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Charles had a really really bad feeling about this.
The clients were a wreck, tears spilling from their eyes in unison as they pleaded for help. Both women seemed to be in their mid to late 60s, with greying hair and wisdened faces torn apart by grief. They had died in a horrific car accident less than a week ago, a lorry driver who lost control, a stalled car in the wrong place, but that wasn't why they were here. Their pain wasn't a fresh wound, it had lived deep within their bones for over two decades.
“Our son, Laurence, he died twenty eight years ago almost to the day.” The woman with dark ocher eyes muttered softly, handkerchief held close to her cheek. “Well we assumed he had died, the body was never found you know, but we wanted to check before we…”
She went sullen then as if her mind was shutting itself down and Charles bristled ever so slightly, she was reminding him a lot of his mum, how sometimes she could be utterly consumed by her thoughts.
“We know he’s there somewhere, it's like we can feel how terrified he is, but it wasn't until we walked through our old neighborhood that we could hear it,” the other woman with fading red hair added, “A guttural sobbing that every mother dreads.”
“I see, so how come you have come to us rather than looking for him yourselves?"
As usual Edwin was seated in his chair behind the desk, and like always he hadn’t quite read the room.
“I think what Edwin means is what can we do to help you two?” Charles interjected, perched recklessly on the armrest of his best mates chair, wich allowed him to discreetly give a “what the fuck” look without the clients noticing.
“I think we need some closure, we just want to know what happened to him, our baby boy…” The woman with the ocher eyes was quietly sobbing again, her tears staining the handkerchief with a slight red tinge.
A few stars were splattered across the cloudless, light polluted sky as they walked through a disheveled south London high street. If he could feel the wind it would probably be slicing against his skin in icy torment, a bitter warning.
Charles was unsettled, he and Edwin had done hundreds of cases, faced countless horrific people, fuck they had even gone to hell and back, yet tonight something was off.
It was probably because Crystal wasn't with them. She had been insisting for weeks that at some point she would have to go back to her old flat, just to see if there was anything worth salvaging and she decided that the best time to do that was at 11 in the evening on a random Tuesday.
Before she left though she had used her powers with the small jacket the women had given them and neither Edwin or Charles could get her to say anything for a few minutes after.
That's why they were here, standing in front of a random department store with peeling paint and short circuiting lights.
But even then Charles didn't think it was Crystal's absence that was setting his non-existent nerves on edge, no in reality he was secretly, ashamedly, quite glad she wasn’t here. Charles couldn’t remember the last time it was just him and Edwin on a case and as much as he liked Crystal he had really missed this.
But something had shifted, the air didn’t quite settle the way it used to between them, every point of normalcy that was once vivid in their afterlives seemed to subtly change. Maybe it was everything that was torn open in Port Townsend, maybe it was their grief for Niko, maybe it was something unnameable buried within Charles's chest that he couldn’t identify. What was certain is that Edwin hadn’t been the same since they got back to London, he was always so good at hiding his pain, but Charles couldn't help but see the cracks slowly forming.
First it was his utter refusal to address anything that had happened, as much as Charles had tried Edwin would just skirt around every question only sparing the smallest glimpse into his thoughts when Niko was mentioned. Her death had affected them all deeply, but it seemed to be a weight so strong on Edwin that he could never quite shake it. There was also the thing neither of them had discussed with anyone, living or dead, because how can you even start to bring the topic of hell up in casual conversation.
“Charles, are you listening?”
“What? Shit sorry mate.”
Edwin looked at him then with unreadable eyes, but a very clearly raised eyebrow.
“As I was saying the boy, Laurence, would often frequent this store with his uncle when his mothers were working, so I think it is easy to assume that we will find a clear psychic trace within.”
As soon as he finished speaking Edwin strolled right through the door without even waiting to see if Charles would follow, but he didn’t need to because Charles would literally follow him anywhere.
The department store was a three story abomination, nothing was organised in a logical way with the bleach above the canned soup and the knitting supplies opposite an ancient fridge discounted to less than 6 quid. Edwin was practically short circuiting at Charles’s side and he could tell the Edwardian boy was repressing the overwhelming urge to either organise the entire building or set it alight to purge the world of its existence.
A small grubby sign by the staircase showed a vague recognition of order when it read:
Ground floor- general products
First floor- Clothes and garden tools
Second floor- Carpentry and toys
“Why would anyone think it was a good idea to put saws and hammers anywhere near the teddy bears?” Charles muttered in a half arsed joke hoping for a sly smile to cross Edwin's lips, but they didn't even twitch.
“You alright there mate?”
“Huh, oh yeah just thinking about something,” Edwin's shoulders seemed to be held even tighter than normal, "So where should we begin, with the secateurs or fur coats?”
As he wondered through the racks of clothes Charles began feeling even more unnerved, there was something hidden within this store that if he were alive would be sending goose bumps across his skin, it was as if dozens of eyes were tracing the lines on the back of his coat, watching for any potential weakness.
Edwin was only a few feet ahead, but Charles practically ran to catch up with him. He felt like a child again, getting lost in the Tesco with his mum only being a few isles away, and all he wanted to do was interlock his fingers with Edwin's to make sure he was actually there. As they turned the corner Charles shoved his trembling hands deep within his coat, fingers pulling at the loose threads.
“Edwin, it's like your entire wardrobe was the inspiration for this collection,” Charles was particularly drawn to the countless bow ties stacked on the display table, he was especially captivated by a greenish-blue one, the precise shade of Edwin's eyes, “I mean who would ever want that many options.”
“I’ll have you know Charles that bow ties are cool,” Edwin piped up, “I had quite the collection when I was alive.” A small wistful smile flickered across his face, and Charles thought he heard his non-existent heart stop beating, but it was probably just the broken grandfather clock in the corner.
They continued to browse the second floor for any psychic sign of the young boy's presence, but nothing seemed to be there. That only left the second floor.
Just before they began to climb the stairs Charles heard a muffled curse and immediately looked toward Edwin, whose face was pulled in a slight grimace. Before Charles even had a chance to ask if he was ok, Edwin’s expression flattened to a dead neutral and he began to climb the stairs. Something was wrong. They could both sense it, they were both dreading it.
First it was the carpentry tools, rows upon rows of jagged saws, rusting nails, sharpened axes, weighted hammers, and splintering plywood forming a demonic serial killers fantasy.
Then it was the toys, derailed trains with the wheels still turning, rocking horses with chunks taken out of their sides, action figures with missing limbs, stuffed animals with their seams slowly unraveling.
One in particular, a small green rabbit with buttons for eyes, reminded Charles of his favorite toy when he was around five, he called it Eddie and it had never left his side until his father had ripped it to shreds in front of him.
“Charles, can you hear that?” Edwin's voice came out cracked and brittle.
He could, though he wished he was just imagining it.
The sobbing was quiet, barely discernible for the ancient building's steady creek, but it was so early similar to the cry of a mutilated animal that Charles had forgotten to breathe.
“Laurence, is that you?”
How Edwin had even managed to find his voice was an utter mystery.
The crying faltered briefly, before coming back much louder.
He couldn't place where it was coming from, but there was only one door close to them, a small sign reading:
Storage no unauthorized personnel permitted.
Edwin didn’t hesitate, walking straight through the door.
Charles waited, but he couldn't hear a single sound from either Edwin or Laurence.
Alarm bells were screaming in his head.
He took a singular deep breath and stepped through the door
And was stopped dead in his tracks.
The room was bursting with porcelain baby dolls.
And Edwin was looking at them with an expression of raw unparalleled terror.
The twisting green walls suffocatingly close, doll limbs scattered across the floor.
Edwin folding inside himself, crimson blood drying tacky across the right side off his face, spilling from his temple.
Edwin was breathing too quickly, every gasp of air was too short, too raspy.
His body, being torn apart over and over and over again for 70 years.
Charles didn’t hesitate when he grabbed Edwins face, pulling him in close so their foreheads were mere centimetres away.
Edwins dismembered remains tossed to the side reflected in his own glassy hopeless eyes.
“It’s ok, we’re ok, we’re not there, its not here.”
That horrific spider-like creature, its thousand eyes engraved through the faces of children, dozens of chubby little hands trying to grab at any scrap of Edwin they could find.
They were both trembling, legs about to give way, but Charles would not let go, he would never let go.
Edwins defeat, a tangible thing so cruel so horrific that Charles had felt his heart shatter.
Their eyes were locked on one another, his a beautiful emerald green in this flickering light, tinged a bloodshot red.
“I run and it catches me. It tears me apart and gnaws on me.”
Charles fingers tapped out a steady rhythm on Edwins cheek, and Edwins chest began to move in time.
The blood trailing them as they ran, Edwins bare feet torn to shreds against the discarded rubble of hell.
They stayed like that for several minutes, until the tears from their eyes began to slow.
“We can go mate, if you want to.”
“No, no we c-can’t, I can hear him Charles, we're close, so close, I know it.”
Charles searched his face, fear was still etched in every expression, but Edwin was right Laurence's muffled cries were still there. They might be able to leave, but that young boy was trapped.
Other than the shelves littered with dolls, the room was almost entirely empty, with water stained walls and a steady track of mold spreading through the floor boards. Charles reckoned that there were probably over two hundred of the porcelain monstrosities in here, leaving little space for anything else, especially the remains of an eight year old.
“Charles, does that look like a loft door?” Edwin whispered tentatively. He was staring at the ceiling with extreme effort, clearly to avoid seeing any of the room's inhabitants.
Edwin reached for the small string, pulling it until a ladder fell through the new gaping hole in the ceiling.
The whaling was getting louder and louder until it was impossible to tune it out any longer, each scream making Charles' body constrict in on itself in sympathy. Every step he took going up the ladder made his feet feel five tons heavier. This was where the boy was, he was sure of it, but that fact only made his heart sink even lower.
Half assembled dolls were scattered across the entire attic, their limbs discarded in piles, unpainted heads stacked upon the shelves, clearly whoever owned this shop was an unhinged craftsman.
Charles's fingers were steadily interlaced with Edwin's in a desperate attempt to not lose him again, a silent reassuring whisper.
The crying had now reached a deafening crescendo, only now Charles could see who it was coming from.
He was hunched in the corner, a small figure of a boy barely older than eight with dark eyes and a wild mess of ginger hair. Tears were flowing down his face, staining his red Power Rangers t-shirt a deeper hue that looked frighteningly like fresh blood.
“Hey bud,” Charles' voice sounded disconnected, like it didn't belong to him as he and Edwin crouched down to the boy's eye level, hands still joined.
“I c-can’t find my m-mums, I d-don't know w-where they are.” His voice was so timid, so unbelievably frightened.
“Can you remember when you last saw them?” Edwin had gone entirely silent as he intently studied the shifting copper hue of the small boy's hair, leaving Charles to be the one to reassure him.
“We w-were going to go get i-ice cream on the high street, and then I lost them.”
“Laurence, that’s your name right,” A small nod confirmed that this was the boy they’d been searching for, “This is going to be really hard, but do you know who brought you here?”
“Uncle Sammy used to go with me to look at the toys on the weekends.” Laurence had started to calm down a bit, though the tension in his little frame was still clearly obvious.
“Ok, but I mean who took you up here Laurence, when you lost your mums?”
“Me and uncle Sammy liked looking at the train sets,” Charles couldn't quite hide the frustration in his body but Laurence didn't notice, Edwin did however and gave a small squeeze of his hand. “But he always loved the dolls.”
Edwin went still, sharing a quick look with Charles, before abruptly standing.
“You ok mate?”
Edwin nodded, but Charles was still extremely concerned, he didn’t want Edwin to spiral again and to be honest he was scared of that happening himself. They were going to have to talk about a lot of things after this case, whether either of them wanted to or not.
“Uncle Sammy found me outside, he said we'd wait in here until my mums came to get me,” the pieces were starting to come together, but Charles dreaded the final picture, “He liked this shop because he got to see his best friend.”
“And who was that Laurence?”
“Uncle Sammy's friend owned the shop, he liked painting the dolls.”
Laurence was still huddled in the corner but as he started moving closer Charles could see that large patches of his hair had been torn-
“Charles.”
As he turned the look of disgust and absolute horror on Edwin's face made him feel sick, and then Charles stood and saw what was on the work bench.
A doll was in mid construction, the paint on its eyes still wet. Its head was a jumble of different pieces of porcelain glued together with loose ginger hair sticking against its skull. It’s hair. Copper shifting hues identical to Laurences.
Fuck.
Almost every doll they had passed in this room had the same life like- no not life like REAL hair.
There were teeth scattered around the desk, too small to be anything other than baby teeth, that looked as though they may be glued into the doll's slightly open mouth. The scattered fragments of what Charles had assumed to be porcelain had to be bone, the stained brittle bone of an eight year old boy.
Charles wanted to throw up, he wanted to run, he wanted to die all over again.
Laurence's killer had used his body as the materials for their fucked up crafts.
They had slaughtered an innocent child and painted lifeless eyes on his remains, and from what Laurence had said it seemed like his uncle was involved, if not the one to add the final details with the paintbrush.
Edwin was in shock. Charles was shaking in anger. Laurence was starting to move towards the work bench.
“Laurence stay there. Do not move any closer.” Charles commanded through gritted teeth. He would not let that boy see what had become off his bones.
“Y-you're scaring me, what is it?” His eyes were glassy once more, and Charles couldn't shake how doll like they were.
Edwin walked toward Laurence, crouching down so their eyes were level, the mellow sadness and sympathy that he carried in his voice when he spoke seemed to grind Charles’s phantom heart to dust.
“I know what it's like, to be torn apart by a monster. I know that awful pain that is burning beneath your skin, I know how alone you feel, and it's ok to be scared, I was too. But we're here now, me and Charles and we're going to help you.”
“H-how?”
“We’re going to tell some really important people where to find you, and they're going to deal with those really scary monsters so that they will never be able to hurt you again.”
“I just want to find my mums.”
“I know, and you will. But you’re going to have to be really brave Laurence, when we leave you have to go towards that blue light, and I promise you that your mums will be right behind you. Can you do that?”
Laurence nodded his head slightly.
Edwin stood and before he could start to turn Laurence grabbed his legs in a hug, as much as he disliked people touching him Edwin let the hug stretch before turning towards Charles,
“I think we have to go.”
They stood outside the department store, watching as the blue light faded from the little window in the attic.
In a few minutes they would go to the police, dressed in their disguises, so that they could reopen Laurence's case with the clear evidence of his remains and hopefully imprison his uncle and the owner of the shop.
Then they would find his mothers and tell them about the fate of their son, as much as Charles dreaded it, he knew they needed to know, they had promised Laurence after all and his parents couldn't move on without the horrendous truth.
Right now however it was just Charles and Edwin, standing in the cold London air, unsure of everything they were feeling. Too much had happened. Too much had been unearthed. They could no longer bury it anymore, the memory of Hell would never leave.
Charles looked at Edwin and the wave of untamed emotion flooded his mind. He could never truly understand everything Edwin had battled through, but every day he spent with him in their eternal after life made his admiration grow. This wonderful boy who he would sacrifice anything for, where he would go to the lowest levels of Hell and the highest point of an assumed heaven ten times over just to be sure he was safe. Edwin was the star Charles would forever orbit. They could become lost, either of them misguided by their own pasts, but the other would be a blinding beacon, an ever present citadel that would tether the other so they don't stray too far.
Charles couldn't untangle what he felt for Edwin, there was definitely love, that was undoubted, but how that had manifested within him he didn’t know. He was ok with that, he had time to figure it out.
“You ok mate?” He whispered,
“No, but I think I will be, eventually.”
Their hands had found each other again, and both boys were content just to stay there for a while and let time flow over them.