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It was the quiet, restful moments that Edwin had come to treasure. As much as he loved solving mysteries with his best friend, the idea of just resting was still a novelty to him even five years after escaping Hell. In life, no one had any interest in spending any more time with him than necessary, and in Hell, being around others meant a new kind of pain was coming for him.
But with Charles, he could just be. Patient, wonderful Charles seemed to sense whatever he needed when he needed it. He knew when Edwin needed to go out and explore this strange new world, and he knew when Edwin needed the quiet of the office. And he never complained when Edwin got too far in his head to see anything beyond spiders and baby doll heads. Charles just sat with him until he remembered where he was and that the memories could no longer hurt him.
The first year, Edwin had been so focused on acclimating to the modern world, helping Charles live with his death, and starting the agency that he didn’t have much time to worry about the temporary nature of their friendship. The second, doubt began to creep in as he realized just how empty his afterlife would be without Charles at his side. He began to push him away so that it would hurt less when he finally moved on. By year three, he began to accept that Charles might actually want to stay with him. And by year four, Charles had become an extension of him. It was CharlesandEdwin, EdwinandCharles, never one without the other. Now, five years into their partnership, Edwin was struck by a different fear. What if they were separated? Not by choice but by some outside force.
So, he began his preparations, first, by refining his map of Hell, and then second, by making sure that he and Charles would be able to track each other on this plane.
Ordinarily, this lesson would be one of those quiet, fun moments, but anxiety in the back of his mind was far too loud. “Charles, do pay attention. This is important.”
“I’m trying. We’ve been going at it for hours. Magic just doesn’t come as easy for me,” Charles replied, a frustrated whine creeping into his voice.
“You are the one who mastered the disguises and that infinite bag of holding.”
“Yeah, but that’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
Edwin took a slow, calming breath. “Well, perhaps a break is in order.”
Charles immediately lit up. “Alright, let’s go to the cinema. Do something actually fun.”
In spite of himself, Edwin winced. Charles didn’t mean anything by it, but Edwin knew he could be a lot, so it stung a bit.
Charles must have seen it because his brows furrowed. “Not saying that magic isn’t fun. It’s just that I need a break, yeah?” He smiled. “There’s this new movie called Toy Story, and they animated the whole thing with computers. Pretty cool, right?”
Edwin was aware of the advances of computational systems, of course, but the idea that it was capable of creating feature length films was intriguing. But still, he would feel so much better if Charles mastered the tracking spell first. He pressed his knuckles together. “I suppose that would be nice.”
Charles glanced down at the hands and then met Edwin’s eyes. “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”
If he was still alive, his knuckles would be groaning under the pressure of him pressing them together. “If we were to be separated, I would like for you to be able to find me the way I can find you.”
Charles relaxed a bit, his smile returning as he gave Edwin’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll figure it out. I promise. Like I said, I just need a little break. We’ll see the movie and when we come back, I’ll get it right. Like if we keep going now, it’s the definition of insanity, right?”
In spite of himself, Edwin chuckled. “I suppose you are right. We wouldn’t want to go mad, now would we?”
“That’s the spirit. Let’s go.”
…
Billy hefted the trunk up the stairs. The headmaster had ordered that the basement be cleaned out over the summer break, and as the janitor at Saint Hilarion’s, it was his job to move everything upstairs for him to go through and determine what should be thrown out and what should be kept. Near the top of the steps, his foot slept, and he fell forward. The trunk crashed through the ground, the lid popping open.
Billy blanched at what fell out. “Oh shit!”
A skeleton laid with its bones scattered on the ground. Beside it was an old, leather bound book.
He staggered to his feet and raced to the headmaster’s office. “Sir, sir, you need to see this!” he shouted, banging on the door.
The headmaster opened it, the irritation obvious on his face. “What is it?”
“A body. I found a body in one of the trunks.”
His eyes widened. “What? Show me.”
Billy led him back to the body and book. For a long time, they both stared in silence. Then, the headmaster picked up the book almost reverently. “Sir?” Billy asked.
The headmaster blinked, shaking his head. “Right. My apologies, but there’s no need to panic. It is a genuine skeleton, but back in the day, real bones were used in the construction of anatomical models.” He sounded oddly distant as he said this, caressing the book thoughtfully. “Deliver the bones to my quarters. I shall make arrangements to have them interred respectfully.”
That didn’t sound right, but Billy didn’t know enough about old anatomical skeletons to dispute it. So, instead, he simply nodded. “Yes, Headmaster Mould.”
“Thank you, Billy.” Still holding the book, he left the janitor alone with the skeleton. Not sure how to respectfully put them back, he shoved everything back in the trunk and lugged it to Mould’s quarters.
…
“That was brills, right?” Charles said as they traveled from the theater’s bathroom mirror to their office.
“It was, erm, brills.” The story was rather charming, but could have done without the baby doll head with the spider legs. All it did was remind him how much he needed Charles to learn that tracking spell.
“I mean, we’re not exactly Buzz and Woody—we got on from the start—but—“ He threw his arm around Edwin’s shoulder and began to sing, “ You’ve got a friend in me. ”
Edwin some of the anxiety loosened in his chest, and he rolled his eyes good naturedly. “Oh for goodness sake. You are ridiculous.”
“All a part of my charm.”
His cheeks did not color because he was dead and had no blood to make him blush. “I would hardly call it charm.”
Charles raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Is that so?”
“Yes. It is not charm, simply absurdity.” He jutted out his chin petulantly, exaggerating the poshness of his voice to show he was teasing.
“And you love that about me.”
“I do not—“ He cut himself off with a gasp. There was a pulling sensation in the center of his being. Confused, he brought his hand up to his chest, but felt nothing to explain the tug.
Charles let go and stepped in front of him, bracing both hands on Edwin’s shoulders and meeting his gaze. “You alright there, mate?”
There was that pull again, harder this time, and it took all of Edwin’s willpower to stay where he was. “I-I think I’m being summoned. Can’t fight it much longer.”
His best friend’s eyes widened. “What? Is it Hell?”
The pull was almost unbearable. “No, not hell. Somewhere else.” He pulled out his notebook and pushed it on Charles’s chest. “Use the tracking spell. Find me.”
“Edwin, no, I—“ Charles began, but Edwin never heard the rest. He lost his grip and was gone.
…
Edwin woke in the same clothes he wore the night he died. He was in a magic circle, one perhaps six feet in diameter. The room around him looked to be some kind of basement, with a wood burning stove in one corner, a bookshelf, and a work table. And on the work table was a book and a skeleton. Edwin knew that it was his the same way that he knew that he had a mole on his chin despite not looking in a mirror in over a century. He felt the invisible tether binding him to his bones, and knew that, unless he was unbound, he wouldn’t be able to walk more than twenty feet away from them. An all too familiar face stared down at him, his features twisted in disappointment.
“Simon?” he asked, his dead heart still somehow racing. For most of the century he had faced literal Hell, but still, the sight of his old bully still on earth sent his heart racing.
“So you did know my brother,” said the man, and now that the disorientation had faded somewhat, Edwin could see the differences. This man was much older—perhaps in his fifties—with greying hair and wrinkles. But he was much too young to be Simon’s brother, who had to be almost a hundred by now. “I was rather hoping you would be him. Pity.”
“What am I doing here? Let me go at once,” Edwin demanded, pushing himself to his feet.
“Not until you answer a few questions about my brother’s disappearance in 1916,” not-Simon replied.
He crossed his arms. “You are far too young to be Simon’s brother.”
Not-Simon dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “Magic has a way of elongating lives. I’m his older brother, Roger. Believe me or don’t. What matters is that you answer my questions.”
Well, at least one of us mattered , Edwin thought ruefully. But Roger wasn’t Simon. He didn’t sacrifice Edwin, and had spent decades wondering what happened to his brother. If anything, he was more akin to a client than an enemy, albeit a rude one with a penchant for kidnapping.
Edwin let out a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I do know what happened to him, though I will caution you that it is not a pleasant story.”
Roger pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Tell me.”
He swallowed, more on anxious reflex than any real saliva filling his mouth. “My name is Edwin Payne. I was asleep in my bed. Simon and a few other boys grabbed me, gagged me, tied me in my blankets, and carried me down to the basement. They tied me down, and Simon began to read from a book, one he—he said he stole from you. It was supposed to be a prank, but…” He let out a shuddering breath he didn’t need. “It worked. They summoned a demon. Sa’al. He took Simon and the others first. Technically, I was a sacrifice, so he dragged me to Hell with the rest.”
Roger was silent for a long time, so long that Edwin began to grow nervous. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re lying.”
Edwin blinked. “Pardon?”
“You’re lying to me.”
His fists clenched in outrage. How dare he? His brother used his book to murder Edwin and send him to hell, and he has the gall to call Edwin a liar? “I most certainly am not!”
“Don’t you dare deny it. Simon was a sweet, sensitive boy, perhaps even too sensitive for the likes of St. Hilarion’s,” Roger retorted.
Edwin couldn’t help his snort of derision. “He was far from it, I’m afraid. Even before he sacrificed me to a demon, he made my life a living hell. Every day, he and his friends tormented me.”
“Silence!” Roger grabbed one of his bones—his femur, he believed—and snapped it over his knee.
Edwin gasped at the sudden wave of white hot agony as his leg collapsed under his weight. It was the worst pain he’d experienced since Hell. But it was not as bad as Hell. Nothing was.
He glared defiantly up at Roger, who was contemplating the broken bones in his hands. “It seems that the magic which ties you to your bones also allows you to feel what I do to them. I knew that the body was the most powerful method of binding a spirit, but I didn’t realize how powerful it was. Fascinating.”
“Quite,” Edwin replied dryly. He wanted to get up again, but his leg wouldn’t cooperate.
“Now, will you tell the truth or should I break another bone?” He turned his back to Edwin and grabbed a claw hammer that had been sitting on the table with his skeleton.
“I have told you the truth. It is not my fault if you refuse to believe it.” Perhaps getting snippy with the man holding the claw hammer was a foolish idea, but he was too furious to be nice.
Roger responded by bringing the hammer down on his tibia and fibula for both legs. It was thoroughly unpleasant, but still less agonizing getting torn apart by the doll-head spider. “Care to change your answer?”
Edwin rolled his eyes. He had so hoped that Roger wouldn’t be as sadistic as his brother. “Torture will not change the truth.”
Roger brought the hammer down again and again, Edwin’s other femur and pelvis shattering.
Still not as bad as hell.
Still not as bad as hell.
Still not as bad, but it certainly reminded him of it.
“Here is what I think happened,” Roger said once he was done. “You were one of the bullies who dragged Simon from his bed, read the spell book, and sent them all away.”
“Nonsense. If that were true, how did I get my hands on your book?”
But Roger wasn’t listening. He didn’t hear a word his prisoner said. “Edwin Payne, was it? I remember you now. You tormented Simon.”
He blinked. “I—what?”
Roger picked up his humerus. It was strangely violating to see him touching a part of Edwin, even if he barely considered the body his anymore. “Oh yes, Simon told me about you. The way you looked down your nose at everyone like you were better than them, the way you always knew what to say to tear him down. At first, I dismissed it as schoolboy drama, but it was more than that, wasn’t it? You hated Simon, so you stole the book from him and used it to condemn him to Hell.”
“This is ridiculous,” Edwin muttered as Roger snapped his humerus across his knee. It hurt, of course, but he was very good at compartmentalizing pain.
“I don’t want to hear another word out of you except the truth.”
“Well, since you refuse to believe that your beloved brother was a bully, we seem to be at a stalemate.” That earned the snapping of his ulna and his radius in both his arms.
Edwin decided to remain silent from that point forward. It wouldn’t do him much good either way. But after a few minutes of ignoring Roger’s ranting, the man seemed even more incensed.
“Looks like you need more incentive to tell the truth.” Then, he brought the hammer down on all his bones, shattering his ribs and spine.
Steamrollers had been around when he was alive, but he never considered the slow agony of being crushed to death under one until he spent a few years under one in Hell. This was a similar but slower feeling, each blow smaller and imprecise but no less painful.
Still not as painful as hell. But it was getting close.
Come on, Charles, where are you?
The blows breaking his vertebrae should have paralyzed him, leaving him numb, but it just compounded on top of the rest of the pain. Eventually, only his skull and jawbone, the parts necessary for speech, were intact. Through it all, he refused to give Roger the satisfaction of crying out, of begging for the pain to end.
Finally, he stopped, glancing over at Edwin with an arched eyebrow. “It seems as though you need a bit more incentive to start telling the truth. Luckily, I know where the groundskeeper stores the hand sander. I will be back.”
Edwin waited until he no longer heard footsteps before he let out a low groan. With every movement, he felt his invisible bones grinding together under his skin. But he needed to find a way out. In hell, He could at least wait for his body to reform when he was too injured. If Charles wasn’t coming, he had to find a way out himself.
Somehow.
But his mind felt as sluggish as his broken body. He just had to trust that Charles was coming.
As if on cue, Charles emerged through the ceiling. His eyes widened in horror as he made a beeline for Edwin. “Oh god, what did they do to you? Let me get you outta there.”
He used a good a good portion of his remaining strength to shake his head. “Get the bones and the book first. I’m bound to the skeleton and the book is how you can unbind me.” The words came out strained, but he managed to get it all out.
Charles looked torn between freeing Edwin from the circle and doing as he said. “Bollocks, I—okay.” He pulled his backpack from his shoulder and began sweeping the bones off the table and into the bag. “Who took you? What did they want?”
Edwin took breaths he didn’t need as he felt his bones grinding against each other. Pain has been known to kill ordinary ghosts, though Edwin was hardly ordinary. He’d observed that he had a higher pain tolerance than the average spirit, but even he had his limits. “Roger Mould. The older brother of one of the boys who sacrificed me. It was his book they used.”
Charles paused, his body tense in outrage. “What? He should be begging you to forgive him, not—“
“He refused to believe what I told him,” Edwin said tiredly, cutting him off. “Hence, well…”
Charles resumed sweeping the bones into his bag. “I’ll fucking kill him. I don’t care if he’s like a hundred.”
“Pretty spry for a hundred,” Edwin muttered. “Apparently magic slows the aging process.”
Charles hummed. “What did you say his name was again?”
“Roger Mould. I doubt you know him.”
“The name’s familiar.” He laughed a little to himself. “But it’s probably a coincidence.”
The door opened upstairs just as he was sweeping the last of the bones into the bag. “Took me a minute to find the sander, but here it is,” came the eerily chipper voice as he made his way down the stairs. Charles shoved the book in his bag and drew his cricket bat.
Roger reached the final step and froze like a deer in headlights. Charles seemed equally taken aback.
“Rowland?” he said.
“Headmaster Mould?”
Headmaster? While haunting the school, Edwin pointedly ignored the headmaster’s office, so he hadn’t made the connection.
But Charles certainly had.
The blood drained from Roger’s face. “You’re-you’re dead.”
“Yes and so am I,” Edwin said. “The existence of ghosts shouldn’t be too much of a shock for you.” He supposed it made a sick kind of sense that Roger would become the headmaster of the school that killed his brother. It was what Edwin would have done in his place if he wanted to find answers.
Mould sneered. “You were a good kid Rowland, but you always had a habit of falling in with the wrong crowd.”
“Oh fuck off,” Edwin snapped, earning shocked looks from both Roger and Charles. He wished he had the strength to stand for this. “You did to Charles what the school did to Simon and me eighty years ago.”
“That’s not the same. The school has a reputation to uphold and—“
“And who cares about the death of an Indian boy, right?” Charles said, his voice low and the closest to angry that Edwin had ever heard. “You’re no better than the ones who covered up your brother’s death. No, you’re worse, because at least they didn’t torture an innocent person who has already literally been through Hell.”
Roger scoffed. “Hardly innocent. He fed you that same sob story, right? The truth is that Edwin was the real bully, one who tormented my brother because he thought he was better than him. He—“ Whatever else he was about to say was cut off by Charles’s cricket bat connecting with his face. Once, twice, three times, and Roger down, taking gurgling breaths through his broken nose as blood dribbled out of his mouth. Charles stood over him, his shoulders heaving. Roger wasn’t dead, thankfully. Though he might wish he was.
“Charles,” Edwin called, and thankfully, his best friend snapped to his attention.
“God, Edwin, let me get you outta there now.” Taking the cricket bat, he struck the cement floor hard enough to fracture the circle, allowing him to enter it and pick Edwin up.
Letting out a shuddering breath, he curled against Charles, burying his face in his friend’s chest. The movement made his shattered bones grind together, forcing a whimper from his throat. “Shit, sorry mate,” Charles mumbled, seeming afraid to move and cause Edwin more pain.
“There’s nothing for it. But before we go, we need to vacuum up all remaining bone fragments. If he gets his hands on any, he can bind me again.”
“How about we unbind you first, yeah? Then we’ll get all the pieces up.”
“I, um, I am not sure I can turn the pages or concentrate on the spell. And it’s the book. I do not wish to take risks with it.”
Charles’s grip tightened slightly. It hurt, but it was also oddly comforting, like he was being protected. “Well, I’ve been working on my Latin, haven’t I? I reckon I can unbind you with one of the books in the office.”
“Vacuum first,” Edwin said. “I know you keep one in your bag.”
Charles glanced over at the unconscious Mould before setting Edwin down in the opposite corner. “Just a tick, okay? Try to relax.”
Edwin nodded. He drifted to the roar of the vacuum cleaner, hardly noticing when the noise stopped and Charles lifted him again, carrying him to the nearest mirror. Ordinarily, he would be in his orb form by now, but the binding must also be keeping him tethered to this ghostly shape.
Charles stepped over Mould and climbed up the stairs, taking them both through the nearest mirror. He laid Edwin onto the couch and scanned the bookshelf with an anxious movements. “Uh, which book would be best for unbinding ghosts from their skeletons?”
“ Soul Bindings Volume One. Blue book,” he replied, his voice sounding vague and floaty even to him. “Page 26, I believe.”
“Right, right, got it.” He pulled the book from the shelf and began to flip through the pages. “Uh here, I think. Can you double check the Latin?”
“I certainly will try.”
Charles propped Edwin up by putting his head in his lap. “This the right one?”
Edwin forced his eyes to focus, zeroing in on the spell through wavering vision. “Yes,” he breathed. “It is the correct spell. Good work”
“Brills.” Charles swallowed slightly. “Hopefully this’ll work.” He read the spell, and Edwin felt something like a rope snap. It was a sudden flash of pain as his metaphysical bones snapped back into place—enough to make him cry out again—and then the instant, blessed numbness of being a ghost. He let out a shuddering sigh of relief.
Charles stiffened. “So, um, did it work?”
He reluctantly sat up, leaving the comfort of Charles’s lap. When his eyes met his best friend’s, though, he smiled almost as widely as Charles. “It worked. Thank you.”
He threw his arms around Edwin’s shoulders, giving him a hug so tight that it would have stolen his breath from his body and made his ribs groan in protest. He could certainly feel Charles more than anything else, but the embrace only brought him comfort. “You scared the shit outta me, mate.”
“Yes, well, I had utter faith that you would come,” Edwin replied, patting Charles’s back. “And it seems that you figured out the tracking spell on your own. Excellent work.”
Charles pulled back, looking almost sheepish, which happened often when Edwin praised him. “Well, I had a good reason to learn fast, didn’t I?”
“Perhaps I should get kidnapped more often. That seems to be sufficiently motivating.”
Charles laughed, leaning forward and pressing his head to Edwin’s shoulder. “Don’t even joke about it, mate.”
“My bones may break, but my sense of humor will always remain intact.”
Charles seemed to tense a bit at that before consciously forcing himself to relax. “Speaking of…what should we do about them? The bones, I mean.”
“There are a number of spells that require ground human bones. They could be of use.” Edwin smiled wryly. “Perhaps my skull could be a paperweight.”
“Don’t joke like that,” Charles replied, much more sternly than before.
Edwin blinked, surprised by the change in tone. “Like what?”
“Like you don’t matter! Mate, those were your bones. They were a part of you, and now you’re talking about using your own skull as a paperweight?”
A sudden anger filled him. “So what would you have me do, Charles?” he snapped. “You’re right, those were my bones, the only intact thing left of me after my classmates sacrificed me to a demon, and it fell into the hands of the brother of one of my worst bullies, who then destroyed them. A brother who also helped cover up your murder. It’s awful. I know it’s awful. But if I dwell on every single awful thing that happened to me, my mind will break, and I’ll be useless.” Tears sprang in his eyes. He wiped them away angrily. “Forgive me. I—“
Charles pulled him into another hug. “It’s okay, Edwin. Just let it out. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He stroked Edwin’s back soothingly. It was enough to open the floodgates. He sobbed into Charles’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he wept, not even sure what he was apologizing for. Crying? Getting kidnapped? Worrying Charles? Going to Hell in the first place?
“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” Charles muttered. “Sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.” Edwin felt a few warm tears drip onto the top of his head.
But no, that wasn’t right. Charles saved him. He pulled back suddenly, but immediately regretted it when a look of hurt crossed his face. “Charles, you were there. If it wasn’t for you, I would still be broken and trapped in Mould’s basement. You figured out the tracking spell, fought off a magician, brought me home, and freed me from my binding. You did all of that while I was useless.”
“Don’t call yourself that. You made sure I knew the spell that would help me find you, made sure we got up all the bones, and helped me find the spell. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Edwin let out a weak laugh. “Then I suppose we both contributed to my rescue. Like we always do with our cases.”
Charles nodded, but then his face turned pensive. “How can we stop this from happening again? And not just to you. My bones are pretty easy to find, aren’t they?”
“That is a very good point. I suppose I could put a cloaking spell on the grave so that only the people who have good intentions can see it. And as for mine…”
“You’ll put them in the coffin with me.”
Edwin blinked. “What?”
“Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? That way, we won’t have to worry about where to keep them because we’ll always know.”
It actually did make a good amount of sense. Edwin nodded. “Capital idea, Charles. We should get that done as soon as possible.”
He got to his feet, but then Charles caught him by the sleeve. “Actually, let’s rest a bit longer, okay?”
Edwin sat back down without arguing. In truth, he was feeling incredibly drained. As much as he hated his most vulnerable form, perhaps he should spend some time as an orb.
“Let me grab that Christie book we were working on,” Charles said, reaching over and grabbing a copy of And Then There Were None as Edwin laid against him. Edwin drifted again, but it was less from pain and more from the soothing sound of Charles’s voice.
…
The next night, they found themselves staring at Charles’s grave, each with a shovel in hand. “I can do this part,” Edwin said. “You do not have to—“
Charles cut him off. “I want to.” He laughed weakly, his smile growing more forced. “‘Sides, like you said, it’s not really me anymore, is it?”
“It’s still you. And it will be more—er—recognizable than mine.”
“It’s fine. Really.” As if to punctuate his point, Charles broke ground with his shovel. Without growing tired or thirsty, the pair made quick work of exhuming the casket. Edwin pulled it open, revealing his best friend’s desiccated corpse. “Let me,” he said, stepping in front of Edwin.
He watched as Charles meticulously arranged the broken bones so that they were lying together with Edwin in Charles’s arms. When he was done, Charles looked up with one of his warm smiles. “This way, my body protects your body, just like my soul protects your soul.”
A tear escaped and rolled down Edwin’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Closing the casket once more, Charles wrapped his arms around Edwin. “Any time, mate.”
With that, they rebutted their bodies and Edwin cast the spell so that only those with good intentions would be able to find their grave.
Once they were done, Charles wrapped an arm around Edwin. “Do you want me to say a few words?”
Edwin let out a weak laugh. “Do not feel obligated to. This has already been enough emotions for one day.”
“Then I guess we should go,” Charles said, but neither made to move. They stood there until the sun rose again, each lost in their own thoughts. Edwin tried not to think about what Charles might be thinking, if he missed his life and his parents and being able to feel and taste and be seen by kids his own age instead of being stuck forever with Edwin. Instead, he focused on how he was eternally grateful to have such a wonderful friend at his side, for however long he wanted to forgo Heaven and stick with a Hell bound soul. Selfishly, he hoped it would be forever.
Finally, Charles gave Edwin’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come on, mate. Let’s go home.”
Edwin smiled. “Yes, let’s go home.” But the office wasn’t home. Not really. Home was simply being at Charles’s side.