Chapter Text
If there was one thing that Florence should have learned after years of being friends with Freddie Trumper, it was to never trust him when he said he had a “good idea”. She learned that lesson upon meeting him in grade school—she as the foreign exchange student, and he as the kid who had just moved to New York. What started off as something rather innocuous (all it really took was a “Hey, so I had this idea…”) ended up with him getting detention. And that was only after Florence pleaded his case to the teacher who caught him. She would have thought that maybe, after the second, third, or fourth incident, he would learn his lesson. But no. Even after her brief departure from America and their reunion at university, Freddie had stubbornly refused to change. How did that old saying go again? There were only three things certain in life: death, taxes, and Freddie Trumper’s poor decision making. Something like that. Adulthood had scarcely curbed his impulsivity. He’d call it enthusiasm, or zest for life, or anything other than what it was. Florence found it equal parts endearing and infuriating. Much like the rest of him.
She could hardly be surprised when one night, as she was being a good TA and grading tests, he broke the silence in the apartment with an all too familiar refrain: “Y’know, Flor, I had this idea.”
Florence couldn’t help but laugh. She didn’t even look up at him, striking through a wrong answer with her red pen. “Does this idea involve the possibility of bodily harm?”
Now, she looked up at her best friend and roommate, sat directly across from, her. Freddie’s face scrunched up in displeasure. Sort of like a cat when it smelled something it didn’t like. He shook his head and waved his hands through the air a little. “Who the hell do you take me for, huh?”
“Do you want an honest answer, Freddie?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “I can give you an itemized list of every idea you’ve had that’s ended in bodily harm. To yourself or anyone else, really?”
“Yeah, alphabetize it and everything.” Freddie rolled his eyes. “Anyway, listen, this one is really cool, yeah? I was thinking of like, basically, making a club here. ‘Cause we have all this nerdy crap already, and like- like I’ve been getting back into paranormal shit. I mean, you’ve seen the movies and all. I’ve made you watch a few.”
So he had. Honestly, she hadn’t thought much of it. They’d always enjoyed watching movies together, so she just thought that maybe he wanted to change things up a bit. (Even if they left him clinging to her side after swearing up and down that he wasn’t scared.) Florence set her pen down and leaned forward a little. “Right. So, you want to—”
“Start a little ghost hunting group! Dunno how many people, but the more the merrier, right? I think it’d be, y’know, pretty fun. Give a little spice to the clubs here. Who needs shit like, I dunno, the English club?”
“Well, as the treasurer of said English club, I’d sure like it if it was around.”
“Gah—you know what I meant!” He let out a little huff. Always so dramatic. “Just think about how cool it’d be, though! There are so many haunted places ‘round here, so…”
He was dead serious. Of course he was. Freddie Trumper was always serious about every endeavor he threw himself into. Florence put the cap back on her pen and tucked it behind her ear. (Clearly, she wasn’t going to get anything done for a while.) There wasn’t really any reason she should be humoring this beyond a “that’s nice, Freddie, please don’t get yourself killed”. She didn’t believe in ghosts. There were rational explanations for every supposed sighting. Ghosts existed to serve as antagonists, or metaphors, or anything of the sort. Florence would not—could not—be convinced otherwise. So, any time Freddie would rope her into watching those stupid, overly produced “ghost hunting” shows, she was far from impressed. Maybe that should’ve been a sign that he was scheming.
Florence sighed. “Why not just… I don’t know, ask some friends to go with you instead of making a club?”
“It’s about getting reach! It’d be nice to have like, oh, I dunno… four or five people. You included!”
So he was scared about going alone, then. Florence tapped her fingers against the table and said, “You want a skeptic to help you find ghosts.”
“Ain’t gonna be a skeptic for much longer when we see one.” Freddie stuck his tongue out.
Florence did much of the same. “What about equipment?”
“I got that all figured out.” He grinned. Not exactly reassuring.
“How are you going to get to these ‘haunted places’, then? You don’t drive.”
Freddie threw his hands in the air. “How am I—? C’mon, I know people with cars! And, ‘sides, if I can get de Courcey in on this, then we’re golden! He loves this sort of shit.”
“Which one?” Florence asked, knowing fully well who he meant. She just liked to see him bristle.
“Who the hell do you think?” Freddie scoffed. “The one who teaches film studies? Not his husband? Ain’t sure if that one knows how to drive anyway.”
“What I’m hearing is that you want to use him for his film equipment.”
“There’s no winning with you! Jeez. Are you with me or what?!”
Florence really should just say no. She was already busy enough. Between English club, chess club, being a TA, having to try and have a social life on top of her studies… Goodness! She didn’t have time to indulge in any of this. And, honestly, she really didn’t want to get arrested for trespassing. Or anything else that might happen. Could she trust that Freddie would be responsible about this? Even with other people around? No. Not particularly. There was no reason for her to go. Skeptics wouldn’t clear their schedules to chase things that verifiably did not exist.