Under the Floorboards (and In the Walls)

In the Dark, Can You See Me?-Lockwood

I dropped the last bundle of pillows on the floor. Lucy was busy arranging the chains.

"Give me another pillow." George called from the bed. "I sleep with two. I'm not a peasant like Lucy."

We were in the attic. By the time we got back to Portland Row we were ready to drop. But we couldn't. Not unless we wanted to get touched by one of our many new flat mates, courtesy of Saunders. Lucy's room should be cleared, but we weren't taking any chances.

The Skull insisted, in fact, that Lucy's room was safe. How you could trust a skull with your life, I don't know. We certainly didn't. Not when Lucy said he was angry about being left behind.

George took Lucy's bed on account of him being the most injured. Lucy's bed was big enough that we were able to wrap two chains around to hem him in.

Now we were making our own beds on the floor. Again, with chains surrounding.

"Here," Lucy stood and threw a large pillow at George.

He whined about his arm but she ignored him. She was unfolding a silver net. "We should all sleep with one of these over us." She said, glaring at me. I didn't say anything, remembering how I had threatened to wrap her in a silver net earlier after she first got ghost touched.

When everyone had gotten enough blankets and pillows, I turned off the lights and burrowed under. My body gradually relaxed as the stress of the night slipped away.

I could hear the quiet breathing of my friends and I was grateful that we were all back home.

"You are so vile!"

I lifted my head to look over the mounds of blankets to Lucy. She wasn't looking at me though. Or George. But the skull who was perched in his jar on the windowsill.

"What's he saying now Luce?" I asked, amused. I would give my left arm to be able to listen like Lucy Carlyle, if only so that I could hear what the Skull says to her. Her once sided conversation worried me but also made me extremely curious.

She sighed and fell back on her pillow. "Just a nasty story about a sleepover he was at once."

"I didn't know they had sleepovers hundreds of years ago. Did he paint his toenails and gossip?"

Lucy sighed again and the Skull glowed brightly.

"Lucy?"

She sighed but translated. "He said a bunch of nasty things about torturing stuck up posh boys with obnoxious hair."

"Meaning me?"

"Meaning you."

We were silent for a moment. The ghost lamp out on the street flicked off, shrouding the room in darkness. I could barely make out Lucy's pile.

The darkness gave me cover and I felt braver. "I've never had a sleepover before." I admitted quietly.

"Really?" Lucy sounded surprised.

I laughed at the shock in her voice. "Have you?"

"All the time. Before..." Lucy said. Her voice changed. As it always did when she talked about her old home. "Never at my house. But I would stay with Norrie a lot. Her house was nicer and her parents didn't yell as much."

She said it in a flat sort of tone. Like it was normal that parents yelled, and it was only a question of degree.

"What did you do?" I asked, genuinely curious but also wanted to drive the conversation away from adults with anger management issues.

"Not a lot. Mostly we slept. It was typically after a case so we were pretty knackered. We ate a lot of junk food. Biscuits for dinner" she said and I could hear the smile in her voice. A sad sort of smile. When you're remember a sweet memory that time and loss has made bitter.

"No fair," I cried, "Jess would always make me eat vegetables with every meal. It was horrid."

"I don't think our parents gave a wit what we ate." Lucy replied and I cringed. There I went. Saying something dumb.

"So why didn't you have sleepovers?" Lucy asked before I could find a way to apologize.

I chuckled, ruthful. "It's not like I grew up with a ton of friends, Luce. Certainly, none whose parents would allow the son of the mad Donald and Celia Lockwood over to their home. Or heaven forbid, would allow their precious child over to 35 Portland Row."

"I didn't think of it like that." Lucy said quietly. I wish I could see her face. But maybe it was better this way. Talking about my parents always hurt. Mostly because there was so little to say. Every day I felt like I remembered less. This way, I could talk and I wouldn't see her expressions. Of boredom, shock, or pity.

"I guess I always assumed," Lucy was saying, "that with a big fancy house like this and going on interesting trips, your parents would have been very popular."

"In some circles," I admitted, "They were popular. In scientific communities. They had important dinners a lot. But in other circles, the posh people, as you like to call them - they were somewhat like outcasts. You know how when we-"

The ghost light flicked back on. I propped myself up on my elbow and looked over to Lucy. She was looking at me and copied my posture. Her eyes glowed in the light. Her face wasn't anything like I had been imagining. No boredom. No shock. No pity. She smiled with encouragement.

"How when we?" she prompted. I had lost my train of thought.

"Uhmm yeah. Like out on the streets. When we're running errands. How people avoid us?" She nodded. "It was kind of like that, I think. My parents were researching things that made people afraid. They didn't have anything in common with regular people. What would they talk about? My parents could give lectures on spirit rituals in New Guinea, but they couldn't entertain a group of socialites. People like to pretend the Problem doesn't exist. For my parents, the Problem was their life."

"And now it's yours." Lucy said softly like she had gained a new understanding. She had reached out her hand tentatively while I was talking and now, I took it in mine. Hers was soft but strong. Her left hand so without the regular calluses that marked an agent. I could feel the small scar below her thumb where she got burned by a flare on a case. She smiled and squeezed my hand.

"Luce I know everything-what I mean is-well you know how-"

"I too think that is cool about your parents. I also think that it is late and we are all tired. I'm beginning to wish I took Flo's offer to sleep in her boat."

I had almost forgotten George was in the bed. Rather, I did forget.

Lucy pulled back and I flopped on my pillow. Staring up at the ceiling. The ghost like went off.

"Good night, Lockwood. Good night, Lucy." George called cheerily. "I'm going to sleep off these meds now."

"Good night boys," came Lucy's voice. It sounded like her face was in her pillow. "Good night, Skull."

"Oi," I laughed, "How come the Skull gets a personalized good night?"

The Skull glowed angrily.

"Because it feels weird to call him one of my boys."

I choked. One of her boys? That meant me. I smiled to myself.

"Good night, George. Good night, Lucy. And goodnight, Skull." 

Another day, another chapter. Literally one left. It's so sad to see the story end (for me) but it has been so fun to write and hear from all of you about what you think. Thanks for all the encouragement. #SaveLockwoodandCo #LockwoodS2DreamCrew