the ghost inside
Morocco, evening
FRIEDRICH & ROSS
PG
The midday sun had surrendered to the encroaching shadows, casting long, inky fingers across the silent midway. An unsettling stillness replaced the usual music, laughter, and excited shouts. Vibrant tents stood empty, their colorful facades masking the somber mood that lingered in the air. Friedrich emerged from his trailer, the thermos of mint tea warming his hand but not his heart. Grief, acrid, and heavy clung to him.
He spotted Ross's trailer further down the path. Hesitantly, Friedrich approached the clinking of the thermos, an unwelcome intrusion on the silence. Reaching Ross's trailer, he gently knocked against the weathered door, his knuckles rapping a soft rhythm. When the door creaked open, Friedrich gave it a gentle nudge and poked his head through first.
"Evening, Ross," his voice a rumble of deep consonants, his German accent rolling over the words. "Mind if I join you?"
Deep loss of a loved one was something Ross could understand. The moment he saw Patric and spied those around him mourning, grieving, the knot in his own stomach contorted. He knew that bitter taste likely better than some and regardless of who had tears staining their cheeks (blood or found) family needed the last slivers of hope. Commingled with that deep sadness and feeling of loss came fear - a deep seed planted in the tangles of his memory. Each step would be laden with caution where they were once free and whimsical, carefree.
Ross startled a bit at the rapping upon the wood of his door. That soft clinking sound had been lost on his ears but the heavy sound of shivering barrier was enough to bring the fire breather upright.
He wasn’t expecting company. Soft sounds of hesitation made their way to the door, one hand on the knob and the other stretched out with a lick of fire simmering above the palm just in case it was….”Ah, Friedrich,” Rosson breathed, relieved. “Oui. Oui, come in.” The flame went out with the close of his fingers against the palm and Ross widened the door for his friend to enter.
Lately he had been spending time getting to know Alec and part of him had hoped the telekinetic was the one who had come to call but Ross was not displeased at all with the company. “Are you okay?” Concerned caused his brow to furrow.
Friedrich stepped inside, the door creaking shut behind him. Grief sat heavily on Ross's face, more profound than any mask he'd ever worn on stage. It mirrored the emptiness Friedrich felt in his chest.
"No," Friedrich answered, his voice thick with the German lilt that usually softened with proximity but couldn't hide the rawness today. "Maybe... we could forget it for a while. Look at the necklace instead." He held out the thermos, the clang of metal against wood a small defiance against the stillness.
"Mint tea. Figured it might help us unravel... well..." He waved his hand vaguely, searching for the words. "Thought it might help us sort through this, whatever 'this' may be." He allowed his gaze to roam the trailer, searching for the object that had brought him here. Finally, he met Ross's eyes once more.
"May I, perhaps," he asked, his voice hesitant, "take a seat?" He gestured towards the empty chairs scattered around the room.
This was not an ideal state. Where was the laughter? The usual mirth and lightness that came with familiar company? It was missing here, empty like a gaping chasm or a totally eviscerated cavity. The door squeezed shut, blocking out the rest of the world and Ross did something lately that he had usually avoided - the lock clicked to secure the barrier. It felt so strange to be wary of the night and yet his friend’s face spoke more words than he had to stumble through to make the same point.
Ross nodded at all of what came next: observing the necklace, sharing the tea that his friend had brought, Friedrich making himself at home.
“Oui. Please. I will get us cups.” Easy steps carried him to the task and with minimal clatter, Ross returned with a small tray toting the things they would need for indulging in the beverage. It would settle down on the flat of the coffee table, and then Ross went to claim the pendant from the place he had stashed it.
He didn’t like to touch it. Carefully he had swaddled it in a slip of fabric, and now the small layers peeled back as he claimed the seat next to Friedrich. “Ah, it is here.” He held the trinket up and out toward the other man to see, to take if he so dared.
Friedrich sank down gratefully, the worn cushion offering a comfort the sterile silence couldn't. Ross disappeared into the small kitchen, the silence momentarily broken by the soft thuds of footsteps on linoleum. He returned shortly with a tray balancing mugs and a porcelain bowl filled with sugar cubes, remnants of familiarity.
With a practiced hand, Friedrich unscrewed the thermos, the hiss of steam breaking the silence. He grabbed the mugs Ross had just retrieved, setting them down with a gentle clatter. As he poured the steaming liquid, the aroma of chamomile filled the air. The clink of ceramic felt almost defiant against the quiet.
Friedrich didn't reach out immediately for the necklace. He cleared his throat, his voice low and earnest. "Ross, you know I have… abilities. I can sometimes sense things from objects, their history, the emotions attached to them." He paused, gauging his friend's reaction. "The necklace," Friedrich continued, "it holds secrets. I can feel it. And I... I'm curious. Curious to see what it wants to tell us."
He glanced at the wrapped bundle in Ross's hand, his fingers twitching with an almost magnetic pull. But he held back, needing Ross's consent before venturing further. "May I?" he asked, his voice soft.
Ross could only nod. He understood that many were the product of some type of unique gifts or powers and that none were to be underestimated. His own was powerfully dangerous and while Friedrich was blessed in his own right, the fire starter knew that there was always a price, a penalty for such a gift. Being able to sense secrets and the emotional burden laced into them had to be hard.
With a thick swallow, he paused for a moment to take a small bit of comfort from the aroma of the warm beverage steeping in the mugs, before he nodded. “Oui. If you do not think that you will be hurt.” That was where he drew the line. He’d throw the damn pendant out right now if he even thought there was a sliver of danger presenting itself to his friend.
But Ross also trusted Freidrich to know his own limitations. “I am here.” He hoped the reassurance sounded better to Friedrich than it had when it left his mouth, and Ross reluctantly offered up the pendant for examination.
Friedrich met Ross's gaze, a flicker of gratitude warming his eyes despite the concern etched on his friend's face. He understood the unspoken fear that often shadowed those with gifts and the burden they carry. Ross's trust felt like a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Thank you, Ross," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't take this lightly." He reached out, his hand hovering over the wrapped bundle for a moment before gently unwrapping it. The silver pendant glistened in the light. Blunt chips, seemingly hammered into the metal, marred its surface, and a single black jewel nestled in the corner. The object held a strange allure that whispered secrets waiting to be seen.
Taking a deep breath, Friedrich chuckled nervously. "Well," he began to say, "perhaps a sip of tea first, wouldn't you agree?" Instinctively, he reached for his mug, the warmth radiating through the ceramic a welcome comfort. Friedrich lifted it to his lips, the steam swirling around his face. The minty aroma filled his senses, and the gentle heat soothed the tightness in his chest. Friedrich set his mug down with a soft clink, the sound barely registering.
But as his fingertips brushed the cool metal of the pendant, a jolt of energy surged through him. The world around him blurred, the trailer dissolving into nothingness. A tall, imposing figure with a cruel twist to his lips materialized before him, Iksander. A wave of anger and resentment crashed over Friedrich, so potent it felt like his own.
Then, another figure emerged, Patric, his face painted with fear and desperation. Friedrich felt a surge of protectiveness towards the man, his heart clenching as he witnessed Iksander raise a hand, his eyes filled with malice. In that split second, Friedrich understood. The pendant held the memories of a brutal act, a life extinguished by cold-blooded violence. He saw the struggle, the raw terror in Patric's eyes, and the sickening satisfaction on Iksander's face as he delivered the final blow.
With a gasp, Friedrich ripped his hand away from the pendant, the world snapping back into focus. He sat there, visibly shaken, the taste of bile rising in his throat.
Ross watched his friend with trust. There was nothing here that would cause him to withdraw the trinket. Holding it steady, he waited.
As Friedrich indulged the tea, the pyrokinetic nodded. Tea was the best when it came to relaxation.
Steady was his hand until his friend jutted back as if electrocuted. “Are you okay!?” His back and shoulders had straightened. The pendant had been wrapped and set aside and he recognized that paleness. “The bathroom, it is down that way. The door is open.”
Friedrich stared at the open doorway to the bathroom; a wave of nausea settled in his stomach. Ross's concerned offer echoed in his ears. Still, he stubbornly shook his head, one hand instinctively clenching at his stomach, the other waving off the suggestion with a forced steadiness.
"I'll be fine," he rasped, the word barely a whisper. "...I just need a moment."
But the truth was, he was far from fine. The vision had struck him with the force of a physical blow, the images of Patric's death unfurling with horrifying clarity. It was unlike anything he'd experienced before, a brutal assault on his senses that left him reeling. The pendant lay discarded on the table, constantly reminding him of the darkness he'd witnessed. The silence within the small room seemed to amplify the pounding of his heart and the shallow rasp of his breath.
He looked up at Ross, his normally calm eyes wide and shadowed. Friedrich spoke with a grave certainty that felt like a lead weight on his shoulders, "Ross... I know who murdered Patric."
Brow furrowed. He felt as if he were watching Friedrich through a slow motion lens as things played out. Those emotions slipping across his friends face, the paleness of his skin. Things that Ross couldn’t truly understand manifested in Friedrich.
Picking up on that soft request, all Ross could do was nod. Trust that things would resurface on the positive.
That small object which was the start of all of this lay forgotten. His focus had latched onto his friend and with silent tension and bated breath he waited.
Ross blinked. “Excusez-moi?!” How could…he needed to trust Friedrich and yet he was still cautious. “Who was it?”
"Iskander," he breathed, the name a foreign sound on his lips. He'd never met the man himself, only heard whispers and rumors. "In my vision... I saw Patric. He was arguing with a man...Iskander. And Iskander, he was wearing this pendant." He gestured towards the pendant on the table.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Friedrich began to rise from his chair. His movements were deliberate. Standing tall, Friedrich met Ross's gaze, his voice low but firm. "Ross," he began, his voice tight with urgency, "I need to tell Ms. Rowan. Now."