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The rotted wood of the manor’s floors creaked beneath his feet, the cold and icy air making Orpheus shiver. The scruffy looking man puffed out a frozen breath of air, adjusting the collar of his jacket to try and isolate his body from the cold around him.
I should’ve waited for a warmer day to do this, He thought, footsteps light against the flooring. The Detective didn't know what he was looking for, in full truth. He had limited himself from exploring the rest of actual manor, only shutting himself away in an old bedroom (That actually somewhat felt like it belonged to him, so long ago) and drowning himself in the decaying journals and letters that told him fleeting scraps of the past.
He spent his days cooped up in that room, dusty walls and floors parallel to his own state. Orpheus had stopped taking care of himself at some point in the distant past and it was still an unfortunate habit kept up to this day; Reflecting itself in his sleuthing. Days and nights were spent deciphering and connecting thousands of words of information without even a lick of rest to follow.
His eyes grew bloodshot from research and the inevitable crash only held back by coffee so terrible he could barely stomach it. He was surprised to learn that the stove in the abandoned manor could still turn on, albeit only to a low flame, followed by the fact that the water could still run (Of course, it was dirtied water, but Orpheus managed to convince himself that boiling it would make it safe enough to drink,) and to top off his exploration of the old pantry; There were far past expired coffee beans in the cabinet. A recipe for salvation and likely a horrible infection.
So for days, he’d been downing utterly disgusting, bitter, and burnt coffee like it was the ichor of his lifeforce. It had barely enough caffeine to keep him going; However it did the job as it should. Every day, he felt like he was on the correct course towards a breakthrough in this case, His own health be damned. As long as he had the caffeine in his bloodstream to keep him awake, Orpheus would be just fine. Probably.
Then, disaster struck. The Detective couldn't tell you what exactly happened, as he was so confident he hadn't touched that mug at all; Nonetheless it ended up on the floor, shattered before his very eyes. Orpheus felt like he was finally slipping into utter psychosis at that point, as it was illogical to him why that mug would fall. No, it wasn't near the edge, No, He didn't bump it with his elbow or arm or any single part of his body, and surely the breeze couldn't have knocked it over- It was a fairly good mug. Had some weight to it- Such a shame. He liked that mug.
And so, there went the last of his coffee.
The Detective foolishly tried to continue on without the sweet caffeine keeping him awake, but quickly found sleep catching him, claws of lethargy sinking into his shoulders and sucking up what little energy he had to give. He tried so badly to focus on his work, but the effects of the past few days were catching up on him quickly, making his hands shake and the carefully constructed hypothesis he had crafted crumble within seconds. And to boot, what Orpheus believed were nothing more than hallucinations kicked in over time, perhaps a sort of mocking punishment as he already couldn't hear his own thoughts- A soft and sweet voice, laced with a surely taunting and false sense of worry echoed throughout the halls, calling his name like it knew him with the recognition that a lover would have.
He heard it from the doorway in that moment, sounding so real- The footsteps creaking against the wood, the familiarly tender tone- It would be so logical that only a person, a person he knew very well, was there. Yet there was not. No living man nor woman, and no machine to make those calls. Only this percolating coldness that spread throughout the room.
Orpheus glanced at the setting sun, raising his trembling hands up to his unshaven face. He ached with tiredness so badly that he couldn't even pick up his pen- God, What are you doing to Yourself? You need rest!- That fact became overwhelmingly obvious to The Detective’s addled mind, yet remained unquestioning in nature to how he referred to himself like an outside viewer. He almost fell asleep in that decaying chair right then and there- But it was almost like icy fingers trailed his neck, making a shiver go up his spine. You’d surely freeze without a blanket, right?- The thought popped up in his head like before, the cadence still so unlike his own, yet apparently his thought nonetheless. He glanced over at the ruined bed, mostly in tatters and absolutely infested with bugs- Oh, it would be good enough, The Detective mentally grumbled.
He was so disheveled at this point, he’d fit right in with hobos and poormen that dappled the streets of the city downtown; What harm would sleeping in a ruined bed do? Orpheus mustered up most of his strength to push himself away from his desk, dragging his feet along the wooden floor before tumbling into the bed like a tossed brick. Dust kicked up around him, leaving him coughing for a moment- Lords above, he swore he could smell the asbestos that would soon sink into his lungs. Yet perhaps with a practiced ease, pure muscle memory, he wrapped himself up in the tattered sheets all the same as he did in those faded years past.
Eyes fluttering closed, he felt this sensation of eyes boring into him, Although the exhaustion swept him away before the panic could.
~~
As The Detective was sleeping that night, a sense of softness and familiarity came over him. He could feel his heart swelling in his chest, a sudden rush of affection swept over his being, wrapping him up wholly and convincing him he was safe. Faint memories of things that he could never fully remember flitted around in his sleep-addled mind with pictures formulating in a fragmented recollection that played as though it were a burnt film ran through a projector.
He could remember the feeling of slim fingered and calloused hands carding through his hair, once well kept so long ago; A visage of his former grace- All before he had fallen down a darker path. Yet in that dream, his sins had not caught him, nor his beloved. He could remember this little moment of bliss without the guilt, He could remember the warm heat of the spring sun cascading down on them both, the golden rays slipping between the dark leaves of the oak tree above. A soft and ever-so-sweet sound sparked that same flicker of affection in his heart- A melodious laugh, nothing more than equal to the beauty of a songbird’s call. The sound was lovely, so crystal clear after all these years apart. Almost like a blessing in this short-lived dream, he caught a glimpse of his past lover’s face; Adoration and nostalgia washing over him like the spring breeze that surrounded.
Oh, he was breathtaking.
Pale platinum locks framing the gorgeous structure of his beloved’s cheeks, trailing down to the hilt of his chin and complimenting the bow of his soft, pink lips; Skin a pale ivory in color and tinted with the most beautiful of rose red, blush rising as their eyes met- He looked like a living white rose that was dappled with flakes of pure silver, nothing more than beauty that could so rebelliously rival Aphrodite’s.
The man’s eyes were certainly a trap; as Orpheus was overcome with the urge to never look away, never switch his gaze to another- The slate color of the man’s iris so dull and sullen, yet seeming to blaze with life and unbridled joy, when their gazes had met; Shining as though he knew inside that Orpheus was worshipping the very image of him, And perhaps his beloved was doing much of the same. His gaze held Orpheus in a firm, smitten trance, The Novelist paying attention to every detail of his beloved’s face and committing it to memory, a silent prayer on his lips he’d never forget this. The pale, fluttery eyelashes complimenting the soft downturn of his brow, Not too unlike light and airy snow on a branch; All matching to the gentle pout of his lip and the sharp point of his nose, virtues no painter could ever fully capture. A face so gorgeous, that it couldn’t be real.
It was all gentle and unspoken love between them both- Orpheus laid in his lap, staring up at him like his whole world was the glint of light caught in his eyes, and this mysterious venus met his gaze with an almost unreadable sense of beclothen smittenness, expressing affections through the repetition of his fingers carding their way through The Novelist’s brown locks.
Perfection trapped in a long forgotten echo.
That perfection shattered at a moment’s notice, The Detective jolting awake when the gentle touch of the man from his dreams suddenly became all too real- The feeling of that calloused palm gliding through his hair ice cold against his scalp, shockingly tactile and overwhelmingly here. The Detective's eyes were agape so widely open they looked like saucers in the night; His gaze locked to the foggy silhouette in front of him.
He saw it for only a flicker of the moment, The translucent apparition of the man so definitively from his dreams, albeit aged- Pale silver hair no longer tied back and instead draping down misty shoulders; Along with the wrinkles that graced the spirit’s surprised face, shock mirroring Orpheus’.
The Detective was gawking incredulously in that moment, bewildered and terrified more than anything. He was supposed to be the only one here!- Then, It was like time slowed for a moment, the visage losing it’s shape and becoming nothing more than a wisp in the chilly air, the wind howling in Orpheus’ ears as it took off out the door and down the hallway.
“Wait!- Come back!” Orpheus scrambled to uncoil himself from the blankets wrapped around him, voice slurring as he stumbled from the bed. “Who are you?!”
The Detective swung around the doorway, expecting to see some stranger standing down the hall and yet he found nothing that dared to greet him, only met with the draft from the failing insulation of the windows, the frozen breeze flitting between the cracks.
Orpheus slowly blinked, further confusion settling deep into his groggy mind. What had just happened? He couldn’t make sense of it. The poor bastard was still so very tired, mayhaps only a few hours passing since the lights in his brain decided to go out; So it’s certain his brain wasn’t working on full capacity here.
The amount of time The Detective stood there dumbfoundedly whilst trying to connect the dots would be embarrassing to admit.
Laying out the things he knew in order seemed to be quite the complex task, and that was due to the fact of how little he truly understood of the situation. For starters, he was supposed to be alone in the old Oletus estate, as it was well hidden from any regular person!- (Of course, that didn't rule out the possibility that what he saw was some strange squatter who accidentally found the manor and made it their new home.) But, that theory had fallen flat on its head with the fact that man looked so undoubtedly similar to the past lover Orpheus had seen in his dreams, including the movement of those cold hands matching the gentle caresses he felt. Of course, he really didn't want to dwell on the misty, apparition-like nature of the stranger with his thoughts glazing over that fact silently, shock preventing him from comprehending the truly paranormal nature of what had happened.
Well…Perhaps as an excuse to not go back to sleep, or maybe because he truthfully was afraid of this odd stranger in the building, The Detective decided to do what he did best and investigate the scene.
Orpheus grumbled quietly to himself about some miscellaneous shoulder pain caused from the way he slept, hobbling back into his room to retrieve his lantern from the desk. Eyes squinting in the pitch-black darkness, he clumsily fumbled around the cluttered workspace, before finally feeling the touch of the cold glass on his fingertips. Taking the handle into his palm with digits wrapping around the metal curve, he paused and stared when he swore he saw the light blink just as he touched the damn thing. Orpheus startled when it flickered to full brightness all on its own, the man unable to remember if there was any lamp oil still left. He paused, doing nothing more than studying the light in his hands.
A blessing is a blessing, I suppose. The Detective thought to himself as he set out into the creaky, abandoned halls of the old manor.
Which led him to now, Shivering in the frosty air of the night, coat held so tightly around himself that one could classify it as a grudge. So far, everything was just about the same as it was when he first came in- Thatbeit, a wreck, but an unchanged wreck. So not a single sign of life, which made the poor Detective think that he was finally past the brink of pure, unadulterated insanity. He was seeing things and hearing voices- None of which were there at all. Maybe this manor would curse him further, as it had already taken all his memories, so why would it not take his sanity too? He could imagine it now- A madman, stumbling from the woods whilst covered in grime and dirt, hair and clothes so ruined he’d look like a ward escapee, babbling about the secrets of an abandoned mansion that only he himself knew of to anyone who’d listen. Oh, the cops would certainly have a fun time with him.
Pacing along the floor as Orpheus let his mind wander from his search for the mysterious figure, He thought of what it would be like if he had truly gone mad here. What if he had fought back against the police in his deranged state, thinking they were demons or monsters of a kind? Would he be shot to death in the streets? Is that how he’d really die? A deranged soul with no hope to be saved, gone mad with secrets and a past that tormented him?- Now, that sounds like it should be a book. What would happen when he met whatever god that was waiting for him? Would they criticize him for actions in a past he couldn't even remember? Send him to hell for things he couldn't even recall doing? Now, the fate of insanity wasn't something he wanted in the grand scale of it all. Oh, now when was I going down these stairs? Ah, Doesn't matter at the moment- Mayhaps he should head back into town when the sun rises, Catch a tram back to his part of the city and finally go back home for a small break, as maybe that's the proper action to take now that he's sure he's going to lose his-
With an unfortunately placed step, Orpheus slipped and fell. And fell. And then fell some more. Tumbling all the way down the stairs, fragile head colliding against the rickety old wood, along with his lantern shattering into absolute bits. Before the poor soul even realized what was happening, He was lying at the bottom of the stairs in a pool of broken glass, as unable as a wretch to pull himself up off the ground. His head was pounding, vision blurring over, cheek stinging like hell; Likely cut on one of the many glass shards dappling the floor.
As his consciousness began to slip from him no less than the second time that night, he swore he could see a figure at the top of the stairs- moving closer with every second that his vision faded from him. The last thing he’d see would be that very same figure leaning down over his body, before he fell into the emptiness of unconsciousness.
~~
Frederick let out an airy sigh. He’d been confined to this cursed place for ages with all the other poor souls that had died here, and the first sign of life that they get is the exact same bastard who had caused this mess. Orpheus was older, now, and just about as sharp as a marble; Along with being ugly as a toad. He used to be so very pretty, Frederick thought as he caressed the forehead of the unconscious man. But, alas, his karma came to him in the way he aged. What a shame.
The ghostly composer traced a thumb along the sharp cut in the Detective’s cheek, blood freezing under the pad of his finger. Frederick blinked slowly, turning to glance at the remains of the shattered lantern splayed around the man’s body. It looked nothing less than a crime scene, how ironic. And after all that effort Frederick had put into lighting the damn thing!- The utter nerve of this man.
The Composer's face fell flat as he leaned his head down onto Orpheus’ chest. He could hear the faint life force running through him- The pump of blood through his veins, the swirling of frigid air in his lungs, and the beating of his beautiful, idiotic heart. Yet it seemed to slow with every second; And with that- Frederick smiled, smiled brighter than he had in years.
Despite the other ghosts around the manor, None of them seemed as sentient as Frederick was. Always mourning and moaning, or just repeating the events that lead up to their death for the rest of eternity. He couldn’t carry much of a conversation with others, truly. It was boring, a slog, and any other negative adjective he could think of. In the first two years of being dead, he played the piano quite excessively here, and that is just about all he did. Well, until it had fallen out of tune with age. He really did try his best to fix the problem himself, but there’s only so much you can do when you’re incorporeal.
Frederick would rather die all over again than play the disgusting racket that would come from an out-of-tune piano. So, instead, he passed the time by doing utterly nothing other than recalling his life’s events a thousand times over, and wallowing in the emotions he’d never feel again. He’d tried to escape, to pass on, to do any number of things to escape this purgatory he was trapped in; Yet, no dice.
So it would suffice to say that he’s lonely. Incredibly lonely.
His fondest memories were the ones with Orpheus. The times they shared (either playing mind games with eachother, or kissing passionately in horse stables) were some of his favorite things to recall. He hated Orpheus, yet the Novelist made his heart softer than anyone else could ever have made it, and that made Frederick hate him even more.
And now he can look at that stupid, ugly, and disgusting face that he’s longed for, for a good majority of his afterlife. Oh, the poor composer couldn’t help himself. He carded his fingers through the scraggly mess of his former-lover’s hair, mirroring what he’d always do when they were together in the past. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel Orpheus. But the phantom could feel his heart swelling in his chest with all of these unbridled emotions, love, anger, sadness, and anything you could put a name to; Likely with some things you couldn’t. Tears welled in his eyes.
“I hope you die, Orpheus.” His voice was quiet, misty and echoing through his own mouth; Nothing but the pain he felt saturating every inch of his being. “Oh, How I hope you die.”
He heard the sharp intake of breath from beneath him, so Frederick sat up, pushing his tears back and doing nothing but gazing at the Detective with a stone cold face. Orpheus then coughed, a wild sort of terror in the glassy shine of his eyes.
“W..What?” The Detective’s voice trembled, head throbbing as his brain worked on overdrive to try and figure out what exactly was going on here.
“You heard me, Orpheus..” Frederick sighed, a gentle, phantasmic, freezing hand cupping the man’s uninjured cheek. “I said, ‘I hope you die’. I’m quite lonely.”
The spirit could practically see the gears turning in the man’s head in real time.
“You’ve gone and left me here all alone for all of these years, Darling. You can’t expect me to not harbor any resentment for you at all.” The composer started, a soft and sad smile on his face. How he missed him.
“You’re a ghost.” Orpheus stated the obvious with this disbelief in his voice, like what he was seeing wasn’t real. Yet, Like Frederick said before, Orpheus was just about as sharp as a marble. “How?..”
The phantom rolled his eyes, grin turning cheeky. “I died. That’s how you become a ghost.”
“No, No. How...- How is this possible?” The Detective stuttered and stammered, headache increasing tenfold as he tried to define exactly what was happening, and the mental boxes he was trying to shove this event into were nowhere near the box labeled ‘Paranormal Activity’, so it was certain that he couldn’t make sense of it.
“Oh, Orphy..” Frederick’s voice was tinged with pain, The old petname bringing back a flood of memories. “The man I used to know could’ve come in here and solved exactly what happened in no less than twenty minutes flat. What happened to you, My love?”
The Detective’s cheeks brightened with red blush, eyes struggling to focus in on the misty apparition in front of himself. “I…uhm..- I, I apologize if this is awkward, but I…I do not know you, Sir. My memories have slipped from my fingertips like silk and dissipated like the wind. I do not believe I would be able to recall you properly, even if I tried.”
Frederick stayed utterly silent, removing his hand from the Detective’s face. Orpheus did not remember- Of course, he could not. He wanted to wail and scream and let out the decades of pain and isolation in that very moment. The air was utterly frigid around them both, and the Composer knew it was all fault of his own. He loved Orpheus. He hated Orpheus.
This was not Orpheus.
“Ah.” The phantom started, adjusting the collar of his own shirt. “I suppose things happen on occasion. Tell me about yourself then, Orpheus.” It was awkward. Frederick loved this poor man so very much, and whoever had taken up the husk of his beloved’s body just couldn’t remember who he was...Oh, he just couldn’t handle it.
“I’ve been told I’m not supposed to give information about myself out to things like you.”
“That’s the fae, Orpheus. And the thing you’re not supposed to be giving out is your name. I already happen to know it- At least, your pseudonym. You kept your real name under lock and key.”
The Detective chuckled, then winced from the aches wracking his body. He pushed it aside, brain stuck on autopilot while talking to the spirit. “Ah..It seems you know me better than I know myself.”
Frederick was silent for a moment.
“I used to. I used to know you closer than anyone. I loved you, if you couldn’t tell.”
The silence then fell onto Orpheus. It weighed down heavy on him like a bag of stones; Every implication of those words had their own weight, own meaning. The man breathed out a sigh, the throbbing pain in his head no help when trying to think of how to respond.
“I…Well, I suppose I can tell you I’m much more of a nobody, now. A wreck, a wretch, and any other synonym you can think of. I just want to know what happened.”
“If I told you, You wouldn’t believe me, Orpheus.” The Composer twiddled his fingers. “What happened here is out of the question of any sort of normal.”
“Well. If I know one thing about unbelievable things, It’s that I’m talking to a ghost.”
“I…I just cannot tell you. It is not my place to say the kinds of things that you have done. To others, and to myself. It’s unspeakable.” Frederick closed his eyes, form wavering for a moment. “In fact, We were sworn into secrecy about what happened in this manor. A grand prize, games, and death. And that’s all I may say. I shouldn't be telling a stranger.” He emphasized, a slight bitterness in his tone.
“But...I still caused it?”
The Composer bowed his head low, breath an icy sigh. “I thought you would’ve known. I really thought you would have.”
Silence wrapped them both up again, The phantom refusing to meet the man’s eyes. They were quiet for a very, very long time. Time moved so slowly, that even the first glint of sunlight that began to shimmer through the broken windows seemed like it would never come. But it did, and the sun would rise again like every morning and Frederick wouldn’t see the world until nightfall once more.
“I don’t have much time, you know.” Frederick finally glanced back down at the Detective. “You should haul yourself off of the ground and quit being so pathetic for a moment, Mister Orpheus. I cannot idle here and babysit you.”
Orpheus chuckled, groaning as he sat up. “It’s a miracle that I’m even alive, good sir.”
“I really wish you weren’t.” Frederick rolled his eyes, a light chuckle leaving his throat. His form flickered as he moved, now standing on the stairs. Orpheus cleared his throat, feeling just the slightest bit threatened by the phrase.
The Detective rubbed his head, legs shaking as he tried to regain his bearings. He felt like he was going to hurl right then and there. He stuck a hand out, seeing if the spirit would help him up. “Hey, could you?..-”
Frederick just blinked.
“ Orpheus. ”
“Oh, Uhm. Right. My apologies, then.” The man instead turned to grab onto the railing by the stairs, pushing himself upright with a grunt. His body shook with the effort of the action, bones and brain practically screeching at him to stop.
He huffed, staring at Frederick’s translucent frame. The ruffed cuffs of his shirt, the tailored way his slacks clung to his legs, the silver curls of his hair that draped down like the branches of a weeping willow. Orpheus could see that why in another life, he did love this man. He just…Wished that he could remember who this was. He could still feel the flutters in his heart just by looking at him, true, but those feelings were so far away from him now. If I could just…
“...I apologize for not asking sooner, but may you please tell me what your name is?..”
Frederick would’ve answered in a heartbeat, If he could. If he could, aswell, he would have reached right into Orpheus’ chest and yanked out his soul by pure force alone; Then he would’ve went ahead and slapped him no less than twice and kissed him no less than thrice. His feelings were a whirlwind. Did he still love Orpheus? Or did he want this stranger out of his 'home'? He couldn't make up his mind.
But the sun was too far up at this point to do much at all. Frederick tried to mumble out his name, to tell his former darling who exactly he was, but all that came from his throat was an incomprehensible flurry of whispers.
Sad is the life of a spirit.
Orpheus squinted, watching as the phantom faded before his eyes. It looked like he was trying to reach out, to say goodbye, to something of the sort- But those gorgeous hands vanished along with the rest of him. The only thing there was, was now the dust in the air and the sun in sky. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be done. That was just how things happened to end, today. The Detective turned and stared down at his hands, his calloused and aching palms, scratched up by the glass shards that littered the floor. He doubted himself, just then. All of that was surely a conjuring of a sleep-deprived, concussion-addled brain. I’ve gone mad. Nothing less than it. Orpheus reassured himself in a halfhearted manner. Ghosts weren’t real in the end, and he was just simply a crazy person- Hallucinations brought on by rotten caffeine, lack of rest, and a thousand other things but the truth of the matter.
Orpheus should really just go home for the day. Cut it here for a while, and come back once he’s sane again.
He doubted he ever actually would, though. This place was cursed, and he'd rather bury his past in a shallow grave, Just from what his 'hallucinations' implied to him.
~~
Nameless faces stared at him as he rode the tram, The Detective casually coughing into his hand to ease the tension. He was disheveled, probably in need of a shower, and that fresh cut on the cheek did him no favors. He put himself through hell, staying at that manor.
Orpheus got off a stop earlier than he should, just to cut himself loose of that net of judging stares, and he practically booked it down the block towards his little apartment complex. He felt like he wasn’t in his body whatsoever; The Detective felt like his brain was melting out of his eardrums.
He wasn’t thinking clear when he left those dusty, ruined halls of the manor. He well knew that when you leave a haunted place, you pay your respects to the spirits and tell them that they have no permission to attach themselves to you, follow you home. He’d done it many times in the past, less out of belief in the paranormal, but more out of habit and superstition.
Well, just this once, he’d happen to forget. He’d end up forgetting more than that little phrase, though- Poor Orpheus had forgotten his house key back at the manor. He looked like a madman, rummaging through his pockets trying to find that particular little piece of steel. He was sure people were staring now. Orpheus jiggled the doorknob frantically, chewing his lip from stress.
He let out a relieved laugh when on the third try, the lock disengaged. Now, he was free to finally shove himself back into his isolated little hovel and pass out three steps after rushing inside. Oh, ‘home, sweet home’ was a phrase Orpheus had taken for granted right up until now.
Poor Frederick didn’t even get a ‘thank you’ after closing the door for him.