Chapter 11 – Elise #2
She jumped a little when Mrs. Bennet’s voice burst through the monitor, bright and breathless—“Five daughters and not a single suitor between them!”—followed by a chorus of mock outrage and perfectly timed fan snaps.
Moments later, the Bennet sisters spilled back into the green room, laughing breathlessly as they stripped out of gloves and retouched lipstick.
Later, in a lull between cues, Romy returned in a huff. “Casper improvised again during the Netherfield Ball. I swear to god, I almost broke character.”
Jasper trailed behind, mouthing along with the orchestra’s “Two Left Feet” motif as he dug around for his next cravat.
And then came the hush.
Darcy’s first proposal. The crackle of emotion even the cheap backstage speaker couldn’t quite dull. Where Darcy’s fraught and sincere “In Vain Have I Struggled” ballad flowed into the contentious “Every Reason Not to Love You” duet.
And finally, the door slam, right before the curtain fell on intermission.
Elise was halfway through an intermission wig touch-up when Nick materialized in the doorway, buzzing with nerves and caffeine.
“Elise,” he said, eyes sparkling, “how’s my Darcy wig looking? Is she ready for her close-up?”
Elise turned from the wig stand, mock-inspecting the dark, carefully styled hairpiece already waiting on its foam head. “Oh, she’s been ready. She’s been brooding in the shadows, longing for a stage and a conveniently timed rainstorm.”
Nick let out a laugh, his foot tapping against the tile floor. “Tomorrow’s the big night. Graham gets to nap, and I get to panic.”
“You’re going to do great,” Elise said, brushing a stray hair from the wig. “You’ve got the cheekbones and the diction.”
Nick grinned. “I even managed to get a comp ticket for a guy I met at the bar our first night in town. There were sparks. Tall, cute, kind of skeptical—but I’m hoping a solid ‘my good opinion once lost’ delivery seals the deal.”
Elise snorted. “Well, I’ll be listening from the wings and rooting for you—and your romantic entanglements.”
Nick gave her a grateful, genuine smile, and then slipped back into the hallway buzz. Elise turned back to her wigs, the energy around her a little lighter than before.
Jen called for places, and the quiet tension of Act Two preparation settled in like a well-worn shawl. Elise had just finished re-straightening the Bennett sisters’ lineup when Kevin drifted in, his expression unusually thoughtful.
“I’ve been making the rounds,” he said, perching lightly on the coat rack. “Our lady in lace—Miss Seamstress Extraordinaire—isn’t going to be easy to please.”
Elise raised an eyebrow, smoothing a stubborn curl into place. “Any luck?”
Kevin sighed theatrically. “The whispering wall gave me the creeps. Either not sentient or a professional gas lighter. Kept repeating the same phrase over and over—‘It’s not yours, it never was.’ Delightful.”
Elise grimaced. “Yeah, that one’s never been particularly helpful.”
“The pianist didn’t know anything either. Polite about it. Played me a tune in apology.”
Elise gave a soft huff of breath. “Figures.”
Kevin hovered closer. “The techie ghost… he might’ve seen something. He mentioned a ring, at least. But I can’t tell if it was a real memory or just him being agreeable. He’s more… echo than essence, you know? Like he’s trying to remember how to be human.”
Elise leaned her shoulder against the wig shelf, considering. “If he saw it, even once, it’s worth following up. It’s the only thread we’ve got.”
Kevin gave a short nod. “After the show?”
“After the show,” she agreed. Her voice was quiet but certain.
Kevin drifted upward again, his form flickering briefly like static on an old TV. “I’ll keep listening. Maybe the building’s holding secrets it doesn’t even know it remembers.”
Elise watched him go, the weight of the unknown pressing faintly at the back of her neck.
That night, after the applause faded and the echoes settled into silence, the theatre was hers.
Elise stayed behind, curling and pinning the damp wig with practiced ease. Each twist, each straight pin, was a familiar dance—comforting in its repetition. “Don’t Rain on My Parade” hummed through her earbuds, a stubborn sort of anthem. Kevin drifted nearby like a curtain caught in a slow breeze.
When the last roller was in place and the dryer began its soft hum, Elise stood, rolling her shoulders. “Time to find the ring.”
She slipped out her flashlight and turned toward the theatre’s darkened wings. Kevin hovered beside her like a spectral tour guide.
“Where do you usually see him?” she asked.
“The techie?” Kevin gave a ghostly shrug. “Backstage. Catwalk. Booth. He’s a bit scattered, honestly—never quite settled. Like he’s still waiting for his next cue.”
“Backstage first, then,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Let’s start easy.”
The ghost light glowed from its solitary post at center stage—soft, unwavering, casting long shadows across the scuffed floorboards. Elise didn’t need to check it; she already knew it would stay lit all night, a quiet sentinel against the dark.
She skirted around the hulking bridge set pieces, now tucked upstage in sections, their arches looming like bones of some long-forgotten cathedral. Even disassembled, they held presence.
The deeper she wandered, the more the air thickened—coated with dust, old paint, and the scent of forgotten scenes.
She knelt beside prop bins, peered into storage closets, and brushed aside layers of history without finding anything more illuminating than a cracked stage light and a prop chicken wearing a tiara.
Her breath stirred years of dust into the air, and she sneezed, once, twice, a third time.
“No ring,” she announced, wiping her nose with a tissue she prayed was unused.
Elise sighed and looked up toward the looming ladder that stretched to the catwalk. At that precise moment, the pianist ghost—unbidden—began to play something sharp and creeping in a minor key.
Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not ominous.”
Elise shook her head and turned away, unnerved. “Booth. I’m starting with the booth.”
She padded softly through the backstage maze and into the fluorescent-lit hallway that ran like a spine behind the stage.
Her steps echoed in the hush. She half-expected the door to the booth stairwell to be locked—places like that usually were after hours—but when she reached it, she found it just barely cracked open.
She paused. “Kevin?”
“No sign of him,” he said, materializing at her elbow. “But that feels intentional, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. The hair on her arms stood up, and her warding tattoos gave a faint buzz beneath her sleeves. A gentle kind of hum. Not danger, just presence.
“Thanks,” she murmured into the air, directing the thought toward the techie ghost. She hoped he heard it.
The stairwell creaked as she climbed. At the top, the moment her foot crossed the threshold into the booth, she knew.
“It’s here,” she said softly. “I can feel it. Same frequency as the seamstress.”
Kevin drifted in behind her, eyebrows raised. “Interesting that you can sense that when I can’t.”
The booth was cramped, packed with ancient lighting consoles, cables, and half-drunk bottles of water left behind by techs long gone. Elise crouched down to peer beneath the tables. She poked behind monitors and under piles of cue sheets. Dust coated everything.
Then, as she straightened and swept her flashlight toward the upper corner of the room, she finally saw it.
A glint.
There, right under the ceiling, nailed into the wall like a forgotten thumbtack. A simple ring. High enough to be hidden from view, yet unmistakably placed with intent.
“Seriously?” she muttered. Elise dragged over a creaky chair, the kind that spun freely and shouldn’t be trusted for anything more than sitting. She climbed up anyway. “This better be worth it.”
Kevin floated nearby, arms metaphorically outstretched. “Please don’t die on a chair. That would be wildly inconvenient for both of us.”
Balancing carefully, Elise reached up on tiptoe. The chair wobbled with a slight creak. Her fingers scraped the wall—just barely—until at last she caught the cool metal edge and tugged the ring free.
When she stepped down and turned it over in her palm, she knew.
Tarnished and dusty with age, the simple silver band practically hummed with energy.
“It’s hers,” she whispered.
Elise pulled out her phone. 11:58 PM. “Whoops.”
The digits glowed on Elise’s phone like a quiet reprimand. She hadn’t meant to stay so long, hadn’t realized how deeply the search had pulled her in.
Kevin didn’t speak, but floated beside her, the silence between them companionable.
Elise made her way back through the sleeping theatre, through the soft hum of lights left half-on and the gentle groan of the building settling into night. Backstage, the costume rack awaited, rows of characters hanging in the dark.
She crouched beside it, brushing aside several heavy skirts and gently lifting the edge of a floorboard just enough to reveal a narrow gap beneath. Without hesitation, she slipped the ring inside.
It was a small hiding place. Hidden, but reachable—somehow, she knew it would be enough.
Kevin hovered nearby, his expression solemn. “She’ll find it. You did good.”
Elise didn’t wait. She didn’t ask for a sign or linger for a final message. Some things—grief, peace, forgiveness—had to happen without an audience.
She stood, collected her bag, and walked the long hallway toward the exit. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows behind her. The door closed with a subdued click.
Backstage, the stillness began to shift. Not everything had gone quiet.