Chapter Text
Out of their group, only three of them maintained their friendship over the years. John, Robert and Paul were all proud to have stayed together thirty years after graduation, united by similar hardships, different destinies, and one beginning.
John by far was the most successful one – he had a small company of his own, his house was the biggest one of the three of them, he was happily married for more than twenty years and his lovely daughter left for university just a few months ago. What’s there not to love? He had his mates, a calm life and a loving family.
Whenever he saw his mates it was nothing fancy, just the three of them drinking beer, watching football and doing plain nothing. It was like this every time. And every time John felt anxious, sometimes scared even. Mostly he and his mates stayed together due to a shared experience, something they could have never told another soul, the three of them knew, the three of them suffered, and it was all that mattered. It was them against the world…
Robert laid on the couch, already stuffing his face with crisps, John listened to him from the kitchen. He was bringing out the beer from the fridge, when he heard the doorbell ringing. Must be Paul, which is weird, ‘cause that bloke never in his life came on time.
“Just come in, it’s unlocked.” John shouted through the house, as he took out another can of cold one and went to the living room. The door in the corridor swung shut, but John didn’t hear any footsteps, as well as he didn’t hear Paul greet them. A minute passed, and he still didn’t come into the living room.
“Paul, is that you?” he shouted into the house again before standing up.
Robert raised an eyebrow but didn’t move. John went out to the front door to find it firmly shut, Paul wasn’t there. On the wall he found an old punk-looking jacket with badges and stickers on the collar, hanging neatly on the hook. But it wasn’t anything he could remember, neither Robert nor Paul ever wore such things, and this jacket looked too small to fit any of them. After all, it’s hard to stay fit after hitting forty…
The door opened up again, with Paul sticking his face inside with a toothy grin.
“Oh, you’re waiting for me here I see? Thanks, mate. Hope you’ve got a cold one for me, I’m so worn out from today’s shift.”
“I- Of course, pal, come on in.” John stuttered, looking around, the jacket he saw a second ago was not there anymore “I just thought… You haven’t seen anyone at the door with you?”
“What are you talking about?” Paul laughed as the both of them walked along the corridor.
He sat heavily on the couch near Robert, hitting him on the elbow as a greeting, and reaching for a bowl of crisps.
“Finally together, eh? It’s been what? Three months since we last watched football like this.”
Robert punched Paul back, and John relaxed, he was imagining things again. The last few months have been relatively calm, in a way that he had always dreamed of. And up until this point today everything was perfect…
The three of them took their beers and opened the lids with a satisfying snap, joining their drinks together.
“To our reunion.” Said Paul.
“Yes, to the reunion.” Robert agreed, but just as they took a few sips, another sound came from behind them.
Another can of beer being cracked open.
John couldn’t shake the feeling that this is how the snapping of bones sounds like.
All three of them sat silently, awfully still, hoping that the phantom would pass. It never did. Every time it came by, it drove them mad. All three of them dealt with it however they could, but nothing helped. It came to them separately, sometimes when they were together like this. It never stayed long, but always did some damage.
The can of beer floated around the living room, swaying in an invisible hand of a poltergeist, before crashing in the wall with an awfully loud thud. John flinched, Paul choked on a gasp. It’s here again. The blasted thing is here again. It was gone for months but now it’s back. John looked at the wall, where beer splashes slowly turned red, and letter by letter a message revealed itself:
“Have you forgotten your friend?”
The tv switched off, the light bulb flickered as if in panic. The phantom that haunted them for the better part of their lives stood in the corner, John could feel it in his bones, its freezing cold invisible gaze glued to his face. How has he angered it? He spent many nights wondering, but the answer didn't come.
Another can of beer set flying, crashing just above John’s head, sending Paul and Robert flying to the floor in fear. When they turned around they felt a cold weight press on their throats, momentarily as it was, John thought he might pass out.
“What have you done?”
Read the message above the couch, red liquid dripped down on their heads. Paul screamed, flailing his arms in the air, and crawling back. John swallowed hard, the phantom wouldn’t hurt them… It never ever did… It won’t touch them…
Cupboard shuddered, a wine glass fell out of it, shards flying everywhere. A fern vase tipped over. Curtains on the window flapped together, as wings of a panicking bird.
“Not again…” whined Robert, hiding his face in his palms. This nightmare will never end. The remaining beer cans blew up, splattering alcohol onto the ceiling, the walls, windows, the TV. John looked up, the screen lit up with static, where with red a message read:
“To our reunion.”
The lights turned off. The three friends were left in the darkness, alone at last.
***
Charles was having way too much fun with them. He liked to mess with his highschool “friends”, the ones who have forgotten about one member of their group who should have cast a shadow of shame and guilt over their lives. The fact that they just didn’t know how they “deserved” to be haunted, pained him as much as amused.
Many years ago Charles’ actions were fueled by blinding anger, but now it was a tradition, a vengeful prank, that didn’t actually harm them. He gave them a breather while he was in Port Townsend, but now that he’s back in London he had full intentions to bug them as much as he could.
He leaned in the doorframe, watching with a stupid grin, as John, Robert and Paul gathered themselves, almost crying in fear, thinking that “the phantom” is gone. Charles contemplated doing one final trick, but decided to leave them for now. He rarely ever haunted them together, mostly just separately, now he thinks it’s a pity. Watching these thugs, who act so brave when they harass fast-food workers and noisy teens, tremble in fear was a special kind of delight. Charles knew it was cruel and maybe too petty of him to gloat, but hey, they murdered him, so he considered them to be even. If they thought Charles deserved to be stoned to death, then they deserved to be haunted for the rest of their lives.
The light was turned on again, three men were trying to calm down, to wash the paint off of the walls, collect the cans and shards of a broken vase “before Lucy comes back”. John was the only one with a wife. To Charles’ absolute joy the other two only ever found women who were terrified of ghosts and hauntings, and fled the relationships as soon as he threw the first book. John’s wife was surprisingly brave, but Charles tried not to bother her or their daughter anyways.
“That bastard… I really hope it’s not blood…” Charles heard Paul gasp, as he neared the writings on the wall. Charles rolled his eyes, since when are they scared of a bit of ectoplasm he collected with Edwin several weeks prior? It was expired and harmless anyways. Charles had learned a few tricks from his experience in ghostly encounters, like how to flicker the lights, or mess with different types of electronics, blow up cans and glasses, you name it.
He didn’t intend to stay any longer, he would usually come for a few minutes and disappear for weeks. Charles walked into the corridor, smirking to himself listening for the last time to the frightened rumble coming from the living room, and then dove into the mirror on the wall.
Charles landed clumsily in the office, fixing his jacket and straightening up. He hated small mirrors, he always had to dive head first into a narrow window, and it made landing on the other side complicated. He looked around the office and felt a chill run down his spine – every one was present, looking disapprovingly at him…
“Charles, where in the everloving Hell have you been?” Edwin stood beside the desk, his hands crossed on his chest, a stern look on his face. He was so amusing like this, all serious and bossy, like an adult that he never got the chance to be.
“Sorry, mate. Just needed some fresh air.” Charles answered, a grin forming on his mouth.
“You don’t need to breathe, Charles, cut the bullshit.” frowned Crystal, “We’ve been waiting for you for ages here, you know?”
Did we have something planned? Charles shook his head, no, that’s not it.
“Okay-okay, you remember that case from yesterday?” Charles scrambled for an excuse, “That sketchy bloke looking for his lost enchanted swiss knife? So I’ve taken some liberty and went to investigate…”
“Sure you did.” Edwin sighed, “However if you had been here with us, you would have known that he came by to inform us that he just misplaced it under the sofa and had already found it. Honestly, Charles, that’s what we’re trying to tell you. You’ve missed quite a few clients.”
“And, we’ve managed to get a serious one on our hands!” exclaimed Niko, “We better hurry.”
“Exactly, it would be preferred if we got there before nightfall.” Edwin nodded before smirking with a tip of his mouth, “Unless, of course, you would like to tell us a tad bit more about that enchanted knife?”
“Nah.” Charles waved his hand dismissively and felt his face heat up – or the closest thing to it – Edwin saw right through him. He hated lying to his best friend, Edwin did not deserve that. But what was he supposed to say?
Ah right, mate, don’t mind me, just haunting my murderers. Y’know, doing the same thing we are trying to stop other ghosts from doing.
Edwin would be angry if he knew, that’s for certain. Not lectury-angry, properly mad. Upset even. And Charles didn’t want to disappoint him. Edwin thought that he was finally moving on, letting go of the wrong-doings of years long gone. But Charles still felt that nagging grudge, it felt like a hair strand stuck to your tongue, the one you can’t quite get out. Sometimes he would come home from John’s house feeling relieved, knowing the itch of disappointment won’t return for a while now. Other times he would return to the office feeling like a bully. He knew he had the right to feel bitter. But how is he any better than the thugs who preyed on that Pakistani boy, or those who bullied Edwin in his past, if he himself messes with the people who can’t stand up to him?
What would Niko say if she found out? Something about the magic of friendship and forgiveness probably.
And Crystal? She was trying so hard to be a better person, than she was before David. And here Charles is, being a total dick and letting his past define him.
“Again, sorry for that, guys. Let’s get moving then?” Charles said instead of trying to explain himself further. He started for the mirror, when Edwin’s hand landed on his elbow.
“Unfortunately we will have to travel the long way, Charles.” he said and squeezed his arm lightly, Charles forgot what they talked about for a second
“I’ve tried to look around to get a sense of what we’re dealing with, but the building seems to have no mirrors inside.”
“Right.” Whatever it was that Edwin said, all Charles could think about was the gentle grip Edwin had on his elbow. “Right, right, got that. Remind me, where are we going again?”
“St. Paul’s Third Street Church.” Edwin said. Ah, that’s why he grabbed a hold of Charles all of a sudden. “I believe it’s better if we get over it as swiftly as we can.”