𝗽𝗵𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗼𝗺 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗮 ➪ 𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗻𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘄𝗼𝗼𝗱

𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿. 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱-𝗮𝗶𝗱𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲𝗹𝘀

AGNES WALKED TO HER ROOM,
she had a recording tape she had taken from the library. she sat on the end of the bed; watching Marissa Fittes interview from about fifty years ago, in which she talked about the Types of ghosts she'd encountered and categorized.

her whole body felt heavy, heavy from this absolute nightmare of a night. she prickled the skin off of her fingers until they bled, a bad habit that had been formatted over the long years.
there was three knocks on her door, and by their pattern she knew who the knocker was, Anthony  Lockwood.
"what?" her voice was hoarse and angry, she immediately furrowed her brows slightly as he entered the room cautiously, a platter with cotton, bandages and a bowl of water in his hands.
"hi...uh... I know I look like Anthony Lockwood, but I'm not." the girl slightly tilted her head sideways in confusion.

"I'm actually a fully qualified doctor, so..." he stopped his sentence short.
"good, because he was being a massive dick to me just now." she spat in ignorance. Lockwood looked down to his shoes, the silence was loud and awkward.
"come on, then, doctor." he looked up, his eyes bright as he walked over to her bed, sitting down by her side awkwardly.
"uh, I'm not sure what I should..." Agnes gave him her right wrist, in which he gently grabbed it, laying it over his lap. he brought her dark red sweater up to her elbows, staring at the deep cut in which left a trail of now dried up blood in the palm of her hands.

Lockwood picked a wet cotton up, the water trickled down on the bowl. his dark brown gentle eyes stared at her fierce green ones. "this is gonna hurt." he warned in a whisper; she didn't reply, only watched his calm and gentle actions in surprise.

before, it was never like that.
there was no warnings. only the rough wet towel being brought up on wounds as Agnes grimaced in pain.
most maids did not care how much it hurt, as long as they received that little extra money to compensate for the inconvenience of having to clean up so much blood and having to bandage up so many bruises of a crying child. so she grew used to it, she grew used to the rough towels scratching her skin, to the gripping hands when she flinched and to the tight bandages.

he passed the cotton in her cut, gently cleaning it. she winced a little and Lockwood muttered an apology.
"I was... I was orphaned at the age of six." he couldn't bear to look at the pity in her eyes as she stared at his side profile. "so, uh... all I can say is I don't really enjoy talking about my past. and that's what's behind that door." he was fragile as-well, they had that in common. a bad past they wished no one asked of.
"okay." Agnes brought her lips into a thin line in the silence. he scratched his throat, "and...uh, you used it to convince me that, not only are you one of the only three people in the history of the world to be able to talk to ghosts, but that we actually have a Type Three ghost in our house. you know, two events with one in a billion probability. and the chances of you being right are—"

"I know! I wouldn't believe me either." Agnes looked down to her nasty wound.
"that's, that's not the problem. the problem is, when you like the spotlight as much as I do, it's quite an adjustment to realize that the real reason you might be here is to shine it on somebody else." he had finished setting the bandaid to her cut; meeting her surprised eyes. "you believe me?" she whispered with a small smile forming on the corner of her mouth.
"I do." he answered "about everything." he smiled.

"and you don't think I'm crazy?" he let out a small breathy chuckle, shaking his head side-to-side.
"you know I don't actually want the spotlight, right?" Anthony glanced at her lips as she spoke, then her eyes. "I know...it's maddening." he muttered the last part.
"I guess it would make me, uh...quite the investment, wouldn't it?" she glanced to his lap momentarily, he laughed. "I won't make that mistake again. we'll go carefully. I promise." he sighed, holding her right hand.

they wanted to kiss each other, they wanted to feel their lips on the other's mouth. leaving soft, tender kisses until they panted for air. he wanted to touch her waist and bring her closer and she wanted to grip on his neck, on his hair as they did so.
but for some reason, they didn't.

they separated their hands, sighing as they avoided their eyes. "go on then...what did it say?" he changed the topic, not wanting to be away from her.
"right... well, he...he, um... he said he could smell power on me and Luce. he turned really nasty. then he had this really strange prophecy about death." Agnes stuttered like stupid. turning away from him to hide her reddening cheeks.
"prophecy of death?"
"yeah, crazy. right? but he...he seemed really sure of it and stuff. we should probably tell George or something." Agnes shrugged.
"alright, I'll call him; you get Luce." they nodded, leaving Agnes's room.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"I'm sorry about earlier, can we talk?" Lockwood apologized to George before they entered the boy's room. their steps were silent and careful seeing that he was nowhere to be seen.
"where is he? it's two a.m." Lucy asked both her partners. the question remained unanswered. Lockwood meddled with the papers on George's table, a sort of weird translation being written on it.

"the truth lies beyond"

Lockwood glanced at Agnes who was by his side, who also looked at him. sure; she was mad at George, but she was still worried of his whereabouts this late at night. "we need to find him. now."

Lucy, Agnes and Anthony encountered Kipps team, Barnes and George in the chapel inside the graveyard. Agnes had heard Kipps witty comments and suddenly she knew that the case would be intervened.
"we're right here." Lockwood stood his ground, making them all turn heads.
"good evening." Anthony smiled charmingly as he and the rest of his partners walked in the middle of the Fittes agents.

"Ms.Berkshire, always a pleasure to see you." Kipps smiled, it messed with Lockwood and he knew it— because the boy's face immediately broke in furrowed brows and his jaw hardened. "good evening, Inspector." Lockwood stared at George, who had a small smile in the corner of his face, thankful for his friends showing up on the right time.
"Anthony Lockwood and a case gone wrong. nothing seems to change." Barnes crossed his arms, he was side-by-side with Kipps team; it made Agnes mad seeing how much he favored the agents.

Lockwood chuckled drily, ignoring Barnes remark.
"nice to see you here, Kipps. what's that, third time this week is it?" he breathed.
"twice, by my count." Kipps face was apathetic, he showed no emotion contrary to Lockwood's that had that silly, cocky, convinced grin on his face.
"the mirror's gone! this is big!" George warned his team, who now faced him.

"it is, yeah. and it's our case." he stared at Barnes's frowning face. "not anymore. we've already made a preliminary report." Kipps corrected.
Bobby Vernon had the report in his hands, he walked up to them. "the first question is, why an iron casket a century before the Problem? well, the Fittes database confirms it to be a still, used in breweries in the late nineteenth century. it also confirms that 1886 saw a violent labor dispute at Hildrew's Ales at Kilburn. there you go sir." the boy handed the red folder to Barnes in arrogance.
Agnes scoffed at the small history lesson she hoped to be incorrect.

"we believe this well-dressed man was the owner, murdered by his workers and buried in the first thing they could find." Kipps spoke in a condescending way.
"an accidentally murdered brewer?" Barnes looked unconvinced, he grimaced and Agnes wondered if this was simply his normal face.
"an awful way to die, sir." Kipps concluded, he clicked his tongue before continuing.
"it would explain why he's unquiet. the mirror's clearly a personal item, treasured enough to be his source. unless; Karim has a better answer?" Bobby laughed and Agnes had the sudden urge to rip his vocal cords out his throat while he was alive.

"yes, I do actually." George smiled. and Agnes hoped that the son of a bitch she called friend actually had a plausible explanation.