The sun was shining as she walked. She was thirsty, so thirsty. She pawed at her throat, trying to ask for water from the passers by but finding no voice to call her own. She stumbled over a stone on the sidewalk. The scent of dust and iron assaulted her as she tripped over someone's polished leather boot. She turned sideways, her face to the ground. A large house rose in her vision. It's unpainted exterior was unassuming and abandoned, but the bright tulips that flowered in their beds suggested an owner. She pushed herself up and swayed on the iron tiles leading up to the door. A sign hung: A. J. LOCKWOOD & C O ., INVESTIGATORS AFTER DARK, RING BELL AND WAIT BEYOND THE IRON LINE. She knocked on the door, leaning on the hard wood. When a portly boy with glasses opened the door, he found a small girl collapsed on the front step.
George took off his glasses, rubbed them assiduously and pushed them back his nose. The girl-shaped heap remained. "Lockwood!" he called. "We have a customer!" Lockwood strode with importance to the door and blinked when he saw the girl. Lucy came rushing soon after Lockwood, carrying a tray of Swiss rolls in case, dropping them when she saw what was there.
"Lockwood? Do you know her?" Lucy whispered.
Lockwood whispered back, "Not to my recollection."
"Well," George said. They stared at her for a bit, then with a jolt remembered common sense. Lockwood lifted the girl up, finding her dangerously bony and light. No, he amended, not exactly light, she was starting to weigh heavy in his arms. "She feels malnourished," Lockwood announced. He looked to George. "George, could you make a sandwich or something? She'll probably be hungry when she wakes." George took off like fire was nipping his heels. Lucy shifted from leg to leg, uncomfortable. She was never any good in these sorts of situations.
"Do you need me to do anything?" she asked. Lockwood nodded to the couch.
"Set it up with blankets, and get me ice," he said, and Lucy took off. Blankets, blankets. She went to the laundry closet and found herself assaulted by George's dirty clothes.
"Dear lord, George, you just keep getting more disgusting," she grumbled, shoving piles of clothes stained with suspect and foul smelling substances. A stack of clean sheets had somehow remained clean atop the dryer, and she swiped them along with a blanket of Lockwood's and a large sweater of George's that was actually clean. Lucy ran back to the parlor, finding Lockwood waving something under the girl's nose as she lay on the couch.
Lockwood looked up and smiled, "Thanks, Luce. Put everything on the couch when I lift her up." He took the girl up once more and Lucy laid the various blankets and sheets out on the couch. Lockwood set the girl back down. He started waving the bottle of something pungent under her nose again. Lucy stroked the girl's forehead, hoping something would wake her. The girl's eyelids fluttered, then opened as a crash sounded from the kitchen. Strings of profanity echoed into the parlor as George dashed in from the kitchen. He held a plate something that resembled a ham sandwich, but had the insides mushed over to one side and the bread flattened.
"The skull's jar fell on it," he said simply, and Lucy would have laughed had she not been preoccupied.
The girl eyed the sandwich. George held it out, and she snarfed it down faster than a wolf. She barely swallowed, just chewed and chomped relentlessly. Only after every vestige of the once-sandwich was gone did she finally look up and around. "Water?" she croaked. George ran back and again, bringing a glass that had sloshed down his front. The girl gulped it down without choking. She breathed in, then out. She looked up at Lucy. "Where?" she rasped.
Lucy bit her lip, uncertain how to proceed, when Lockwood answered for her. "Thirty-five Portland Row. This is Lockwood and Company's Investigations for paranormal issues." The girl blinked.
Lucy said, "This an agency that fights ghosts." The girl's brow unknit and she smiled.
"That's good," she said, her voice beginning to return. "Who are you?"
"I'm Lucy Carlyle," Lucy said, pointing to herself, "and that's Lockwood and George Cubbins. But who are you? You collapsed in front of our house."
The girl frowned. She thought for a while, then answered, "Eva. My name is Eva."
"Well, Eva," Lockwood said, " would you care to tell us how you wound up on our front porch?"
Eva shook her head. She hesitated, then said, "I don't really remember. It all seems kind of fuzzy."
Lucy stared in sympathy. "Well, you can probably stay here until you remember, if that's okay with Lockwood," she said, looking to him. Lockwood ran a pale hand through his dark hair, sighed, then conceded. Lucy smiled. Eva was looking at her hands, covered in dust and grime. She touched her head and recoiled slightly from the feeling of grease and caked mud. "Do you want to bathe?" Lockwood asked and she nodded. She tried pushing herself up, but found her arms without strength and she quickly collapsed the five centimeters she had gained.
"I can carry her," Lockwood said, which earned a sharp look from Lucy. "I'll do it," she said, taking Eva out of the parlor. Lockwood frowned. "What did I say?" George hid his grin behind a pudgy hand. Lockwood glared at him.
"Would you have stood outside the door or carried her into the bath, too?" George asked with an innocent look on his face. Lockwood flushed, then turned to George, who suddenly felt the jittery need to hide.
Lucy waited as the tub filled. She wasn't sure Eva could stand up for a shower, so a bath was the next best thing. "Can you wash yourself?" she inquired. "Yes," Eva replied. Lucy stared at the way Eva's knees were wobbling, even when she sat on the stool. "Are you going to drown if I leave?" Eva shook her head hesitantly. Lucy felt her heart soar when she looked at Eva. She resembled her younger sisters, doe-eyed and thin-boned. Lucy reached up to the shelf of the shower and grabbed a slick bar of soap and shampoo and conditioner that were still wet from everyone's morning shower. "Are these okay?" she asked Eva, who nodded. When the bath tub was full and steaming, Lucy turned off the faucet and turned to leave. Eva grabbed the tail of her shirt. "What is it?" Lucy asked. "Thank you," Eva whispered. Lucy turned, smiled in reply, then shut the door behind her as she left.
Eva pulled her thin, worn gray dress up over her head and climbed slowly into the water, sinking deep into the calming depths. She reached for the soap and scraped it against her fore arm. A pale streak appeared amongst the dark. She started scrubbing as hard as she could, until at last the water had clouded and she had been cleansed. She scraped her shampooed fingers against her scalp, feeling weight disappearing from her head. Eva ran her fingers, glossed with more product, through her ratty hair and watched as the dark strands turned the orange gold of honey. Then, with weak but firm legs, she stood up and stepped out of the swirling gray-brown water. With some difficulty she found the plug and pulled, before wrapping herself in a white towel to sit and watch the flow of water drain away.