The Shimmering Wraith (Lockwood and Co. Fanfic)

Betrayal- 3.

There had been nothing left of Joseph Lockwood's body, or at least that was what the reports had claimed. The fire had left only ashes, and although it said the same for Theresa I knew it to be entirely untrue. She had escaped, and because she had managed it was possible Joseph had as well. But had he suffered a similar fate? I couldn't be sure.

The death certificates didn't specify the place of death, but I was sure that if I searched up fires in the London area during 2005 I would be sure to find my answer. So I had decided to head out to an internet café. Hopefully it would give me a lead, particularly after the reports from Fittes had been so disappointing.

The café was teeming with people, but in moments I was sitting before one of the computers against the back wall, a mug of steaming chocolate in my hand. The rich liquid soothed my nerves as my fingers hovered over the keyboard.

"Lucy?"

I shut my eyes, breathing deeply through my nose. The voice was as familiar as my own, and when his hand landed on my shoulder I felt tingles all down my arm.

"Lockwood," I said. I turned to look at him as he pulled out the chair next to me, a half-smile on his face. He looked worn and tired, as though he hadn't slept in days, his hair sticking out at all angles and dark rings around his eyes.

"How have you been Lucy? George told me you've been staying with Finn Kipps," anger laced Lockwood's tone but I ignored it, my gaze flicking down to my mug. I gazed at it unseeingly.

"Have you been sleeping?" I asked.

Lockwood ran a hand through his hair, and from the corner of my eye I saw that his usual impeccable dress sense had been discarded in a favour of a more ragged look. If he was this bad I wondered what had dragged him out of the house, and that was when I caught glimpse of George standing at the register. He was watching us intently and I glared at him until he looked away. So George had set this up.

"To be honest Luce, no," Lockwood replied, drawing my attention back to him. "I was worried about you. I'm so sorry about what happened the other night; it was all my fault, and Luce, I want you to come home." His voice cracked on the last word and letting out a heavy sigh I let my hand cover his. He jerked suddenly, as though shocked I could bear to touch him.

"I can't come home," I said quietly, looking deep into his eyes. "Not yet. I can't be that close to her. I want to put her ghost to rest Lockwood, and then I'll feel safe enough to come home."

"Put her to rest? You mean you're trying to find out what happened to her?" Lockwood's spine straightened, though in anger or interest I couldn't tell. His face, weary as it was, was unfamiliar to me, and I couldn't read the true emotion hiding underneath. "Why are you doing this Lucy?"

I was silent a moment, my gaze dropping to our hands. I traced his long, lithe fingers, running up and down their lengths. When he didn't pull away I glanced back up at him from beneath my lashes.

"I want to help you."

"You're not curious?"

"Of course I'm curious. I wouldn't be me if I wasn't curious. I don't feel like I can live under your roof if you keep secrets from me. We can't be together if you hold things back Lockwood; that's not how a relationship should work. But the main reason I'm doing this is for you. I want to help you Lockwood."

Lockwood leant forward, his lips brushing gently across my own, but before it could go any further I pulled back abruptly.

"I can't Anthony," I said, the hurt in his eyes paining me more than anything else could. "I can't."

"Goodbye Lucy," Lockwood said quietly, and then he was gone, the doorbell trilling behind him. I saw George hurrying after him, calling his name, but Lockwood didn't stop. I turned back to the computer, cursing under my breath. I had told George I didn't want to see Lockwood, and there had been good reason for it. I knew it would only hurt us both more. We had to take time, and I couldn't face up to Lockwood until I knew the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

I stared at the empty bar of the search engine, and then I finally lowered my fingers to the keyboard. What came up had me reeling, and I sat there with wide eyes as I read the title of the first article. In moment I'd brought up the webpage and was reading voraciously.

Masquerade Ball Ends in Tragedy

On the fifteenth of August 2005 the annual Fittes Masquerade Ball was held at Coventry Hall. There was a marvellous turn out and the past agents turned out in their stately dresses and dapper suits according to the dress code, which this year was to be the regal style of the 1880s. Penelope Fittes was dressed to perfection in an ivory taffeta gown and the party was well on its way by eight o'clock, at which point Ms Fittes noticed something amiss.

Our reporter, Miss Geraldine Wilcock, reported the smell of smoke began permeating the building at approximately eight thirty, but by this time Ms Fittes had already called the fire brigade. The fire broke out in the East wing, were a select group of our finest past agents were meeting to discuss a secret agenda known only to members of the group. Ms Fittes was late to the meeting, having been socialising until late in the West wing of the hall, and it was she who discovered the flames. By the time the fire brigade arrived the roof had already collapsed on the prestigious group and only two managed to escape alive. Mr William Fairfax and Mr Julius Winkman. For now we cannot say exactly who were among the deceased but a full police report of the incident will be made public tomorrow.

I stared at the article for a long time, scanning the words over and over again, wondering if I'd misinterpreted. But no. Some kind of mysterious group had been meeting at the Fittes Masquerade, a group that Fairfax and Winkman had both been a part of. It was a big coincidence, but one I knew I couldn't ignore. Something bigger was going on here than I'd originally thought, and I cursed again when I realised something else. To solve this mystery I was going to need George's help, and probably Lockwood's too. I tried searching the site to find the following day's article, but there was no further mention of it, and apart from brief mentions in other papers I could find no further information. But as I read it again something else struck me. A masquerade ball. Appearing as though they were from the 1880s. Theresa Fittes drowned. Was it possible the woman in the house we'd been investigating was actually her ghost? Was that why I'd had visions, because the necklace had been taken back to the place where its owner had died?

Having printed the article I paid for my drink and left, feeling more determined than ever to find out what was going on. There were too many coincidences. And I didn't like that one bit.

Wow. I wasn't even expecting that, so I really hope you were shocked just then. My plot has taken a twist even I didn't know about... Shows how much control I have over my brain. So what is going on? Does anyone have any guesses??? And who was enjoying the all-too-brief Locklyle in this chapter?