"Hey, uh, Stella," Lincoln Loud said with a reserved wave. "How, um… how have you been?"
The shock of hearing Lincoln's voice for the first time in years left Stella unable to say anything. Her throat constricted as words failed her. Her brain scrambled to think of something, anything, to say to the friend she had just been reunited with… but her mind was as blank as her expression. So for a short eternity, Stella said nothing to him. All she could do was stare, her almond-shaped eyes so wide they instantly began burning. Lincoln lowered his hand during this uncomfortable silence, and the only noise he made was a faint cough. He looked over to Jordan for help, but the other woman shook her head. This was between them, as far as she was concerned.
Lincoln realized he'd have to break the silence. "Stella, I..."
"I can't believe it's you," Stella interrupted. Her voice was low and soft. She reached out to cradle Lincoln's cheek, and stroked it like she couldn't believe what she was feeling. "I thought you were dead this whole time. I thought you were dead, a-and that it was my fault..."
"It wasn't your fault," the young man responded, his words weighed down by guilt. He forced a wan smile. "It's not like you gave me the idea or anything."
She choked out a weak chuckle. "I guess I didn't do that," she said. Then she frowned. "Lincoln, why did you-"
"I'll tell you everything," he said, "but first can you, uh… back up a little?"
Stella didn't realize that she had been pressing her body up against his, and cradling his face like she was ready to kiss it. She yelped and took a few strides backwards. Her eyes were wide with embarrassment now, and her cheeks started to redden. "S-Sorry," she apologized. "I just… well, you know..."
"It's fine, it's fine," insisted Lincoln, his face also glowing red.
I'm not saying I didn't like it or anything.
"If you two are done," muttered an increasingly-impatient Jordan, tapping her fingers on her arm as she watched her two friends fumble their reunion, "we need to sit down and work on this killer case. You two acting like you've never spoken to another human being before is getting in the way of that."
"Ah, come on, Jordan," Lincoln said, "you really need to lighten up. When did you become such a Debbie Downer?"
Wrong thing to say. She flashed him an angry look so intense he flinched.
"When I signed up for this job," she said, enunciating every syllable for Lincoln to remember until his dying days.
Lincoln was stunned for a moment. Something big must've happened to her while I was gone, he quickly figured, and I'm guessing it has to do with why she signed up to become a detective. Jeez, when I left, she was a smiling rich girl, and now she's a grumpy cop stereotype living in a hovel like this.
Calling it a hovel wouldn't exactly be accurate. It was a nice house, and in their day and age, just having a house at all was a blessing. Still, the house was dim from all the broken, inactive lights, and the floor was covered with loose hairs, dust, and stains. The place really needed a woman's touch...which, considering the inhabitants of the home, was ironic.
He didn't say any of that out loud, of course. He kept his trap shut as he and Stella followed Jordan into the living room. His eyes darted between the two girls, studying them and how they'd changed. For the most part, they looked a lot like how he would've imagined their aged-up selves: taller, longer hair, more developed bodies(~)… but there were subtler details that clued Lincoln in on their lifestyles. Jordan had dark bags under her eyes, and Stella had dandruff dotting her raven hair. Lincoln hummed; combining all that with the dirty house, he could only come to one conclusion…
They actually CARE about their jobs! Like, to the expense of themselves!
Lincoln knew being devoted, of course. But it wasn't to his job. He was almost gleeful in his ability to find chances to slack off and do nothing. Most investigators would freak if they didn't maintain their client flow, but Lincoln loved the slow days with no cases to work on. It gave him a chance to spend time with the people who knew his whereabouts when he went into hiding, after all...
But Jordan and Stella were different. They were cops. They were meant to protect and serve, to keep good and law-abiding civilians safe from the evils of those who stepped out of society's boundaries. Being a detective and a PI were similar in ways, but when Lincoln realized how much damage would be done to Royal Woods if they went easier on themselves… and he couldn't help but feel a glowing respect for them.
Too bad we're on opposite sides of the law, he thought. The memories of hiding from sirens and search parties were still too fresh on his psyche for his own liking.
"Lincoln, sit down."
"Wha?" He shook his head as Jordan's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The two detectives were sitting down on the same couch, both eyeing him as he stood awkwardly in the corner. Cringing slightly, he sat down in a cushioned chair, right besides Stella. It was a bit too low, but he didn't complain.
"Soooooooo..."
"So indeed." Stella nodded.
"Guess I have to do all the talking around here," Jordan sighed. She stood up and balled her fists with righteous fury. Looking down at the towhead and the ravenette, she stated, "We all know why we're here. For months now, the citizens of Royal Woods have been targeted by a malicious and deranged killer: the Royal Woods Wendigo."
"Wendigo?" Lincoln snorted. "Not the name I would've chosen."
"Sucks you weren't in the news room that gave him that name."
He shrugged.
"Anyway… Stella and I have been working on the case for a long, long time. We've gathered testimonies, looked through security footage near crimes scenes, found some traces of DNA that were unfortunately inconclusive… but it's become clear to me that we can't keep going at it alone." Jordan's eyes then shifted towards Lincoln, narrowing in on him. "That's where you come in, Lincoln. You're going to help us catch this guy."
Lincoln nodded, smiling, and glanced over at Stella for a moment. He was dismayed to see that her eyes were aimed downwards, looking at her twiddling thumbs. His smile faltered and flickered; he looked like exactly like the young schoolboy getting ignored by the cute girl at the lunch table he once was. Jordan noticed Lincoln looking over at Stella, and found herself also frowning for a quick moment.
"Uh… yeah," Lincoln said dumbly, turning back to Jordan. "I'm still surprised you asked me to help you out."
"I had my reasons," Jordan said coolly. She casually glanced down at her fingernails, but when it became clear no one was going to ask her what her reasons were, she sighed and explained, "I was worried that the chief would transfer the case away from us if I asked for a helping hand. We're already skating on thin ice as is. Plus… well, I do think it would be nice to spend a little time with an old friend."
She gave Lincoln a small, almost shy, smile. Before he could return it, Stella suddenly gasped. It was like the gasp of a drowning victim brought back from the brink of death. She spun frantically towards Lincoln - who shot back in his seat - and sputtered, "Lincoln, just please tell me! I just… why did you run away? It's been eating me up for so long, and I… I thought I had done something bad to you, and that made you run away, and then you got hurt or killed..."
"Stella!" Jordan shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you? You're acting really weird!"
"I feel like I'm seeing a ghost, Jordan!" Stella yelled back at her. She jabbed her thumb wildly in Lincoln's direction. "Y-You know how guilty I've felt all this time!"
"And you know how I've always said your guilt is dumb and you have nothing to be guilty about."
"She's right, you know," Lincoln squeaked.
For a minute, the three were locked in a Mexican stare-off. Stella's pupils dashed back and forth between the shrinking Lincoln and the bewildered Jordan. In both cases, the looks on their faces were clear. Stella slowly began to unwind, and a sense of shame began to settle in. She slumped back into her seat, spilling out over the cushion, and wet her lips. "I… I think I need to go for a moment," she murmured as she stood. "To the… other room."
Jordan watched Stella leave. She bit down on her lip, unsurely. Glancing back at Lincoln, who seemed startled but also like he was trying to hide it, she shook her head and sighed. "Maybe this was a bad idea," she grumbled. "I think we need to do this some other time. Let's, um, meet up tomorrow. At a cafe or somewhere like that. That sound alright?"
"Sure."
Lincoln stood up from his chair, and Jordan walked with him until he reached the front door. He turned to her and asked, "Why's she acting like this?"
"I don't know," Jordan said with genuine confusion. Her tone hardened and became just a hint more accusatory when she then said, "Maybe it's because one of her closest friends ever disappeared mysteriously and likely died, and she's been wondering if she had anything to do with it for years. You know how closely she feels to her friends, and how doubtful she is of herself. To her, you running away must have felt like her own brother running away… running from her..."
Guilt speared Lincoln's heart like mistletoe spearing the Viking god Baldr.
"Regardless, I'll try to talk to her about it," Jordan promised him. "So...we'll see you tomorrow Lincoln."
"Yeah, sure. S-See you tomorrow."
She patted his shoulder, and streaks of scarlet colored her cheek. As she watched him leave, she felt the blush on her cheeks growing redder and redder.
In the bathroom, Stella stared at her reflection in the mirror. She could just barely focus on it, though. Her focus and thoughts weren't with her; they were with Lincoln.
Why am I being so strange around him?
He left her behind. He left everyone behind. But he was back now, and that was a good thing! Why couldn't she just accept it and move on from the past?
She thought about Lincoln some more. He really did look different now – Jordan downplayed how much manlier he looked, how much more rugged he appeared. Maybe he wasn't action hero/bodybuilder material, but he was a far-cry from the soft-faced teen she had known him as.
The more she thought about his strong features and masculine frame, the warmer she felt. The whole room seemed to spin around her. It wasn't until she felt her heart start beating and the butterflies in her stomach that she realized what was happening to her.
Oh my God, she thought. Am I… am I in love with Lincoln?
