Chapter 10 – Elise
Chapter Ten
Elise
The alley greeted her like it always did—unexpected color splashed across crumbling brick, sunlight catching in the cracks of old murals.
Elise paused at the threshold just long enough to smile, the weight on her shoulders a touch lighter. The night before had helped. Her talk with Cici had stitched something back together inside her, and though the air still felt electric with unfinished business, it was bearable now.
She swiped her card. The reader blinked green. The door clicked.
As she made her way down the familiar fluorescent hallway, her chest tightened. She was nervous. Tonight would be her first performance back with the full cast since the… incident. She hoped the community she’d begun to find here hadn’t been spooked off by one scream and a quick exit.
Ahead, a door creaked open, and a tall man in a faded crew hoodie stepped into view, muttering. She caught a snippet spoken into a walkie talkie as he passed: “Lighting board’s acting up again. Going to check the damn fuse box. Third time today.”
He vanished up the stairwell before she could speak.
Elise slowed slightly, eyes drifting toward the blinking overhead light above the stairwell. It flickered twice—quick, then long—then settled.
Ah.
Kevin’s helpful techie.
Ghostly mischief. She could almost feel the spirit’s presence trailing the frayed cords and flickering bulbs. Probably not malicious, just… curious. Loyal in the way backstage crew always were.
She kept walking.
Elise was smoothing out a stubborn wig line when the door creaked open, its hinges announcing a familiar arrival.
“Hey,” Nick said, stepping inside with the soft tread of someone who didn’t want to startle her. In his hands: a coffee cup, still steaming, the lid slightly askew like he’d sampled it to make sure it was the right order.
“For you,” he added, extending it like a peace offering. “The kind with too much sugar and a frankly irresponsible amount of syrup.”
Elise accepted it with a small laugh, her fingers warming around the cup. “You remembered.”
“Hard to forget something that smells like dessert and caffeine made a very unwise baby.”
They leaned against the counter, side by side, the low hum of the theatre buzzing behind them—set pieces shifting, distant laughter echoing off the rafters. It would be showtime before long.
“I didn’t tell you everything, the other night.” Elise said quietly, not looking at him. “The ghost I saw at the cast party… it was my ex.”
Nick didn’t respond right away, but she could feel the change in his energy—like a thread pulled taut. “The one from before?”
She nodded, fingers tightening slightly around the cup. “He’s dead. But somehow, he still found me.”
Nick gave a small nod, then raised his brows in mock seriousness. “So, what’s the protocol here? Ghost-pepper spray? Ritual salt packets? Do I need to buy a bell, a book, and a candle?”
Elise laughed, and some of the tension finally bled from her shoulders.
He sobered a bit. “You see him again, you call me. I’ll haunt him right back.”
Her smile turned soft. “Thanks.” Nick had always had a way of grounding her—no theatrics, no questions she didn’t want to answer. Just presence. Just care.
“You’re good at this, you know,” she said.
He nudged her gently. “At exorcisms?”
“At being a friend.”
They stood like that for another minute, sipping quietly. The moment didn’t rush them. Neither did the ghosts.
As the afternoon stretched on, the backstage air thickened—not with dust or humidity, but with the subtle static of anticipation.
Cast members trickled in, their voices rising in easy familiarity, carrying the scent of stage makeup and the subdued flutter of pre-show nerves.
The hum of curling irons, laughter, and zippers filled the dressing room like an instrument being tuned.
Elise tucked a comb behind her ear and took a step back to assess the tidy wig display.
Her little corner, nestled between the costume racks and the door to the women’s dressing room, was now a makeshift highway.
People wove past with quick greetings or snippets of gossip, trailing sequins and scarves in their wake.
Kevin, ever the observer, had claimed a perch atop a beam near the ceiling, his legs crossed with a ghostly elbow on a ghostly knee. “It’s like a colony of very theatrical bees,” he mused, just loud enough for her to hear.
Elise smirked, brushing a synthetic curl into shape. “Am I the beekeeper?”
As she spoke, she caught movement in her peripheral vision. Lark. Arriving just early enough to be polite, just late enough to fluster Elise’s rhythm. She stood with a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Think you’ve got room for me?”
Elise gestured to the chair. “I’ll make it.”
They didn’t speak much. The air between them was less charged now, but not empty. There was something there. Not longing. Not quite regret. Just the quiet acknowledgment of a new boundary.
Across the room, Jen popped her head in. “Anyone seen Ellen?”
Heads shook. A few shrugs.
Lark stilled.
It was subtle—softer than a flinch. A pause in the motion of adjusting her jacket. Her gaze flicked up toward Jen, then quickly away.
Jen’s brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded and ducked back out. The mood didn’t crack, but it wobbled, just a little.
Lark stood abruptly, pin curls not quite finished. “I should check the dressing room,” she said, more to the air than anyone in particular.
She left without waiting for a reply.
Once Elise found her rhythm, the rest came easily. The Bennet sisters descended like a glittery whirlwind, laughter echoing off the walls. She was halfway through gluing Talia’s wig when Sienna leaned over with a grin.
“So…” Sienna drawled, voice pitched just loud enough to carry across the room, “anybody gonna ask what made Elise scream at the cast party? Or am I the only one still wondering?”
The room didn’t go silent, exactly, but something shifted. Conversations paused. The clatter of hangers quieted. Everyone still moved, but more slowly, as though the air had thickened.
Elise’s fingers tightened around her comb.
She could dodge this. She knew how. A laugh, a shrug, a neat little lie about shadows and adrenaline. The old version of her had survived on answers like that.
But the old version of her had also spent a lot of time alone.
Her pulse beat hard in her throat. She looked around at the Bennet sisters, at the glitter and pins and half-applied wigs, at this room full of people waiting for her reaction.
Maybe this was the next step.
Not everyone. Not everything. Just enough truth to stop hiding in plain sight.
Elise set down her comb.
“I saw a ghost,” she said. Her voice was steady, but something inside her twisted.
Kevin, drifting near the ceiling like a judgmental chandelier, added, “That’s what we call… strategic understatement.”
“I see them sometimes,” she clarified, glancing around the room. “It’s not always a big deal. But this one was… different. It scared me.”
For a moment, the silence deepened.
Then: “Whoa,” breathed Avery from the costume rack.
Sienna blinked at her through a cloud of setting spray. “Like, full-on ghost? Victorian? Bleeding walls?”
“More like tall, angry, and haunting,” Elise muttered.
There was a ripple of soft laughter. Wes made a skeptical noise, but didn’t push. Bex, sitting cross-legged on the counter, nodded solemnly like Elise had just admitted to a perfectly normal Tuesday.
Before the moment could fray, Nick slipped between them like a well-timed stagehand, towel slung around his neck, regency coat only halfway buttoned.
“She’s not messing with us,” he said, voice light but firm. “I’ve known Elise for years. She’s the real deal.”
That seemed to settle something. A few heads nodded. Casper offered a quiet, “Makes sense,” like he’d been holding that thought in for days.
Romy, ever unbothered, dabbed lip gloss onto her cupid’s bow. “I mean, I’ve done a little witchcraft. Cleansing stuff. Candles.” Then, offhandedly offered, “Lark’s the real deal, though. Way more intense.”
Elise blinked. “She is?”
Romy didn’t elaborate, just smiled and bent toward her blush palette.
Jasper leaned back in his chair and shrugged, unfazed. “We’re theatre people. Ghost stories and theatre magic come with the territory.” He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’d be more suspicious if you hadn’t seen something.”
Elise blinked, a little stunned by the calm acceptance. Gratitude stirred low in her chest.
Avery twisted in her chair. “Wait, so… will you tell us about them? The ghosts you’ve seen?”
There were a few murmurs of agreement, curious glances passed like notes between cues. Elise hesitated, then gave a small nod.
“Yeah,” she said. “I could.”
Before the questions could start flying, Jen swept through the dressing room, clapping once, sharp and cheerful.
“Alright, alright—leave the poor woman alone. We don’t need a séance before curtain. Wigs and wardrobe, people!”
Groans and laughter followed, but the energy shifted, breaking apart with the timing of a well-rehearsed transition.
Jen caught Elise’s eye and gave her a wink—light, protective, perfectly timed. The buzz picked back up: call times, hairpins, someone shouting about a missing corset. No one pressed further.
Elise ducked her head toward her next wig, heart still hammering, but lighter now. Like a window had been cracked.
The secret was out. Not explained. Not solved. But accepted.
As the pre-show flurry began to crescendo, Elise started to notice a theme that began like background noise—one complaint, then another. Easily dismissed.
“Bex, can you help? My zipper’s stuck.”
“I swear this hem was fine earlier.”
“…Seriously? My slip vanished.”
She didn’t need to look up to know something was off. It prickled behind her ears, a quiet tangle in the air like thread pulled too tight.
She could feel her.