all used up

He has to shrug the strap from his camera underneath Tommy’s hand, making him hold the least bit closer to reassure Tommy he isn’t shrugging him off. Not that he needs Tommy to hold onto him; he can let go any time he pleases. That’s obvious, right? Please let that be obvious.

He nods along to Tommy’s response. “And on the off-chance it isn’t somethin’ supernatural, we could at least poke ‘round ‘n see if anyone who got mixed up in Josie’s…” murder doesn’t quite feel like the right word, “death might’a left somethin’ behind. Somethin’ that might give us a clue who it was… Or what.” He’s halfway through a particularly long inhale when he catches Tommy’s question, brows raising. “Uh… I could use the camera case… Doe could… smother someone with a blanket?”

( @ofdollparts· )

Maybe she should wait in the car. Mention something about feeling nauseous; that much isn’t exactly a lie. There’s a swarm of angry bees attacking the inside of her chest, making it feel tight, heart uncontrollably erratic.

She’s caught up trying to formulate an excuse, her grip on the whiskey bottle white-knuckled and borderline painful when Jaylen pops her nickname out of his mouth. Henley looks up, dark brows raised and pale eyes wide. There’s something guilty in her features, something to suggest she’s been caught, before she catches on to what the rest are discussing.

“Torch,” she starts, but her voice cracks, and she’s forced to clear her throat before trying again, “you can always hit them with the torch.”

Dragging her feet after her mother as she explained very, very carefully what kind of white paint was required to fix up Mrs. Evans’ old hallway had been torture. Henley still can’t quite believe how Abel had retained his calm, smile so easy it seemed as natural as breathing, something that hadn’t seemed to please Eleanore one bit.

Her mother’s behaviour may not have embarrassed Abel, but it certainly mortified her daughter. So much so that she’s taken it upon herself to fix him a glass of lemonade and a sandwich, which she walks over to her grandmother’s old home now. It’s strange, returning to the place she’d stayed in most holidays, only to see it remodelled, reissued, recycled.

“Um... Hello?” Henley calls, rapping her knuckles against the open front door before wandering inside, in search of Abel.

Tommy believed that people’s true selves came out when they were coaxed into competition. With some it was difficult, their shells that protected them not allowing themselves to be vulnerable, but with others it came more naturally. Maybe he had a talent for putting people at ease. He would have liked to have thought so anyway. Henley had a radiant competitiveness about her, a hint of innocence and a glint in her eye that told him she really wanted this, but he wasn’t going to give it away so easily. That would only make him untrustworthy, and he didn’t want to make her walls build back up around him.

He barely even noticed his hands on her legs as his face was being smeared with the remnants of his own saliva on her hands. He recoiled with a laugh, grabbing her wrists again as he tried to pull her hands away. “No wonder no one wants to make out with me if it’s that wet.” He joked, ever the self-saboteur. “Are you happy with that? Does that make you feel good?” He teased, wiping down his face with the back of his sleeve.

That’s not true. From what Henley’s heard, there’s a handful of people who are happy to make out with Tommy, and a little more. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t care, but she’s protective of Jaylen, as much as he insists that he got himself into this mess, too.

Which is probably what motivates Henley to purse her lips and narrow her eyes. All totally playful, of course.

Tommy’s memory did not serve him well, it had a mind of its own and it stored information as and when it pleased. He had retained random facts from school but still couldn’t remember if his sister was born on the 16th or the 17th of June. He couldn’t remember his paternal grandmother’s face, he couldn’t tell you what he had for breakfast that morning. But that day, that dress, and that girl; he remembered everything. 

“Yeah.” He laughed almost nervously, wondering if maybe he ought not to. “I’m sure everyone does.” He added quickly to cover his own back, though it probably just made him sound like an ass. He took another large gulp of wine and handed the bottle back to her, but moved too quickly and accidentally spilled some down her front. “Oh shit, that was an accident, I swear.” Terrible timing aside, he started to look for something to help dry her off with, but there was nothing immediately available and he wasn’t a quick enough thinker to find a solution that fast.

Right, of course. Everyone would remember the chilli stains caking not only Henley’s dress, but the floor, too.”I hope not,” Henley chuckles, turning the disappointment in her gaze toward the darkening horizon. Pink hues melt into peach like watercolours spilling across a page.

Something wet and sloppy spills over her front. The shock of cold and its sharp smell makes Henley jerk in surprise, spine tightening and shoulders squaring. Her hands are up, the shape of surrender. She gasps, looking at the scarlet staining the light sky blue of her dress until it darkens like a bruise. That’s not coming out anytime soon.

“Um. It’s... It’s okay,” Henley says, clambering to her feet just so she can unwrap the jumper from around her waist. She turns her back to Tommy, unbuttoning the front of her dress enough for the top half to flutter down, hang from her waist. At least her bra hasn’t fallen victim to any stains. 

Mason laughed, and then answered as though the gurgles of Henley’s stomach had been tangible words. “Yeah, I’m pretty hungry too.” 

She followed along at the other girl’s side, feeling comfortable in their silence. It was never something she was particularly good with, unless it was was strategic. That is, using silence as a way to get an interviewee to utter more nuggets of information – a technique she had picked up from watching copious amounts of Louis Theroux documentaries. But there was nothing at all awkward or weaponized about the silence between she and Henley. In fact, there was something almost peaceful about it. 

“No, it’s okay,” said Mason with a flick of her hand. “Believe me, on the scale of rude things people have done to me that was a solid zero. Don’t even worry about it.” 

She’s a little taken aback by Mason’s reassurance. The information’s fragile like a baby, dumped in Henley’s arms sans prep nor permission. She isn’t altogether sure what to do with it. It’s a kind of candour that Henley always feels awkward around, a sense of overcompensating guilt and responsibility already heavy on her shoulders. It’s automatic when she piles on another load.

nora let out a chuckle, briefly neglecting the stealth demanded by the operation. though, she soon realized it wasn’t that big of a deal; the funeral home was supposedly empty and devoid of cameras – better to let themselves enjoy these tranquil, lighthearted moments given how stressful the recent events had been.

   “huh. that’s pretty clever… i hadn’t actually thought of that,” nora smiled, “i didn’t spot one, but maybe i just wasn’t looking in the right place. maybe it’s all really just magician logistics at play. now that you mention it, i think we should give the casket another look. hell, maybe if we push the pillow with enough pressure it’ll open that trapdoor and lead us down a slide.” while she was piggybacking on henley’s joke, it did seem more plausible than josie having walked out & away herself. maybe henley should’ve been the one inside the home in the first place; she was far more creative than nora would ever be.

  “kinda like videogame options. there’s no wrong answer here, though.” 

   “yup, just like that–” admittedly, nora’s expression had lit up even more when henley agreed to come on in. she nodded at her friend, then gestured. steadying herself, nora then extended out her arms for support. “right this way, m’lady.”

Henley’s brain fills with images of Jaylen laying down in the casket, insisting that it may give him a new perspective to work with. The moment his head hits the pillow, the casket tilts downwards, its base parting much like a trap door dropping open. Jaylen slides down a metal slide, into the darkness below, a terrified yell chasing after him. She snorts. “Maybe don’t tell Jay about that.”

The climb up isn’t complicated. Henley grips onto the window ledge, tongue prodding out the corner of her lips as she hoists herself up. The tiny cracks skittering through the rubber soles of her sneakers gape into wide grins as she uses her toes to scrape herself halfway into the funeral home. The rest of the endeavour she completes with Nora’s help, hands holding onto her arms, and vice versa.

“Thanks,” she breathes, now on two feet. It isn’t any warmer in here than it is outside, but at least they’re free from the wind. Even so, Henley’s arms feel tingly, almost like when one sits too close to a log fire, the blames barely touching skin yet threatening to singe. It’s exciting, and maybe a little scary. Maybe a lot.

Tommy thinks nothing of it when Henley’s hands find his mouth, if anything it only makes him laugh more. He reacts instinctively as he would with anyone he had as close a relationship with and clasps his hands around her wrists, actually holding her hands there for a few moments more so he can lick her palm and bite at her hand. He lets her go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and doing his best to keep himself quiet. “Shut up, right. Got it.” He presses his lips together and shakes out his arms before he’s ready to play again. He tries again but he’s not entirely focused, his hands not as quick as before.

There aren’t that many people capable of luring out Henley’s competitive side. Tommy seems to find it increasingly easy. Proudly crowned the exception, he now has Henley squaring her shoulders, jaw working as she concentrates. There’s still some shine left on her hands, remnants of Tommy’s spit cooling her skin. It strikes a match, the flame flickering in her head much like the tentative idea that comes to her. 

Just as Tommy’s hands swing, Henley jerks hers back. His land on her knees, but she’s busy thrusting her spit-soaked palms out, smearing Tommy’s own saliva over his cheeks and nose.

“Gotcha!” Henley laughs, triumphant. And– sure, maybe that was a little petty, but it’s certainly satisfying. 

Oddly enough, Tommy and Henley were probably closer now than ever before since there was nothing hanging in the balance between them that felt like it wasn’t allowed. Before it was like the two of them couldn’t be alone together without an incredible silence carrying the weight of a thousand things they wanted to say, but Liam had eased that silence. He had made it go away because it wasn’t allowed anymore, and now they could be friends. It wasn’t what Tommy had wanted, but it was easier… wasn’t it?

The bottle to his lips helped push those thoughts aside, the ones that still niggled at him and tried to remind him that he had never really stopped looking at Henley any different. He had to, he assured himself. It wasn’t meant to happen and it never would. “You remember this Spring shit, what, three years ago?” He had no idea why the memory sprang to mind, but there it was. “You were wearing a cute white dress, and someone spilled chilli all over you.” He laughed, sending another swig from the bottle back.

The incident hadn’t come to mind ever since it had passed. Of course, at the time, every so-called friend of Eleanore’s had been mortified, fawning over Henley and practically whisking her away to get her changed. Others had found it funny; Henley’s sure there are probably some forgotten photographs on some folks’ computers, imported only to be abandoned, like the rest of the more fleeting, unimportant memories.

“You remember that?” Henley asks, head cocking curiously to one side. Really, she wants to ask how the hell he remembers the dress– let alone thinking that it’s cute. A nagging thought keeps prodding at her, though, right from the back of her head: Tommy only remembers because of the chilli. 

          Richard takes a long, deep breath, one hand still firmly clutching the handle. Okay. Good to know he isn’t losing his fucking mind. He glances over her appearance, then: blonde hair pulled back in a disheveled ponytail, bleary eyes. Has she been crying?

          “I don’t know. Kinda sounds like it’s everywhere. But ― it’s coming from the inside, maybe,” he mutters, calmer than before, now that figuring out the source of this humming is established as the objective. He’s still creeped out as hell, but finds himself unable to resist the chance to enter the building. It would be sensible to scream and run the other way, perhaps. But this has always been his greatest advantage and, simultaneously, will likely be his downfall ―- willingly stepping into the dark and the unknown, enjoying it, sating that compulsive curiosity of his.

          He tries the door handle again, jerking it up in a certain angle then pushing it with more force. Nope. Still not budging. “Shit, okay,” he huffs to himself, frustrated, then pats down the back pocket of his pants for his wallet. The door looks ancient enough for this trick to work. “Hang on, let me try this―”

          Then, he stops, letting his hand pause mid-air with the laminated gift card clutched in it. “Hey. Hey, Henley, you alright? You look like you’ve been―” Tyler doesn’t finish the sentence, carefully peering down at her face. (Meanwhile, the humming never once halts, beckoning them, beckoning him.) “―Do you want to leave? We can leave. I can take you home.” That’s reverse psychology, and he does feel like a downright asshole for using it now. It’s a bit of a gamble, though, since he has no choice but to oblige if she ends up replying yes. But the fact that she’s still here, lingering around the funeral home in the dark when she herself isn’t even a huge paranormal fanatic, is a testament to some sort of personal motivation. Henley’s here because she wants something ―- an answer, maybe, just like he does.

She snaps out of the initial shock enough to pull her phone out of her pocket, fingers fumbling to unlock it and open up her friends’ Whatsapp group. Tyler Hathaway’s here, Henley types, glancing between her screen and the man’s back to make sure he doesn’t see, we heard something. He’s trying to open the door, be careful.

When Tyler talks again, she jumps a little, fingers scrambling to lock her phone and stuff it back into her pocket. She’s luckily the least bit faster than he is, though her success doesn’t calm the rapid-fire beat of her heart.

The card catches the light glowing from a nearby streetlamp. It winks at Henley. She stares at it, feeling it practically dare her to follow Tyler inside.

His second hey pulls her gaze back to his. Henley blinks, feeling the leftover moisture in her eyes betray Tyler’s silence when he cuts himself off. Of course he notices; of course she isn’t being fucking subtle.

“No, I’m fine,” she promises, words spilling out of her a little too quickly. Her nose is still blocked, but she ignores it, closing the distance to stand next to Tyler. She gestures at the door, “let’s figure this out.”

Without warning, Tommy’s hands move swiftly to gently slap down on the top of hers - minus the ‘gently’ part. He gets a little too into games like these and forgets to hold himself back, and even though he’s already laughing (quite possibly a little too loud given the circumstances of why they’re there), his second instinct is to lean in closer and make sure it wasn’t too hard. “Are you okay?” He at least manages to whisper this time, biting back his laughter as best as he could. He was unrestrained at the best of times, but late at night he truly shone as the odd ball he was.

It’s a shock of cold, jerking Henley’s hands out of the way a microsecond too late. Tingling warmth follows the sting of Tommy’s slap, and she’s having to flick her wrists up and down, trying to throw the sensation off. When he laughs, it’s difficult to feel worried or anxious about anything other than getting caught. Barely thinking, Henley covers Tommy’s laughing mouth with both her hands, hissing out a “ssh!” despite the amusement twinkling in her tired eyes.

But then her hands are dropping, and he’s leaning in, and that conversation with Jaylen comes rushing back to prod at her until she’s squirming.

Luckily she can make it look like a joke, Henley’s hand finding the centre of Tommy’s chest and pushing.

Tommy watched as Henley thought, his eyes almost searching her face for the answer. He didn’t expect her to actually answer as he’d jokingly suggested, but he did wonder what it was came to her mind. What exactly did make her happy? For a time he wondered if it could have been him, but those days were long gone. 

Her answer was enough to make him smile, his gaze shifting to the view out in front of them. Everything always looked so much more enticing at this time of day when the moon was starting to make itself known. Perhaps it was because he had conditioned himself to be a night owl, but Tommy preferred the later hours, and they were even better when spent in good company with a drink between them. “We should get waffles after this.” He grins, turning to look at her once more. “Or whatever you want.” He liked to encourage her to free herself from time to time, hating that look on her face whenever her mother’s claws were in her.

Why don’t we try this new place they just opened– I’m really not in the mood, babe. Okay... Well, we can always try some other time. The menu looked really nice, and maybe we could ask Penelope to come– Seriously? I just said I’m not in the mood. Right. No, yeah. Sorry. Whatever you want.

She’s used to saying it more than she is hearing it. Henley doesn’t know why the memory suddenly pummels its way into her head. She can’t figure it out, too busy bringing the bottle back to her lips. Maybe she can drown Liam’s words and dull their harsh scrape.

Magdalena thought for a moment, that name did ring a bell. “I think I do know them, from church?” She asked, a smile on her lips that begged to be told she was right. “This is a small town, I am always surprised when I see someone I have not met before.” She stepped forward a little, careful not to get in the way of the dogs, and extended her hand with the warmest expression. “I’m Magdalena, by the way.”

The brunette chuckled at the thought. “I wish I was one! That would be so much fun. No, I am actually a caregiver.”

Henley feels her smile pinch awkwardly around the corners. They used to go to church, from what Mrs. Talley had told her, but ever since her husband fell ill, his faith has wavered. He seems to have turned his back on religion entirely, though his impromptu comments sometimes have Henley thinking he’d done that long ago. Only now he was too exhausted to keep up appearances.

“Maybe,” she ends up saying. 

The cool breeze passed over Tommy and sent a small shiver up his spine, but it was one he welcomed. It straightened his spine, sent goosebumps up the back of his neck and reminded him of just why he was so fascinated with Wade. Even it’s breeze could make your hair stand on end. He glanced at their feet dangling precariously over the edge, the risk being contrasted by just how relaxed they seemed to be. Her question turned his head, an almost confused smile on his lips as he pondered. “Hmm,” He hummed, mulling it over for a second before making his decision. “This.” He answered simply, taking the bottle from her and unscrewing the cap, taking a swig before handing it back to her. “Your turn, and you don’t have to say me too, but obviously that’s a great answer.”

“Smooth,” Henley says through her laughter. She watches him drink, the faint glow of the streetlights below, coupled with the dwindling sunlight, casting shadows across Tommy’s entire figure. He doesn’t look real, for a second there, captured in hues of gold and orange like one of Turner’s works: Messy if you get too close, but beautiful from afar.

Henley takes the bottle, dragging her eyes away from him to gaze out at the pink and red clouds. “Hm...” she hums, screwing her lips up into one corner.

“Well, actually,” she starts, “I had some really, really nice waffles on Tuesday...” Henley trails off, as though settling on that particular event. She glances at Tommy with a raised brow and a teasing smirk on her lips, only to grin and shake her head. “No, you’re right, it’s definitely this.” With that, she drinks.

Tommy had no trouble staying awake, in fact most days he was either working late or staying up anyway, so he and the witching hour were well acquainted. Strange happenings tended to prefer the guise of darkness, and Tommy was rather a stranger happening in himself. “No quittin’ on me now.” He smiled, knowing that it may not be as easy for everyone.

A smile was already spread across his lips as her hands met his, and he tried not to question the way she touched him so softly. He had come to understand that there were no ulterior motives with Henley, there never had been, so he had conditioned himself to not overthink it. “I’m ready.” He stared into her eyes, trying to throw her off, unable to stop himself from laughing even though he hadn’t started yet. “Shit, I’m sorry, okay… now I’m ready.” But he still hadn’t made his move. He was just sat with Henley’s hands in his. It was just to build the tension, of course.

Her eyes are on Tommy’s hands for a long while before she’s looking up to meet that steady gaze of his. And Henley hates how it makes something fuzzy land in her stomach. It sinks into the acid bubbling in there, only to float back up into her chest as an anxious little ball. All she can do is swallow and smile.