Dent in the Bullet ✷ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD.

03. Something In the Water.

IN MOST SITUATIONS that involve jumping out of a building to escape a fire, being greeted with water is a blessing. As Mathilde finds herself submerged, however, she feels nothing but eeriness as she gazes into the hollow eyes of the woman across from her. 

The ghost was beautiful once, and maybe even beautiful now if Mathilde was being poetic. In the seemingly endless, murky depths the two were surrounded in, she was a striking vision of red hair that demanded life. It was unfortunate that the rest of her face was so visibly dead. She couldn't have been much older than Mathilde; they wore the same nail polish color and Mathilde was sure she had a similar pair of heels shoved somewhere into the corner of her room. Once, this ghost had been lively and aspiring. Now, she floated in front of Mathilde like a bride to the slaughter, clutching a bouquet of flowers as she echoes "Please, let go of me."

When Mathilde wakes up in the hospital, shadows of the ghost's eyes still stamped across her vision, she almost screams at the sensation of Lucy's gaze on hers.

Both girls flinch back at the sight of the other, causing Lucy to grimace. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. The nurse was just in. Said Lockwood's not here and we have to wait for the doctor to come in and give us the all-clear."

Mathilde sat up quickly, scoffing as she tore the monitor off of her arm. "Oh, please. We're getting out of here."

Lucy grinned at that, reaching down to reveal her monitor, already removed. "My thoughts exactly."

The girls made quick work of grabbing their belongings from the seats beside their cots. While combat boots and unicorn-patterned hospital gowns were hardly an ideal outfit, even Mathilde couldn't take the time to cringe. As they rushed to get out before any staff members could notice the beeping of their now-detached monitors, Mathilde's focus was drawn by the bouquet sitting atop a nearby desk—flowers identical to the arrangement the ghost was holding.

Watching as Lucy continued on, Mathilde's fingers danced in the white petals. She had never been much of a botanist, but the connection she felt with them was beyond compelling. Before her mind could process her actions, she instinctively reached for a handful, clutching them in her palm as she followed behind Lucy.

She just caught the door Lucy had walked through, ready to book it out of the hospital as the speakers echoed both their names when she realized what room they had entered.

Rows of beds—an uncountable amount—housing shells of people.

Mathilde staggered to a stop, taking in the white eyes of the children in front of her. At least fifty ghost-locked patients, hooked up to endless wires and IVs. Lucy was entranced as she weaved through the rows, jaw dropped in horror. "Oh my God."

Mathilde rushed to catch up with her, placing a hand on her back. "Come on, Luce. We've gotta go."

Neither girl spoke much as they trekked back to Portland Row. There wasn't much to say about what they had just seen and experienced, and Mathilde could tell Lucy was having a hard time processing it all. Every time she looked over at her, tempted to break the quiet, she was silenced by the look on Lucy's face. Pale and sunken in, she looked as if she had never left the ghost-lock ward.

While Mathilde found her appearance pitiful, George paid no mind. When he opened the door to his colleagues, his first question was "Where's Lockwood?"

"Don't sound too pleased to see us," Lucy quipped.

"Yeah, just because you're in love with Lockwood doesn't mean the rest of us don't exist," Mathilde added.

George scoffed. "You're one to talk."