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anathtsurugi · 2 years

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So...that one Ducktales Story I Was Working On...

Not sure how many of you are still following me to see Terrify the Dark finished, but that’s finally gonna happen. Y’know, like a year and a half after the fact, eheh.

I come bearing a little teaser for the new chapter. The full chapter won’t be coming until next week, though it is available right now on my Patreon. It’s something of a recap of events from the last chapter, just from Drake Dark Warrior Duck’s perspective instead of Gosalyn’s. Aaaanyway, hope you enjoy!

~*~

Drake couldn't explain how the probability spell worked. It seemed it was different each time it came online. First it had been like a trail he'd followed. Next it had been like a puzzle of faulty recordings playing in his brain. Now?

Now it was like a super magnet drawing him in, pulling him inexorably toward an exact pair of windows on the side of McDuck Manor. And on approach in the Thunderquack, there was only one possible plan of attack.

"Crash it," he said to Della.

"I- you mean-"

"Third floor, fourth window from the left," he told her, reaching out to grip her arm while keeping his gaze fixed on the spot. "Crash. It."

"Yus! Now we're talking!" Lena cheered.

"You all might be certifiably insane," Kath mumbled faintly.

"Won't disagree with you," Indy said, though there was resolve in his voice, apparently prepared to trust Drake's instincts on this one.

"Drake, are you sure?" the pilot pressed him, to which he nodded.

"Make Launchpad proud."

"Well...I'dbelyingifIsaidIhadn'tthoughtaboutit," she bit out as she snapped her flight goggles into place. "All right people, strap yourselves in. This is my kinda crazy! LET'S GET DANGEROUUUUS!!" she roared as she threw the Thunderquack on a collision course. Drake braced himself only a little before they went crashing straight into the house.

The windshield, thankfully, remained intact, though it was covered with debris.

"Anyone hurt?" he called out as he undid his restraints. Della was already shaking herself off, though still caught up in her own restraints.

"Hoo, that was awesome!" she cheered. "Oh, god, Uncle Scrooge is gonna kill me."

"Nope."

"It appears not."

"Shaken. Very shaken. But I'll recover."

"Then let's get a move on," he said, heading toward the exit hatch. When it didn't open, he could only assume it was blocked somehow. Something was happening outside. He could hear it, but he couldn't pinpoint anything more accurate.

"Come. On. Stupid. Hatch. Open!" he snarled as he shoved his shoulder against it.

LP, you know I adore this plane, but if it stops me from saving our little girl, I'm going to dismantle it screw by screw.

But...why would the Thunderquack stop you from rescuing Gosalyn?

"No! Nonononono! Don't answer! You can't answer!" he shouted in horrified frustration, his vision suddenly redshifting again.

"Drake-" someone attempted to speak to him, and he could no longer tell if it was Della, Indy, Lena, or Kath.

Giving one last harrowing cry of effort, Darkwing threw himself against the hatch, the unnatural burst of strength finally allowing him to shove it free. The sight his shifted eyes picked out through the haze of smoke and debris was Negaduck advancing on his daughter.

Time to give this madman a taste of his own medicine.

"I am the terror that hunts in the night," he declared, prepared to do things a hundred times worse than the simple nuisances his usual words promised. "I am the honey badger that rips out your throat. I...am Darkwing Duck!"

Unfortunately, his enemy didn't seem to recognize his peril, because he looked entirely too excited by what he saw in him.

"Oh, yeah," the ex-actor all but moaned as he eyed him up and down. "Now that's a Darkwing Duck I can get behind. Hehe, take that however you want."

And that he was definitely not going to stand for. Whipping out the gas gun, he fired its grappling hook at his enemy, more than a little pleased when he saw the hook sink into him. That pleasure was only compounded when he began to retract the cable, forcing a sharp cry of pain from Negaduck as he dragged him over the rubble.

"I told you I wouldn't let you have Gosalyn," he said, something cold and harsh deep inside him beginning to crawl out. "I warned you."

"So do something about it," his enemy spat at him, the look in his eyes as egregiously unhinged as ever, despite his obvious pain.

He was just going to have to push that pain threshold past the breaking point.

"Well...if you insist."

With that, Darkwing Duck let all the hurt and sorrow and rage that was inside him out. The bitter, black hate that scalded his veins and squeezed at his heart found release through his fists as he proceeded to pound his adversary without mercy. Every blow he dealt only served to send him further into that blind rage.

This is what I feel. This is what you did to me. If I can return even a fraction of this pain, whatever happens to me will be worth it!

No! No, it won't! that unrelenting voice at the back of his mind cried out, desperate. Nothing's worth this, DW! Especially not me. I don't want you to be like him...because of me. I can't accept that.

Darkwing felt something inside of him crack at the sound of the achingly earnest and familiar voice. God, Launchpad's voice was so entrenched in his mind he could even conjure the exact words his partner would say.

Drake...please. Please...don't do this.

Drake? Heh, Drake isn't here anymore. He died...on the docks that night. He tried to save his partner, who walked through fire for him...but he wasn't strong enough to do the same. Drake's gone!

Drake...

But he had meant what he'd said, and with every blow he struck to his enemy, Darkwing Duck let Drake slip further and further away. It soothed the agony in his fragile soul, but it didn't seem to have much of an effect on Negaduck himself. The assault only seemed to push the villain further over his own edge, drawing maddened, maniacal laughter from his broken beak.

"Let's see if you can laugh when your brain's crushed into paste against this wall!" he snarled, ramming the older duck's head against the wall as hard as he could, holding nothing back. And despite his obvious injuries, Negaduck did manage yet another chuckle.

"Going to kill me, duckie?" he mocked him, clearly inviting him to do just that. "I don't think you can."

"I said I would kill you and I meant it!" he growled, fingers tightening around Negaduck's throat, threatening to strangle him. "You will never hurt anyone again. Not on my watch."

It was the reason he gave, but even he knew it wasn't true. Whether it was the hero's way or not, all he wanted now was vengeance. He was going to make his former hero pay for every drop of Launchpad's blood, no matter what it cost him in the end.

"STOP!"

The sound of his daughter's desperate cry froze the falling hero where he stood. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, but he couldn't help but to hear her.

"Don't do this," she sobbed quietly, her plea echoing the impassioned words from his own heart. "This isn't you. You're not a murderer."

"You are. You are," Negaduck hissed in his face, goading him, practically begging for the killing blow. It took everything he had not to land it.

"Gos...Gosalyn," he started heavily as he turned his eyes to her. It was so hard...just to speak..."he's-"

"I know," she interrupted him, tears flowing steadily down her face, though she somehow kept her voice level. "I know who he is. I know what he's done. I know he's the reason Launchpad's not here anymore. And I know you can beat him...but...then you'll get hurt. You won't be the same anymore...and I couldn't- take that," she told him as she wiped the tears from her face. But then her words stopped making sense. "So I'm going with him."

That...no. He really must have lost it, because he couldn't have heard what he'd heard. There was no way- Gosalyn would never say anything like that. Because she knew that if Negaduck got his hands on her...

Other things were happening around him, but he couldn't bring himself to focus on them. All he could do was stand there, his enemy choking to death in his grip while he tried to understand just what it was his daughter had said.

"Gos..."

"This isn't gonna happen, Dad. I'm not gonna let you go down like this."

Still not fully understanding what was happening, he was suddenly forced into comprehension when a large pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him away from Negaduck.

"No. Wh- what are you doing?!" he shouted, beginning to struggle.

Oh, god, it was Launchpad all over again! He was going to be made to stand by and do nothing while his life was stripped away before his eyes.

"No! Let me go! Let me go!" he shrieked, fighting his hardest, but nothing he did could force those arms to loose their hold. "GOSALYN!"

There was nothing he could do. Nothing but watch as his perfectly calm and composed daughter disappeared in a blaze of white.

The scream that tore from his throat once Gosalyn was gone was wordless. It was a sound beyond anguish, beyond anger, or even sanity, and many of the others would later tell him how it had frightened them, but he didn't know any of that in that moment.

All he knew was that Gosalyn was gone.

"BRING HER BACK!!" he screamed at Negaduck, screamed until his throat was raw. "YOU BRING HER BACK RIGHT NOW!"

But his nemesis just sneered at him as he pocketed his device, every inch the duck with the upper hand, in spite of the fact that he was clearly struggling to stand.

"I told you, duckling," he said as he began to back away from them, toward the hole that Darkwing and Della had just carved through the side of the mansion. "I told you I would take everything from you. Is it my fault everything decided to make it easier?"

"Malicious miscreant," Scrooge snarled, brandishing his cane like a sword. "What have ye done with the wee lass?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, you'll find out soon enough," Negaduck scolded as he continued to back away. "Just know that if anything happens to me on my way out, you'll never see her or any of the other brats alive again."

The billionaire's expression went hard on hearing the mad duck's threat, though his eyes were filled with dread. "The boys...Webby..."

"That's right. Try anything and they die here and now."

"Negaduck," Officer Cabrera warned, clearly considering challenging the threat as her hand hovered near the gun at her hip.

"No, no, no, Officer. Really think you're ready to gamble with the lives of Scrooge McDuck's family? Any of you?!" he called out to the group at large, to Penumbra and Gyro, who had hands on their weapons, to Manny and the twins, who all looked ready to commit violent murder. But every last one of them stood down when faced with the threat to the youngest members of the clan.

And at the last, Negaduck looked to the group crawling from the wreckage of the Thunderquack, a pair of familiar eyes locking onto his for the first time in what had to have been years.

"Kath?" he called out in wicked amusement. "Oh, Kath, Kath, Kath. Don't tell me they dragged you into this, too. Well...what do you think of your Dark now, Morgie baby?"

"Jim..." the actress uttered in shock. "What...what happened to you?"

"Happened? Little movie star there happened," the villain mocked while Darkwing continued trying to escape the iron grip that was still holding him fast. "Ah, well. You'll get used to the idea," he said.

"I WILL FIND YOU!!" Darkwing shrieked at him, never having once ceased his struggles to get free, despite his lack of success. This drew nothing more from the ex-actor than his typical knowing sneer.

"Oh, I hope so," he said, keeping his eyes on Darkwing as he continued his backwards retreat. "We'll see who you really are when we come face to face again."

Then he was gone, vanished through the twisted tangle of wreckage that had once been a wall.

Darkwing continued to struggle, his cries now broken and stilted.

"Drake," a familiar voice started, "please stop."

"He took her!" he cried out, caught somewhere between anger, sorrow, and hopelessness. "He took- my little girl!"

"I know," the voice's owner attempted to calm him, reaching out a soothing hand to touch his face. "I understand."

"Understand?" he bit out, his voice breaking. "How could you? You...will never understand."

"Me? I don't understand? Are you serious, Drake Mallard-McQuack? If anybody understands...the pain of losing a child...I do. At least you'll have the chance to get yours back."

Then he felt a pair of hands reach around the back of his head, beginning to untie the mask.

"No. No! You can't- I still need that!" he protested, struggling all the harder. Even so, it wasn't long before the simple length of cloth was slipping free, normalizing his vision, and he was able to understand why that voice was so familiar.

Birdie McQuack. Despite her own loss, she was looking at him with perfect compassion and understanding.

"Birdie," he whispered, hardly able to meet that warm, painful gaze. "I lost him. I lost Launchpad. I'm- so sorry."

"It's all right," she told him, lifting her hand once again to cup his cheek in her palm. "You're all right."

"No. No, it's not. I told you...I promised you...I promised he would always come first, but I couldn't-...I failed him. I failed them both!" he hissed in anguish, tears he didn't know he still had beginning to squeeze from his eyes without his permission. And damn him, but he couldn't stop himself leaning into the comfort she offered.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, so certain. "I could never have asked you to make that promise...but you made it anyway. Made an impossible promise to an exhausted mother. Heh, Launchpad would've been upset with us both if he'd known. But...my boy only did what he always does. Give everything he had to give for the sake of what he loved most of all. None of us could've changed that about him."

But I...I'm not worth that kind of sacrifice, he wanted to argue, to scream, but he couldn't make his mouth work. When Ripcord finally released his hold on him, all he could manage to do was collapse into Birdie's waiting embrace, and he couldn't help but to let her cradle him in her arms...this woman he had no right at all to ask for comfort from.

#Ducktales #DT17 #Darkwing Duck #Drakepad #Dark Warrior Duck

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graphicpolicy · 1 month

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Preview: Gun Honey: Collision Course #4

Gun Honey: Collision Course #4 preview. When four armed groups converge on one secret location, will anyone survive the explosive collision? #comics #comicbooks

#ang hor kheng #charles ardai #comic books #Comics #gun honey: collision course #hard case crime #titan comics #warren louw

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blouisparadise · 4 years

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Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Your Good Time | Explicit | 3070 words

Louis nodded along with what the guy was saying, apparently his arousal taking over his brain to mouth filter as he said, “Who would want to hide a fit bloke like you? That guys an idiot.” Louis scoffed, dramatizing the word ‘idiot’, giving the guy a sly smirk. The guy leaned an arm against the bar, turned his body to Louis and fixed him with a curious look before he held out a hand.

“M’Harry.”

Louis and Harry meet in a bar when Harry's date is an ass. Inspired by Temporary Fix by One Direction.

2) I Push You To The Limits | Explicit | 3846 words

Louis is a brat who likes seeing his boyfriend get jealous and possessive over him.

3) Overkill | Explicit | 4354 words

Louis was never going to get over how fucking attractive Harry was. How glorious his big, tall, curvy body was. The feeling of Harry behind him, hot and heavy, trapped on the tube after they’d been somewhere during rush hour. His thick hands, full of pretty rings sometimes, handing Louis a cup of coffee, then getting one for himself.

4) Too Nervous to be Lovers | Mature | 6445 words

Louis doesn't want to spend quarantine with Harry, his straight roommate, who doesn't even acknowledge his existence.

5) Fratboy In Love | Mature | 6830 words

Harry Styles was a frat boy who loved to sleep around and flirt with boys and girls. Louis was a good uni student who loved to stay in and study and wasn't much of a partier.

Insert his best friend Niall who talks him into going. Louis gets drunk and ends up sleeping with harry. The next day he leaves before Harry wakes and tries to avoid him at all costs. Thinking Harry wouldn't care since Louis was just another conquest. But what if Harry did care. And actually have a crush on Louis. Read and find out

6) My Sunflower | Mature | 7057 words

Louis would rather be sunbathing at the beach with his friends, not slaving his spring break away in his father’s flower shop.

7) Waiting | Explicit | 8023 words

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

8) Shine Light Upon Your Ground | Explicit | 8506 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/H, which the reader can picture as Harry or Henry Cavill.

Louis sighs again and fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, twisting the charms around and petting the fake diamonds.

“How much for a night?” A deep voice suddenly asks him. The man who approaches him is already pulling out his wallet and flicking through a bundle of bills. Louis, who had been sitting at the bar completely innocent and minding his own business, lets out an offended, strangled sound.

“Excuse me?” He demands, straightening up in his seat. The hem of his dress creeps further up his thigh but he pays it no mind.

9) Glistening Under The Sun (You're My Honey Soaked Love) | Mature | 8996 words

“Oh Petal,” he picks her up nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek as she nibbles on the lavender, “How lucky are we? I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, the only thing we have to be sad about is that soon I won’t be able to hold you like this,”

10) Connected To The Heart | Explicit | 9059 words

Note: This is an coda scene for this fic.

“Your stage cue is way too close for you to be wearing that look you’re wearing,” Louis informs him. He can’t stop himself from looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, the silk of Harry’s dress shirt brushing against the backs of his knuckles.

“Twenty minutes,” Harry agrees. His breath is minty from the gum he was chewing earlier, fresh and warm. “Twenty minutes can be a long time, baby.”

This time, Louis has to force himself to roll his eyes. “Not nearly long enough for the way you always want to fuck me.”

11) Fuck U Betta | Explicit | 11438 words

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

12) Kiss Me In Your Chevrolet | Explicit | 11569 words

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest.

"Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself.

Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

13) Pull The Trigger | Explicit | 12007 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #16 on this list.

Louis has never been alright with killing. Will that change when he learns what it's like to be the one holding the gun?

14) Open All Night | Explicit | 12537 words

It’s six in the morning when Harry finally makes it back home.

Harry's a bartender, Louis' got a nice ass and a shit taste in men. They make it work.

15) Among Other Things | Explicit | 16073 words

“Harry, it’s 7:45, oh my god, my class starts at 8:15,” and Louis wants to cry. Harry’s busy under the bed trying to find the tiny silver key but Louis knows that fate just hates him and he needs to find a way to get up. “Harry, I—fuck,” Louis whines. Harry stands up in a rush.

“I can’t seem to find them. It. The key.”

Or, Louis’ the teacher of Harry Styles’ daughter. Their paths shouldn’t cross like this. This meaning Louis showing up to school handcuffed to a headboard.

16) A Bullet And It's Gun | Explicit | 18156 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #13 on this list.

Louis’ parents arrange his marriage with Harry. He’s fully ready to accept that he’s going to be a sad and lonely person for the rest of his life. But then Harry starts proving himself as more than just an asocial man with money.

17) By Such Slight Ligaments | Explicit | 26764 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

A late night visit to a patient sets off a series of events that will turn Louis' world upside down.

... Here there be monsters.

18) At Your Fingertips | Explicit | 27384 words

He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

19) Forgot My Roots Now Watch Me Bloom | Explicit | 28334 words

Lonely transit worker Louis pulls his longtime crush, Peter, from the path of an oncoming train. At the hospital, doctors report that he's in a coma, and a misplaced comment from Louis causes Peter's family to assume that he is his fiancée. When Louis doesn't correct them, they take him into their home and confidence. Things get even more complicated when he finds himself falling for Peter's brother, Harry. Loosely based on the movie "While You Were Sleeping".

20) Push You Out, Pull You Back In | Explicit | 31544 words

Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

21) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

22) Lidocaine And Palm Trees | Explicit | 44653 words

Heat, fake tans and lots of traffic.

Harry never expected to earn his living this way when he moved to LA.

Louis didn't think he could ever be the same after his divorce.

A lighthearted story about two guys trying to find themselves in the vibrant, sprawling city of Los Angeles, with a side of technical porn industry stuff.

23) Sleeping On Our Problems | Explicit | 67369 words

Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

24) Truth Would Be | Explicit | 91869 words

“You want me? I’m not a… a thing to be owned!” Louis stuttered, still very angry and confused.

“Hmmm…” The alpha tapped his lips as if he was contemplating something. “Last time I checked, the debt was paid off and the only thing I had asked in return was… you. So technically I do own you.”

“You are crazy…” Louis muttered as he began to back towards the door. Harry’s impossibly green eyes turned a shade darker, but his tone was still teasing and light when he said, “Maybe I am…”

The I-paid-off-all-your-debt-so-you-are-mine AU in which Omega Louis wants to be left alone by Alpha Harry but it's super complicated when he starts to not hate the alpha all that much.

25) Collision | Not Rated | 224594 words

Note: This fic was finished in 2018, but two new epilogue chapters have been added.

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

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dispatchdcu · 2 months

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Gun Honey Collision Course #3 Review

Gun Honey Collision Course #3 Review #gunhoneycollisioncourse #gunhoney #titan #titancomics #comics #comicbooks #news #art #info #NCBD #comicbooknews #previews #reviews #Amazon

Writer: Charles Ardai Artist: Ang Hor Kheng Inkers: Jose Zapata & João Rodri Colorist: João Rodri Letterer: David Leach Cover Artists: Jeehyung Lee; Alex Ronald; Cosplay; Ang Hor Kheng; Riccardo Federici; Claudia Caranfa; Cedric Poulat; Nathan Szerdy; Alain Nip; David Dias Publisher: Titan Price: $3.99 Release Date: July 10, 2024 US Intelligence agent Jeremy Kruger wanted the secrets in Hiroshi’s…

#Gun Honey #Gun Honey Collision Course #Gun Honey Collision Course 3 #Gun Honey Collision Course 3 Review #review #Reviews #Titan #Titan Comics #Titan Comics Reviews #Titan Reviews

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the-headbop-wraith · 4 years

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3 _ 44 _ Not the Best News

The light flashed green, but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. The action didn’t quite ignite in his mind, though he was looking right at it. Lost in his thoughts, searching for guidance to connect the now to a future he didn’t understand. Did Lewis not trust him? He didn’t get it.

A crackle of static burbled through the radio.

“Lights green.”

Arthur shivered. “Yeah. Just checking for traffic.” There was no rebuke on that, though the intersection was bare of vehicles aside from one car creeping forward. The town shut down pretty fast following six PM.

Streetlamps flashed through the windshield at off intervals, flooding black through the van interior. The rose tinge of Lewis eyes glittered, his shape near insubstantial within the periodic dips of flare bursts. Sometimes, Arthur thought he saw the death suit and skull, despite knowing Lewis would not drop his living guise unless his focus broke. It must suck, maintaining that sort of concentration.

“Y’know, you don’t have to look that way around me,” Arthur admitted. “I actually don’t mind Sir Bones Esquire.” Lewis generated a sound, but he couldn’t place if it was a hiss or static.

“I prefer to look not like I crawled out of a grave,” he muttered. The face didn’t move, but the shimmering ember shifted to check Arthur. “Thanks for the offer.”

Arthur shrugged his shoulder. “I try and keep the board clear. Whatever works for you, I’m game.” It wasn’t resentment, it was something else seeping off of Lewis.

“You too,” Lewis uttered. He leaned back a little in the seat and crossed his arms. “You got a lot on your mind. You wanna, I dunno, talk?”

Arthur sniffled. “Not really. It’s, well….” He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe later, I gotta tell you some things. Not bad or anything, but it’s pretty heavy. I might… y’know, never mind. That pizza was heckin’ good. How many times did you burn ‘em.” The radio sputtered.

“Five, I think….”

“Awesome.” Arthur pulled into the carport for Kingsman Mechanics. The lights were all out, the parking lot empty; the space barren, but for the vehicles dropped. He climbed out of the driver side and shut the door. On the other side, Lewis swept through the grill of the van in a swell of light and embers.

“Dude, c’mon,” he uttered. “Don’t risk the gas tank.”

“It’s ethereal fire,” Lewis rasped. “Absolutely harmless.” He walked with Arthur to the front doors, the keys already twinkling.

“Hard to tell with you.” Arthur slotted one key, then the next. Until, Lewis brought his hand close, sparking a smoldering ember at his palm. Arthur jolted. “Shit! Warning, next time.”

“Siento.” At the entrance Lewis waited, while Arthur popped inside and gave the building a brief exploration. Within seconds, Arthur returned and beckoned.

When exiting out the entrance corridor, Arthur flicked a switched on the panel and activated the lights throughout the main work floor. “Okay, the boxes are upstairs by the door of my work room. Stacked. I meant to grab them, it didn’t happen. You can’t miss them.” The details dropped, he skittered out of Lewis company, sprinting across the work floor.

“Where are you going?”

“Need parts for my arm. I was kinda in a hurry, excited I was gonna get out of here before Viv started texting me. I didn’t want her to worry.” He spun around, throwing a finger gun Lewis’ way. “I’ll be up in a sec.”

“What else did you forget?” Lewis departed on his alternate route to the dark corridor, leading to the stairway. “Should I grab the kitchen sink, too?”

After a beat, Arthur called back in a sharp whisper, “It couldn’t hurt.”

The worktable was as he left it, which was what he liked. He pulled open the drawer where he kept a sturdy case for the tools he routinely transported in or out, depending on his schedule. There was a specific method for undoing the clasps without the aid of a second arm, it was a little awkward to do since it required the use of his knee. It mostly kept the case stationary while he pried up the latch, but his movement was so practiced it took a mere five seconds. In a smaller drawer beneath the table surface, he kept the soldering wands for minute detail work. If he could, he wanted to get the remedial delicate stuff. It was simple enough, but tedious—

Crack!

Arthur jolted and whipped around, instincts on high alert. His eyes flashed around the room, studying the vehicles left prepared for tomorrow’s shift, the rotary lifts and supply carts spaced throughout the work floor. What was that? It was loud, the clamor reverberated through the hollow garage, emphasizing isolation and a prowling threat.

“Um… Uncle?” he called. No response. Not good. Arthur reached behind him and clenched a wrench. “Who’s there?” He didn’t risk calling the name of the one that should be, but the fact an answer was NOT forthcoming was worst of all. It was okay. It would be okay. He took a breath and crept forward, moving behind a small car and checking through the windows – searching through the tinted glass for an amateur hasting to relocate amidst his momentary ‘distraction’. The silence peeled apart his senses, he should pick up someone breathing or even their deepest thoughts. Was anything missing? He couldn’t tell, and it wouldn’t matter. Someone was here, he was certain.

After taking a short trip around the work floor, he scurried to a far wall and set the wrench down on a table, then jammed a fist into his vest pocket. Before his fingers could grasp at his phone, the hair on his nape prickled, spurring him to whip about. With a yelp, he backpedaled from the hulking shape. His yelp was more of a ‘YEEE!’ and his retreat sent him staggering, when he brushed against the corner of the desk.

“Who the fack?! Hey—” He tumbled to the floor, as the shape snatched at the wrench abandoned upon the table. He rolled until his arm was situated under him, and sprung onto his feet. “Who the—” His voice sputtered, the wrench gave a menacing CLANG! upon skipping across the concrete floor.

At first, he did believe in his heart that this was Lewis. In the dark and sinister parts of his memories, Arthur believed that the spirit had crept down to invoke some cruel ploy to torment him. But as the shape swept through the dull glow of light, he could cleanly distinguish that this was a grunting, breathing, agitated man in a mask. The intruder person kept weaving in and swiping for his arm, intent on incapacitating him through crude means. A shame that Arthur was much too spry and hardwired for evasion, the vandal didn’t expect such resistance either.

The irony of everything, that a masked person would intrude in the shop and assault him. What the hell? He got enough of this crap on rando assignments, this was break from that drama. So much for that fantasy.

Did something crash, elsewhere? Oh boy, oh shit!

“Man, you don’t wanna do this!” Arthur vaulted over the hood of a van and zipped around the side. The big guy was quick too, though not as agile. He huffed and puffed, pursuing like a bear on honey. “You really don’t wanna! I’m warning you! Yikes!” With a lunge he crashed to the floor - he cleared the table, but got snagged by an impact drill and its cord. “YOU! You’re getting into some bad shit!” He screamed bloody murder and scrambled to his feet. The intruder hauled up a whole muffle and swung it down – cracked the concrete and missed his foot by an inch.

Arthur sprang one way, then the other around a small convertible. Intruder followed, swishing the muffler like a damn katana. In a risky slide, he dove by and scrambled to one of the rotary lifts with a jeep suspended. He shimmied up one tower and clambered through the vacant side door, scarcely hauling his legs out of the way before Intruder with muffler could swing and knock his knees off.

“I’m tellin’ you! You gotta leave,” Arthur went on, speech breaking. A fleeting glance surveyed the room, but established no sign of eyes or fury. Still time before this guy got cooked. “For your own—” The muffler collided with the arch of the jeep and the jointed pipe glanced his shoulder. The world twisted as he toppled backwards, and off the hood of the jeep. It was oddly reminiscent of those dreams, the nightmares. He knew what came next.

Unexpectantly, his body collided with a stack of empty boxes.

The masked intruder gulped down cold air, more excited than winded through the exertion. They glanced around, where was it? In all the ruckus, their mind blanked on where they dumped it. Turning, they spied something that made them abandoned the search cold turkey. This was entirely due to the large hand snagging their shoulder, and flinging them like a doll. Heat and an overwhelming scent of char clouded their senses, dissipating only when they descended from the short flight.

The trajectory sent them on a collision course for a flatbed cart, which they tumbled off and skidded across the floor. They didn’t stop, barely checking that their legs remained connected to their spine before retreating from the scene. Exit! Escape! Where was the way out! As they fled, they patted at their sleeve and mask, embers scored their clothing – The hell? The intruder was unable to make sense of where they went, and crashed into a work bench. With admirable grace, they recovered, a pronounced limp following; metal parts and tools clanged in a cacophony of symphony across the floor. They kept going, not chancing a look back and barely examining the area through the sparks dazzling their eyes.

Posed from throwing whoever that was, skull and death suit, eyes blazing, and fire still crackling at his ribs. Lewis would have given chase and done some real damage; there might’ve been something like self-control, perhaps even a capture if he was feeling generous. However, he couldn’t detect Arthur, and the figure buried under boxes was unresponsive to all the horrendous business afoot. He was not playing possum; Arthur couldn’t fool him.

“Arthur?” his tone withered, and became distorted. He glided closer to the comatose figure and towered, gazing down. With hesitance and some second thoughts, he reached down slowly—

Right through the heart he’s shot! A full slug punched directly through his facade and tore the locket clear off his coat front. WOW. What a mistake that was. Lewis twitched, fists clenched tightly at his sides. The last time he felt a sensation like that, it was after falling a considerable amount and choking on his last breath. He could almost feel the heavy tempo of a heartbeat fade out a second time.

DID

NOT

THAT

Directly behind Lewis at a two-meter pace, Uncle Lance stood with a rifle, barrel smoking. It was a good and clean hit, the gray wall on the other side visible through the incision torn through. He waited, uncertain what should happen next. The thing in front of him, how could it be described? It looked vaguely man-like, it had the shape of a person. Except for the ‘head’, and the gap above the open collar where a neck should occupy.

Lewis cocked his head and let his skull swivel, peering back. Another igniting thunderclap, and the spirit snapped around fully, cowering. Fist trembling beside his hip.

“Yu step back from m’boy, ya reject Hall-oh-ween Deck-ARATION!” Lance gave the rifle a crank and took aim. As he watched, the vacant hole in the torso filled in with a strange, glossy light. The chunk in the shoulder sizzled, and what looked like fire crackled over the rich color of the suit. A skull and suit; a very malevolent and pissed looking skull. “YA HEAR!”

Terrible and antagonistic ruminations boiled through Lewis’ consciousness. An endless fall, the impact – mind fractured and every piece of his body dislocated. Shadows sweeping in, swirling around that bent figure high-high above, and the jewel glittering at the center of its sneer. Wild, unruly cackles clattered across the walls of the abyss, mocking his pain. Drinking up the agony spilling across the sharpened stalagmites, as every ounce of care and thought drained away.

He glided toward the attacker, taking another bullet seamlessly in the abdomen. Ribs next, splintering – each patch of destruction inflicted, vanished in a swell of heat conjured by his blazing soul. The pieces and sharp fragments of Lewis fitted back, reworking a bizarre pattern of that day many-many moons ago. Rising, the bitter aversion for this betrayal. Abandoned, isolation and pitiless grief that followed. The loneliness, and sense of loss saturating his very essence. Corrupting, robbing him of warmth and tenderness, replacing everything with whispers and fire. Another piercing bolt, to his lower arm – a wild shot. Panic infused.

Someone was very deserving of all this pain. It would feel better to share it, cleave a sliver loose. Release a portion of that fury threatening to boil over like a raging, scalding tsunami. Let them feel a taste of the bitterness that plagued him.

As the thing approached ominously – clear malevolence burned in the pits of the skulls eye sockets – Lance became steadily more alarmed. There had to be a way to stop it. Someway, he had to put an end to it. But it was apparent brute force wouldn’t do it in. He backed away, nearly colliding with a supply cart.

“Stop!” he snarled. “You can’t do that! No! S’not possible! I won’t believe it!” The next projectile tore through the apparition’s center, but before the echo faded the gaping breach vanished. Lance buckled backwards, gun dry. “ARGH! What are yu made of!”

The rifle swept from his grip and the spirit hosted him up by the front of his vest, yanking him clear off his feet. It glared into him with those intense, blazing embers bristling deep within the cavernous eye sockets. “The souls of the innocent….” Lewis wound back an arm, fingers twitching—

“A bagel?”

Lewis froze. “Artie!” He dumped Lance and whipped around, shooting to the cluster of busted boxes. Before he could lean down, he hesitated – the lights about the work station flashed. “What… happened? I, uh… you’re hurt.” Arthur was sitting up, holding his neck and quivering under the drill of pain in his head. It was vibrant, he could almost feel it in his own skull.

“Honest, I don’t… remember. Oof.” His hand reached over and touched the empty spot of his shoulder.

The confusion was apparent, as well. Lewis needed to wait and see what Arthur came forward with. It might confuse Arthur if he bombarded him with questions, or prompts; he didn’t get a good view of the whole scene. Aside from the flush of rage that compelled his reaction. This couldn’t be rushed, and the other needed time to adjust and come around. Especially since Arthur appeared uncertain of what happened, despite his poor negotiations.

“Did you… try to dump me off somewhere? High?” Now, Arthur peered up at the looming shadow. He couldn’t gather much of Lewis’ features, aside from a towering silhouette and the heated fuchsia orbs peering down. It was super unnerving. “That seems like somethin’ you’d do. Fuk… m’back.”

Lewis smashed a fist into his palm. “That person! This guy!” A puff of flame sparked at his collar, and the embers in his skull snapped into hostile pinpoints. “I don’t know what happened, but he threw something. And then, you FELL! It – uh, I thought….” His speech sputtered into harsh screeches, staccato and hard to distinguish.

“I’ll go ahead and take your word on— No, wait. I don’t remember some guy.” Arthur flinched, his head ached too. “I remember running, and I know I was scared shitless.” Lewis gawked down at him, for once it was endearing and mortified despite circumstances. “Some… guy?”

“In a mask?” Lewis cocked his skullish brow.

Arthur nodded. Ooh. Hurt. “That I remember, I think. Fuck… damn. You didn’t go after him?”

“You. FELL.”

Arthur pinched his brow. “Okay. Shut up. You… I can barely understand you. What? I’m the one that—” He withered, trapped in place by the barrier of boxes bent around him. The barbaric cry could terrify morally questionable crocodiles.

The wild and furious snarl was Lance’s doing. He crept in closer to the spirit with his arms outstretched and two fingers locked together forming a significant and easy to recognize T. Or X. No, it was a definitely a T. A crucifix, like in the movies.

“Evil… BOO! I banish yu!” Lance scooted in closer, edging out around at an imaginary tether which directed him toward Arthur. Determination in his eyes and sweat on his brow, his beard frazzled, that glare did not loosen from the invading spirit. “I don’t believe in this spook fun house nan-sense, but I’ll not have yur sort here terrorizing my kid!”

A touch annoyed Lewis drooped. He debated straight up punching Lance’s lights out or stuffing him in a car trunk. Anything to get him out of the way, if only for a couple minutes. They didn’t need this.

Arthur groaned. Everything was loud and annoying, it wasn’t just Lewis. His grumbling kicked up into a theatrical scream, “A g-g-ghost! Here! You’d better leave, disgruntled… apparition? Fuk, I don’t have the pharmacy enough for this bullshit.” He leaned to the side, moaning. “I mean, eeek! Argh! Spirit! You had better leave, before… I dunno, you’re banished by my dear Uncle’s very clear, um… exorcism. Or whatever he’s doing. OOoooOOooOOOOOoooohhhh….” Under his breath, he spat, “For fuk’s sake, you’re compelled to obey!”

Lewis crossed his arms and leaned a little away from Lance. “Yeaaahhhh, gunna hit that up with a hard no. Not really in the mood, capiche?” He glowered directly down on Lance, right at his face with gloved hands outstretched with that ridiculous T. “Stop that or I’ll give you something to bitch about.”

Arthur took a sharp breath. “Why do you hafta be so pissy?” Everything. HURT.

“Stop with the language, and I might consider an attitude adjustment.”

Arthur screwed his eyes shut. “Uncle Lance, that’s not gunna work.”

Lance fizzled out. “Ehh.” He gawked at the skull, and the skull glared back. For the life of him, he could not begin to figure how it was suspended there. “Then… what will work?” He shuffled the remainder of the way to Arthur and crouched down, protectively. His gaze never wavered from the hostile… it was a ghost, wasn’t it? “What d’we do? How d’yu get rid of it?”

“We don’t get rid of HIM,” Lewis huffed, pointing at Lance. “HE gets an ice pack for Arthur. Keep an eye on him.” In a flash of sparks, Lewis vanished – the extinguished cinder formed an outline before the ash hit the floor.

The unexpected flare forced Lance to recoil, more from the vibrancy than any anticipated retribution. Once the haze faded, he searched around. No sound, no evidence of the spirits presence – aside from that familiar burning. That wasn’t important, what was important was Arthur.

“Yu’re the expert. Is there… a pesteecide? Tell me, and I’ll get it done.”

Arthur struggled to get up. “It’s a….” He flopped back, it was worse than a ballpit, made worse by the throbbing in his head and shoulders. He could remember up to the jeep, then it all got somewhat fuzzy. Lance assisted in easing him off the crumpled mold of his shape, nice and easy, careful not to rush. “He’s like a thorn bur, you try plucking it off and you’ll get third-degree burns.”

Lance blinked. “WHAT?! Is that whut happened to your neck?!”

This was not needed right now. And the guy, their mysterious assailant. Where was he now? Arthur couldn’t debate it out too hard, though some of the ache was fading, subsiding into a monotonous drum. He groaned in his throat.

Then, on the floor. He noticed it beside one of the crushed boxes, snowed in by packing peanuts. The cracked locket. Despite dislocation, it persisted to pulse in time with the throbbing in his ears.

“Shit-shit!” He scrambled out of Lance’s grip and snatched the thing up; it took a beating by the looks. The hinge creaked and unexpectantly the door swung open, threatening to pop off. Cursing, he struggled to hold it one handed without the whole thing coming apart. Without meaning too, he saw within. There was a photograph. He inched down, squinting at the textures and shapes, trying to make sense of what was there. He didn’t know there was—

A dark hand snapped the locket from Arthur’s grasp and shut it. He bristled. Lewis had returned. The spirit looked downright sinister, as he set the ashen artifact back to his chest.

“I didn’t—” Lance grabbed Arthur and heaved him back. Lance’s valiant efforts halted, when Lewis unceremoniously shoved him off. An icebag settled on Arthur’s head.

Lewis knelt on one knee, one hand loaded with supplies. “I’ll invoke my deeply nefarious plot for revenge at a later time. When you’re fixed and patched, and likely better apt to outrun me.” He adjusted the last few items in his hand, by tucking a water bottle into the crook of his arm and twisting open a pill bottle. “You get one of these.” He set aside the pill bottle and popped the cap on the water bottle, enough to break the seal.

Sprawled on his back, Lance observed with a perplexity beyond known rational. “Okay. What is goin’ on ‘ere?” He moved upright and jabbed out a hand toward the spirit. “What is this thing, really?”

Lewis glared. “Rude.”

Arthur swallowed the pill and took the water bottle. “It’s not the strong stuff.” Rather sip, he pressed the chilled bottle to his neck.

“The strong stuff will put you in a coma, and as much as I’d prefer that, I need you awake for awhile. It’s a concussion, not a concession.”

“Mmm, I’m lovin’ the bedside manner. You’re such a dish.” He took a sip and let the water warm before he swallowed. “Oof.”

“Thank you for noticing, I’ve been wor—”

“What in blazes is goin’ on!” Lance exploded, figuratively. “Arthur Kingsman! Explain! Should I call a priest, a medic! Or… what! What m’I suppose to do? Yu’n Viv-vi dealt with this’n supernatural mischief! Professionally! I can’t have these….” He jabbed a hand the spirits way, grasping for words, “…these critters, creeping into my shop! I need somethin’!”

Arthur hung his head and sipped more water. On the sideline stood Lance tapping his foot, veins popped on his face. This was such a mess he wasn’t sure what to say or do, where to begin. “I need another pill.”

“No,” Lewis grated.

“Arthur,” Lance grumbled, tone stern but considerably nerfed since the eruption. “Tell me somethin’. What am I supposed to do here? I wan tu help.”

“It’s me, Uncle Lance. Lewis Pepper.” Arthur choked on the water he was sipping. “You shot me, by the way.” Arthur made a sound, but if it was human or not was the riddle. “Maybe don’t inhale….”

Lance stiffened; teeth clenched. For a full minute he didn’t say a word, but his sturdy outline quaked. “No!”

“Well,” Lewis chattered, “You didn’t… kill me, I’ll give you that. Don’t worry. But you did shoot me, like, twenty times.”

“It was four!”

“Whatever.” The Lewis spirit fixed Lance with his scalding ember eyes, not looking pleased. And there was some familiarity in that expression, despite how feral and agitated it was now. Despite it being a bleached skull, lacking traditional and easily mapped expression. “It didn’t feel nice.”

“Impossible! Yu can’t be Lewis!” Lance stamped a foot. “Yu are not Lewis! That dusn’t work!”

Arthur exhaled, catching the attention of both. “Can you not shout?” He pinched the water bottle in his arm crook and adjusted the ice bag on his neck, before it slid off. “He’s Lewis, okay? He’s not alive, but he is Lewis. We sort of… Viv-vi and I, ran across him awhile back.” How to explain THAT mess! “He was there, and we had car trouble….”

“Funny story,” Lewis broke in. “Thrilling in a lot of ways. Quite the adventure.”

“No! No-no-no-no-no- no-no-no-no! And NO!” Lance swung his arms out, declaring, “Lewis Pepper is dead, gone! He’s never coming back! You said so yuserlf! Yu and Viv-vi, you kids gotta let that go.”

Arthur face palmed against the water bottle. Oh boy.

Lewis rose to his full height, was it possible he made himself taller? He became a looming, malevolent shadow with piercing eyes. “And maybe I don’t want to let them go. Have ya ever thought of that? Uncle Lance?”

Arthur dumped everything and leapt up. He caught Lewis by the tie. “That’s it! I’m calling time out!” To Lance, “Uncle, this is Lewis! He’s dead, it’s a long story, and it is my— ”

“A bitch!”

“You! Lew? What’s gotten into you?”

Lewis hunched over placing his skull inches from Arthur’s face. “He. SHOT. Me!”

“And? You can’t feel it!”

“It hit me right in the feels! Nineteen times!”

Lance hooted, “It was four, ya dumb spook!” He flinched when Lewis looked his way, eye sockets flooded thick with flames flickering. “I don’t BELIEVE in this bogus heebie-jeevies! Why d’I hafta look at it, when I don’t believe in it? This ain’t right!”

“That’s offensive,” Lewis shrieked, “I don’t appreciate your tone!”

A ringing chimed loud and brilliant in the momentary calm amid the fury of the storm. Arthur staggered away, first jamming a hand into his pocket and realized his phone wasn’t there. Of course she would call. They were super fucking late, they should’ve been back days ago.

Arthur pushed through the office doorway and fumbled for the light. In his alarm, he forgot it was on the side of his left arm. He gave up, and went straight to the buzzing receiver on the desk.

“Lords, I hope they don’t kill each other….” He shifted around and checked out the doorway. “Or, I hope Lewis doesn’t— Viv-vi! HEY!” The icepack was sorely missed. “No, everything’s fine. What, uh… gave you that idea? What about my voice?”

Lance squeezed into the office, rifle in hand. “It doesn’t belong ‘ere. End of discussion.”

Lewis hung in the doorway, eyes flashing and flames swelling off his shoulders. He was going to ignite something. The whole shop would implode, just like the mansion. “I’ll tell you what doesn’t belong here! We need to exorcise that nasty attitude! See how you like it!”

Arthur pulled the phone from his ear and fitted the mouthpiece into his palm. “WHY! Did you two follow me.” He shoved the phone to his shoulder. “No! We, er… yu see what happened here, we’ll— I really can’t explain. I need an adult.”

Lance reached for the phone. “Lemme talk to her!”

Arthur sprang back, holding the phone high above his head. “No!”

“Te satisfaría? If I show you? Arthur, I need a mirror.”

Arthur climbed onto the desk, screeching into the phone, “Vivi, for the love of holy doughnuts, please come here, asap! I don’t care if someone sees Mystery! You! Here! NOW!” He slammed the phone down and scrambled off the desk, completely losing his footing in the process and nearly faceplanting. “Can you both NOT SCREAM bloody murder for two minutes! Five minutes? S’all I’m asking!”

After that outburst, both Lance and Lewis clamped up. Arthur shoved his way out the door past Lewis, and crossed the floor back to where he abandoned the ice bag and water. He plopped down on the ground with his back to them, his lone hand fastened to his springy hair, and wilted.

“Fuck.” Lewis swayed, drawing a hand up to the front of his suit. He eased a ways out beyond the portal but paused, once more fiddling with his tie. To the side, Lance was inching out.

The look on Arthur’s face, he’d never seen an expression on his nephew quite like it. Except when…. Lance’s first instinct was get to him, the lad was distraught – the intuition an understatement – Arthur needed… a word. Support. But an arm slashed through his path, stalling the reflexive drive. He nearly refuted the action, the protest was on the tip of his tongue. But something snatched the words away, his throat became dry. For the first time in a long time, he was at a loss.

Given the chance to observe the spirit – as it were – a moment to examine the features, it’s strangeness; a sense of familiarity soaked into him. When it wasn’t glaring or coiled up, he could get the feel for something else. Like a shadow stamped into the world he understood, a vivid memory of someone he could easily recognize from a distance. An unmistakable figure, distinct from a crowd. This… thing, it looked nothing like Lewis Pepper, but the gait it carried, the movement of its arms, it was unmistakable. Somehow, he knew this… thing, but dissension saturated the connection, and its presence was disjointed. It wasn’t alive, yet it was here. Most important of all, it wasn’t going away.

“You, uh… I think he’ll be fine.” When Lance spoke, the smoldering returned. It did NOT like him. So, what was it? What, not who. It couldn’t be…. “I’m… gunna sit down, fer a bit.”

Lance left for the breakroom and made himself a pot of coffee. When he returned from the recess, pot in hand and a stack of Styrofoam cups; Arthur was still seated far from the office, but updated to a stack of boxes that bore his weight. He gave a brief nonintrusive examination, only to confirm he was still breathing and not in any sort of apparent pain. From there, he went to the office to clear his thoughts and keep an eye on the area.

The lights hadn’t been turned on at all, and he almost forgot about the… thing. In the shroud, he nearly missed it seated at one of the chairs facing the desk, eyes aglow, the faint shimmer of its stylish hair. It sat arms crossed tightly, one leg slanted over the other. It didn’t respond when Lance entered.

“I think you have a story to share.” Lance sat one cup in front of the spirit and poured some coffee. The spirit refused to acknowledge his presence, and almost appeared photographic in its uncanny stillness; it wouldn’t even look at him. He reached over the side of his desk and pried open a drawer, and from the drawer, pulled up a small tray with containers of sweetener and nondairy creamers. “You a lil sour? What’s up?” He poured a cup for himself and blew at the harsh steam. “Not doin’ nothin’ but broodin’.”

There was a change in the spirit. The gleaming eyes were now locked on the white cup steaming in front of it.

“I don’t understand how this works,” Lance admitted. He plucked up the dislocated phone from the desk and set it back to the receiver. “Am I supposed t’say a special codeword? Is there a ritual, an uh… Ouiguh board.” The lamp on his desk flickered, came on, and then the bulb popped in a firework splash. Lance winced, sharply withdrawing his hand. Okay, what the FUCK. “Did yu do that?”

“Not on purpose.” Praise the stars, it spoke. “Check on Arthur.”

He wasn’t certain if that was a hint, or a direct command. “Juz did. He’s fine. This is mah office, by the way.” He managed to get a sip of his coffee. “I won’t harass him with this, not now. And I won’t wait for Vivi-vi. Before we get tu this…. Yu say a person….”

“Guy in a mask.”

“All right.” Lance nodded. “Before we pop that can of worms, before any of that. You’re here. I’ll go so far as admit that. But,” he gestured vaguely. “How did this happen?” Those vibrant eyes flicked up to him.

“It’s complicated.”

“Hmm. Don’t like t’way you said that.”

“Funny. I could care less what you think.”

Lance took another sip, and set his cup down. “Listen. Ghost Lewis.”

“Just Lewis,” the spirit had a wispy, sometimes airy way of speaking. The voice didn’t come from it, which made sense, because it didn’t have a mouth. “I’m still Lewis. The only difference, I lost custody of the body.” He huffed, and a bright flame flashed from its neck collar. Lance leaned back in his chair, uncertain what to make of… everything.

“Lewis, then.” He moved his line of sight out of the office, once more checking on Arthur. “Y’know Arthur’s m’boy, and I won’t have yu tormentin’ him.”

For a few minutes Lance sat, mulling through a history he thought was sheltered away in the deep parts of his memories where he preferred not to dwell. His fingers pressed tighter around the defenseless cup in his grasp, the warmth seeped through the insulated material and into the thick gloves he wore. The white of the cup cut through the bleak patterns of the gloom, reminding him of the brightest sheets he’d ever seen – specks of crimson and brown, where the bandages couldn’t stifle the work to recreate a shoulder. Arthur delirious and agonized, unaware that he was maimed as badly as he was. The details were unattainable, shattered and cast out a window. Nothing helped, no amount of medication.

Something happened. Vivi lost her memory. It was awful. Mystery was gone, vanished entirely like a… well. Arthur was beyond consoling, overrun by trauma, nearly splint in two. There was no way to construct a complete narrative, aside from it being a terrible Accident. Irreversible. Lewis never came back, and Arthur insisted that would never change. And they had to accept that.

If he held the Styrofoam cup any tighter, it would spill all over his desk. Lance rubbed at his face, trying to quell his thoughts. Those nightmares kept him up some nights, but he was a master of not showing on the worst days. Arthur had enough to deal with, and apparently more so these days. He sighed, still refusing to raise his gaze to the thing seated across from him, trying to dwell on the mystery of how it could be so devoid of warmth despite what looked like an ember wavering near its shoulder. He tried once more:

“He’s said some things I don’t fully grasp, admitted stuff I don’t have a full spectrum or insight intu.” He rubbed a thumb over the rim of the cup, gazing into the dark depths of the liquid within. “‘E’s been through enough, he’s regretted t’things that happen’. Losin�� you… I don’t even think he realized ‘iz arm was gone, not until—”

“Uncle Lance.” It was almost heartening, the way the spirit – Ghost Lewis. Just Lewis – persisted to refer to him as Uncle, same as his friends. The same way he did when alive. “I lost my life, and all of that had a negative effect on me, on my… prospect for living, and being.” The spirit moved, uncoiling his arms and gently caressed the vibrating heart at its chest. “It’s a topic we try not to touch on. I tend to stray far away from it all.”

How easy it touched upon the subject of its demise, as if it was all a matter of inconvenience. Was it meant to comfort him? Lance took a sip. “Juz curious, but… was there plans to… accept and reconcile, or something?” The eyes narrowed at him and the bristling embers constricted into a needle point dot.

“What are you getting at, now?”

Lance blew at the steam in his cup. The eyes of the spirit flashed, agitated by something, some unknown insult. “I’m not getting’ why your still ‘round. Aren’t spooks supposed to do’n the, is it the crop circle thing?”

Lewis cocked a rigid eyebrow. “Cross… over? No. Nope, it’s not a requirement for certain cases.”

“I have a suspicion that there’s more tu it than—” Without warning, Lewis bolted up from the seat – the flash of movement shocked Lance, in that it was vacuum less and silent. Only the light dousing out, as Lewis’ wide shoulders zipped out the doorway. The embers once swirling his space extinguished altogether, plunging the room into total darkness.

The catalyst must’ve been the racketing dog yaps, which entered onto the work floor. Soon after there was Vivi, racing over to the middle of the room and dashing her eyes around. Mystery was her guide, leading directly to the side wall where Arthur had remained hunched over. Arthur gave her the barest attention when she reached his side and leaned low. An exchange of words followed. Then, Vivi raised her sight to the office doorway.

Without a word, Lewis approached the group, arms clasped behind his back. When Lance emerged from his quarters fully and the light ensnared him, Vivi set her eyes upon him, and they became saucers. In retrospect, it did explain some things, though not nearly enough if Lance was honest. Something about all this didn’t settle right, and at the core of this drama was his boy, Arthur. If he couldn’t enlist Vivi’s aid in this, he might have to pursue other drastic means. But it wouldn’t work to be reckless. Being reckless is what nearly got him socked in the face, by something that claimed to be Lewis Pepper.

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