Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Silence. 

So much silence.

The faint hum of the air conditioner broke the eerily quiet silence surrounding them as they shuffle through the front door of their motel room. A musty smell hit Lorraine as soon as she stepped further in—a mix of stale air and cheap cleaning supplies. With a sigh she flicks the bedside lamp on, basking the room in a warm glow.

“Best of the best,” Ed mutters dryly, referencing the brochure they saw earlier that morning at the local gas station. He wearily pokes his head in the small bathroom and turns the light on in there. While he unpacks his bag, Lorraine does the same with her own. For a brief minute she thinks that it’s shocking how that was the first thing either of them had said in almost an hour.

Outside of dry and basic small talk when they first got to the motel—they hardly spoke. It’d been like that the entire trip out to a small town in Colorado to investigate a possible haunting a family had been dealing with for months. Ed drove, Lorraine sat quietly in the passenger seat. Ever since the whole ordeal with the witch and her curse—which resulted in Ed being possessed and attempting to kill Lorraine, things had been different between them.

It was there, festering and growing silently. A building strain that only seemed to loom closer and closer as the days passed by. The memories that drove through a once small crack in her mind had grown stronger—reminding her daily of just how close she came to dying.

To losing everything.

If she hadn’t broken Ed from the trance the witch put him under, she wouldn’t be standing here in this pathetic little motel room. “Did you call the family?” He asks, his voice muffled from behind the bathroom wall.

“Yes, Mrs. Adams said we can drop by anytime tomorrow morning.” 

“Did she mention if anything strange has happened lately?” 

“Their daughter is being visited nightly by a shadowy figure—it started happening last week I guess.”

Ed reappears and heads for the small bed closest to the bathroom. Another odd thing of their trip— they weren’t sharing a bed like they normally do when staying at a motel. The only other time they slept apart during a case was while in Enfield. But unlike then, this time Lorraine didn’t exactly mind the space. 

In fact— with all the memories still fresh in her mind, Lorraine found herself welcoming the distance. For a chance to clear her head and fix this change between them. They just needed time, she told herself constantly. It meant nothing—how she flinched when he snuck up behind her, when he got a little too close, when his voice raised slightly when fixing something in their house.

But another voice—one that refused to be silenced—kept her on her toes and left her questioning if things could ever go back to how they were before. It felt like it would when he built that beautiful gazebo for her, but even then those doubts came creeping up.

“We’ll help them,” Ed says, mistaking her silence with concern for the family. 

“I know we will,” she murmurs and pulls out a nightgown. It was nothing special, just a simple long blue one and she made quick work of shrugging off her blouse and pants, slipping the nightgown over her head.

She hadn’t noticed how quickly she grabbed the attention of Ed, who sneaks up behind her and slips his arms around her waist, something he’s done plenty of times before. But this time he doesn’t see how she flinches—how she practically tenses at the sudden and unexpected contact. “I can’t believe I have to sleep without you,” he says and presses a kiss to her cheek, hands squeezing her hips. 

She grabs at them, doing her best to muster up a playful smile. “You’ll survive.”

“Maybe you should sleep in my bed tonight, just in case,” his lips trail to her neck and despite her earlier hesitation—she felt her heart flutter at his touch. 

“Ed,” her tone was one of warning as she turns in his arms and sighs. “Your heart-“

”Is fine,” he finishes for her. His hands start to slip lower but before he can grab at her again, Lorraine pulls away. “Hon, really, I’m okay.” 

“It’s late, we should get some rest for tomorrow.” 

Ed takes a deep breath and nods, hands dropping from her waist. She could see the disappointment shining in his eyes as he slowly makes his way back to his bed and climbs on top of it. “Night, hon.” 

“Night,” she whispers back. Desperate to find a way to stop herself from getting stuck in the past.

Before it was too late.

And especially before their marriage suffered from it. 

Chapter Text

“Ed, stop!” 

“Please, I’m begging you!” 

Lorraine wakes with a start. Heart racing as her eyes adjust to the darkened motel room around her. Her nightmares were always the same—that night in the tunnel. The night that changed things even if she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself. The fear. The panic. The sound of the sledgehammer being dragged across the ground as Ed chased after her haunted her.

The memory of how terrified she’d been, how much she fought to bring him back to her—it stuck in her mind. If she hadn’t gotten through to him, if the curse had worked and she lost him to the possession, Lorraine would be dead. There was nothing she could’ve done to prevent him from attacking her with that sledgehammer—he could have killed her and left her there without so much as a second thought.

He almost killed her. Twice. 

The thought chilled her to the bone. It wasn’t Ed, something she told herself every single morning when she woke up from another nightmare and calmed her racing heart, pushing those thoughts away as she faced Ed and pretended to be okay. Pretended that everything was fine between them when it wasn’t.

Sighing, she kicks the blanket off and drags herself out of the bed. Across from her—Ed slept soundly, no clue to the extent of what Lorraine was going through. Of how afraid she was when she didn’t need to be. If he did, well she knew he would be devastated. Crushed that his wife was severely affected by how he acted when possessed—how she felt the lingering fear when around him. 

She didn’t want to feel this way. Didn’t want to walk on eggshells. But it was there. Unable to stop that involuntary reaction when he brushed too close, when he grabbed a kitchen knife, all of it left her heart racing—those memories leaving her a worried mess. If Drew hadn’t stopped him—no.

She pushes the thoughts away and stands from the bed, grabbing her robe as she heads for the bathroom. She must’ve made some sort of noise because Ed shifts in his sleep and slowly lifts his head from the pillow. “Hon?”

“Sorry, hon, go back to bed,” she murmurs softly and closes the bathroom door. She had to do something, anything—before their marriage suffered the consequences. 

///

The Adams farmhouse was just as dreary as they had described to Ed and Lorraine. Windows covered in dusty shades blocked the house from sunlight, while the overgrown lawn and unkept garden gave it a desolate and abandoned feel. The stretch of woods behind the house only added to the ominous atmosphere. "Here we go," Ed says, his voice carrying a note of something Lorraine couldn't quite place—unease maybe?

Lorraine glimpses at him. He held the bag that included everything they would need to begin their investigation—tape recorder, tapes and a small camera, hauling it over his shoulder as he gestured for her to push forward. She straightens slightly, his words looming heavily between them as they make their way up the porch, the rickety steps groaning under their weight. She rings the doorbell and they wait—until the door swings open to reveal an older woman who looked as if she hadn't slept in months, and judging by what they were told by Father Gordon—that might've been the truth.

"Mrs. Adams?" Lorraine starts to say, "I'm Lorraine, this is my husband Ed."

Mrs. Adams releases a sigh and urges them inside. "Oh, you two are who the church mentioned. Please, come in."

”Is anyone else home with you?” Ed asks as they cross the threshold into the living room and Mrs. Adams moves to shut the tv off. 

“My youngest, Jeff, is home sick but my husband and daughter are at work and school.”

“We’ll need to talk to them when they get home.”

“So, how does this all work?” Mrs. Adams begins to question as she leads them into a decent sized kitchen. The curtains were drawn in there too for some reason. “Father Gordon didn’t explain much over the phone.”

“Well, we’ll start with gathering evidence—the more the better so the church will be willing to get involved. You mentioned to Father Gordon that your daughter seems to be the main target of all paranormal activities?”

Mrs. Adams’ tone shifts, going from aloof to serious as she approaches the coffee maker and grabs the half full pot. “Yes. But things have gotten worse, this shadow figure has become a real problem and I don’t know how to comfort her.” She pauses and finds Lorraine’s comforting gaze. “How do I lie and act as if everything is okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Lorraine murmurs and gently reaches out to settle her shaking hand. “Because we won’t stop until this is all over.”

“What if you can’t stop it?”

Lorraine’s voice held steady as she tells her, “We will put an end to this.” 

///

While Mrs. Adams didn’t seem entirely convinced by Lorraine’s answer—she didn’t push it further. Instead, she allowed her and Ed to explore the farmhouse, starting from the basement. They made their way to it in silence, the uneasy tone shifting between them as they climbed down the steep stairs. During times like this, it was usually comfortable—a constant reliable reminder that they had each other to rely on when facing what hid beyond view in the darkness—but now?

Lorraine braces herself against the railing alone while Ed steps further into the basement, hand reaching out to flick the light switch to on. It bathed them in a dim orange glow and highlighted just how cramped and dusty the room was. Furniture sat covered and untouched, while piles of boxes filled with random stuff covered most of the floor.

“You picking up on anything?” Ed asks to break the silence, his voice softer than what it was upstairs. 

“Not yet,” she answers, fingers gliding across the back of a small loveseat. She could feel his eyes on her, watching—waiting.

“Well, she did say that this is the least active room in the house.”

He follows behind her to the guest bedroom, and maybe her mind was too foggy—too lost in the past to truly focus on the task at hand, as a sudden chill ran down her spine while the unspoken tension clung to them like a shadow. “Hon?”

Lorraine swallows, forcing herself to stay focused. “I can’t sense anything.” 

“That’s okay,” he reassures her with a soft sigh, “Still plenty of house to cover.”

She takes a slow, steady breath and turns to find Ed waiting in the doorway, notepad in hand and she shrugs. “I think we can head back up.” So they do, the stairs groaning under them as they head back up to find Mrs. Adams waiting, an expectant look sent their way when they reach the top.

“Well?” Her tone was one of exasperation and frustration, which Lorraine couldn’t fault her for. It took months for the church to reach out and offer their assistance, all the while the family was being plagued by this haunting. Mostly their daughter. And it only seemed to be getting worse. 

“I couldn’t sense anything down there,” Lorraine explains to a dismayed Mrs. Adams, but is quick to reassure her by pointing out how that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there at all. “You mentioned how the basement is the least active room which makes sense why I couldn’t feel anything.”

“Does that mean you could sense something in a room that’s had the most activity?” 

“It’s quite possible, yes.” 

“So that would be Abigail’s room?” 

Lorraine shares a look with Ed before they both nod. “From what you’ve said about how she’s the most affected by this haunting, yes. That’s where we’ll go next.” 

///

Abigail’s room was nothing special. A typical teen girl’s room with posters plastered on the wall of various band members and tv show characters, and plenty of pink and frill. But it’s how the energy shifts that grabs Lorraine’s attention. It seemed to cling to the room as soon as she and Ed stepped into it. 

“She started seeing the shadow figure last week,” Mrs. Adams explains, “At first we didn’t believe her. I don’t know why, we’d been dealing with so much before that. But maybe we just didn’t wanna believe things had gotten that bad.” 

“It visits her every night?” Ed asks while Lorraine pushes forward, her breath catching as the tension presses on her chest. 

“Every night on the dot. Ten o’clock to be exact.”

Ed’s attention turns to Lorraine, noticing how upset she is, how she grasped the bedpost tightly. How her face paled slightly. “Lorraine?” 

“There’s something here…” 

Chapter Text

A faint hum hung in the air. Her ears buzzed. Behind her, Ed asked something she didn’t or couldn’t respond to. An overbearing weight pressed on her chest as she forced herself to move further into Abigail’s room, a faint whisper growing as she crossed to the center of it.

Then came the smell.

It started out subtle then grew to an unmistakably overpowering rotten meat smell, one that had her coughing and keeled over within seconds. “Lorraine,” Ed calls to her, concerned. His hand reaches out to grab her upper arm, his touch firm and persistent as he attempts to pull her out of there for her own sake.

But it happens again. Almost as if on its volition—her arm jerks free from his grasp as a shudder runs through her. That panicked, frightened voice screams for her to create space, to make Ed back off. “Talk to me,” he presses.

Lorraine shook her head, voice hoarse. “There’s something here,” she repeats. A shadow—looming in the corner. Its energy pressed the air in the room down, making it feel far too cold and claustrophobic. Her breath caught, eyes wide and glossy. Past and present were colliding in a frantic, twisted way and left her on edge.

“Hon, tell me what you see.” Ed’s voice was sharp. Steady. His hand unwavering from its position on her arm. But he didn’t know—he couldn’t, of how his touch was having the opposite impact on her.

“It isn’t happy we’re here,” she slowly explains to a dismayed Ed. “It wants us to leave.”

“Well that isn’t happening,” he adds firmly. His hand was still on her arm, pressing and squeezing in an attempt to comfort her, to ground her.

He wants to hurt you. He wants to hurt you. He wants to hurt you.

That same hiss of a whisper twirled around her—tormented her. Until it snapped quiet with one final warning— ‘he will hurt you.’ 

Lorraine reels back, the words biting at her. Fear coiled tight in her stomach—gnawing at her. Until finally—it stopped. The whispers went quiet. The shadow disappeared. “It’s gone.”

But not for long.

Not permanently. 

///

“Tell me about the whistling man,” Lorraine softly says and watches as Abigail fumbles with the necklace she wore.

“Why does it matter?” Instead of a typical angsty attitude, Lorraine could tell it stemmed from something more. Almost like hopelessness. It was almost as if the girl had given up on trying to make someone believe her claims. 

“Because I want to help you,” she explains. “It can’t be easy dealing with this on your own.” 

Abigail scoffs. “I’ll be out of here by fall anyway once college starts.” 

“You think that’ll stop all of this from bothering you?” 

“Well, yeah. Don’t you think so? I mean, I won’t be here anymore.” 

“Abigail, moving away won’t do you any good. This spirit, this demonic presence, its attached itself to you for some reason.”

“Why?” She asks with a watery gasp, eyes glossy and wide.

“I don’t know yet, but that’s why I need to ask you these questions. So please tell me—when did you first notice the whistling man?” 

“A month ago,” she explains slowly. “I was outside with our dog when he noticed something. I didn’t see or hear anything at first then—I saw it. Him. He was watching me, and he kept making this weird clicking noise before the whistling started. Milo, our dog, he was barking and growling like crazy and I tried to do everything I could to get him to come back inside with me. But the whistling got louder and it was like the man was coming closer so I… I ran back to the house.”

She was visibly shaken by the memory, arms wrapped around her midsection. She wipes at the tears falling and scoffs. “I left Milo behind.” 

“You did what you needed to protect yourself, Abigail.”

“Milo ran back once I reached the back door and I yelled for my dad. He went out there and I just hugged Milo so tightly while praying that the man would just leave. But when my dad returned—he said there was no man.” Her tearful gaze turns back to Lorraine, “Why didn’t he believe me?” 

“Oh, honey,” she places a reassuring hand on her shoulder and offers what she hoped to be a comforting smile. “I’m sure he did, but sometimes it can be hard for someone to accept things like this. It’s easier to be skeptical and dismiss a paranormal event than believe in it.” 

“So you believe me, right?” 

“Of course I do.”

“My parents thought I was making it up—seeing the shadowy figure,” she adds.

”They believe you now and that’s all that matters.”

“You really believe you can stop this thing from hurting us?”

It was such a sudden and unexpected question—but instead of letting her unease and uncertainty show, Lorraine nods and says, “We won’t let it win.” 

//

After investigating the house, after the first experience with the spirit haunting the family—Ed and Lorraine recorded and wrote everything down that they could, hoping to collect enough evidence as quick as possible to help them out. They left shortly afterwards, that faint tension still lingering.

“Hungry?” Ed asks quietly, glimpsing at Lorraine in the passenger seat. 

“Not really.”

“Hon, you’ve gotta eat,” he persists. He knew what she saw at the house, heard the awful stories the family told them—but it was after she talked to Abigail did her mood shift.

“I suppose you’re right,” she concedes with a glance over at him. It’s not long before they find a small diner and enter it, earning a few odd looks from the older patrons.

“Well hello there,” a bubbly older woman named Beth greets them with two menus. “Sit anywhere you’d like.”

They opt for a booth in the back and slide into it. They sit in silence for a moment before a waiter comes by to take their drink orders and they order two coffees. Two mugs are steaming and placed in front of them faster than they can blink, and after sending the waiter back to the kitchen without ordering anything else—Ed takes his first sip gingerly. “Not a bad place,” he says in a way of break the resounding silence.

“Not too mindful of outsiders.” It was a small town after all. The kind where everyone knew everyone, and it was obvious when new people arrived in town.

It’s not long before they fall back into that silent pause. He leans back in the seat and watches her for a moment. Catches how her nose scrunches slightly at the odd-tasting coffee. How the light reflects off her skin. Her eyes lift to meet his and he smiles, and it’s probably a terrible time to be thinking this—in fact he knows it is, but she’s just so damn beautiful and wonderful and the recent distance is driving him a little crazy.

Insane, even. And when her knee accidentally knocks into his under the table—he damn near thinks about dragging her out of the booth and out to their car so they can go back to the shitty motel room they’re staying at and make good use of those stupid beds.

”So,” he clears his throat when his voice comes out a little too strained and attempts to calm the energy thrumming beneath his skin. “What was your take on the house?” 

“Kyle and Sophia seem to be trying to keep it together for their family, but, Ed—they’re terrified and this spirit is going to feed off of that energy. Abigail is scared to be alone in the house out of fear of the shadow figure and she doesn’t want to be outside because of the whistling man. For her—that house is torture.” 

“Yeah,” he assures her, “Kyle said they’ve tried to keep everyone safe but it’s tough.”

She scoffs—and it catches him off guard. “He didn’t believe her at first when she told him about the whistling man.” Incredulity flies off her tongue as she takes another sip of the bitter coffee, fingers clenching around the handle a little too tight.

“It’s not the first time we’ve seen something like that—it’s hard for people to believe in the paranormal.” They knew that better than anyone. The amount of times they’d been called frauds, crazy or just downright ridiculous was astounding but it didn’t change the truth—they knew ghosts exist. Demons too. 

“She’s his daughter,” she continues. “Skeptic or not, he should believe her no matter what.”

“He believes her now.”

Instead of arguing, Lorraine sighs and leans forward. “I’m really not that hungry.”

“You wanna head back to the motel?”

She nods and slides out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.” It’s his turn to nod as he watches her walk to the bathroom in the back of the diner, then signals for the waiter to pay their bill. 

//

Everything seemed quieter in the bathroom.

Leaning against the closed door, Lorraine takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. This wasn’t the first case they’ve investigated that’s taken its toll on her, nor would it be the last, but it was the first serious one since everything that took place with Arne and the witch’s curse.

God, she wanted to forget. Sighing, she heads for the sink and turns the faucet on to splash some water on her face. It’s cool and refreshing and just enough to stop those thoughts from becoming too much of a burden at the moment. But when she lifts her head to yank a paper towel free—her eyes widen in fear at what stared back at her in the mirror.  

Ed. Eyes glazed over with sweat dripping down his face—and a sledgehammer clenched tightly in hand. It was Ed from that night in the tunnel, from the night he tried to kill her. It wasn’t real. It was an awful memory, of course, but it wasn’t real. Though that doesn’t stop her from releasing a panicked scream when the vision of possessed Ed swings the sledgehammer at her and she’s brought back to that awful night. 

Running. Running from him, yelling and pleading for him to stop. “This is wrong and you know it!” 

A knock sounds on the bathroom door. “Lorraine, hon? Are you okay?” She can’t respond. “Lorraine? His voice was growing increasingly worried as his knocks grew louder and more insistent. A hiss of a whisper swirled around her as the vision of possessed Ed dissipated.

‘He’s going to hurt you again.’ 

“Lorraine!” Ed barrels through the door once she unlocks it and lets him inside, hands shaking as she backs away from him. Confusion was evident as he tilts his head and attempts to pull her toward him. “Honey?” 

The memories were still present and the whispered threat only added to it. So it made sense to her subconscious at the time to view and assess Ed as a threat, as a danger to her. “Please stop,” she whimpers. It’s then does a flicker of something, maybe recognition, shine in his eyes and he lifts his hands up in a gesture of sorts to show her he’s no threat and certainly not going to harm her in any way.

“Lorraine, look at me.”

Back braced against the wall, she slowly lifts her gaze and their eyes meet. If he’a caught off guard by her nervous and downright fearful expression—he doesn’t let it show. He stays calm and offers her a hand to take. She stares at it. “Ed?” 

“It’s me, honey.”

“Everything alright in here?” Beth, the friendly woman from earlier appears at their side, concerned.

“We’re fine,” Ed answers for them both.

”No disrespect, sir, but I’d like to hear that from her.” 

“I’m fine,” Lorraine assures her, voice shaky as she bypasses Ed’s outstretched hand and walks past him.

“Lorraine—“

”I’m fine, Ed.” Her voice was firm and left no room for arguing, which left him no option but to follow behind her as she led them outside to their car. 

//

Ed stares at the closed bathroom door. Once they returned to their motel room after the incident at the diner and Lorraine strode into the bathroom to shower—the silence had been oppressive. Suffocating even. That hesitant, unsure feeling kept gnawing at him and he hated it. Hated what this distant was doing to their marriage.

He wasn’t sure when it started, but if he had to take a guess—he would assume it began shortly after everything that happened with Arne and the witch—and her awful curse. He had hoped, prayed, that what took place that night in Father Kastner’s tunnels wouldn’t ruin them. That it would stay in the past and they could leave it there and forget all about it. But maybe he’d been too optimistic. Or maybe it was him being selfish. 

He had put all his time and energy into building that gazebo for her—for them. In hopes of making things right and moving forward with their lives. If he had something to focus on—to fix, the memories stayed buried in the back of his mind. But Ed could tell. There were some days where Lorraine wouldn’t even look at him—rather right through him. As if considering if he was really back to normal or if the curse was gonna rear its ugly head again and take everything away from them.

Which didn’t sit well with him. He had to do something, anything to fix their marriage and get it back to where it was before all of this started. He just wished he knew how. He moves forward, slow and deliberate, and comes to a stop outside the bathroom door. He glimpses at the bed he slept in last night. Alone.

He could hear the echo of water splashing on the tile walls. He hesitates, knuckles grazing the wooden door. At the diner, when he barged in out of concern—he saw it. The slightest flicker of fear as she stared at him. He wanted to talk about it, wanted to question if she really was afraid of him. The thought chilled him. Hell, it scared him. But Lorraine refused to discuss it. Instead she told him she was fine.

He wanted to believe it. To believe her. Because the alternative would mean what he was afraid to think of. That she was scared of him. Scared he would hurt her. God, he could never. The thought alone made him sick. When he thought of that night—when he chased after her with the sledgehammer, when he almost killed her, it tormented him. Left him cold. Pained.

Which left him one option—his knuckles rap against the door. “Lorraine?” He waits, unwavering from the spot. If she wanted space, he would give it to her—no questions asked.

But on the other side, he hears Lorraine’s soft voice call out to him. “Yes?” 

“Hon, can I come in?” There’s another pause, one that has Ed unsure again.

Then—“Yeah.” With that he turns the knob and surges into the bathroom, steam and a faint hint of sweet vanilla enveloping him as he closes the door behind himself. He glimpses at the pool of clothes on the floor. “Is everything okay?”

He drags his eyes away from her clothes to the shower. “Kyle called—said he saw the whistling man while outside walking their dog.” 

“Oh no,” she murmurs, voice muffled by the water.

“I said they should stay inside and keep all doors and windows locked. It won’t do much—“

“Anything helps,” her comforting answer came.

“Right, well, I just wanted to let you know.” There came the silent pause he was dreading as soon as he entered the bathroom. Was this really what their marriage was coming to? Dry small talk?

“Ed, wait.” His hand was on the knob when her voice rang out and said two words that had his heart surging with silent hope.

“Yeah, hon?” He waits with bated breath until finally—

“Stay.” Her voice cut through the steam and water—sweet and inviting. She caught him off-guard with the request but he didn’t waste time in questioning it. He made quick work of pulling the white undershirt he had on over his head and tossing it to the ground to join the pile on the floor, unzipping and kicking his pants and boxers off. His bare feet hit the floor in slow, deliberate steps as he approaches the shower.

He peels back the curtain and there she was—waiting. Back braced against the wet wall, she smiles at him. The water was hot. Damn near scalding. But it did nothing to prevent him from stepping in the tub, fingers sliding the curtain shut. He turns and stares, eyes eagerly glimpsing down her body. Watching how the water drips down the slope of her shoulders, her waist, between the swell of her chest rising and falling with each breath she took. Her voice calls his name—soft and warm, then slowly, she drifts closer and slinks her body against his, skin wet and flushed from the water. 

He feels a bolt of heat from the contact. Her hands rise, gliding across the expanse of his hard chest, up to his broad shoulders and tracing the firm muscles underneath her fingers with a sly smile. “I’ve missed you,” he breathes out. One hand weaves through his wet hair while the other slides down, tracing the lines of his jaw.

“I’m right here.”

Then—their lips met, the kiss rough and aching as he tugs her closer, fingers digging into her hips. His lips moving against hers with increasing urgency, the clash one of need and desperation. Each time she yanked at his hair—his grip grew tighter. Every moan, every sigh, it all consumed him. Left him wanting more. Their kiss deepens, her mouth parting under his and he groans when he feels her tongue brush against his mouth. Her kiss turning feverish, urgent, harsh. He opens to her, tongue meeting hers in a fervent dance.

Eventually she pulls back to suck in a breath, her chest rising and falling as his lips brush against her jawline, down her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His fingers thread through her hair, tugging the wet strands just enough to tip her head back—giving him more access. His lips were insistent, possessive, tracing a path from her jaw back to her throat, leaving her a gasping frantic mess. His hands move downward, pulling her flush against him, his touch firm and rough as his fingers trail the curves of her body before landing on her ass.

He surges forward and backs her up to the cold and wet shower wall, lips covering hers again. She grinds against him with a moan, and her hands are everywhere, roaming across his chest, his biceps, down his stomach, down down down until— a loud knock, almost a thump sounds against the front door of their motel room.

“Who could that be?” She gasps out and it’s a far cry from what he would’ve said. Something more along the lines of oh shit and you’ve gotta be fucking kidding because this was the first time in weeks that they’ve been alone like this and of course they get interrupted.

“Someone probably has the wrong room.” Then again—thunk! “I’ll go check,” he says and slips out of the shower, grabbing a fluffy towel off the rack. He wraps it around his waist and leaves the bathroom, hesitating halfway. 

Thunk…thunk…thunk. The last thump against the door is firmer than the last few and he rushes to look through the peephole—finding an older, raggly-looking man who has one hand raised to knock again. Still irritated over being interrupted and taken away from Lorraine, Ed unlocks the door with a huff and rather gruffly asks, “Can I help you?” 

The man staggers closer. He reeked of stale booze and cheap cologne. “She doesn’t trust you,” he warns. 

“Excuse me?” 

“She thinks you’ll hurt her again. She doesn’t trust you.” 

“Look, sir, I think you have the wrong room and you need to leave. Now.” 

“She doesn’t trust you, she doesn’t trust you, she doesn’t trust you, she doesn’t trust you, she doesn’t trust you—“

Ed slams and locks the door shut. Then he grabs the phone by the bed and dials the front desk to tell the lady there that a man is currently standing outside their room and is concerned about him bothering other motel guests. She doesn’t seem too worried but tells Ed she’ll call and have an officer drop by to handle it, and to keep their door locked. 

“Ed?” Lorraine is out of the shower, towel wrapped around herself as she pokes her head out of the bathroom door. “Who was it? What happened?” 

“Just a drunk. The office manager is calling the cops to have them deal with him.” 

She’s visibly shaken as she glimpses past him to the door, then the window. “Is he still out there?” 

“If he is, he can’t get in here, okay? You’re safe, hon.” He slinks over to her with a slight smirk and pulls her flush against him. “Besides, I’ll protect you.” 

His smile falters when it’s clear the moment in the shower is gone and she proves that point when she slides out of his grasp with an apologetic look. “I’m gonna get dressed.” 

“Right, yeah.” He watches her slip back into the bathroom with a sigh. So close, yet still so far from getting back to that point in their marriage where things didn’t feel so strange. So unlike them.

So so distant.   

Chapter Text

It’s slight past ten when Kyle breezes into his and Sophia’s bedroom and yanks at the tie around his neck. He’d been staying later and later at work recently, and he knew it was a terrible choice to make but—he couldn’t stand to look at his family’s faces, to watch as their tearful and afraid eyes turned to him for help to stop whatever was happening in their house. So he stayed behind at the office, watching as his fellow colleagues clicked the lights off in their offices and bid goodnight as they went home to their families.

But, Kyle thinks bitterly as he paces around the room, his coworkers didn’t have to deal with this bullshit. They didn’t have to come home to deal with ghosts and demonic presences and god he was sick of it. Sick of pretending things were fine. Normal. He was tired, so god damn tired.

“I left your dinner in the fridge,” Sophia tells him after entering their room with an expectant look.

He stares back blankly. “Oh, ah sorry. I got distracted and worked a little later than planned.”

“What else is new?”

He heard the irritated tone in her voice, saw how her eyes grew cold. “Look I said I’m sorry. Drop it, okay?”

“Drop it? Of course that’s easy for you to say, Kyle! You’re never here. But I am! I’m the one who has to comfort Abigail and Jeff when things start happening in this house—when that god damn whistling man appears in those woods outside and tries to find a new way to torment us!”

“What do you want me to do, Sophia? I’m not a priest or a paranormal investigator and I sure as hell don’t know how to stop that demon or ghost or whatever the fuck it is besides ignoring it and hoping for the best.”

“Hope for the best!?” Sophia scoffs and then she’s heading straight for him—finger pointing into his chest as she, rather exasperatedly, says—“You really have no clue how to help this family, Kyle. You’d rather sit back and watch as I try to keep us safe.” 

“Mom!” A scream tearing from Abigail’s throat stops them mid-argument as they both rush out the door down the hall to their daughter’s room where they find Abigail curled up in the corner, crying and screaming for them to help.

“Honey, what is it?”

“He’s here! He won’t leave me alone!”

”Who?” Kyle asks and if Sophia wasn’t already upset with him—she sure was now.

She shoots him a glare as she cradles Abigail in her arms and helps her off the floor with a sigh, “The whistling man! He was outside my window!” 

“Abigail-“

”Don’t you dare tell her she’s imagining things,” Sophia interrupts and if looks could kill—well Kyle would be dead. She turns back to Abigail and tells her, “Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. Your father will go outside and make sure he’s gone—won’t you, Kyle?” Her tone was one of no-nonsense and Kyle nods before stepping back in the hall.

Yep. His colleagues definitely didn’t have to deal with this after leaving work. 

//

Ed was sure he didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. His mind was too wired from everything that took place yesterday, from the diner, to his and Lorraine’s moment in the shower—that unfortunately got interrupted, to the strange man who knocked on their door and was said reason why they’d been interrupted. He couldn’t sleep with that guy out there and despite watching as an officer arrived to escort the man away from the motel building—he couldn’t sleep.

Lorraine shifted back and forth in her sleep while he sat against the headboard and just—watched. He kept guard despite there being no lingering threat, at least none he could see, but he knew better. He knew there was some sort of danger that he couldn’t see, one that was dragging her away from him. Away from their marriage. Little by little. Day by day. The tension, the distance. 

Last night in the shower, the want—heavy and loud, it rang true and clear as they kissed and touched in ways they hadn’t in a very long time. For Ed, it was as if he finally breached that wall she set in place and was able to dismantle the distance between them, to make her forget about the past and just be in the moment with him. If only that drunk hadn’t interrupted… and what he said. It stuck with Ed as much as he hated to admit it aloud.

The repetitive sentence, ‘she doesn’t trust you’ struck a chord. It left him feeling uneasy. Nervous. It was a little too close to home after everything that’s happened since they stopped the curse and if Ed was honest with himself—it left him questioning if maybe that drunk guy had been a sign. What if Lorraine didn’t trust him? What if that night in the tunnel left an irreversible mark on their relationship? What if things would never be the same?

What if. What if. What if.

That’s all Ed could think of. If this ruined their marriage—he would never forgive himself. 

//

“Have you experienced many paranormal events?” 

It was just Lorraine and Kyle outside near the woods. From what she’s learned so far—he was the only family member to not seem as bothered by the haunting as the rest of them. He kept a calm and collected demeanor as she and Ed walked through the house again, hardly even blinking when a cross was thrown to the ground. Or when a ghostly voice was caught on the tape recorder.

But now—as he’s busy grabbing sticks off the yard and throwing them into the woods, his demeanor has switched. He seems… on edge. Eyes shifting so often to the dense maze of trees and bushes off to their right.

“Have I experienced paranormal activity before?” He repeats her question and scoffs. “No, no I have not.” 

Lorraine watches him bend to pick a large piece of wood up just to chuck it as far as it would go. “But you did see this whistling man?”

He freezes. “I saw a man. Probably a trespasser, happens a lot on our property.”

“You really believe that?”

“What else could it be?”

“Well from what it sounded like to Ed when you called us last night—it seemed you were scared. And maybe I’m wrong but I don’t think a trespasser would have you this on edge.” Kyle resumes his yard cleaning with a disgruntled noise as Lorraine continues—“Have you noticed your eyes keep drifting over to those woods?”

“Is that so?” He sounded disinterested as he tosses a few more sticks into the ever-growing pile.

“Do you walk those woods a lot?”

“When I get some free time, yeah.”  

“But yesterday was the first time you saw the whistling man?” 

“If that’s what you wanna call him—yeah. Sure.”

“Abigail is dealing with this,” Lorraine says and it’s then does Kyle look up from the yard, jaw clenching. “And she’s afraid that something bad is going to happen and that you’re not gonna believe her when it does.”

“Would you believe your daughter if she came to you—screaming about a shadow figure hovering over her on the ceiling?”

“Of course I would.”  

Kyle laughs humorlessly at her. “Well yeah. You’ve seen some crazy shit I bet.”

She laughs too, because that was putting it mildly. From battling demonic nuns to ghosts to an occultist witch—she’s seen it all. “You could say that.”

“Was there ever a time when you didn’t believe?”

She thinks briefly of their time in Enfield, when at first she couldn’t sense anything besides their fear. There had been a moment when she wondered if it’d been a hoax and Janet had made the entire thing up but that doubt quickly vanished when Valak was revealed to Lorraine. “I go into every house with an open mind. Whether that house is haunted or not—I listen and don’t automatically jump to conclusions.”

“You believed Abigail right away.”

“You should too.” 

“I do,” Kyle exclaims. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Maybe I didn’t at first but I do now.”

“Then tell her that,” Lorraine persists with a calm and gentle touch to his shoulder. “Because when I spoke to her—it almost felt as if she gave up on trying to get anyone to believe her.”

“I never meant for her to feel that way.”

”Talk to her.” Lorraine pushes with a smile as she turns to face the house, “I’m gonna head back in.”

“Hey, Lorraine,” he calls after her. She glimpses back at him over her shoulder. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Thank me when this is over.” 

//

Sophia watches while Lorraine talks to Kyle. Eyes narrowing when her hand shoots out to comfort him, to touch him. They talked and talked and talked until Sophia finally had enough of watching them and slammed her mug into the empty sink. Behind her, a whisper swirled to life.

‘Don’t trust him don’t trust him don’t trust him’

Sophia’s eyes snap shut when the last whisper buzzes in her ear.

‘Don’t trust her’