through Death’s, as if they were going to take a leisurely stroll. “All set.”

Death nods and turns to Edwin, “I suspect I already know the answer, but I’ll offer anyway. You can come with, if you like,” Death offers. Edwin doesn’t spare a moment to think. His only response is to step back, closer to Charles. Death smiles kindly, “As I thought. I won’t force you. When you are both ready—and only when you are ready—I will bring you to your afterlives. Until then, the choice is yours.”

“Thank you,” Edwin acknowledges politely, “But I am afraid we are quite too busy at the moment.”

Death inclines her head in recognition, “Yes, I am sure you are. You’ve been a lot of help over the years.” Death smiles at the three of them, “We must be going but I’ll be seeing you again. Stick around next time. Say hello. It’s always nice to see a friendly face.”

Then, there is a flutter of wings, and they are gone.

Case Closed

“Well, this has been an awfully emotional day,” Edwin jokes weakly into the silence left behind by Death and Evelyn’s departure.

“It sure has, mate. You alright?”

“I will be.”

“Do you need anything?” Crystal asks.

Edwin thinks on it then says, “May I have a moment alone?”

“Sure thing.” Charles says, squeezing Edwins hand then letting go, “We’ll tidy up the rest of the house, then come find you. Sound good?”

“Yes, Thank you.”

It only takes Charles and Crystal a few minutes to collect the ritual materials and check the rest of the house. When Evelyn left, she took the grief with her. The grief probably didn’t go away for her, even after seeing her son. She still mourned for the time they never had and the life her son never got to grow into, but she found closure in seeing him again and learning that he was happy now.

The house felt neutral now. Not good or bad, but ready and waiting for the next occupants.

Charles and Crystal sit on the steps between the two floors, giving Edwin a few more moments to himself.

“Would you want to see your mom again?” Crystal asks carefully, purposefully leaving out the second parental figure, “When she passes?”

Charles takes a breath, “I don’t know. Maybe I should. She never got a real answer for what happened to me. It was ruled an accidental death. I’m sure she wondered. But,..she always seems fine when I check on them. So maybe not.” He shrugs, “I just don’t know.”

“But for you,” Crystal clarifies, reminding him in the same way he reminded Edwin to think about his own needs, “Would it help you to see her?”

Charles remains quiet for so long Crystal thinks he is not going to answer until, “Yeah,” he says, “I want to say goodbye.”

“We’ll be there,” Crystal offers, “When it happens.”

Charles grins at her gratefully “I know,” then Charles stands up with his usual energy, “Well,” he says, “We’d better go get Edwin. Can’t leave him to think for too long. His head might explode.”

“I think you’re right,” Crystal says and follows him to the room.

“Ah, that's new,” Charles jokes.

“Don’t get used to it,” Crystal teases.

When they enter the room again, they are both surprised when Edwin is not there at first glance. Crystal almost panics until she looks to the bed frame and sees a head of brown hair sticking out from under it. She points to the frame and Charles gives it a confused look then approaches.

“What are you hiding under there for?” Charles questions.

“I’m not hiding,” Edwin says, “I knew you could see me,”

Charles nods his head in acknowledgment then clumsily shoves himself under the bed too—knobby elbows and knees knocking into the floor, bed frame, and Edwin. As a ghost he could have easily just phased through the frame and laid down, so Crystal knows he’s doing it on purpose.

“Watch it!” Edwin complains, but he’s laughing. Crystal laughs too as she joins them. They are all laying on their backs, looking up at the wooden slats. Crystal can see something stuck between wood directly above Edwin.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“A portrait,” Edwin answers.

“Like a picture? Of what?”

Edwin’s response is to pluck the item from the frame and hand it to her. When she looks at it, she sees three figures dressed in stiff, formal clothing. She sees a brown-haired man, and a green-eyed woman, and a child, the perfect mix of both, looking sternly into the lens.

“Is this you?” Crystal says, though she already knows the answer.

“Is it? Let me see!” Charles reaches eagerly for the picture.

“Careful! It is delicate,” Edwin scolds but doesn’t stop Charles from grabbing the picture.

“Aw, look at you!” Charles says, to which Edwin scoffs, “Wait, why are you all frowning?”

“We are not frowning, we are just not smiling.” Edwin corrects, “Portraits were to be taken seriously back then. Unlike today’s portraits, we wished to look respectable.”

Charles laughs at the barb, “Hard to look respectable with such pinchable cheeks,” he says and reaches over to do just that.

Edwin slaps his hand away and scowls as Charles laughs.

“Wait, why was it under here?” Crystal asks before Edwin can go into a rant about decorum—one that would probably completely ignore the fact that they were all lying on the dusty floor under a bed for him.

“Well, they were quite valuable back then. My father gave this one to me and I did not want to lose it.”

“So, you stuck it under your parents bed?” Crystal asks cynically.

Edwin raises one eyebrow, “It is still here, isn’t it?”

“Point.” Crystal concedes.

“We’ll have to get a frame for it,” Charles says, still studying the photo.

“Hm?” Edwin sounds.

“Should we get one for the wall? Or one of those stand ones? Personally, I think it’ll look pretty mint on the desk,” Charles responds.

He doesn’t mention that the desk is where Edwin spends a majority of his time, or how there is only one other picture frame on the desk; a pink heart-shaped one with a printed photo of Niko standing in front of the lighthouse in Port Townsend, smiling with two hands raised in peace signs.

Edwin smiles gently, “Yes, I think so too.”

“Say,” Charles says, “If you remembered this photo, does that mean you remember other things too?”

“Some things.” Edwin says, “I recall some details so clearly it is like they were never gone. Like my mother. I believe seeing her unearthed some memories I had been missing. Before I saw her, I could not even recall the color of her hair. The portrait helped as well,” He pauses, “I can tell that there are still some things missing, though. Some memories that remain out of my reach.”

“It might take some time,” Crystal says.

“And hey, we’ll help, yeah? Any way we can.”

“It is appreciated. I will be glad to have more memories of my life before. But I will also be content with the ones I do have,” he says, likely trying to keep his expectations low so he can be pleasantly surprised if more do come back.

Crystal thinks about her own troubles with memory. How sometimes she’ll forget something small and can’t help the fear that they were stolen again, “Aren’t you afraid you’ll forget again?” she asks.

Edwin raises a hand and taps at the breast pocket his little notebook always sits in, “I won’t.”

The room is dark now, the sun long past the horizon, but the room doesn’t feel sad or scary. It’s just comfortable.

“Can I just point out,” Charles says into the silence, mischief lying under his tone, “How fit your parents are?”

“Charles!” Edwin says, scandalized.

“Like, proper hot.”

“Oh yeah,” Crystal adds, “Milf and Dilf power couple. If they weren’t, like, 150 years older than me, I’d go for it.”

“I don’t know what that means!” Edwin whines as they laugh.

Crystal is glad that no one else can see her right now because she is sure she looks absolutely unhinged, laughing under an empty bed in an empty house.

“I’m just saying,” Charles says, “at least now we know where you get it from.”

Edwin doesn’t seem to know how to react to that, so he doesn’t. He snatches the photo from Charles and phases through the bed frame.

“I will be downstairs,” Edwin declares, cheeks faintly red despite the lack of blood in his veins, “Feel free to join me when you are done acting like children.”

Crystal and Charles laugh and follow him immediately, still acting like children.

The three of them leave the house, poking fun at each other all the way home. They don’t talk about anything that night, Crystal genuinely thinks Edwin would combust if he had to feel anything else that night. But slowly, Edwin regains more memories. He doesn’t tell them right away when he remembers something, but he’ll open his notebook and scribble it down. And later he’ll drop random facts about his previous life, he even told Crystal his birthday without her having to ask him (Charles threw a fit because of that).

In the rare times he tells them a full story about his life, he is animated and cheerful. There is still a slight sadness to him that may not ever go away, but with this part of his existence at least, he is content.