AN: This is for my ever delightful and insistent co-writer, 24. Her 'ghostly' research and consistent Jayne-poking are an endless source of inspiration and – Jayne-poking. Although I think we're Zoë-poking this chapter. :-D
If you like and you review you'll earn my ever-bountiful gratitude.

Part 9: Why losing your partner is bad…

Mal and River did their best to carefully respect the dead. This was one of those times where the captain wished Book was still alive, because having the man here would have made this entire situation just a little less – creapifying. What he was able to discern was that none of these people had their ID's on them anymore and that they had all died together. Likely moving them would constitute disturbing a crime scene. He'd just concluded that they needed another opinion when there was a startled yell from the main hall, "Mal!" That sounded like Jayne. He looked over at River who shrugged and let the floor hatch close.

"Come on, let's see what's got his panties in a bunch," he mumbled.

River looked back at the dead; "We will get you your retribution." Then she followed the captain out to where Inara, Kaylee, and Jayne were. There was a mighty crash.

"Did you see?" Kaylee asks.

Mal had seen. Chairs. Stacked from floor to ceiling in impossible fashion. And for some reason River's approach caused the entire thing to come tumbling down. He looks at the dark haired girl, who is blinking, rather surprised. Then he glances at Inara and Kaylee and nods. "Jayne, I found bodies. Have you seen Zoë or Simon?"

"Not since the headed off into the servant's wing," the gun for hire says.

"Inara, come with me. River give her the capture and stay with Jayne and Kaylee." He heads off to find the Doc and his first mate. Inara gives the others a raised eyebrow and takes the capture from River before following Mal off.

Jayne stands there staring at Mal's back. He doesn't want to be responsible for the two women. Then again, heading down a dark narrow hall in a haunted castle doesn't really appeal either. He clamps his mouth closed and glares at Kaylee.

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Zoë had been walking down this very long, dank hallway opening doors and dodging these – moving bumps – in the carpet runner. The last time she had experienced anything similar to this it was when she'd gotten so drunk that she was still drunk the next day. Seeing as she had gotten drunk the night before it only went to figure that she was still drunk now. Logically.

The last door in the long hall was slightly stuck, but she forced the handle and swung the door open anyhow. It was just like all the rest. Dusty and covered with sheets. She left the door open for Simon and headed around the corner, unaware that the 'corner' became a solid wall behind her as she headed down the back servant's passage…

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Simon reached the end of the hallway and looked around. Had he passed Zoë? He turned and glanced in the last room, "Zoë?" Nothing but silence greeted him. He scanned with the capture and stepped back into the hall. It was a dead end. There was no place else to go. He turned a full circle. Three solid walls and a long empty hallway stood before him. Where could she have gone?

He walked back to the next to the last room and looked in there. It was so quiet. He moved into the room. It was so still. Simon made a circuit of the room and stepped back into the hall. Mal was going to kill him. He moved back to the end and began to look carefully. The running lumps in the carpet had stopped. He peered at the walls and found absolutely no difference in any of them from the other sections of wall or each other. Oh man… Mal was going to kill him.

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The dark skinned woman considered herself to have a pretty level head. This wasn't much of an excuse for not making sure she had Simon with her, but then she just assumed he was – right there. By the time she reached the stairs spiraling upwards and called for him she figured that there wasn't much chance they could get separated here. The castle wasn't that big and the passage had been rather obvious. So she called "Simon?" one final time and headed up the stairs thinking that he'd catch up with her.

The stairs were narrow and slightly steep, but dry and uncovered. The stone clicked under her heels. She peeled off the thick dust and cobwebs when she reached the window, small as it was, and noticed that the mule was parked smack dab in the middle of the courtyard. Might as well announce they were there. Dumb of Jayne to leave it there.

The faint persistent dripping that her ears caught made her slow down, just in case the stairs became wet. She reached the top of the landing and noticed that there was no door. Just an unfinished room with a high narrow window and a roughly thatched roof that was filled with sheet covered forms. The dripping seemed to be coming from here.

A slight breeze wafted through the broken window, rustling the dusty white sheets and bringing a scent to her nose that she was more than familiar with. Faint iron, metallic and moist with an organic tinge. She swallowed and scanned the room. That smelled fresh. Like a fresh wound. She looked herself over to make sure she wasn't bleeding, checking her hands and exposed skin.

She glanced up at the forms dotting the room. The drip seemed to have a rich squishy quality to it, sort of thick on the landing, like syrup or blood… but where exactly was it coming from?

Zoë reached for her weapon, toggling the safety as her natural drive to find the answers to her questions pressed at her, causing her to move into the room. The 'plop, splash, plop-plop splash' noise seemed to be coming from the center of the room. She carefully skirted around the wall, trying to catch sight of the drip as she moved. The dusty sheets caught the breeze and obscured her view.

That was odd, why did that one there look faintly pinkish? No, not pinkish… bloody like a nosebleed? Was there something in the rafters bleeding down on that sheet? She scanned above her head, trying to see into the shadows under the eaves.

Unable to see the cause of the drip and fairly sure there was nothing there, Zoë turned her attention to the cloth covered shapes in the room. The breeze was making it difficult to tell if anything was moving or not. She reached out and snatched the sheet off.

The russet streaked face twisted in a silent scream of grief made her take half a step back. A fresh bead of deep red liquid welled up in the corner of the statue's eye and dribbled down its cheek. She made a face. That was weird.

Zoë turned and slowly slid another sheet off, revealing a second statue. This one had its hands cupped and between its fingers squeezed a slow drip of red, like a suicide victim catching his blood as it ran out of his veins. She glanced at the other forms and decided to leave this room. The fastest route would be through the middle.

Might not be the wisest or safest choice. The sensation of dread however took little of that into account. She strode into the center of the room, cutting for the doorway. There was a change in the dripping sound with each step, going from a 'plop, splash, plop-plop,' to a rapid, 'plop-plop-plop' then a outright trickle of moisture against stone by her third step.

She forced her eyes away from the opening to the stone wall, seeing dark threads of moisture teasing their way down the rough surface. Her eyes darted from one now red stained sheet to another, the smell overshadowing the scent of dust now. She put her hand on the handle of her trusty gun and froze. The air became heavy and still. Thick with the scent of freshly spilled blood.

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be. The forms were still. The sheets starting to cling from the weight of the moisture soaking into them. She put one hand up like she was testing for rain and flinched at the hot drop that splattered against her palm. Taking two very rapid breaths, Zoe wiped her hand on her pants, leaving a red smear.

The sound continued to intensify, along with the volume. By the time she'd reached the center of the round room there was sheets of moisture coating the walls, the coverings were thick and heavy and red. The air seemed to be steaming from the heat of the fresh blood. Her mind told her this was impossible. The blood was starting to pool on the floor and mat down her hair. She couldn't breathe.

But it kept getting worse. Two steps closer to the door and the thick, sticky, liquid flowing from the rafters was coming down it stringy rivulets, connecting the heads of the shrouded forms with the beams above and forming thicker snake like flows across the already damp cloth. A new trickle started right in front of her and she barely stopped in time to avoid walking right into it.

Zoë dodged. She had to get out of here. Her foot caught a heavy, wet, blood filled sheet and she slipped. Catching herself against the wall next to the door she glanced back. The form closest to he moved, lowering the sheet the rest of the way. The face was horribly disfigured, scared and bloody raw. She brought up her gun and pulled the trigger only for it to click empty. The creature – the reaver – bared its pointed teeth at her and advanced, as did its fellows. Zoë back peddled, slipping in the standing inch of blood on the floor.

The sudden lack of level under her slick feet along with the advancing enemy ripped a scream from her throat as she tumbled backwards from a near crouch down the spiral stone stairs. Her head connected with a lucky bit of the wall as she came to a halt and Zoë knew no more…