Just a thing I wanted to do, inspired by the song from the Nancy Drew game, Ghost at Thornton Hall, 'Ladybug Ladybug (Fly Away Home).' I only plan on using the song, not too much of the plot for the game (as it is just the song and this other case we're focusing on). WARNING: SPOILERS FOR THE COMPUTER GAME AHEAD DESPITE MY LAST SENTENCE:
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. *Whistles as we skip ahead anyway*
. You were warned . . . So don't flame me with complaints! Well, don't flame me anyway!
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This was inspired by two things that have bothered me since playing the game (Yes. Yes I HAVE played Nancy Drew games recently. Don't judge me!): If Charlotte was just a hallucination, how did Nancy know what she looked like in that red masquerade ball gown and mask (...But this probably won't be used either way...)? Further more, how did she come up with the lyrics to that song (don't worry, you'll see it later on in this story.)? So, I wrote it as a little more than a coincidence. Anyway, the Hardys' are wrapping up a case of their own at the same time . . . .
A little different from what I'm used to writing, so...read and review! :D This MIGHT turn into a three or four-shot if I feel like it. Maybe slightly AU, I haven't written for the Hardys (or put Nancy in a serious role...) in my past.
I OWN NOTHING! Sue me and you get a dead seahorse named Harold-Ralph and a nickel.
Joe's heart skipped a beat. He drew in a sharp intake of breath, didn't bother to breathe it back out.
It wasn't when they pulled the bodies out of the river.
When they unzipped those black body bags, and Sarah Carane's severed arm fell out onto the sandy beach. The rest of her was either duck-taped together (yes. Duck-taped) or butchered horribly and nastily. Although no one present would ever forget how her eyeball, out of it's socket, was in that little clenched fist, unblinking and absolutely dead.
It wasn't when they pulled out the files on the other cases, when they found the similarities between each victim.
Heck, it wasn't even when they found out what elementary school those little kids went to, how none of the nine victims were even eight years old yet.
So was it when a message went out to everybody that Charlotte Ann McGillis was missing just this afternoon? That was part of it. The Hardy's talked to her personally not two days earlier, asking her questions. She stated Jeb lived alone, and he told her so. He was lonely. This earned an uncomfortable glance between the teenage boys and urged her to go on. Charlotte only shrugged, saying, "He likes us children a lot. Especially Molly. But he's started talking to me more since Evelyn and Rosalie and Jane and the others went to Heaven. He's been talking to everyone else more too, but especially me and Molly," She looked up and smiled at them, "We all like to play with the ladybug nest that's by the slide on the playground! You wanna play with us?"
They both politely declined. Neither could help but notice her ladybug dress, ladybug raincoat, and frog boots.
This information, although plenty creepy, was not enough to move Jeb up on their list to number one suspect. Not enough evidence. "He's probably just a lonely guy," Nancy Drew had stated, "looking for some company. But I would definitely check into his background, if I were you guys . . . Anyway, I won't disturb you anymore than I have to. Good luck! I'm almost to the island," She was on a case to Thornton Hall, on Blackrock Island. Joe wasn't sure whether or not she told them where that was though, how close it was . . .
But no. It was when they found out Jeb P. Rogate, a janitor in the elementary school, was the one who duck-taped those tiny little limbs together, stuffed them inside body bags, and dumped them into the river.
It was when the Hardy boys made a u-turn in the middle of the road when they figured out the connections and put the clues together that led to this discovery. They had called the police.
It was when they kicked down the front door of Jeb's home, only to discover he was gone. They saw the missing knives and lantern charger, unlocked back door, and saw the trail leading into the woods in the pitch-black back yard. They had split up then, to make it faster. Joe had heard voices a few minutes in, a grown man saying, "I'll protect you, you know. You're safe with me."
He heard a little girl's voice saying something incomprehensible in reply.
And then Jeb saying, "Sure, we can play. Let's play with the ladybugs."
And, absolutely and above all, it was just three seconds ago. When Joe Hardy stumbled upon this clearing of sorts—literally speaking. He tripped over a root and was on the ground. That "it" Joe felt was what made everything suddenly move in slow motion - except for the bubbling panic and horror of what was about to become, rising in his throat. As he fell, he had screamed at the first-grader standing right next to the murderer. They were hand-in-hand, standing in front of a running creek. Basked in the moonlight like a spotlight on stage, it seemed, with a circle of fire glinting within the knife clutched tightly in Jeb's free hand.
That "NO!" still rung clear in faint echoes all around them.
But after that, little Charlotte Ann had only just begun to turn around when Jeb had taken the machete knife and stabbed her. She screamed, tried to twist her arm out of his steel-like grip.
Joe scrambled up.
He stabbed again. This time, brought her to the ground.
Joe started shouting for Frank as he ran to her.
Jeb stabbed once more, just below the collarbone. He gave up and started running, dropping the knife at the spot.
Joe, caught between two paths, chose to take the one who was dying on the ground. She had been stabbed three times: once in the stomach, twice in the shoulder. One dangerously close to her neck. He was shocked she was even still breathing.
"Oh God," He said, scooping her up to carry to their car, "FRANK! SOMEBODY! HELP!"
She coughed up blood onto his blue shirt, mumbled something he could not hear.
"What was that?" He leaned down to her mouth.
She whispered, "Heh-he t-told meh . . ." she gulped, "wuh-we…wah-were gonna…p-p-play…w-with the l-la-ladybu-bugs." He could have sworn he heard betrayal in that voice over the pain of sputtering out those few words. She had trusted Jeb, and apparently with her life. Why? Because she didn't know any better. And paid the ultimate price for it, too.
"It's okay. We're going to help you," He squeezed his eyes shut, and held her closer, standing up with her in his arms. Screw Frank and Jeb, she needed to get—
"Joe!" FINALLY, Frank bounded in, saw her. Gasped.
"Jeb ran that way," He motioned with his head. "She's almost gone, Fran—"
The child's eyes popped out of her head, and horrible sound emerged from her mouth, very much like a frog's croak. But it lasted longer. A gurgling sound, ugly and horrible. It was both human and supernatural, horrible and chilling to anyone who heard it. This was the death rattle, Joe realized, the final sound one makes when their soul is soon to be passed on.
And as both boys watched and Joe felt in his arms in mute horror, her body went limp. Bright hazel eyes, like dying embers of a fire, still wide and staring into the stars. They watched as the life left those fire-like eyes, leaving them empty and hollow and void. Both boys took this differently. Frank took off into the woods where Joe had motioned.
Joe continued to hold this corpse, watch the reflection of the stars in her eyes. Soon enough, he found his legs working and heading back to the house, where police car lights could be seen and flashlights along the outskirts of the woods. A minute later, he handed her body over to an officer, describing the details of what the boys saw and did. A while after that, Frank and three officers came back with Jeb, who looked like he had fallen off a cliff. Bloodied lip and nose, both eyes black and one swelling shut, and one wrist that was twisted the wrong way.
The younger brother let a thin smile cross his face—he hadn't looked like that before running off. Nor had Frank's knuckles been bruised and bloody.
Frank could not have been more distraught or shocked over Charlotte Ann's . . . well, there was no other word for it. Murder. Cruel and heartless, a sick pleasure to it from Jeb's side. The brothers had worked on murder cases, yes, but none with little children they had previously talked to two days prior, none of whom they had watched the death of. And when that shock wore off, all of his energy and might went into remembering those preschoolers to first-graders—those kids who never lived their life—whose bodies had been hacked apart like Jeb enjoyed it…
And he had enjoyed it.
With a burning rage, Frank left his brother and Charlotte and ran in the direction Joe had directed. It took, surprisingly, about five minutes for him to see the lantern in the darkness like a lighthouse over foggy seas. He tackled Jeb to the ground before the bastard could even turn around, they both heard a sickening snap as Jeb landed on his wrist the wrong way and howled in agony, and then Frank threw the first punch. And then another.
And then another.
He didn't even hear the officers walking up to him.
And now both boys watched as Jeb was put into the back of the police car, giving them a nasty leer before the officer drove off and another came to take their statements.
Two Days Later...
Mrs. Hardy knocked on her youngest son's bedroom door, "Joe? Are you in there?"
"Yeah. Come in."
She opened the door, an unopened envelope in hand. "Mail call. Nancy Drew wrote—I think she might've finished up that case of hers, where was it again?"
He shrugged, seated on the bed. "All she told us was Thornton Hall, on Blackrock Island. Something about a missing bride. The grounds are haunted by the ghost of a woman who died in a fire."
The boys had not picked up a case, two days after capturing Jeb. Fenton Hardy wouldn't let them after seeing both of his sons faces, and solemnly explaining how this was the darkest any case would ever get. At least Jeb was brought to justice before he could harm another child again, unlike some others. However, when was it never a dark hour when a child was killed? Children, who have not even lived their lives? Jeb, Joe hoped, would get the death penalty for those ten kids in all. Fenton, unfortunately, had to leave for Hawaii on an important case earlier this morning, leaving them with the paperwork for Jeb's arrest. He had said something about smugglers before taking off.
One thing Joe felt above all, and it was painfully obvious between both boys (but especially him…), was guilt. Guilt for tripping, for not getting there sooner, for not taking Charlotte Ann's words about Jeb seriously. And it was eating the youngest brother alive.
"Well," she handed the letter over, "this is for both of you boys, wherever Frank is. He went out a while ago, didn't say where he was going."
Turns out Frank might just have a case after all, then. "Thanks, Mom."
She smiled, and left, shutting the door behind her. Joe smiled back, and opened the letter—he would leave it on the nightstand for his brother to read when he got back.
Along with the letter, there was a picture of the mansion in the nighttime. "Creepy…" He muttered to himself, and continued to read.
Dear Frank and Joe Hardy,
Another case solved. My flight is actually supposed to be stopping in Bayport on my way home - so, if you guys aren't busy, I guess I'll see you soon! I'll share the details with you when I get there if you want, but for some reason I really wanted to share this one thing with you guys. The grounds were supposedly haunted, as you know, and all of us thought we saw her ghost a little more than a few times over the course of my case! It turned out to be hallucinations from gases leaked out from a faulty radiator—and those gases proved to be dangerous in more ways than one! It started a fire inside the house, and four of us (myself included) barely escaped just as the staircase collapsed. No one was hurt thankfully, and everything was cleared up. But every time I saw the supposed "ghost," she sang a song that I've never listened to in a voice that I've never even HEARD of! Here's how it went:
"Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home.
"Your house is on fire, and your children are gone
"All except one
"Sweet Charlotte Ann
"And she hid under the frying pan."
I still can't recognize the voice - it was a beautiful song, though, and beautifully sung. Do either one of you recognize it? Because I swear that it reminds me of you guys in some way!
Sincerely,
Nancy Drew
Tears had already begun to sting the corners of his eyes; he wiped them away. Joe read those lyrics again, with shaky hands. He put the letter on the nightstand, bewildered and upset, when something flickered across his vision. He frowned and got up, looking around. The temperature dropped significantly.
And then he saw . . . . something. It was too foggy to make out any details. All he knew was that it…was…small…like a child. But the voice he heard, it was a grown woman singing, "Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home…"
His eyes widened.
"Your house is on fire…"
Joe shook his head. This wasn't real.
"And your children are gone. All except one: sweet Charlotte Ann."
He backed up against the wall. "No."
"And she…hid under…the frying pan."
With that, the indescribable mass of energy turned to look at Joe, who squeezed his eyes shut. Blocked memories flooded back in of Charlotte Ann—he, and his brother, were not believers in the supernatural. But this was too much to be considered a mere coincidence. Was it, though? Okay, more like a SERIOUS coincidence. Maybe it was a hallucination? Gas in the air, as Nancy had said? A trick of his stressed mind after Charlotte? But how could Nancy have known?
Oh GOD her blood on my shirt her blood on my shirt her blood ON MY SHIRT!
He opened his eyes and looked back again.
She was now less than a foot away from his own body: Charlotte Ann. In a ladybug dress, raincoat, and frog boots, same as when they first met. "It's YOUR fault."
He shook his head. "No."
"All your fault!" Oh, damn that innocent, high-toned voice! "I'm DEAD because of you!"
"NO!" He hollered, "It's not my fault! You—you're just a figment of my imagination."
That sneer on her face, although one of disgust, almost seemed to mend into her face as well as that adorable smile she once possessed in life did. Her form flickered, and she turned into the bloody corpse Joe held that night. "You could have saved me," Her voice now was like a deep growl, guttural and utterly inhuman. "But you didn't."
"What do you want from me?" He gulped, "Jeb—I tripped. I know. Frank and I should have interrogated Jeb harder when we were questioning him. But it was too late, by the time I got to you…" He shook his head, fresh tears in his eyes. "And I will never forget, either. I would give-"
The door burst open, and Laura ran into the room. "My goodness gracious, Joe! What are you screaming about?! I heard you while I was doing laundry downstairs in the basement!"
He looked back at the spot where Charlotte Ann had once been. No traces . . . none but a single ladybug that was on the floor in front of him. Joe's gaze shot back up at his mother. "N-nothing, Mom. Sorry, I just tripped and fell is all. Talking to myself. Nancy's flight is coming in to town," He explained.
She rolled her eyes, a smile creeping up on her face now. "Well then. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Look," he forced a smile, "not even a scratch on me!"
"Okay..." She shrugged, and shivered. "Gosh, I guess I should turn up the heat in here, huh? It's freezing!" She shut the door behind her.
Joe, on the other hand, took his phone camera and snapped pictures of the bug on the ground, and where Charlotte once stood. Then, hastily, he opened the window and let the ladybug fly away.