Something Wicked
--October 27th
"No."
"Come on Mac."
Detective Taylor looked up in surprise, having never once in his life expected Sheldon Hawkes of all people to beg and whine and plead for something so incredibly farfetched and not to mention inappropriate, that for a brief moment Mac was inclined to exercise the 'Get out of my office. Now.' tactic to dissolve the situation.
Farfetched, inappropriate and definitely not the kind of proposition he would have expected from the former ME. But as such was the very thing he was asking for, and Mac, who had so recently informed Sheldon of his constant, vaguely-paternal support, found himself unable and unwilling to push the younger man aside.
"Sheldon," Mac looked at him, giving him the most sincere look possible, "I can't have school children prancing around the morgue, I'm sorry."
"But it won't be a morgue once we're finished with it."
Mac arched a disbelieving eyebrow and stood on his disbelieving feet to give Hawkes a disbelieving stare.
"You don't have to look so... suspicious," Sheldon shuffled his feet.
"Suspicious isn't really the word."
"Ah, right," he cleared his throat, "Listen, I already talked to the Coroner, and besides, the morgue's been empty for weeks."
"For renovation, Sheldon."
"Well yes, but now that that's finished, and we won't be getting any new bodies..."
"You already have my answer."
Sheldon sighed and bowed his head in thought. He looked at the glossy paper in his hand, his face screwing up momentarily.
The Haunted Morgue – Fright Night for All Ages.
Hosted by the New York City Crime Lab.
All proceeds to charity.
It had all seemed like such a good idea at the time.
--October 28th
"Why the long face, Sheldon?" Stella joked and then grew serious when his only response was a mild sigh, "What's going on?"
She placed a warm hand on his shoulder and looked down at the case file he'd been reading, "Work getting to you?"
"That's not it," Sheldon replied, significantly deflated, he tossed the file on her desk and turned sharply to leave the room.
"Hey, Sheldon," she followed him out into the hallway and walked briskly so that she could whisper to from just behind his shoulder without making too big of a scene, "Talk to me."
"It's stupid."
"Sheldon," she snapped, and in a single bound was in front of him, nose-to-nose, her sharp blue eyes piercing into his brown ones.
He noticed, briefly, but appreciatively, the way she stood poised right in front of him, at her wit's end, the static from the encountered crackling about as the curls of her hair trembled. This was a woman on a mission, and he had to admire her for that. There would be no crossing Stella Bonasera.
"Okay," he surprised her by stepping into a nearby corner and tugging the sleeve of her sweater so that she followed him, "But you can't tell Mac okay? I promised I would drop it..."
Stella's eyes lit up with an unmistakable sparkle, it was that curious, ferocious glow that despite their blue-green colour, made her eyes turn amber and scarlet, like the leaves that whirled in endless circular gyres just outside the lab and down into the streets. She grew increasingly intrigued with every uncertain twitch of his face. What ever could it be that he was hiding?
Hawkes was perhaps one of the most cautious, most conscientious, most diligently honest people Stella had ever met – in and outside of the lab. He was more tactful that Danny, less impulsive than Lindsay, had greater confidence than Adam, yet less than that of Sid, and was apparently more devious than Stella had every imagined. What with the sly smile on his face that was growing larger with every passing second.
"Okay, it's killing me. I won't tell Mac, I promise."
Hawkes dug through his pocket and retrieved the poster that he had folded quickly and shoved in his pocket earlier out of frustration. Stella was careful in returning it to its former state, unwrapping it like it was some priceless, thousand-year-old piece of parchment paper and not part of the gig that Hawkes tried pitching to Mac.
"A Haunted Morgue?" Stella frowned, until her gaze flew across the next two lines, "Hosted by the New York City Crime Lab? Are you serious?"
"I was thinking five dollars per person... you know that orphanage down the street?"
"Yeah, the Hope House or something?"
"Right, well-"
He was cut off when suddenly a flurry of corkscrew curls were thrust into his face as Stella Bonasera threw herself at him.
It only lasted a few moments, and Sheldon was glad for that, a few moments later and he could feel the eyes of passerby's sticking to them. He could make out a few small murmurs around them, a couple giggles, indignant snorts and one strangely familiar wolf whistle.
"Um... Stella?"
He thought for a moment that she was about to cry. She probably was. And if she wasn't, her eyes had at least misted over with a few tears that would go unshed.
"Sheldon, this is a wonderful idea."
His smile lit up the corridor, "Really? You think so?"
"Of course I think so. It's not like anyone else is using the morgue. This is a great way to save the orphanage."
A brief pang of sorrow nicked at his mind at her heartfelt comment, but it wasn't the time for that.
"Yeah well..." he brushed his fingers over the edge of the poster still in her grip, "I already-"
"Did you speak to Sid?"
"Well yes but-"
"And the contractor?"
"Yes, he was fine with it."
"Then what-"
"Mac."
Silence.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Stella's face screwed up in thought, a stray curl falling loosely into her face. He was unused to seeing her like this, pondering deeply upon subject matter that had nothing to do with an investigation. It was almost refreshing.
"Well, this won't do," she shook her head, "This won't do at all."
"That's what I was trying to say... I can't understand why he wouldn't agree with it."
"Oh," she rolled her eyes and began to walk, motioning for him to follow her, "Don't even start with that."
"Why?"
"Because it's pointless," she said, irritated, as though it had been blatantly obvious, "Once Mac Taylor makes up his mind, it's impossible to get him to change it."
"Right," Sheldon replied dejectedly.
"So, I'm going to sign the form for you."
"You're... what?"
"You have a proposal, right?"
"Well... yeah..."
"Let me see it."
He whipped out the unopened envelope from his back pocket and cracked a smile as Stella snatched it from his grasp and proceeded to rip it open. She scanned the letter, originally addressed to Mac, and nodded here and there, murmuring to herself unintelligibly.
"You need a moderator," Stella said quietly, then whipped out a pen from nowhere and signed hastily.
"Um... are you sure this is okay? Don't we need Mac's approval."
Stella shrugged, "Like I said, you need a moderator. I'm a moderator. I'll moderate."
"And... you're sure Mac's not going to have a problem with this?"
"I would be disappointed if he didn't. But we'll deal with that when the time comes."
With that she was gone, her dangerously high heels clicking loudly behind her. Sheldon could only watch in further admiration. The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach gradually faded away, as he found himself less and less concerned with what Mac would say when he found dozens of little ghouls and goblins meandering around the vacant morgue on Hallowe'en night.
After all, come hell or high water, nobody ever crossed Stella Bonasera.
--October 29th
Sid Hammerback was nearly overflowing with excitement. His phone felt weighted and heavy in his pocket, but brimmed with the same kind of feeling. It contained Sheldon's brief but informative message. And after listening to it – repeatedly – Sid Hammerback could only think one thing: It's finally happening.
A Haunted Morgue, his eyes sparkled, the same way Stella's had. After spending so many hours digging through the tragic remains of corpse after corpse, Sid had inevitably ceded some of his spare time to pondering the possibilities of creatures from beyond the autopsy table...
His phone rang, and upon seeing the caller ID, Sid dropped what he was carrying (six latex masks, three bags of chocolate pumpkins and two containers of candy corn) and held the phone to his ear.
"Sheldon!" he exclaimed, "It's about time. I'm at Target, just picking up some stuff for the 31st.
"That's great Sid," Sheldon could taste the other man's excitement through the phone, "It's great that you're so enthusiastic about this."
"Are you kidding? I only wish there were haunted morgues around when I was a kid..."
Sheldon considered this, along with the undertones of regret within the ME's voice, "Uh... Sid... you know that this gig is just that... a gig. The morgue isn't actually haunted."
There was a brief pause in the conversation until, "Sid? Are you there?"
"I'm here."
"Right... well... uh... yeah, it's just a haunted house."
"A haunted morgue."
"But... not a real one, the morgue isn't actually haunted," Sheldon repeated himself, slightly frustrated but also somewhat amused by the ME's fascination with the unknown.
"Did you know that there's partial proof of ectoplasm."
"Sid-"
"It's said to be excreted from mediums during psychic trances."
"Sid."
"What?"
"The morgue isn't haunted. Really. It isn't. I know you spend a lot of time in there... a lot of time, but can we just stick to making this a fun event for the kids."
Sid felt an exasperated groan rising up in his throat, but held back, "Fine. But you know, about a month ago, I was in the morgue, and it was almost three and-"
"Sid. There's no such thing as ghosts. Or spirits. Or poltergeists. Or apparitions, or-"
"Alright. You've made your point Mr. Hawkes. No such thing as the paranormal," Sid grumbled to himself and held the phone to his ear with his cheek as the cashier beeped his items through.
"Good. So you have candy corn right?"
"Among... other things..."
"Great. Make sure you meet up with Stella at the rendezvous point tomorrow morning. Don't be late. We have to stash everything before Mac gets to work."
"About that..." Sid struggled with numerous large bags and headed towards the exit, "You know, he's going to find out about this sooner or later."
"I'm sure we'd all prefer later."
"Right but... when he does find out..."
"Don't worry," Sheldon smiled despite the fact that Sid couldn't see him, "I'll take the blame. It was my idea... I dragged you all into it... anyhow, better run. Talk to you tomorrow."
He hung up before Sid could reply.
--October 30th
"Montana," Danny Messer slid easily into the leather couch in the break room, "What's up?"
"My name is Lindsay Monroe," she replied, her back turned to him as she fixed herself a cup of instant coffee.
"Leave her alone, Messer," Flack appeared in the door way, leaning against the frame as though it was its sole purpose to stand against his weight.
"Flack," Lindsay's face lit up and she turned to the officer, "How refreshing."
"Why thank you, Miss Monroe. You're a sight for sore eyes as well," Flack grinned, probably just to vex Danny, who was looking more and more put-off in his seat.
"Jeez," Danny grimaced and added under his breathe, "It's not like you two are long lost siblings or something..."
"So Flack," Lindsay took a seat on the couch adjacent to Danny's, and motioned for Flack to join them, "Are you doing anything for Hallowe'en."
At that, Flack exchanged looks with Danny whose displeased frown turned into a grin.
"We've got a couple things up our sleeves," said Danny, trying to look nonchalant.
"Oh please," Lindsay rolled her eyes, "Don't tell me you two are dressing up as Siamese cats."
"We won't."
"In fact," Flack's grin shrunk into a mysterious smirk, "We're not telling you anything."
"What?" Lindsay's gaze flew from one man to the other, "What are you planning."
"Just know that it's something unlike anything you've ever seen before," Danny confirmed, leaning back in his seat.
"I've never seen two grown men dressed up like Siamese cats."
"Somehow, I don't believe you."
"Flack," Mac Taylor, who'd grown increasingly more tense over the past few days poked his head into the room, "Need you in interrogation."
"Duty calls my friends," said the officer, standing up and nodding his head at Lindsay, "I'll see you both later."
Lindsay tried her hardest to ignore Danny once they were alone. It had been weeks, months since their last... questionable encounter, and he hadn't mentioned it at all. After being emotional distraught for about three days, Lindsay had decided to let it sit. Wait for it to come out. She knew Danny, better than he thought she did, and more than anything, she knew that once he reached his breaking point, it would all come pouring out.
But until then, there remained a large, unimaginable distance between them, filled with an unknown number of rushed conversations and awkward silences.
"Have you seen Hawkes around recently? He's been acting a little strange..." Lindsay said, mostly to herself.
Danny did not reply, but not because he hadn't heard, and not because he was ignoring her. It was just that the answer to her statement seemed so obvious to him, it didn't seem worth voicing. Hawkes was undoubtedly the strangest man Danny had ever met. Stranger than Adam, stranger than Sid, stranger than Mac who was somehow completely oblivious to his beautiful second-in-command. But those were different stories. Three different stories, actually, and Danny was mostly just interested in Hawkes.
In Danny's experience most "nice guys" were enigmas. Sheldon Hawkes was no excuse. He didn't drink. He didn't have a girlfriend. He didn't flirt, let alone initiate the brief sexual encounters that Danny had suddenly found himself unable to initiate himself. For whatever reason.
Sheldon Hawkes didn't make mistakes. He didn't talk back to the boss, he wasn't into social gatherings, he wasn't particularly fond of praise, and he consumed anything outside of the four food groups. Sheldon Hawkes may have been the strangest man that Danny Messer had ever met.
He was also the nicest. The most compassionate, the most honest, and the most likely of all of them to be involved in a successful relationship if he would just step out of the goddamn shadows and into the New York City sunlight.
"Are you even listening to me, Danny?" Lindsay's stare cut through him.
"Huh?"
"I said Sheldon's acting weird."
"Sheldon's always weird."
"Sid too."
"Don't even get me started with Sid."
"And Stella?" she arched a pencil-thin eyebrow, and Danny realized he couldn't argue with her there.
"What do you think it is?"
"I don't know..." Lindsay hunched over in thought, "But they've been spending a lot of time around there recently.
A light bulb went off in Danny Messer's head, "What do you say we go check it out."
"Tomorrow. I'm beat."
"Nine o' clock?"
"Done."
October 31st
"I can't believe you guys," Danny Messer ran a hand down his face and tried to physical eradicate his grin.
"Well," Stella stood up, "Are you going to help or what?"
He studied her, nine o' clock in the morning and she was already clad in the evenings... festive wear. She was undoubtedly the sexiest sailor he'd ever seen – she could have easily passed for Aphrodite on Fleet Week.
"Aren't you going to dress up too?" Sid poked his head around the corner, arms overflowing with artificial spider webs, "And where's Lindsay?"
"It's nine in the morning and-" he cut himself off to arch an eyebrow at Sid's outfit, "Star Trek Sid, really?"
"Hey," the ME smoothed an invisible wrinkle on his deep scarlet costume, "It was an incredibly show..."
"Uh-huh. So let me get this straight. You two are turning the morgue into some kind of... haunted house?"
"Yep," came Stella's muffled reply, "Well, us three. It was Hawkes' idea."
"Should've known..." he looked around, "Where's Monta- Lindsay?"
"Getting ready probably, she seemed pretty excited," Sid called, "And wait until you see her costume."
The blood went to his face, and Danny chastised himself. As if he really cared...
The blush on his cheeks said otherwise.
"So are you going to help or what?"
Danny chuckled to himself, and grabbed an handful of fake caution tape from Sid, "Okay, where do I start?"
--
"We were trying to get into the mood," Stella whispered to him, hours later, "You know, by dressing up early."
"Sure. I bet Sid just wanted to see you in that outfit. Alone. With no one else around," Danny snorted.
Stella gave him a patronizing look, "Did you find Lindsay?"
"No."
"Maybe you should go look."
"And maybe, you," he looked around at the morgue, that looked more like a scene from a Silent Hill videogame than anything, "Should figure out how you're going to explain all this to Mac."
"He's right you know," Sid added, "And where's Sheldon?"
Stella ignored the question, "Mac'll be fine once he gets here. If he gets here. You know... he doesn't technically have to find out."
"I think that crowd of kids out there, and the posters we practically dumped from the roof are a pretty good clue," at the corner of his eye, Danny just barely made out the sweeping black cape coming towards them, following promptly by a mass of frills.
"Well aren't you two an odd couple," Stella commented, mostly just to gauge Danny's reaction, which was mostly made up of incredulousness and disbelief.
"Blood," Hawkes said simply, flicking his cape and showing off the artificial fangs he'd managed to track down.
"And you are?" Sid turned to Lindsay... or who may have been Lindsay.
"Well isn't it obvious?" Stella interrupted, "She's Little Bo Peep."
Danny turned to her, "Lost your sheep huh?"
Lindsay smirked, the big, elaborate skirt swishing around her ankles as she faced him, "'Fraid so. He's about ye high, and answers to the name-"
"Sheldon Hawkes," came a new voice, from the entrance.
"What?" Stella frowned.
"Hmm..." Sid, whose eyes had suddenly taken on a worried look, leaned over and tapped Sheldon on the shoulder, "Remember that part we didn't discuss?"
"What do you mean?"
"The part where Mac finds out, while the rest of us are standing in the morgue, in full costume, on Hallowe'en night, when the morgue is supposed to open in fifteen minutes?"
"Oh."
"Oh?" the firm footsteps of the first officer tapped towards them with purpose, "What do you mean, 'oh'? Sheldon?"
Five pairs of eyes turned to the vampire, who was surprisingly, unfazed by the attention, "Alright, so it was my fault."
"And that's all you have to say?" Mac's voice was hard and undecipherable – there was no way to tell if he was going to burst out laughing or whip out a machete.
Then again, on this night of nights, neither option was entirely farfetched.
"You were supposed to clear this with a moderator..." Mac sighed, somewhat defeated, but obviously not angry, "And where's Danny?"
"Maybe the living intestines got to him," Sid shrugged as though he was speaking of a pleasant afternoon.
They shot him a patronizing look, save for Lindsay, who looked thoroughly disgusted, "Sid, did you rig a door with intestines?"
"Not real ones of course."
"Of course."
"... oh come on. I never get to have any fun."
Mac brushed aside a thick web of... he didn't even want to know what it was made of, and looked out down into the streets, "Well... your promo team sure did a good job. You've got an entire zombie parade out there."
"Little zombies," Stella corrected, "Little zombies who are going to pay five dollars each to explore the haunted morgue. With proceeds to charity."
"I suppose there isn't much I can do to stop you now," Mac replied, deflated, but at the same time relieved that this shenanigan might actually do the city some good.
"You're damn right there isn't," Sheldon grinned a vampire grin.
"Don't push it."
--
Close to midnight, Sheldon Hawkes found himself happily exhausted. As he swept away the dirt and leaves from outdoors that littered the morgue floor, he thought about the evening.
Except that there wasn't a whole lot to think about. Success. That was all that he really cared about.
Lindsay was off in the next room, picking up fallen bits of candy and shoving them into a bowl for the break room and Sid... Sid was off... cleaning up intestines or something. Sheldon smiled. Those had been a big hit with the kids. He decided that they should've listened more to Sid, he may have been the youngest of them all.
In fact, the warm feeling he'd experienced as kids had poured into the morgue, their parents thrusting money at Sid, that Sheldon had hardly noticed the disappearance of Stella and Mac. He dismissed the thought with a mild chuckle, wondering if Mac had gone off to sulk in a corner, Stella rubbing his shoulders and consoling him for almost no reason. Except one. And he wasn't about to go into that.
After all, they hadn't been the only ones who'd disappeared.
"I can't believe Danny just ditched us like that," Lindsay stumbled into the room, the last of the candy in her hands, "Honestly."
Sheldon shook his head. Just as he was ready to pack it in, the morgue sufficiently rid of all festivities and decorations, the second-greatest surprise of the night stumbled gracelessly into the room.
"Adam?" Sid appeared.
Adam groaned and wiped his brow with his sleeve, "This had better be worth it."
"Where have you been all night?" Lindsay placed her hands on her hips and stared him down.
"Introducing..." Adam rolled his eyes and stepped aside to clear the doorway, "The... Breakfast Club..."
Lindsay's mouth fell open in shock.
Sheldon did the same.
Sid chuckled in amusement, "You two..."
"You don't like?" Flack asked quizzically, the cardboard box surrounding him preventing him from stepping forward into the light.
"Cereal?" Sheldon laughed nervously, "I can't believe you... "
"You have to admit, it's pretty damn original," Flack argued with a smile.
"Well, we could have an early breakfast, " Sid smirked, "Did you bring any bowls?"
"Hello," Danny glared, "I'm dressed up like a breakfast item too."
"Well yeah but... 2% milk isn't as exciting as sugary cereal," Lindsay covered her mouth with her hands, hoping to hide the smile that was beginning to form.
"Face it. They love me," Flack beamed, the box crackling as he stepped towards them.
"How'd you find such a huge box anyways?" Sid asked, examining him.
"Don't even ask," snapped Adam, whose hands were covered in dry paint and glue, "You have no idea how much I went through to help these two out with their costumes."
"And yet, you don't have one yourself," Sheldon chimed in, "Although, you kind of resemble a struggling artists... why don't you take this... um, intestine, here, and go hold it up on a street corner? That screams 'misunderstood masterpiece'."
"You're damn right it does," muttered Sid, "But you can't have my intestines..."
Silence.
"My artificial intestines."
"What happened to Mom and Dad?" Danny interrupted, prompting a much-needed change-of-subject.
"You mean Mac and Stella?" Sheldon motioned to the abandoned sailor's hat on the floor nearby, "Off to brave the great unknown probably."
"You mean, Mac's off brooding in a corner because you guys turned the morgue into a haunted house, and Stella's trying to force-feed him candy corn?" Flack reached up to itch his neck and realized that the box prevented him from doing so, "I have to get out of this costume..."
"Wait!" Stella appeared at the doorway, a disgruntled but vaguely bemused Mac Taylor in tow.
"Well, there goes that theory," Flack mumbled.
"I just have to get a picture!" called Stella.
Mac Taylor observed the odd group as they shuffled into position, Flack and Danny at the back (much to Flack's protest), Sheldon's fangs dangerously close to Lindsay's lace-clad neck, and Sid, handing Adam an artificial intestine as though it was the Nobel Peace Prize.
"W-wait, let's just think about this for a minute," Danny stuttered, as he was beginning to feel somewhat self-conscious, parading around dressed like a calcium-rich, dairy product.
"Oh, let it go," Lindsay wrapped her free hand – the one that wasn't wrapped around her shepherd's crook – around Danny's back... or at least, she tried to, "Happy Hallowe'en."
Stella raised the camera, giddy at the thought of immortalizing this night, but before she could take the picture, the device was snatched from her grasp.
"You didn't think I was going to just let you sit out on this one?" Mac's smirked, his eyes laughing, "Get in there."
"But Mac, that wasn't part of the-"
"Go."
"This-"
"My team, my rules," he shrugged and pushed her into the frame of the shot, "Smile."
Click.
November 1st
Sheldon Hawkes walked into the lab on the first of November with a renewed sense of pride written all over his face. He held his head high, – but not too high – greeted the secretaries, as he walked through the corridors, eyes sparkling.
All this, and more, came crashing down when he noticed the crowd of people, lab techs, interns, and those very same secretaries he'd greeted just that morning, all outside of Mac Taylor's office. This was suspicious, especially because Mac Taylor wasn't in his office. He was standing outside, a satisfied smirk across his face.
Amongst the sea of people, Sheldon recognized one vaguely familiar face. Danny Messer staggered away from the crowd, face white, knuckles clenched.
"Messer, you okay?" Sheldon asked, partially uncertain of whether or not he even wanted to know the answer.
"Apparently," Lindsay appeared from nowhere and rubbed calming circles into Danny's back, "Mac's sense of humor constitutes as holiday spirit."
"What?" but they were gone, Danny trailing sorrowfully behind Lindsay, who laughed nervously and shook her head.
Sheldon, intrigued, stepped forward. He expected the rush of people, pushing and shoving, to deter him from his goal, but as soon as he stepped into the crowd, the commotion stopped. All eyes turned to stare at him. Shocked by the silence, and the small space that formed to allow his passage, Sheldon looked over his shoulder, and the shoulders of countless others, to see Mac Taylor, grinning like the cat that caught the cream. Behind him, Stella was muttering curses to herself in Greek, but there was no doubt that the red gradient consuming her face was a result of some feeling other than anger.
Finally, he could wait no longer... Sheldon turned back to the office, and through the solid, transparent walls, he saw the work of the devil.
A large part of him was inclined to scream and yell and throw a fit at the giant, blown-up picture of what looked like seven of New York's finest, proudly masquerading around like a bunch of college freshmen.
But then he realized, fair was fair.
The crowd, disappointed with Sheldon's calm, cool demeanor, gradually broke apart, each person slowly drifting back towards his or her own dreary task, until only Sheldon remained, staring at the photo.
Mac approached him tentatively.
"Happy Hallowe'en Sheldon Hawkes," he said, his voice calm and even and maddeningly good at hiding the triumphant smile that he would have loved to have been wearing.
Then he was gone, leaving Stella and Sheldon tense in his wake.
"So," Stella nodded gently, "He... he really got us."
"You planned it."
"Right, but..." she smiled, "It was all in good fun."
"Of course."
"You don't seem too upset anyhow."
"I wasn't dressed up as a milk carton."
"Oh," she tossed her head to one side and chuckled, "Danny will get over it."
"Or he'll get revenge."
"..."
"Unless we get it first..."
Stella looked at him closely, and was startled when he stared back, the same mischievous gleam in his eye as before.
"What do you mean, Sheldon. Halloween's over."
"You're right," he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her sincerely, "But there's always Christmas."
fin.
October 2008.