Chapter 9 – Elise #2
Elise laughed softly. “If I could do that, I’d be solving cold cases and making Netflix documentaries. No, I can’t pick who shows up. They’re more like... radio signals. If I’m close enough, and they want to be heard, I hear them.”
Jen’s mouth curled up into a grin. “Still pretty cool.”
Then her gaze flicked toward the doorway, as if replaying the night in reverse. “Wait. Nick left with you. Did he know about the ghost thing?”
Elise gave a tiny shrug. “He already knew, yeah.”
Jen’s eyebrows flew up. “Nick knew, and he kept that to himself? He didn’t send out a bat signal to the rest of the cast?”
“That’s what really impressed you?” Elise teased.
“Absolutely. That man gossips with his facial expressions.”
They shared a short laugh—quick, quiet, but real. Before Jen could say more, the walkie at her hip squawked with static and an urgent voice calling her name.
“Ugh. That’s my cue.” She pulled a small key card and metal key from her pocket and passed them over. “This’ll let you into the back hallway. Lock up after your resets each night, okay?”
Elise took them with a nod. “Thanks.”
Jen tilted her head, her voice softer. “Thanks for telling me. That’s... a big thing to carry alone.”
Elise offered a quiet smile. “It’s a little less heavy now.”
Jen gave a nod—simple, solid—then vanished down the hall in a flurry of practicality.
Elise turned back to her trunk. The last layer of the wig trunk awaited: her mini-kingdom of foam heads, canvas blocks, wig caps, and curlers.
As she unpacked, her movements took on a familiar cadence.
She lined up the tools, smoothed the wig nets, nestled each wig like a spell being cast in slow motion.
There was something sacred in the order of it. Each placement a whisper of care, each brushstroke an offering to whatever magic made theatre possible.
Elise stepped back and surveyed the dressing room—her corner of it, at least. The trunk, now empty, had been tucked neatly into a corner, its lid closed but not latched, waiting for the next repack.
For now, it would become part of the theatre’s backstage topography. A seat, a shelf, a place to gather.
“Ah, excellent,” came Kevin’s voice, breezing in from the hallway like a particularly theatrical draft. “I see you’ve finished the heavy lifting just in time for me to dramatically reappear.”
He leaned one elbow against the utility sink at the opposite end of the room.
“I’ve done a sweep,” he continued, his tone adopting the crisp efficiency of a detective reporting in. “Ghost radar is fully online.”
Elise turned, arching a brow. “And?”
He ticked them off softly, his gaze scanning the space like he could see something she couldn’t. Maybe he could.
“The pianist’s still here. The ghostly page turner in the orchestra pit.”
Elise smiled faintly. “I heard them as I came in.”
“A new presence in the sound booth,” Kevin added. “He’s got the distinct vibe of someone who never got the recognition they deserved in life and are now making up for it with obsessive light cue adjustments.”
“Sounds... promising?”
“So far, he just seems annoyed that the new board is digital.”
Kevin glanced toward the costume hallway and his tone darkened. “And the Seamstress is back. You remember her.”
“Absolutely,” Elise muttered. “She ruined three zippers and nearly sent a swing into a panic spiral last time. But I think we made peace. Mostly.”
“And then—ah, yes—our old friend, the Whispering Wall,” Kevin said with a dramatic shiver. “Still as emotionally charged as ever.”
Elise frowned. “That’s not a ghost, though.”
“No, no, not quite. Just a place soaked in angst and whispered regrets. It’s like the architectural equivalent of a teenage diary.
” He lowered his voice. “It feeds off emotional residue. Hushed confessions, secrets, angry whispers backstage. It hears everything and remembers just enough to make trouble.”
Elise nodded. “Didn’t it mimic someone’s voice last time and almost cause a breakup?”
“Oh yes. It repeated a private breakup speech word-for-word to the wrong person. Pure chaos. Honestly impressive.”
Soft piano chords drifted in again, gentle and just slightly melancholy.
Elise tilted her head, then called quietly, “Hello again, you.”
Kevin looked toward the open door that led to the backstage area, then back to Elise with a small smile. “I think they remember you. Not many people say hello.”
He drifted back toward the utility sink right as a new presence crossed the threshold—not spectral, but jarring all the same.
Lark.
“Elise,” she said, smiling like a lead making their entrance. “There you are.”
Her eyes sparkled with something Elise couldn’t quite name—pleasure, certainly, but also anticipation. As though she expected Elise to beam, to flush, to drop everything and fawn.
Instead, Elise gave her a small, puzzled smile, one hand still braced on the edge of the wig trunk. “Hey, Lark. Wasn’t expecting you today.”
Lark’s smile faltered—only for a breath—but she recovered quickly. “I had a fitting nearby. Thought I’d drop in.” Her eyes searched Elise’s face. “I figured you might… be glad to see me.”
“I’m always happy to see familiar faces,” she said, diplomatic. “Just wasn’t planning on company today.”
Lark stepped in closer, voice quieter now. “It’s just… after the other night, I thought we had a moment.”
Elise flinched inwardly. There it was.
“You’re kind,” she said carefully. “And talented. But I don’t feel that way. Not… in the way I think you mean, at least.”
There was a long pause. Lark didn’t look hurt though, not immediately. She looked… confused.
“Are you sure?” she asked, almost under her breath. “You don’t feel anything?”
The hairs on Elise’s arms prickled. “I’m sure,” she said, gently but firmly.
Lark’s gaze flicked away for the briefest second, like the situation hadn’t gone to plan.
Then she gave a quick, brittle laugh and waved it off. “No worries. Friends, then.”
“Of course,” Elise replied, trying to shake the disquiet pooling in her chest.
Lark turned to go, but her posture was just a little too stiff. Her expression too carefully arranged.
When the door swung shut behind her, Elise stared at it a moment longer than she meant to. Something about the exchange wasn’t sitting right. Something in Lark’s reaction.
You don’t feel anything?
Not just disappointment. Disbelief. She couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was going on… Lark wasn’t telling her everything.
Kevin waited a beat before speaking.
“Okay,” he said finally. “So that was weird, right? Just making sure we’re all aligned on the weirdness.”
Elise didn’t answer right away.
“She looked at you like you missed your cue in a love scene,” he added. “Then flinched when you didn’t play along.”
Elise sighed. “It didn’t feel right. Like she was expecting something. Or… like something didn’t land.”
As Elise dug around in her bag for the warding kit, her phone buzzed with a message.
Cici
Call me when you’re free.
She paused, thumb hovering over the screen, and felt the memory tug her back to two nights ago.
The hotel room had smelled like too much soap and not enough sleep.
Nick had walked her to the door without asking too many questions, though the concern in his eyes lingered in her memory even after he left.
He’d only agreed to go after she swore she’d unpack her warding kit and protect the room. She had. Barely.
Then she’d called Cici.
Even before Elise had spoken, Cici had known. “It was him, wasn’t it?”
Her voice had been calm, but weighted—like someone reaching through the dark to steady your hand.
Elise had confirmed it, barely managing the words. “I think… I think he’s dead.”