The Phantom of the Elijah Etheridge Players
At a time in Frankie's life when things are simultaneously great and awful, a case drops into her lap. There's a ghost in the theater, and it's up to her to gank it.
Warning: This story contains graphic depictions of violence and imagery that may be unsettling to some readers.
Part 1
"You're sure you're still comfortable with this?"
"I am not here for comfort."
"Well, alright, but I still want you to be comfortable."
"Your safety will alleviate any discomfort I possess."
Frankie smiled with a snort as she adjusted the purse on her shoulder. "Well, let's get to it, then. Just… let me know if you get overwhelmed, okay?"
Cas turned his head to her, an amused glint hiding in his eyes. "I have fought in wars. I'm not so easily overwhelmed."
Frankie nodded and slinked her arm around his. "Copy, Soldier."
Frankie led Cas through the glass door. The wave of heat blew into her face, warming her chilled cheeks. A barely distinguishable Katy Perry song droned underneath the dull roar of the crowded restaurant. Something meaty and delicious was being carried to a table, catching Frankie's nose. Her stomach gave a growl.
There was a short line in front of the hostess podium. The duo stepped up behind a group of baseball-uniformed teenagers, most likely celebrating a victory after a game.
"Frankie!"
She lifted her gaze across the room. Jules was waving her hand frantically from a crowded booth. Frankie sent her an acknowledging smile and nod before tugging Cas around the line and towards the back of the room.
The walk over conjured up a nervous twinge in her gut. Frankie had pushed down the anxiety of meeting with Jules and her entourage all week. The passing conversations while she was working were one thing, but attending a scheduled outing off-the-clock was unexplored territory. She had no problem with chatting up random people she would never see again. People she wanted to make a good impression with? Another story.
As they reached the booth, Jules slid across the seat to press against the wall, making room for Frankie and Cas. They crouched into the seat, settling across from three of Jules' friends.
Frankie knew their faces well. Wynona had darker skin and black, pixie-cut hair. She wore colorful makeup that complemented her purple crop top and jean jacket. Elias was the tallest of the group, reaching six foot two, with long, blonde hair that stopped at his skinny jeans. Tonight, he wore his glorious mane in a braid. Lastly, Mona had the reddest red hair that Frankie had ever seen on a person. It flayed out in a huge curly mop, untamed. She had freckles speckling all over her face, and she brandished a septum ring. Frankie had been disappointed the first time she heard Mona speak, hoping to have heard a thick Scottish accent.
"Glad you guys found the place alright!" Jules beamed, nudging Frankie's shoulder with her own. Frankie whispered a quiet chuckle as she subtly rubbed her arm.
"Oh, I like your shirt," Wynona said. Frankie lifted her head to the woman across from her. "You look so much better without that drab janitor's uniform." Her cheeks heated at the compliment. She did little to reel in her toothy grin.
Frankie barely noticed the table's pause before Mona spoke through the silence. "So, Frankie we know. Who are you? What's your story?"
The group turned their heads to Cas expectantly. It took a moment for the angel to realize that they were waiting for him to speak. He glanced down to Frankie. The blank look in his eye told her to take the reins.
"This's Cas. He's my best friend. And roommate. And life coach." Frankie narrowed her brows and glanced over to Cas. His expression hadn't changed. She smiled. "He's basically the most important person in my life."
Jules and her friends wore expressions of raised brows and impressed smiles. Mona's expression, however, was more intrigued than the rest. She flicked her eyes up and down Cas' body with a smirk. "Where can I get one?" Her friends let out tickled giggles. Frankie smiled, but didn't breathe a single snort.
"It's nice to meet you, Cas," Jules said, leaning forward to look around Frankie. "She talks about you all the time. I'm glad I can finally put a face to the name." She leaned back and widely smiled at the girl beside her. "He does look like a young Ross Martin."
A waitress came to the table, her attention only on Frankie and Cas. Frankie leaned forward and ordered waters for the both of them. The waitress nodded with a small smile and left to get their orders.
"Water, huh? Not a very adventurous choice," Elias teasingly mused, sipping his Long Island iced tea.
Frankie's smile was small and friendly-looking, but the meaning behind the amicable façade was somber. "I prefer things that way."
"Makes sense, seeing as you chose mopping floors as a career," the man quipped. Frankie smiled politely, but it fell as soon as it formed. "I'm just kidding, by the way. I think you do a great job, especially with one hand."
Wynona's eyes widened and her brows furrowed over a glare. She elbowed Elias in his side, shoving a childish yelp out of the tall man. "I'm sorry about him. He doesn't know when to shut his mouth."
"No, it's totally okay," Frankie assured, resting her arms on the table. "I don't mind people talking about it. I am missing a hand. I've come to terms with it."
"How'd you lose it?"
Frankie stared blankly at Elias. She swallowed, her eyes dropping to the table. Cas scowled at the man.
"So, Frankie," Jules loudly spoke, "do you like working at the community center?"
Frankie forced a smile and narrowed her gaze onto the blonde at her side. Her gratefulness was clear in her eyes. "Yeah, I do. There's never a dull moment, especially with y'all always starting up some new show."
"So, when are you gonna audition for something?" Mona asked over her Cosmopolitan.
"Me?"
Mona smirked with tight lips as she swallowed her sip. "Well, yeah. We always welcome new actors. Performing is so liberating. You'll love it."
"Oh," Frankie chuckled, "I don't know if acting's for me."
'Unless you count lying to those that mean the most to me.'
She shut her eyes and hid the small shake of her head. She brushed her bangs behind her ear.
The waitress came with their waters and began taking the table's orders. Frankie ordered a bowl of the restaurant's "famous" chili and tried to alleviate the group's suspicion when Cas refused to order any food. The waitress dropped off a basket of rolls before she strode away to put in their orders.
"Well, if you do audition for anything," Jules added, "try not to aim for a show as god awful as this one."
Frankie furrowed her brows as she took a roll from the basket. "What's so terrible about… what was it? A Man's Turmoil?"
"A Gentleman's Tumult. And everything. Everything is terrible about it."
"Mhm," Wynona hummed. "The language is dated, the story drags, and the characters are as dull as they come. The main dude is literally a self-insert."
"Yeah, the guy who wrote it made himself the main character."
"Yes, thank you, Elias. That's what self-insert means."
Mona leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. "It was written way back in the eighteen hundreds. We put it on every year."
"Why? I mean, if it's so bad that y'all don't like it, the people paying to see it shouldn't either, right?"
"You're on the money," Jules sighed. "No one likes it. We barely sell out. The only reason we perform it is because we're forced to. It's the theater's oldest and biggest rule."
"You know the name of the theater? Elijah Etheridge?" Wynona asked, breaking her roll into small bites. "He's the founder of not just the theater, but the whole building. There's some kinda bylaw passed down to each owner of the center that if we don't put on the show he wrote, we get shut down."
"But they didn't say anything about making changes."
Frankie glanced at Jules with a confused expression. She was met with a mischievous smirk and a wiggling eyebrow.
"What kinda changes?" Frankie asked before taking a bite of her roll.
"We're still putting on the show. Just with music and dance breaks."
Frankie puffed out a small chuckle. "You guys turned it into a musical?"
"Well, we didn't," Elias said. "Jules brought up the idea a few months ago. The board liked it, so they got to work rewriting it into a musical and composing songs."
"I play Elijah Etheridge," Jules proudly announced, dramatically holding her hand to her chest. "And I'll be the best damn Elijah since the very first."
"Girl, you'll be even better than that crusty tyrant," Wynona scoffed. A round of chuckles and agreeing nods circled the table.
Frankie smiled at Jules. At her friend. And then her smile grew larger.
Since the day they put their tension behind them, Jules had become a fast friend to Frankie. She blossomed like a rose, much different than the timid and frightened person she seemed when she was avoiding Frankie. Her theatrical nature came out in spades, a true extrovert. Frankie never had someone as outgoing as Jules in her life. Not even her mother.
Jules was very caring. She knew that Frankie struggled with some tasks and elected to help when she could, but also knew when to give Frankie space to have her independence. She was a true friend, and Frankie didn't deserve such a kind soul in her life.
She didn't deserve Jules.
Frankie's smile fell.
The weight sank heavily in her stomach and twisted it into a knot. Icy tendrils slithered around her chest, squeezing it until her breath became labored. Her cheeks warmed as an electric chill surged up her spine.
'Oh fuck… not now…'
A warm pressure slid across her hand. She blinked down to it, finding another hand on top of it.
"Are you okay?" Jules whispered.
Frankie blinked, lifting her gaze around the table. The others chatted without noticing something was amiss. Jules was the only one.
A drop of sweat slid down the side of Frankie's face, luckily the opposite side of Jules.
Unfortunately, the side of Cas.
Cas turned his head. His eyes fell onto the blonde's hand atop Frankie's. His eyes narrowed, and his brows descended over them.
'You are stressed. What's wrong?'
Frankie heaved a deep sigh, reaching out for something to calm her. She drew the corners of her lips back into a tight smile and nodded to Jules. The blonde smiled back, small and genuine. She tucked her fingers under Frankie's palm and squeezed before releasing her hand.
Frankie released a smaller sigh and turned to Cas. "Can you let me out? I hafta use the bathroom."
Cas tilted his head, his eyes squinting tighter. 'Do you need assistance.'
Frankie repressed a swallow. She smiled with a tiny shake of her head. Cas lingered his suspicious gaze before standing from the booth. Frankie hurriedly shuffled out of the long seat and set off towards the bathroom.
'Frankie, what's going on?'
She didn't look back and instead walked faster to the back of the restaurant. 'Emergency. Lunch traveled south fast. I'll leave out the gritty details.' She was relieved at the delay of a response.
'If you need me, do not hesitate to call.'
'If I didn't know better, Cas, I'd say you didn't wanna be left alone with those people.'
The next pause was longer than the last. 'They are not my preferred company.'
'They're nice guys. Just put up with them for a few minutes and I'll be back to save you, okay?'
Cas' voice didn't come back, and just in time for Frankie to barrel into the ladies' room. There were four stalls, one taken. Frankie bit back a curse and chose the stall furthest from the other occupant.
She nearly slammed the door in her hurry, a sweeping echo urging her to be quiet. She sat down on the toilet, minding only slightly in her frenzied state the lack of lid to sit on.
She yanked her purse into her lap and snapped it open. Her jerky movements caused a few stitches in the fabric to pop. Her hand dove into the bag and pulled out a smaller purse. Taking one end of the purse in her teeth and pinching the zipper in her fingers, she yanked the fastener open.
A handful of tampons greeted her, but her fingers pushed passed them, reaching to the bottom of the miniature bag. Her heart leaped into her throat when her fingertips met the cold glass.
Slowing her movements, she removed the vial of blood from the purse. The moment her eyes locked onto the deep burgundy gunk, her throat gave an instinctive swallow. She became achingly aware of how dry her mouth was.
The blood within the vial began to jiggle as her hand took up an anxious quiver. Her canines sank into the cork and pulled it out of the vial's mouth. She spit it out, its new location unknown and unimportant, before she tilted her head back. The vial was tilted back not a second sooner.
Her tongue twitched against the copper sludge drizzling over her tastebuds. Saliva gushed in her mouth, preparing to expectorate the revolting taste from her tongue, but her tight lips ensured that not a single drop fell out. She gulped down the ooze before her gag reflex caught up to her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward, her head hanging from her shoulders. 'One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… ni-'
"Ahhh…"
The tension in her shoulders melted as if worked over by a shiatsu master. The cloud in her mind broke apart, letting the light of alleviation rush to the end of every nerve. The burning heat of anxiety – like she was tied to a radiator – soothed to the comforting warmth of a latte on a chilly evening. The knot so tightly wound in her gut might as well have turned into helium with how it lifted her spirits in mere seconds, leaving behind a near tickle.
And then came the guilt. The inevitable shame that followed the instant gratification.
This was beginning to get bad. Well, the very concept was bad, but this was bad. Addiction wasn't the word – not yet – but Frankie had developed a "brewing dependence" on Crowley's blood.
It started sordidly enough. Her chat with Cas hadn't changed her mind. She was still going forward with Crowley's plan until Sam, Dean, and the angel found an alternative. So, she took the second dose, this time of her own volition. It was as terrible as the first.
It wasn't until the sixth dose that she noticed the signs. She began the day bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, no matter the amount of sleep she got the night before. There was pep in her step, and her mind was unusually clear. She felt like someone slipped an upper into her morning brew, and it bled into her interactions with those around her. Hell, it was one of the reasons she got the confidence to agree to come tonight.
Her nightmares stopped. Completely. Her sleep mostly consisted of dreamless sessions, but every other day her brain would produce a dream. A real dream. Adventures of riding on the backs of ants to annihilate France and excursions into a Walmart that just so happened to be on Jupiter.
But no matter how much good came out of ingesting Crowley's blood, the negative consequences were never far behind. He was serious about the "unsavory effects" of prolonging doses. The first sign of withdrawal was exactly what she just nipped in the bud: looming fear and overwhelming dread triggered by the slightest upset. And once the trigger was pulled, there was no drawing back. It was a steep slope into hyperventilating and lashing out at anyone who came near.
If she managed to muscle through the fit of panic, the second stage came in full force. Burning in her veins, as if her own blood was fizzling into acid, scorched under her skin, a painful itch she couldn't scratch. And when it made its way into her heart… oh boy. She was beginning to get a new perspective of Sam's time in the panic room, and that was a way longer withdrawal from a lot more demon blood.
She was determined to not find out what the third stage was.
Heaving a deep sigh, Frankie shoved the empty vial back to the bottom of the purse. She swallowed a few more times and licked her teeth, ensuring that every drop made it down her throat.
She headed out of the bathroom and back to the booth. As she approached, she picked up traces of the ensuing conversation between the theater group and Cas.
"I will stress again that the relationship Frankie and I share is not of an amorous origin."
"So, what I'm hearing is that you're single."
"Please just ignore Mona. It gets easier the more you're around her."
"One would think she could simply keep her impulsive comments unspoken."
"Oh ho! I like him!"
Frankie reached the booth before Mona could verbally react with her indignation. She tapped on Cas' shoulder, and he let her back into her seat.
The rest of dinner was a blur to Frankie. As much as she tried to stay involved in the conversation, her mind kept racing back to the demon blood. She knew she was on the edge of a slope, just on the brink of slipping down. She wondered if she'd be able to stop before she reached the point of no return. She wondered if she'd see Lucifer before that even happened.
Cas picked up on her solemnity, but he kept it to himself. Frankie was both relieved and disappointed, wanting help but resenting it. Hopefully, the coming days would distract her from her confusing strife.
Frankie stretched as a yawn bellowed from her gaping mouth. Her breath froze in the air, misting into a faint gray cloud. Her feet dragged over the concrete sidewalk, the community center just ahead. The sky was cloudy, blocking the sun and chilling the air in harmony with the frigid autumn breeze. She shrugged up her jacket to cover the bare skin of her neck.
She whispered a tired sigh as her feet took her up the steps to the building. She reached the front door and pressed into it only to find it locked. She groaned. There was normally someone already inside when her shift started.
She grabbed the keys from her utility belt and shuffled through them to find the one for the center's front door. It took longer than preferred with one hand, and the cold air achingly freezing her ears didn't help with containing her frustration.
Finally, her fingers caught the right key and shoved it into the lock. Her first steps inside were disappointing. The heat wasn't on. The only protection against the frosty air were the walls blocking the wind. Other than that, it was just as cold as outside.
'I gotta do everything around here…'
A quick trip to flicking the heat on and Frankie was trudging to the janitor's closet. She had a full schedule today, and it would only get more brutal the longer she waited to get started.
She stepped into the closet and tugged the hanging chain to turn on the single lightbulb. The bulb flickered aggressively. Frankie made a doubletake at the light. It had never done that before. But before she could think any more than a brief thought, the flickering stopped. She all but shrugged as she pulled her cart into the hallway.
She walked back into the closet to grab the mop. She pulled it from its leaning position against the wall. Something thumped to the floor, vibrating the wood under her shoes. She glanced down at what tipped over.
A chill ran down her spine as her eyes burned into Crowley's briefcase. She instinctively swallowed before putting the mop on the cart. She picked up the briefcase. She could hear the remaining vials shifting within it. The sound was shoved to the back of her mind as she tucked the case onto a high shelf. She hurried out of the closet and closed the door behind her.
Frankie took a deep breath as she pushed the cart towards the lobby. Sighing, she lifted her gaze to look around the spacious room, and she made the second doubletake of the day.
One of the theater's doors was cracked. Now that she knew wasn't a mistake. Esme was a punctual and perfectionist woman. All doors to the theater were locked every night and double checked.
Frankie's hand slid off the cart's handle as she stepped towards the doors. She slinked her fingers onto the doorknob and creeped the cracked door open, peering inside. It was pitch black inside. She could barely make out the twinkle of the emergency exit sign in one of the wings onstage.
"Hello?" she called, her own voice echoing back. "Hello, hello? Anybody home?" An answer never returned the call. She scoffed and nodded. "Yeah, not creepy at all."
She opened the door the rest of the way and stepped into the dark auditorium. She knew the switch to the house lights were on the wall behind the tech booth, so she headed to the right of the entrance, holding her hand out to blindly feel for any obstruction.
Her fingers fumbled in the darkness before they found the light switch. She flicked both toggles, and light suddenly poured over the red chairs of the audience. No one stood or sat in them.
She huffed as she walked down the long aisle between the seats. "Anybody here? You don't gotta show yourself, just holler!"
A soft, irritated groan muttered from her throat. All signs showed that nobody was there, but she knew if there was an intruder or a homeless person napping backstage, she'd get blamed for not checking everywhere. Security wasn't even her job! She didn't get paid enough for this…
A clink of metal sounded from above. Frankie's feet came to a halt on the dark brown carpet. She set her eyes to the stage, dark from lack of light. But with the house lights on, the top of the stage could be seen.
And there was something at the back.
Frankie's brows furrowed over her wide eyes. They traced the outline of a large figure, lightly swaying in the dark. Her hand slowly reached for the flashlight on her belt and unhooked it. She lifted the light, pointing it to the figure, and pressed the flashlight's switch.
The light plastered onto the body of a woman suspended in the air by a dozen black cables, coiled around her arms and shoulders, forcing her limbs out into a "T". Two thick coils wrapped around her neck, tight enough that Frankie could see the neck's skin fold over the cable. The woman was tan skinned, but only up to her collarbone. The skin above it was gray, her lips dark blue, and her eyes bloodshot and wide with frozen horror.
The light illuminating the body trembled as it scanned head to toe. She gaped at the suspended body, her eyes bulging, her back ramrod straight.
Her heartbeat was in her ears, pumping and pumping. But beyond that was a scream. And another. And then a symphony of agonized wails.
She blinked.
The world was red. Lightning strikes fizzled around the room. The cables were chains. Hooks serrated her shoulders. Blood oozed like streams off a riverside boulder. She flailed, a squeal gasping from her bound throat.
She blinked.
The room was no longer red, but the chains and hooks remained, blending in with that world and this one. A living Hell.
A living Hell.
The flashlight fell from her hand with a metallic thud. Frankie's shoulders burned. She felt the gaping holes in them, rusted hooks like sandpaper scraping her bare muscles and bones.
"Ahh…," she moaned, a fearful wheeze. She backed up, fumbling over her feet. She fell, landing on her back. A panicked grunt blew from her lips. She scrambled backwards, her eyes never leaving the hanging body above her.
"C-C-Cas! C-Cas!" She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. "Castiel!"
"Frankie?!"
"Cas!"
She felt the heavy thuds of his feet on the carpet. She heard him approach, but her eyes still pointed to the stage. His knee jutted out in the corner of her eye. He kneeled beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
He spoke, but she didn't hear. She felt his gravelly voice rumble in her chest, but the words didn't make it to her ears.
Her body jostled with a shake of his hand. She forced herself to blink and look away. The moment her eyes left the hanging body, she squeezed them shut and buried her face into Cas' chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist and tightened them into a vicelike grip.
She spoke, her words muffled against his black suit.
"Say that again," he said, his voice loud in her ear.
She turned her head slightly, sucking in a trembling breath. "G-Get me outta here!"
Frankie sat on the steps of the community center, staring ahead at the police cars and ambulance that flashed the world with their flickering lights. Suited personnel shouted orders over the bustling crowd of bystanders as they stuck their noses in the business of the first exciting thing to happen to the town in months.
Frankie was slightly hunched forward to keep the thin blanket provided by the EMTs on her shoulders. Her panic had subsided, but the shock of what she witnessed in the theater kept her lips tightly shut. Cas sat beside her in the same position, eyes set forward, offering wordless comfort.
A section of the crowd rustled, exclamations of irritation flicking off phantom tongues, before a figure broke through the barrier of bodies. Frankie instantly recognized Jules, a coffee cup in one hand and a distressed gape on her face. Her brown eyes landed on Frankie and widened. She sprinted up two steps at a time before practically sliding to a stop at her side.
"Frankie! Oh my god, I heard everything! Oh, are you okay?!"
Jules wrapped her arms tightly around Frankie and squeezed. Some coffee spilled from the cup and splattered onto the concrete steps. Jules whimpered as the embrace tightened.
"I'm okay," Frankie mumbled, patting Jules' arm.
The blonde pulled back only a little, enough to keep her hand on Frankie's shoulder. "I came as soon as I could. I'm so sorry you had to-… Here. For you."
Jules held the coffee cup in front of Frankie. The brunette gingerly took the warm cup in her hands and held it under her face. The scent of the scalding liquid wafted into her nostrils. A smile broke free on Frankie's face.
"Chestnut."
Jules smirked and lifted her chin with pride. "Of course."
"What about chestnut?" Cas gravelly asked from Frankie's left. The girls switched their gazes to the angel with the stony expression.
"It's my favorite drink. Well, warm drink. A chestnut latte." Frankie's smile grew as she turned back to Jules. "I can't believe you remembered!"
"Your doubt wounds me, Frankie. For shame," the blonde jested. The girls shared in a giggle.
Frankie lifted the cup to her mouth. Her lip began to perspire as the hot steam fluttered up to her nose. She blew on the torrid drink before sipping the beverage. The warm coffee traveled down her gullet, warming her from the inside and swelling her smile into a grin.
"Thank you. I really needed this."
"Of course, girl." Jules shrugged off her dark orange jacket and tucked it over the blanket on Frankie's shoulders. "You gotta know I'll take care of you."
Cas' eyes scanned Jules. His gaze took a dark turn. "Frankie is already being taken care of," he grunted, taking off his coat and dropping it on top of Jules' jacket, fully enveloping the girl beneath it.
Frankie quietly snorted into her coffee cup and leaned into Cas. "That's right. I'm spoiled. I got two of the best friends a girl could ask for."
"Aw!" Jules leaned into Frankie and wrapped her arms around her. Her hands reached passed the brunette and landed on Cas. The angel scowled at her touch.
A stocky police officer rushed up the stairs, nearly hitting Jules. The blonde leaned back, resting her elbows on the concrete steps with a sigh. "This is horrible. The violent death alone is upsetting. But now we have to replace the director with two weeks 'til tech."
"The director? For Gentleman's Tumult?" Frankie asked, lowering her cup into her lap.
"The very one. Amelia Forbes. She was really excited about the show. And she made the best cheesecake you ever tasted. A damn shame…"
A familiar face leisurely stepped up to Frankie. Esme, the reoccurring stage manager for the theater group, stood in front of the blanket, jacket, and coat-covered girl. "Hey, Frankie. It's a real mess in there. They don't want anybody moseying about in the area, so you can go ahead and call it a day. Go home and rest. We'll call you when it's clear for you to come back, okay?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure thing."
"I'm… so sorry this happened. You shouldn't have seen that-"
"It's cool. Really. Um… yeah, I'll head on home. I just need to get my jacket." Frankie glanced down and quietly chuckled. "My other one."
Frankie slipped off her three extra layers, handing the jacket and coat back to their owners. She headed up the rest of the stairs towards the building. Behind her, Cas glared at an oblivious Jules.
Frankie crossed the lobby towards the leftmost hallway. The theater's doors were wide open and filled with police officers, but Frankie kept her eyes forward. She didn't want to witness whatever state the body was in.
A crash blared towards the stage, and against her will Frankie's eyes flicked to the side. Her feet came to a halt, but it wasn't the body that her eyes landed on. It wasn't even the theater.
Frankie's eyes had flicked towards the wall beside the hallway's entrance, to the decorative column that held the urn of Elijah Etheridge.
But the urn was missing. The column displayed nothing.
Frankie's brows fell over her eyes.
She walked outside and down the steps, now wearing her own dark green jacket. Cas and Jules turned their heads to greet her, one of them smiling.
"Hey. What happened to that guy's ashes in the lobby?" Frankie asked.
Jules narrowed her brows. "Uh, I think his urn broke."
"Broke?"
"Yeah. Bruce was messing around and he ended up knocking the urn off. Etheridge went everywhere."
Frankie's eyes pointed to the side as she hummed. "When was this?"
"Last Saturday. Good thing it was your day off, or you'd have had to vacuum him up."
Frankie nodded and offered a small smile, but her mind wasn't altogether on the steps. With a deep breath, she turned to Cas and patted his shoulder. "We should get home." Cas was on his feet in an instant.
Frankie said her goodbyes to Jules, and she and Cas were on their way passed the crowd and down the sidewalk to home.
She jerked awake. It was that damn nightmare again. The one about the hanging director. The return of Frankie's vivid nightmares had not been a fond reunion, but they beat the hellish night terrors she used to struggle through.
She rubbed her face as she inhaled a sigh and dropped her hand onto her pillow. Her eyes blinked away the remaining blur from lingering sleep and landed on the figure lying beside her.
Cas reclined against the bed's headboard, his hands crossed over each other in his lap. His eyes were softly shut without strain, and his eyebrows tranquilly rested above them, relaxed from their usual furrowed state.
Frankie leisurely smiled at the angel. Her sight narrowed on the slow rise and fall of his chest. His muscles melted into the mattress. He never appeared so at ease when he was awake.
Despite the concern of the angel engaging in non-angelic activities, Frankie welcomed every opportunity he got to rest. Angels may have been built to work without ceasing, but Cas was putting in overtime. His layers were thinning every day, and his will to hide that fact was lessening. The only times Frankie observed where he seemed utterly at peace were moments like the one she was witnessing.
He gave the slightest moan, the tiniest grunt, as his head slowly dipped towards his shoulder, sinking deeper into his serene slumber.
Frankie's smile flattened. Her fingers softly curled against the pillow.
Cas was her best friend, her everything. She wanted him to be happy, to never have to struggle under Lucifer's reign. She'd give him the world if she could.
A deep ache pulled in her chest. If Crowley's plan worked – even if it gave them a shot – then she could truly give him the world, one without an Apocalypse. Only… she would prefer if she got to enjoy that world with him.
A sigh blew strands of her bangs from her cheek. Maybe she could watch him be happy from Heaven. That was better than anything she expected from the impending ordeal. But her pain and sadness… it didn't matter. Cas mattered.
Her hand slid across the pillow to his arm. Her fingers brushed against his coat. 'I promise… I'll do whatever I hafta to protect you.'
He stirred, his face tightening and a groan rumbling from deep in his chest. Frankie's breath hitched. She yanked her hand back and froze. Cas' head straightened, his eyes cracking before opening fully. He turned and looked over at Frankie. The girl held her breath, praying to someone else that he didn't hear her.
"You're awake."
The hostage air released in a relieved breath. "Yeah. So are you."
"I wasn't aware that I had fallen asleep."
Frankie yawned as she sat up, her chest pressing into her bent legs. "Any dreams to report?"
"I do not dream. I remember."
Frankie looked back, her brows furrowing. "What did you remember this time?"
Cas gazed blankly at the wall. "Heaven. The Heaven of old." Cas deeply sighed before shifting his body and standing from the bed. "A better Heaven than now."
Frankie pensively pressed her lips together. "Maybe it can be like the old Heaven again. If we win this war."
Cas stood silently for a few – long – seconds. He hummed and walked out of the bedroom. Frankie's eyes stayed glued to the doorway as she listened to him shuffle around in the kitchen. She quietly sighed.
She flinched at a sudden buzzing on the nightstand. Frankie looked over to her cellphone, vibrating noisily on the small table. She reached over and glimpsed at the caller ID. She flipped the phone open before accepting the call.
"Hey, Jules. What's-"
"Did you hear?!"
Frankie recoiled as her friend's voice blared into the phone. "I can't hear much now. What do you mean?"
"You know Marcus Hyde?!"
"Marcus Hyde… isn't he the guy composing music for the play?"
"He's dead!"
Frankie's brows fell over her wide eyes. Her back straightened as a frown tugged at her lips. "What?"
"They-They found him this morning. In the auditorium. He stuck his face in a spotlight. His-His face…"
Frankie swallowed. Her jaw clenched.
"It melted down to the bone. It's… What the hell is happening?! First Amelia, now Marcus… Is this show cursed or something?!"
Frankie sucked in a long, deep breath. "Or something."
"I-I-I know this is probably the last thing you wanna hear, but… I just, y'know… I needed to tell someone… get it out for a second."
"No, I get it." Frankie stood up and stepped over to her dresser, getting out clean clothes and putting them on the bed. "It's horrible."
"Yeah… it really is… I'm starting to think we should put off the show. I mean, we'll have to seeing as our director and composer have fucking died, but… what if…"
Frankie held the phone to her ear by her shoulder as she changed into the fresh clothes. Dressed, she snatched a notebook and pencils and shoved them into her backpack.
"Never mind, that's… that's stupid."
"What's stupid?"
"That-… No. Never mind. Look, I'm sorry to dump this on you. That was really uncool of me. I hope I didn't spook you."
"Don't you worry about me. I'll be fine. You just take care of yourself, okay? Take things easy."
"Yeah. Yeah, of course. You, too, Frankie. Don't strain yourself."
Frankie tugged the backpack around her shoulders and gave it an adjusting shrug. "I won't."
"Bye, girl."
"Bye."
Cas appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, a plate with an everything bagel in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other. His brows cinched as he noticed her change of clothes.
Frankie stepped towards him and plucked the bagel from the plate. "We're taking this on the road. Come on."
Cas didn't get a word in before Frankie marched to the front door and headed outside.
"I don't think this-"
"Shush."
Frankie gave a sweep over her shoulder at the dark, empty street before the community center. She turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. "Come on," she whispered, grabbing Cas' arm and yanking him into the building. She shut the door behind him and flicked the lock back.
"This seems delinquent."
"Not if I work here. They gave me a key. Basically an excuse to use it whenever I want."
"That logic is flawed," Cas mused, looking idly around the unlit lobby.
Frankie set her backpack on the ground and took out a folded piece of paper. She turned to the angel as she unfolded the paper. "Okay. I'll be checking out the west wing of the building. That's the oldest part. I'll check out classroom A100, the main office, and the theater." She thickly swallowed and sighed. "Hopefully, I'll contact him before I get there."
"This could be dangerous," Cas cagily muttered, eyeing her with a wary stare.
"Yeah, it could be. Though, there is a chance that the deaths were accidental." Cas' face tightened into a skeptical frown. Frankie held back from mirroring the expression. "But there's a bigger chance that this's a ghost, and if it is, we gotta do something about it before it kills someone else." Frankie pulled her lips into a smile. "And if something goes wrong, I have you here to protect me."
Cas' body went rigid, standing at attention. "I will be on guard the entire duration of your investigation."
Frankie gave a sloppy salute. "Noted, Soldier." She slung the backpack onto her shoulder and backed away from the angel. "Keep watch for any police, okay? I don't think they want anybody at the crime scenes."
Cas scowled. "This is delinquent," he grumbled. Frankie merely shrugged before disappearing down the hall.
She started with the classroom. Its walls had been painted a light gray, and the room was set up with long gray tables with three chairs each, all facing a large whiteboard. Very little of the room's original structure remained.
Frankie sat down crossed-legged on the floor and reached into her backpack. She took out and unfolded a plain Ouija board and set it flat on the carpet in front of her. She then removed her phone from her pocket, started an audio recorder, and placed it directly above the board.
She placed her fingers on the planchette and closed her eyes. The questions began. Each one had a period of silence after, waiting for any response. The small wooden planchette remained still, and after checking the recording, no voices or strange sounds were picked up.
The process repeated in the main office. Frankie hoped for a different outcome this time as the room had lasting elements from its heyday. The wooden walls and floor were the same as they had been back in the 1800s, if not covered by furniture and framed posters.
Alas, this session proved to be as fruitful as the last.
Frankie had a small sense of relief settle in her gut. Perhaps there was no ghost, and the deaths were an accident or murder. That would certainly be easier to deal with.
But the relief fizzled as she entered the auditorium. The bodies had been removed and most of the area had been cleaned – though Frankie could still pick up the unmistakable stench of something burnt in the air.
Frankie stepped onto the stage and took a seat in the very center. She set up the Ouija board and planchette in front of her and placed the phone above it. Her fingers settled on top of the wooden token, and she shut her eyes.
"Is anyone here with me?"
Frankie waited for around a minute before asking again.
"Is anyone here?"
'I am.'
Frankie's sigh turned into a groan halfway through. "Is anyone else here with me? Spirits, ghosts, souls willing to communicate?"
A soft breeze brushed her skin. Her hairs, from her arms to the back of her neck, stood on end. There shouldn't be a breeze indoors. She cracked open an eye, looking around the auditorium.
"Mr. Etheridge?"
The planchette twitched. Frankie gasped, fully opening her eyes and darting them to the wooden token. The planchette jerked forward. Chills stippled Frankie's arms as the cut-out circle on the planchette settled over "YES".
Frankie couldn't breathe. She gaped at the board under her fingers, barely able to comprehend the fact that it just moved.
"M-Mr. Etheridge…"
The planchette shook aggressively, staying over the "YES". Though she couldn't see the spirit, she could feel the aggression just through the small movements of the planchette.
"U-Uh… Mr. Etheridge-"
The planchette shot towards Frankie. She yelped. But the token was not aiming for her. It swept over the black letters. Frankie whispered the letters it landed on under her breath.
"M… I… N… E… Mine?" Her brows furrowed, and she softly shook her head. "Your… what? Theater?"
She waited more than a minute, but the planchette didn't move. She decided to quickly move forward, not wanting to lose progress with the spirit.
"Did you kill the director and composer, Mr. Etheridge?"
She barely finished the last syllable when the planchette shot forward onto the "YES". Her brows cinched deeper over her eyes, her mouth screwed into a frown.
"Why?" she asked quietly, anger in her voice.
The wooden planchette returned to the letters. Frankie muttered the letters again.
"R… U… I… N… What's being ruined?" The planchette didn't move. "What is ruined, Mr. Etheridge?" she asked more forceful, but the spirit didn't respond. "How can I help you, Elijah? What can I do?"
Frankie tried to speak out to the ghost a few more times before giving up. Sighing and grumbling under her breath, she packed away the Ouija board and reached for her phone. She stopped the recording.
Frankie uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, pressing her phone to her ear and reviewing all three of the recordings. As before, the first two sessions were unprofitable. When she pressed play on the third recording, she was met again with her own voice, slightly echoed in the much larger room.
Frankie shut her eyes and repressed a sigh. A headache was brewing, and she desperately needed to get to bed. The past few days were emotionally and physically exhausting.
A deep gurgle crinkled in the recording.
Frankie's eyes shot open. She quickly rewound the audio file and turned up the volume, pressing it closely to her ear. About thirty seconds after she had asked her last question, there was a slow, deep shuffling sound. A shuffling sound that when she concentrated hard enough sounded like an older man's voice.
An older man's voice that said, "They ruined… show… Mine…"
Frankie noisily gulped. She stopped the recording and snapped the phone shut. Well… that seemed like incentive to her.
Frankie walked out of the theater, her feet heavy. Cas turned his head to her, still standing in the very same spot she left him.
"Was your investigation profitable?"
Frankie walked past Cas, barely offering him a glimpse before unlocking the front door. "Yes."
"Then mission accomplished."
"Not exactly. We still have to put him to rest before he hurts anybody else." Frankie opened the door and held it for Cas.
"What is the next step?" he asked as he exited the building.
"Well, I've only come into contact with a ghost one other time."
Her mother stood in front of her, looking the way she did the night she killed herself. Her gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes barely resembled any photograph Willadeene had in her house. And the look of utter horror painted on her face was one Frankie never wanted to see. And what was worse was that it was pointed right at her.
Frankie shut her eyes against the memory. She made her way down the steps. "We poured salt over the corpse and burned it. Only problem is," Frankie sighed and glanced at Cas as they walked down the sidewalk, "Elijah Etheridge was cremated. And his ashes got spilled all over the lobby. Probably what woke him up."
Cas' brows were pensively furrowed over his eyes as they pointed down the sidewalk. "So, how will we put him to rest?"
"Well… can you do anything about him?"
Cas was quiet. Frankie glanced up just in time to catch a glimpse of sadness in his gaze. It was gone before she could grasp a second glance.
"At one time, perhaps."
Frankie's lips parted, but she silenced the words before they were born. She looked forward, nodding her head.
"Other than that, then, there's really one other thing we can do. We gotta find what he's attached to. Some DNA, or an object he treasured most in his life. That's what's keeping him around."
Cas hummed. "Whatever is grounding him here, I know you will find it and destroy it."
Frankie smiled. "I'll try, that's for sure."
"You will succeed. Of that I am certain. You are more capable than you project."
The girl chuckled. "Pretty limited with the one hand," she simpered, waving her shirt-covered nub at the end of her arm.
Cas turned to her, his always-engrossed eyes fixing her with a staid gaze. "You could have none at all, and it wouldn't change that fact."
Frankie's eyes widened just the smallest bit. Her head tilted, gaze still on the angel, and the angel's still on her.
"You should think back on all the impossible feats you have accomplished. I have. And it amazes me still." He turned away, eyes pointed down the sidewalk. Frankie's never left him. "You must realize that most people would have gone mad or taken their own life after the horrors you've witnessed, yet here you stand, ready to face the next adversary."
Frankie's cheeks flared. She dipped her head, hiding her grin. "Not sure if that makes me brave or crazy."
"There's something I have learned since meeting you Winchesters. The line dividing those two is nearly nonexistent."
Frankie's laugh was short but loud, echoing down the street. "That should be our family moto. 'Winchesters: Courageously Bonkers'."
"It is certainly accurate of your brothers."
Frankie hummed. Her eyes fell to the concrete lying just before her feet. Her smile faded. "I miss them."
She saw in the corner of her eye that Cas looked down at her, but he said nothing. A few seconds later, and his eyes were back to the road. The rest of the walk home was silent.
Enough time had passed to pacify the cops. The theater was open for business, so Frankie was clear to return to work without need for trespassing. The morning was especially cold, and the heat of the community center brought a light smile to her cheeks.
She was grateful for the return to her routine. These days, spontaneity was an unsavory obstacle in a sea of obstacles. But now she was back to cleaning, something that calmed her on her most frustrating days.
She passed a few familiar faces between tasks, and she waved when her hand was free. She tried to offer a friendly face whenever she could. The air in the building was tense. Everyone was affected by the two deaths, some far more than others. They were not just fellow thespians, but dear friends.
Frankie, however, was tense for another reason. The empty rooms and vacant halls were not as void as she once assumed. There was a ghost sneaking about the building, and now more than ever did Frankie feel phantom eyes watching her every move.
Frankie finished returning the clean mats to the yoga studio at the west side of the building and headed down the halls towards the lobby. She figured she'd stop by the theater and see how rehearsals were going. Maybe talk to Jules if she was available.
"-help you with anything?"
Frankie smiled. Speak of the devil. Frankie softly grunted as she forced the heavy cart around the corner. She looked ahead into the lobby, her eyes squinting against the sun sparkling through the large windows. She could barely make out Jules' golden ponytail.
"Agents Moody and Marsden, ma'am. We're here investigating the two recent deaths in this building."
Frankie's eyes flicked to the two men Jules was talking to. They wore identical black suits, both holding up badges. FBI, no doubt. A bit late to the game.
"Agents… A bit late to the game, huh?" Jules quipped.
"We may be federal agents, ma'am, but flying coach is easier on the wallet."
"We would really rather focus on the deaths. What can you tell us about them?"
It happened like a twitch, like someone clicked her factory reset button. Her feet scuffed against the carpet, her spine freezing with the lighting fast chill that shot from the base up into her brain. Her gasp caught in her throat, pushed down by the severe clench in her jaw.
It had been what felt like ten years since she heard their voices, but not even a century could erase them from her memory.
"Well, I… I mean there's not much I can say. I wasn't there when they happened; I didn't even see the bodies. The police's account of it all might be more reliable."
"We read the reports."
"Every word. We're looking for a more personal opinion on the whole shebang. Would you say you come here a lot?
"Couple times a week."
"Have you ever felt cold breezes, not from vents?"
"Flickering lights? Or maybe even a hint of sulfur?"
"Sulfur?"
"Just routine questions, ma'am."
The gasp finally broke through the barrier of panic. Frankie instantly felt the burning of eyes on her. She felt naked, and though their gazes were not pointed her way, she felt as if she was on their radar. It would only take a small turn of their heads to see her.
To find her. After all this time. Her secret exposed.
She swallowed down her painfully dry throat and turned her back to them. She grabbed her nub and held it against her stomach. Her feet took her forward, leaving her cart behind, and hurrying around the corner before any of them caught so much as a glimpse of her.
She pressed her back to the wall. Her breathing was heavy, and she bit down on her lips to stifle the wheezy panting. Her head fell against the wall, her heart in her ears.
This wasn't happening. It couldn't be real. What were the odds of the only two people she couldn't see sashaying into her new life? It was too unlikely!
This must be a hallucination. Yes, it was a stress-induced mirage, just like with Gamigin.
"Is there anyone who comes here more often? On a daily basis, perhaps?"
And yet that illusion sounded exactly like Sam.
"Yeah, actually. The custodian works here just about every day. She was actually the one that found Amelia."
Frankie was moving before she registered it. Her head peeked around the corner, her eyes landing on Sam and Dean. They shared a look. Dean's brow was quirked.
There was a split second where Frankie was sure Sam's eyes would melt out of his skull. A moment where Dean would burst into flames, screaming with the most horrific wails one could ever be cursed to hear. There was a split second where she expected Gamigin to twist their vision like he had many times before. But that moment passed, proving a visceral fear and nothing more.
"Any idea where we might find her at the moment?" Dean asked, looking back at Jules.
"Um… I think she was cleaning up in the yoga studio down that hall. Oh wait… that's her cart right there."
Sam and Dean turned their heads down the hall, eyes landing on her.
Frankie yanked back, gasping shrilly. Her eyes bulged with fear, gaping in hope that they didn't see her.
Footsteps thudded on the hall's carpet.
Frankie pushed off the wall and booked it further down the adjacent hall. Her feet thrummed loudly, and her breathing was sharp and echoing through the corridor. She didn't have time to be discreet about her escape. She just had to get away from them!
Another turn, and the janitor's closet was in sight. She barely had enough control to slow her speed before yanking the door open and shoving herself inside. She closed the door behind her, lightly slamming it. She gripped the knob and squeezed it with all her might. It didn't lock from the inside.
With a second to breathe and gather whatever thoughts she could catch, she realized this was a stupid fucking place to hide. But there was no time to change her position when Dean's voice was heard down the hallway.
"Gee, you reckon she knows somethin'?" he sarcastically muttered.
"Think she went in there?"
"That's my best guess."
Frankie's eyes fell to the crack under the door. The light peering into the closet was shadowed by two pairs of feet just behind the door. Her breath was suspended in her lungs. She squeezed the knob tighter.
"Miss?" Dean called, tapping his knuckles on the door. Frankie felt the vibration in her hand. This was definitely no hallucination. "FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the deaths in this building over the last couple weeks."
Frankie bit down hard on her bottom lip. Hearing his voice so close, feeling the movement in the door made by his own hand, seeing his shadow before her feet… this was really Dean. This was really her brother, not seen by her own eyes in ten years.
She could still see the agony in his eyes on that night. When she was choking on her own blood, slowly fading from this world. Her hand was in his, slipping and sliding with gushing blood. He spoke comforting words to her, but all she focused on was his voice. The rumble of the low sound, and the soft twang of his accent. She memorized it so she would never forget it when she was down below.
And here she was, hearing it again in the flesh.
"We understand that you found the first body. We just wanna know a few things to flesh out our investigation. Mind comin' out and talkin' to us?"
After all this time, she still wasn't ready.
"Uh…," she uttered. Their shadows shuffled, reacting to the muffled sound behind the door. "U-Uh… n-no hablo inglés. Lo siento!"
She held her breath, hoping that their silence would drag on until they ultimately left. The idea was squandered the moment Sam cleared his throat.
"Nos gustaría hacerle algunas preguntas, por favor."
'What the fuck?!' Frankie mouthed. When did he know Spanish?!
Frankie shut her mouth and didn't open it again. If she pretended that she didn't exist, maybe they'd think that, too, right? Right?!
"Let me remind you that this is a federal investigation. If we find out you're holding back vital information, we'll have you deported all the way back to Meh-hi-co." Dean grunted in pain, and Frankie could only imagine that Sam elbowed him in the side.
There was a sigh, from Sam she thought. Their shadows shuffled once more. "Nuestro número de teléfono." A small, white card slipped under the door. "Si piensas en algo."
Frankie nearly sputtered a sloppy "gracias" before their shadows disappeared from the crack. Her ears burned as she listened to their footsteps fade around the corner and down the hall. She waited an extra minute before releasing her hand from the doorknob. It was covered in sweat, and her hand trembled as it plucked the card from its spot above her shoes. It had their alias' names and their phone number written in handwriting that she had become very familiar with lately.
Emotions that she didn't know had been absent came rushing back to her all at once. The deep ache in her chest nearly threw her back into the wall. Her throat closed up, and her eyes prickled and warmed. Her breathing quickened with a small heave.
Frankie slowly sank to the floor. She pressed the card to her lips, trying to hold their quiver in place, but it was no use. The floodgates had opened.
Sam and Dean were here. Now. Why now?!
Writing notes back and forth was one thing, but looking into the eyes of the people she betrayed, that she disappointed in more ways than one… She wasn't ready. But she had to be. Because they found her. She knew it was only a matter of time, but she had hoped she had more time.
'Shh, Frankie, shh. Easy, girl. They don't know it's you yet. You still have time. This isn't the end.'
Her conscience was right. It was getting good at that lately.
'Just wait out today and avoid them at all costs. They'll be done with their investigation soon. Get rid of that ghost. You'll just have to become one, too. Yeah. A ghost.'
Frankie's hand flattened against the wood floor, and she leaned forward, her hair falling over her eyes. She grounded herself, breathing heavily and channeling control back into her brain.
Things would be okay. She just had to sneak out of the building unseen, get to Cas, and call off work for the next few days. Fake a sickness. That could work. She just had to hide in the closet until the day was done.
She crossed her legs and placed her hand and nub in her lap. For the last few hours of the day, Frankie meditated, hoping to maintain any amount of calm that survived the spontaneous reunion.