Chapter Text
Edwin’s screams were echoing through the walls of Esther’s old house, and the echoes looped, swirling round and round in Charles’ skull. He wondered if he would ever be able to stop hearing them, even if they escaped the witch, even if they didn’t end up trapped there for eternity. He attempted, once again, to struggle against the chain around his neck, before flinching and stilling. He hadn’t felt this helpless in forty years, not since that night at the lake. Distantly, he heard Edwin beg, in a way Charles had never heard, not even in the depths of hell.
He heard sudden, rushed movement, and a flash of red hair reflected in the window before him.
“Crystal.” He breathed, turning as much as he could. He saw Niko's white hair behind Crystal, standing out starkly in the dark house.
“You’re still here. Get me out of this thing.”
Crystal shook her head, “We have to help Edwin.”
“So do I.” He replied.
“You have to kill the snake in the cupboard. It’s keeping her young and strong. We’ll handle Esther.” Crystal slid something across the floor- his familiar bag o’ tricks, he thought with relief which turned to horror as it slid past where he could reach and stopped against the wall.
“Crystal.” He whispered as loud as he dared.
“Crystal!”
But she was gone, off to save Edwin, leaving him alone with the bag that could save all of them left tantalisingly out of reach.
He hesitantly reached out with his foot, trying to snag the edge of the bag, but the collar flared against his skin, making an awful sizzling noise. He grunted and fell back, looking desperately for anything that he could use to reach the bag.
Another round of screams started up, and despair began to pool in his chest, but Charles pressed it firmly down. Giving up was out of the question. He reached again and again, but the burn pulled him back every time.
The screams quieted for a moment, and he heard muffled voices. Esther did not sound happy. In the fresh silence, he heard that awful familiar cawing.
“Fat lot of good you turned out to be,” He spat at Monty, “You tricked my best mate. Set us up.” He reached out again and failed, his foot just centimetres away from the damn bag.
“When I get out of this thing, crow, you’re gonna find you backed the wrong side.” The crow squawked, and he heard the cage rattling. He wondered if Monty was trying to secure some kind of redemption, or simply taunt him for his failed attempts.
The screams had started up again, and Charles slowly realised what he would have to do if he had any hope of him and Edwin escaping. He stared at the bag, and thought of that word again. Tantalisingly. Edwin had explained to him, once in the early days, where it had come from.
“Tantalus.” He had said, sitting with perfect posture besides Charles, who was slouched on the sofa with his feet thrown over the side. “A Greek king, who killed his own son and fed his meat to the gods.”
“That’s gnarly, mate. Why would he do that?”
“To prove that he could trick them. For his treachery he was sentenced to stand in a pool of water, with luscious fruits hanging overhead. When he tried to drink, the water receded. When he tried to eat, the fruits darted away. He was sentenced to eternity surrounded by everything he wanted, but unable to touch any of it.”
At the time, Charles had thought he understood. Recently dead, and the worst part was that food and drinks felt like sand and tasted like static. He had stood in front of feasts, knowing that he couldn’t taste any of it, seen living people, knowing he couldn’t reach out and speak to them. But that longing was nothing compared to this, the bag that lingered just slightly out of reach, which had become the key to everything he wanted. To be with Edwin, safely. To solve crimes with him, and Crystal, and Niko.
But he could reach it. He would. He steeled himself, knowing that if he made a sound, the witch would realise what he was doing and it would be over. He took a deep breath before throwing himself forward, against the chains binding him.
Immediately, pain bloomed, not just on his neck, but all over his body. Charles was no stranger to pain. His short life had been filled with it, from facing his father’s rage as a child, right up to the very end, with the wounds from the rocks hurled by his “friends” tearing up his insides as shivers wracked him until the cold was suddenly replaced by blissful warmth that turned to burning heat, until he never felt again.
But forty years is a long time to go without feeling pain, aside from the occasional iron burn, and the sudden consuming burning stretched time into an endless loop, turning the few seconds it must have taken to hook his foot through the strap of the bag into an inferno. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to make a sound, resisting the part of him that screamed to pull back, it hurts .
Edwin had survived seventy years of hell, had suffered in ways that made Charles could never imagine, could never relate to. And still he had sat beside Charles that night when he was attacked by the people he had put his trust in, as ice had crept through his bloodstream to his organs. Now, for Edwin’s sake, Charles burned.
He caught the bag and pulled it backwards, dragging it into his lap. He leaned back and the pain vanished as quickly as it had hit him. He gasped for a second, before the screams hit his ears again and he reached into his bag, taking out his lock-picking kit. It was time to kill a snake and save his mates.
***
The walk back to the butcher’s shop from Esther’s had been a hazy, blurry affair. Charles knew he had been the one largely guiding Crystal and Edwin, both of whom were lost in a fog of grief. He understood. He hadn’t been as close to Niko as either of them, but her loss felt like the weight of her entire sea glass collection had been wrapped around his heart, dragging it down. But he had to keep it together, for all of their sakes, and especially for Edwin, who looked like he would fall apart at the slightest touch. Something in Charles twisted. Edwin should never look this fragile, this wounded, the way he had been in hell, the way he was now.
It was when they had all somberly collected in Crystal’s room after breaking the news to Jenny, who was doing a valiant job of hiding her shaking hands, that Edwin looked at Charles, really looked, and his expression grew horrified.
"Charles. What happened to you?” He rushed forward, grabbing Charles by the shoulders.
Charles placed his hands on Edwin’s shoulders gently, trying to ground him. “Woah, what’s the matter mate?”
Crystal stepped forward, staring at Charles with an expression to match Edwin’s. “Charles. Your neck.”
He looked around, bewildered. “What are you all on about? Are you okay?”
“Dude, there’s a huge burn on your neck.” Jenny said.
“What?” He instinctively spun around towards the mirror, before realising that that was absolutely daft. Then he pulled out his bag.
“Ghosts do not get wounded.” Edwin said, wringing his hands. “How could this have happened? What did Esther do to you?”
Charles’ hand closed around the handle of the mirror, a souvenir from a previous case that could reveal the reflection of a ghost. He raised it to his face, and whatever passed for chills among ghosts shuddered up his spine. There was an angry burn mark on his neck. A perfect, distinct curve, exactly where Esther’s chains had pressed into his throat.