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When Edwin returned from Hell, all he could think about was escaping the torture chamber he called school. Forcing him to return to the Earth in the school, as opposed to quite literally anywhere else, felt like Death’s final fuck you.
He reappeared in the centre of the circle on the floor that he was sacrificed on. With a yelp, Edwin floated off the floor, gazing down at the floor with wide, scared eyes. He expected to see his bones still on the floor, surrounded by animal carcasses and the ropes holding him in place.
But no, Edwin realized as he stared down at the floor where he woke up - his bones were gone. They had to be around here somewhere, he could still sense their presence, but someone cleaned them up. Was it the bullies, hiding his body after their horrid ritual was completed to ensure they wouldn’t get caught? Was it the principal, in a never-before-seen act of kindness, punishing Cheeseman and Barrow and Skinner for their actions for the first time in their stupid, horrible lives? Was he buried on the school grounds?
A chest pushed against one of the walls close to the painted circle caught his eye. That wasn’t there when he died. And the thick coat of dust on absolutely everything told Edwin that this attic didn’t get touched often, if at all.
If he were still alive, his heart would be pounding.
As it was, Edwin slowly crept towards the chest. It was silly, moving slowly like he was. He was already dead, for God’s sake, what else was there to be afraid of? He didn’t know the answer, but he knew he feared it.
A surge of anger took over. It was stupid to be afraid, and it was stupid to be so worried about his bones. Knowing what became of his bones would do him no good, really. They couldn’t bring him back to life.
Besides - the closer he got to the chest, the more sure he was that his bones were inside it. The feeling of me, me, my body, me grew stronger with every millimetre. With a quiet curse at his own hesitance, Edwin pushed the lid of the chest open.
He was right, of course.
Inside the chest was a haphazard pile of bones and bloodied clothes. It was clear, even with his body having long deteriorated to simply bones by this point, that this was the work of the bullies. Probably Barrow, Edwin figured. Cheeseman always made him do all the dirty work. Barrow, the absolute brute, had shoved Edwin’s dead body into the chest without thinking for even a second. Upon further investigation, Edwin could see that his ribs and kneecaps were damaged. He didn’t remember everything about his death, but he did know that he hadn’t been beaten badly enough by the bullies to have broken any bones. The breaks must have happened as a result of the way he was shoved into the chest.
His uniform was soaked with blood and other fluids Edwin didn’t want to consider. The only thing left clean was his hat, which he grabbed from the chest carefully. He couldn’t stand to look at the remains of his body anymore, shoving the chest closed with a slam before sitting on the lid.
The old school cap was heavy in Edwin’s hands. He spun it around once, twice, three times before holding it still, staring at the school insignia. St. Hilarions. God, even just the name made him shudder. Edwin wanted to leave - he had to leave.
He shoved the cap on his head. It still fit perfectly, though why he expected anything else, he wasn’t sure. With a final glance at the firmly closed chest, Edwin sunk through the floor, intending to escape in the dead of night.
And that’s when he met him.
A shriek of pain had Edwin freezing in place, quickly lifting himself up until the only part of him poking through the ceiling was his face. He was in the hallway just outside the kitchen, he recognized it clear as day, even so many years later. In the back of his mind, Edwin realized he didn’t know what year it was - time passed weirdly in Hell. Slowly, but all at once at the same time. It simultaneously felt like a long weekend and millennia roaming those halls.
Edwin shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the things happening in front of him. The shrieks of pain slowly quieted to pained whimpers and whines, before finally becoming an eerie silence.
“He’s no good if he’s unconscious,” The heart-stoppingly familiar voice of Cheeseman rang through the hall. He exited the kitchen, Skinner and Barrow hot on his heels. “I like to hear them scream. There has to be someone else in this place we can play with, right boys?”
Skinner and Barrow laughed at Cheeseman’s words.
Dear God, Edwin thought. What are they still doing here?
And then he took it back. Because those bullies loved to hurt kids smaller than them so much, they killed Edwin in a ritual sacrifice. Of course they would choose the school for their afterlife - the one place that would have a guaranteed steady stream of young boys. Edwin should have known.
As soon as Edwin was sure the bullies were long past the hallway, he floated down and into the kitchen.
On the floor in front of the oven was a boy who looked around his age. He was lying haphazardly on the floor, his shirt in a ball at his feet.
His back was burnt absolutely raw, a mishmash of charred skin, already massive blisters, and weeping cuts. Edwin ever-so-carefully lifted the unconscious boy to his feet, wrapping one of the boy’s arms around his own shoulders and doing what he could to balance his weight without causing further damage to the boy’s back. Once he had the boy upright, he saw a steady stream of blood from where the bullies had pierced the skin on his chest, and he let out a shaky breath.
They made it a few steps into the hallway before the boy awoke.
“Please,” he cried. “No more, please. I can’t take any more.”
Edwin shushed him, careful to ensure the boy wouldn’t fall to the floor and hurt himself further. “No,” he said. “No more. I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Edwin Paine. What’s yours?”
The boy looked up at him for the first time, visibly calming when he saw that Edwin was not one of the bullies who hurt him so badly.
“My name is Charles. Charles Rowland.”
And with that, Charles Rowland once again slipped unconscious.
Edwin made fast but quiet work of bringing Charles up to the attic. It was morbid, he knew, bringing Charles up to the same place where he died. But he knew this was the only place nobody would find them - nobody would even think to look for them up there.
Charles got worse, fast. It was abundantly clear to Edwin that Charles was going to die up here, on the floor, only a few meters away from where Edwin himself had.
Charles slipped in and out of consciousness, becoming more and more delirious every time he was awake, but he, too, seemed to be aware of the situation. Edwin watched as he slipped further and further away from life, as the injuries on his back began to leak a sickly-looking pus, as he shivered his way through a fever.
“Edwin,” Charles said the second day. “I’m going to die soon.”
Edwin felt no need to lie. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“You’re dead,” Charles said, teeth chattering.
“Yes.”
Charles nodded. “I think, once I die, I would like to stay with you.”
Edwin didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply stared at Charles’ prone form.
Charles didn’t seem deterred. “How long have you been dead, Edwin?”
Edwin hummed. “I’m not completely sure either. I spent a very long time roaming the halls of Hell. What year are we in now?”
“1990.”
“Right,” Edwin nodded. “Then it’s been nearly seventy-five years, now.”
Charles hummed, his eyes fluttering shut. “That’s quite a long time to roam the halls of Hell.”
“Yes,” Edwin whispered, though he knew by this point that Charles had once again fallen asleep. “And it was a painfully lonely time.”
Edwin wouldn’t say it aloud, but he had to confess that Charles was probably the most beautiful boy he had ever laid eyes upon. Even with all his pain, even with the scent of a human dying that was beginning to surround him, Edwin thought he was beautiful.
Even if Charles weren’t dying - if he met Charles when he was still alive and healthy, or after he had already passed, Edwin would never say it. He knew what happened to boys like him. And he never wanted to go back to Hell.
Charles’ eyes fluttered open, and it was truly beautiful.
Charles turned until he could see Edwin. “How did you die, Edwin?”
“By the same boys who killed you. Only they were still living, when they killed me. Ritual sacrifice, though I don’t know what for. All I know is they killed frogs and rabbits and mice before they got to me. Tied me down to that circle on the floor right over there.” He pointed to the circle of chipped white paint on the ground. Charles’ eyes followed his finger. “And then, after they killed me, they shoved my body into that chest.”
Charles stared at the chest for a while - long enough that Edwin thought he must have fallen back asleep, before he spoke.
“I’m sorry, Edwin.”
Edwin shrugged. “I was just happy to be away from them.” His voice wanted to wobble, he could feel it, but he refused to allow it. It was fine. It was so long ago, it hardly mattered anymore.
Charles coughed softly. “You’re kind, Edwin. You didn’t deserve that.”
Edwin smiled softly down at him. “And neither did you, Charles.”
Charles reached a hand out, and Edwin happily grasped it with his own. He couldn’t feel the touch, but he hoped it could be some comfort to Charles.
“It hurts.” Charles’ voice was soft, hardly a whisper. A single tear tracked down his cheek, and Edwin wanted nothing more than to wipe it away, but he knew the effort would be in vain.
“It won’t hurt much longer,” He promised.
Charles nodded his acceptance, his eyes slipping shut.
“I can hear music, Edwin.”
Edwin laid on the floor beside Charles. His voice was getting softer with every word, and Edwin was struggling to hear him. “Yes,” he said. “It’s Sunday. We’re in the attic above the chapel. They’re singing hymns.”
Charles hummed. “It’s nice.”
The two were quiet for a while, listening to the crowd below them sing their hymns, blissfully unaware of the boy dying right above them.
“Oh,” Charles said. “They’ve stopped. Right?”
The choir below was still going strong.
“Right,” Edwin said.
Charles nodded. “Good. I worried it was just me.”
Edwin watched as Charles’ face softened, all the pain hidden in the nooks and crannies softening into nothingness. His hand fell from Edwin’s ghostly grip.
He was dead. Well and true and properly dead.
Edwin sat up, and he watched as Charles’ ghost sat up from his deceased body.
“Wow.”
“Death will be coming for you soon,” Edwin said. Charles had spent the past thirty minutes staring at his dead body, but at Edwin’s words, his focus changed.
“I’m sorry?” He asked. “I’m pretty sure death has already gotten me. I am a ghost, after all.”
“No,” Edwin shook his head. “Not death-the-concept. Death. The entity. She will come get you so that you can be processed and sent to your afterlife.”
Charles furrowed his brows. “I don’t want to be sent to my afterlife. I told you, I want to stay with you.”
Edwin hadn’t realized Charles was serious. He had, perhaps stupidly, assumed those were the words of a dying boy who didn’t want to be lonely.
“I can stay with you, can’t I Edwin?”
“I…” Edwin’s voice caught in his throat. “I wish you could, Charles. Really, it would be nice to have a friend with me. But it’s not possible. Death will be here any minute now, and she will take you. That’s just how it works.”
As if on cue, Death appeared beside them. Her presence was overwhelming. It wasn’t that she was particularly scary looking, but the energy she exuded filled the room. Edwin found himself falling back, behind Charles, in an attempt to hide from Death’s gaze.
“I don’t have much time, Charles Rowland,” Death said. “Let’s be going. What an annoying time you chose to die, honestly.”
Charles, in an act that any other day would have Edwin swooning, levelled a glare at Death. “No,” he said. “I don’t want to go with you. I want to stay with Edwin.”
Death glanced down at her wrist watch before looking back at Charles with a loud sigh. “I don’t have the time for these childish antics, Charles Rowland. Get on with it.”
Charles shook his head. “No. I won’t. If you want me to go with you, you’ll have to drag me, kicking and screaming.”
“Oh my-” Death rubbed her temples. “You have no idea what I’m dealing with right now. Fine. I will temporarily hold off on your processing. But I will be back, Charles Rowland. Once things calm down, you will be processed.”
And then Death turned around and left.
Edwin stared at Charles in awe. He had never seen someone stand up to Death like that. He wasn’t sure if Death had even seen someone stand up to Death like that.
Charles turned around, shooting a bright smile at Edwin. “I think that means I get to stay with you.”
Edwin nodded dumbly.
“I’ve never seen someone do that,” he said. “Tell Death ‘no’ the way you just did.”
Charles shrugged. “What can I say? I can be persuasive.” He grabbed Edwin’s hand, tugging him forward. “C’mon, slowpoke! Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to spend another second in this place.”
“Yes,” Edwin replied softly. “Let’s go.”
As the two of them made their way out of the school, Edwin could think of nothing but the feeling of Charles’ hand in his own. God, it was sad to admit, but he had forgotten what touch was like.
He had to confess, and maybe it was sappy, but he thought the touch of Charles’ hand was the best he had ever felt.
“Are you a fan of mystery novels, Edwin?” Charles asked. The two were sitting in the library together. They had escaped from the school three days ago, making a pact amongst themselves to never return to the wretched place. It was late at night, the library had long closed, but the two of them simply phased through the doors and made themselves comfortable in a back corner.
“Naturally,” Edwin replied. “I was still alive when Sherlock Holmes was being published, after all.”
Charles smacked his forehead. “Of course. I didn’t think of that.” He stared at his fingers. Edwin followed his gaze, watching as Charles nervously fiddled with his pant leg.
“Charles?”
Charles cleared his throat. “Don’t you think those detectives from the books are so cool? Solving mysteries, saving people…”
Edwin nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “I think they’re great.”
“You saved me, you know that?”
Edwin furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about? You died, Charles. I didn’t save you.”
Charles shook his head. He grabbed Edwin’s hand, grasping it tightly. It was cold in the way only ghosts could be, and warm in the way only the person one cared about could be.
“No, Edwin, you saved me. If it weren’t for you, I would have died all alone. Scared and in pain. Cheeseman and Skinner and Barrow probably would have come back once I woke up to hurt me more. You made sure I was safe from them and happy, even in my dying minutes.”
Edwin was taken aback. He never would have expected Charles to think such kind things about him. “I only did what was right,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly leave you to die alone. I couldn’t leave you on the floor in pain, knowing the bullies would be right back.”
“You could’ve,” Charles insisted. “That school was full of ghosts. It’s impossible that you were the only one who heard what was happening. You were just the only one who cared enough to help me.”
And, really, Edwin couldn’t argue with that. If he were still alive, his cheeks would be colouring. As it were, he looked down at he and Charles’ intertwined hands bashfully.
“Well, in that case, you’re welcome, I suppose. And I would do it all over again. I know that Death will come back for you some day, Charles, but I won’t let her take you unless you want to go.”
Charles released his grasp on Edwin’s hands, bumping their shoulders together. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you.”
“Neither do I,” Edwin shook his head.
The two of them sat in silence, staring at the shelves of books ahead of them.
Finally, after a few minutes, Charles’ voice broke the quiet.
“Edwin,” he said. “Would you like to start a detective agency with me? We could be partners, solving cases and saving people just like you saved me.”
Edwin had to confess, hearing Charles refer to him as his partner made something bubble up in him, even though he knew it was in the context of business.
“I would love that,” he said.
After three years, the cases so few and far in-between that Edwin could count them on one hand, Edwin had to admit to himself that his feelings for Charles weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
He had hoped, initially, that it was simple infatuation. Charles was the first person he had seen since he died in 1916. Not only that, but Charles was nice to him - nicer than anyone he’d ever known, living or dead.
Once a couple months passed, Edwin was forced to admit that he had a crush. It was wrong, he knew. Wrong and abnormal and sure to send him back to Hell one day. But really, he had to wonder: did God care about the actions of people who had already died? Was him liking another boy in the afterlife truly evil enough to send him back to Hell?
The pastors at his old church would have told Edwin yes. And that scared him, of course it did.
But he was going to end up back in Hell no matter what. He and Charles couldn’t run from Death forever - one day she would catch them, and she would drag them both down to Hell to spend eternity. Edwin could only hope they could go together. He feared that Death could never be so kind.
He would never forget the day that he and Charles saw a gay couple in the park. He watched, transfixed, as the two men kissed and held hands openly. He could think of only one word: fearless.
But now, finally, Edwin had to admit that continuing to call his feelings for Charles a simple, fleeting crush was the understatement of the century. He loved Charles - he didn’t think it was possible, falling in love with a boy. But there he was, proving himself wrong. Of course it was Charles, he thought. Charles was the exception to every rule he’d ever known. Charles wasn’t cruel, Charles was warm and kind and truly perfect.
And Charles loved girls. It seemed like with every new case they took, Charles found a new girl to fancy. He always denied it, but Edwin could see it on his face. And when they finished working the case and the girls left, Edwin watched heartbreak cross Charles’ face.
It was fine, really.
Edwin could love in silence.
Charles was staring at him.
Edwin stared back, raising his eyebrows in question, but Charles didn’t react.
“I would ask if there’s something on my face, but I know that’s not possible,” Edwin said.
Charles startled. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I must have zoned out.”
Edwin hummed. “Must have.”
He turned back to his book, aware but not acknowledging Charles’ eyes roaming his face.
“I have something to tell you,” Charles said. His fingers picked nervously at his shirt sleeve.
Edwin closed the book, setting it on the floor at his feet. “What is it?”
Charles took a deep breath. Edwin watched him do it, watched as his eyes fluttered shut and he released the air that he didn’t need.
“I still haven’t got used to the feeling of being nervous without my heart pounding,” Charles whispered with a giggle. “The deep sigh when I don’t even breathe air.”
Edwin shook his head. “I haven’t either. I don’t know if we’ll ever be used to it.”
Charles opened his eyes, staring once more at Edwin. His eyes met Edwin’s before darting quickly away.
“Edwin, I…” He paused. “I wanted you to know that I have feelings for you. I understand if you don’t feel the same, but I really hope this doesn’t hurt our friendship.”
Edwin stared at him, dumbfounded. Charles had feelings for him? Charles, his girl-crazy best friend, liked Edwin?
“I’m sorry, what?” He couldn’t believe it.
Charles rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m a little bit in love with you, Edwin.”
God, but those words made Edwin feel like he could fly to the moon and back.
“Thank God,” he whispered.
Charles furrowed his brows. “What?”
Edwin smiled, standing up and walking closer to Charles. He cupped Charles’ face, forcing his friend to look him in the eyes once again.
“I’m a little bit in love with you too, Charles. Have been for a while now.”
The brightest smile Edwin had ever seen crossed Charles’ face. “You mean it?”
Edwin nodded. “Of course. Jesus, Charles, I’ve been infatuated with you since the second I met you.”
Before he knew what was happening, Charles was on him. Charles’ hands were on the back of Edwin’s head, pulling him in. Edwin moved his own hands to tangle in Charles’ hair as Charles kissed him.
And, God, Edwin had to confess - it was perfect.