Chapter Text
"Luce, would you like to go for a walk?"
I'm confused for a moment. I've never known Lockwood to go for a walk. Sure, sometimes we go shopping together at Satchell's or to the archives. But just going for a walk? I suspect something is up, so I quickly grab my jacket and follow him outside.
We walk for a while through the neighbourhood until we come to an area I've never been to before. Lockwood stops in front of an overgrown wall and looks around for a moment.
"After you." he says, holding his hands together so I can climb the wall. Then he follows me.
I immediately recognise what lies ahead as I pull myself up onto the wall. It is a cemetery. The gravestones stand in neat rows. This isn't as old as Kensal Green. Ten or twenty years at the most.
He must have been here before, because he shows me a fence post that I can use as a step to climb back down the other side.
When we are both finally back on the ground he marches off, always following a small path that leads through the wilderness here. The cemetery is deserted. The gate on the other side is firmly locked. Why are we here? It is broad daylight. We can’t be looking for a visitor.
As we turn a corner behind a weeping willow, I suddenly understand. There is a family grave in front of us. Two gravestones. Next to it an empty space.
Lockwood walks over and sits down on a fallen headstone beside it.
"You can sit down Lucy. The owner of this headstone has either long since passed over or doesn't mind." Lockwood smiles the smile he puts on when he's trying to cover his feelings.
I don't know what to say, so I just sit down next to him.
His left knee touches my right as we sit like this.
The headstones in front of us have an ornate writing, a little overgrown with moss:
Celia and Donald Lockwood
Jessica E. Lockwood
But I can only stare at the empty space next to it. The empty grave waiting there for the man I love. I suddently feel like I can't breathe.
"It was a car accident," Lockwood finally says. "A truck carrying petrol crashed into them in a tunnel. They were travelling for one of their research conferencecs. I wish I knew what it was about, but all the papers were burnt. It must have taken hours to put out the fire. It was so hot that the asphalt melted." he clears his throat "At least that's what they told me. I was only six years old and when the police rang our doorbell the nanny sent me upstairs. She didn't want me around when they told her and Jes. But I had known it even before them. I had seen their ghosts in the garden. But I didn't really understand what it meant until later."
I can literally hear the lump in his throat. So I reach for his hand.
"Sometimes I come here to think. When everything gets too much for me. When I think I'm supposed to be here, with them."
The pain that speaks from his voice is probably familiar to me. I felt the same way when almost my entire team had died in the mill operation. I felt guilty that I was the only one left.
For a few months now I hardly have that feeling anymore, but I remember well how abysmal it feels. Like losing all grip and just wanting to fall into complete darkness.
"Holly's doctor says it's depression." says Lockwood after a long pause "She says it's nothing to be ashamed of. And I really want to believe her. But some days this whole world is just too mad to bear."
I realised realtively early on that Lockwood's risk seeking behaviour had something to do with his emotional state. Even when we first escaped Winkmans and jumped off a roof of the warehouse into the Temse a few days later. I was angry at the time, but now I understand it better. Nevertheless, he still has a lot of work to do.
But I realize that I still secretly hoped that my closeness, the kisses, the hugs could make things a little better. Of course, that's naïve. A relationship is no substitute for therapy. And dealing with depression is something you have to work out with yourself, not something that just magically disappears because you have a girlfriend.
I'm terrified and relieved at the same time. Terrified that Lockwood is so miserable and relieved that he can tell me.
"I'm glad you brought me here," I say, squeezing his hand tighter "and that you told me about it.".
He looks at me and smiles sadly.
He's probably making himself feel guilty about burdening me with his problems now too, but I won't let him.
"You're right, the world is mad. Very much so. But we both know what we can do to make it at least a little better and we will. As soon as we have the strength to do it. And we won't do it alone."
He smiles at me and I feel a little better already.
We have a long way ahead of us.
But we don’t have to go it alone.