I changed out of the-day-before-yesterday's-clothes, and took a shower, keeping my injured arm outside of the curtain. I stayed in there for a long time, contemplating my mother, and sister's death. I must've used at least two hundred dollars worth of water, seeing how long I stayed in there. Once I came out I felt much better, although I was pretty dizzy. I got dressed in my pajamas, and crawled into bed. I closed my eyes, and drifted off peacefully…

George

"Did you tell her?" I asked Lockwood nervously. I knew we would have to tell her at some point, but I really didn't want to be the one to deliver the bad news. Better Lockwood than me.

"Yeah." Lockwood nodded, and stirred his tea idly. He looked tired. My arm twinged, and I rubbed it irritably.

"What did she do?" I asked curiously. I really wanted to know, then I could tease her about it. Or possibly not, even I have boundaries.

"She asked how, and when. And I told her." He said,

"Is that all?" I asked with slight disbelief. That was a low-key reaction for hearing about dead family, even if you were Lucy Carlyle.

"Then she cried for a bit, I think she felt better after that."

"She cried?" I exclaimed. Lockwood frowned,

"Keep it down, she's sleeping." Oh man, if this topic wasn't so macabre she would be hearing about this for years.

"What did you do with her?" I asked, "If it was me I would've just left her. I can't deal with tears." Lockwood looked away,

"I made her soup." I choked on my tea, it spewed out of my mouth and onto both Lockwood, and the thinking cloth. "George! That's disgusting!" Lockwood cried in annoyance, rubbing at his front with a napkin.

"Sorry." I managed between coughs. "Did she eat the soup?" I asked.

"Yes." said Lockwood, and grinned, "She said it was certainly something."

"Oh Lord," I said, "if she get's sick again I'm blaming it on you."

"Oh come on, it was edible. I even ate some. It had to much pepper, but otherwiseー"

"To much pepper! To much pepper! Lockwood, you are never cooking in this house again, first it was the pancakes with to much salt, now it's soup with to much pepper!" Lockwood seemed a little miffed,

"Jeez, try to comfort a friend and all I get is abuse." He gave up trying to get the tea off his shirt, "I'm going to shower, tell me about your discoveries at the archives when I return!" He saluted, then swept out of the room. So melodramatic.

Lucy

I was standing in a dirty, old house. I looked around the corner, and was greeted by a familiar head of black hair.

"Holly!" I cried, and went to grab her, I needed her now.

She took a step, and seemed to jump across the room. I swore, and ran after her. I chased her out of the house, and into a familiar park. Holly sat down on a bench and shivered. I tried to get to her.

But I was blocked by a wall of air, and no matter how hard I pounded on it it wouldn't brake. I needed to get to her, if I didn't I would never see her again. I pounded on the barrier forcefully. This was the last time I could ever see her! Then her skin was turning blue, that's not a good sign. Ghost touch. Once she was completely blue she looked at me for the first time.

She had no eyes.

"Ah!" I gasped, and woke up with a start. I was lying sideways in my bed, blankets twisted about me. I untangled myself from the mess and went to get some tea. When I stood up the room began spinning, I fell to my knees and put a hand over my eyes. I made my way downstairs without opening my eyes, and went into the kitchen. It smelled good in there, like tea…

"Lucy!" I opened my eyes a little to drink in the sight before me. The kitchen light was on, there were papers spread all over the thinking cloth. The kettle was on the stove, and a cup of tea was on the table in front of George who was at the table, wearing a dirty pajama shirt and…

I looked at the ceiling.

"George, I need you to do something before I vomit." I said, studying the light fixture as if it held interesting secrets. I heard him stand up, and looked higher,

"What do you need? A bowl, some water? Do you need me to rub your back?" Motherly George was here now.

"No, it's much more important than that." I said, "I need,"

"What is it?" I clenched my jaw,

"I was getting to that. I need you to put on pants." I said. I heard him sigh and sit down.

"Oh, so you and Lockwood can lounge around in your pajamas, but not me?" he said sarcastically.

"Me and Lockwood wear pants when we lounge around in our pajamas." I replied, as patiently as I could, which wasn't patiently at all.

"You don't always wear pants, sometimes you have a nightgown on." I could feel my face flaming, whether from embarrassment, or anger I couldn't tell. Probably some combination of both.

"Well I don't leave my underwear in plain sight do I?" I said, hoping he'd just go put on some pants, my neck was hurting.

"Not always." He muttered. I could feel my face getting hotter and hotter.

"I do not! No go put on pants!" He trudged past me reluctantly and once I heard him go up the stairs I looked back down. How hard was it to go put on some pants. Jeez.

I got out a cup and made some tea. I was sitting down when George came back, wearing saggy blue sweatpants. I wasn't being picky.

"So." He said,

"So." I said.

"What are you doing up?" He asked,

"Woke up. Wanted some tea. What about you." He shrugged,

"Same, I had a dream about falling off of a cliff, then couldn't get back to sleep."

"Shame." I said.

"Did you have any dreams?" I stirred my tea,

"Yeah, but it wasn't that bad." George left it at that. We sat in companionable silence for awhile. The only sound was Georges pencil scratching out complicated notes on a loose sheet of paper.

I swallowed with some difficulty, and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes when the room began to spin. The cupboards, George, and the pile of dishes in the sink wobbled dangerously.

"Lucy?" I didn't answer. It was quiet, after a minute I said.

"George, I need a bowl." He didn't question, didn't joke, and didn't refuse, to my endless gratitude. In less than ten minutes a big, plastic, mixing bowl was in my lap.

I bent over it and retched. Then Lockwood's soup can pouring out. Once I was done (after about five minutes) George took the bowl and rinsed it out.

"Alright, you're going to bed now." He said, "Need anything else?" I shook my head, and let him lead me up the stairs. My gut clenched, and I moaned weakly. George's grip on my arm tightened. I felt strangely detached from everything, light and bloodless. We went up past the landing, and into my attic room, where I fell upon the mattress. George pulled my blanket over me and left.

I got a few restless hours of sleep in the early morning, but I felt to sick to relax, and by seven in the morning my jaw was sore, and the rest of me was tense. I didn't want to move for fear of vomiting, even though my side hurt from laying on it for hours.

That's how I spent the night, wallowing in my misery for hours.