[April 13th] [The Man From U.N.C.L.E.] A Journey Among the Dead

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: A Journey Among the Dead
Day/Theme: April 13th - Between the last remaining headstones
Series: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (specifically, The Odd Man Affair episode)
Character/Pairing: Mr. Wye, Mr. Ecks, a thief
Rating: K+/PG

Bayside Cemetery is, unfortunately, a very real place. Everything described here, except the particular type of ghost activity, was known to be the case as recently ago as three years.


By Lucky_Ladybug

Wye was definitely disturbed as he and Ecks made their way to an old and open gate on a dark and chilly October night.

“It figures,” he grumbled. “We’re hired to chase down some bloke what absconded with lots of church funds, and he chooses to run into an ancient burial ground.”

“Bayside Cemetery,” Ecks said, uneasy as they slipped through the open gate. “And this shouldn’t be open; they usually lock it these days.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Wye said, his voice dripping sarcasm. They slowly made their way up a dirt path, a mausoleum on one side and rows of headstones on the other. “It doesn’t look so bad from here.”

“Wait until we get a little deeper,” Ecks said in nervous concern. “I hear it only really looks normal in the areas nearest to the streets.”

“What are you on about, anyway?” Wye grunted. “We don’t know this place. We didn’t even know we were going to wind up here.”

“I’ve been researching famous and infamous New York City landmarks since our arrival, just in case our cases would ever bring us to any of them,” Ecks replied. “Bayside has long been in serious disrepair. Some people have tried to fix parts of it up, but the task is so enormous that it barely makes a dent in the place.”

Wye eyed several gravestones that were half-covered by hibernating vines. “So nature’s takin’ the place back,” he said. “There’s a lot of places like this in England. I’m sure the dead don’t care.”

“That’s barely scratching the surface of what’s out of order here.” Ecks tensed as they went around a corner and passed a mausoleum that was clearly open to the elements.

“Cor blimey,” Wye gasped. “The ruddy thing’s exposed!”

“Yes. And look.” Ecks pointed at an open blue box inside. “That’s what’s happened to the person’s resting place.”

Wye went over to the door for a closer look. “It’s half-chopped to splinters,” he said in disbelief. “I don’t even see what’s left of the body!”

“On the ground. Be careful.” Ecks sidestepped what Wye had thought was a piece of a tree branch. When shining his torch on it, he could see that it was actually a bone.

Wye quickly hurried back to Ecks’ side, not wanting to admit to his disturbed and shaken feelings. “I’m not findin’ anything to laugh about in this situation,” he said. “I might not always be the most sympathetic person to people’s plights, but I don’t go around tearin’ up resting places. No point to that.”

“The vandals feel otherwise.” Ecks frowned at one monument that was completely covered on one side by graffiti. “Perhaps, not finding anything of value, they axed the coffins and scattered the bones out of rage.”

“And we’ve got to look for a thievin’ twit in all this mess!” Wye growled. “He’ll probably go hidin’ the money in one of these open tombs and come back for it later.”

“Maybe,” Ecks said. “Hopefully we’ll be able to catch him in whatever act he tries.”

“Is there anything else I should be knowin’ about this cemetery before we get any farther in?” Wye stared at a row of completely toppled headstones.

“Plenty,” Ecks replied. “There’s a lot of danger of poison ivy, although that shouldn’t be a problem at this time of the year. And of course, use common sense and don’t touch any tombs or bones if you don’t have to. In addition to the diseases you might expect to find with this kind of unsanitary condition, the older . . . residents of Bayside were very likely treated with arsenic before burial. There may still be traces of that on their bones.”

“Which would mean gettin’ cut open by any jagged pieces wouldn’t be fun at all,” Wye exclaimed. “Would it still be potent enough to kill?”

“I wouldn’t recommend taking a chance,” Ecks said. “And who knows what other types of characters we might run into. Besides the vandals and grave-robbers, there are teenage gangs, drug dealers, and possibly even devil-worshipers that come around.”

“You really paint a bleedin’ flowery picture of life in this part of Queens,” Wye said. “We’re both trained spies; we should be able to handle whatever comes at us. But I’m bloody well not anxious to try!”

“Not to mention that after our experience in the hotel, we’re forced to concede to the existence of ghosts,” Ecks said matter-of-factly. “If any type of cemetery is haunted, wouldn’t you think it might be one like this?”

Wye gawked upward at a tower covered in dead vines. “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility,” he said.

Up ahead, a dark figure darted past with a valise in hand.

“There he goes!” Ecks exclaimed.

That sent both men flying over the dirt and grass and whatever else was strewn in their path. Wye tried not to think too hard about that “whatever else.” Instead he focused on the running man ahead of them and drew out his gun. “Stop or I’ll shoot,” he threatened, firing harmlessly into the air.

That did nothing to slow the thief down. He flew over a low headstone and kept right on going.

Wye swore under his breath. “I was hopin’ we could just stay on the path or not too far from it.” Picking up speed, he dashed around a taller headstone.

The chase continued for some time. At one point Wye almost thought he had him. But then he darted around a corner, Wye gave chase, and he accidentally knocked into a marker that seemed to be teetering on its last legs. He froze, cringing as it tipped and fell into the grass. Relieved that at least it didn’t crack into pieces, he swiftly hurried around it. “Beggin’ your pardon,” he muttered, and instantaneously wondered what he was doing. The spirit of the grave’s occupant likely wasn’t even around.

Neither was the crook. Wye stopped again, looking about in confused frustration. “Hey, where did you go?” he growled. Louder he said, “Do you see him anywhere, Ecks?”

The silence chilled him. He whipped around, stunned to see that he was really, completely alone. “Oh, don’t tell me we ran off in different directions!” he cried. He was not going to stay in this unsettling place by himself!

Still gripping his gun, he debated whether to keep going or turn back. Maybe Ecks had seen someone else running and had gone after them. Maybe Wye was even following the wrong person.

But since Wye didn’t know, it really didn’t seem wise to give up the pursuit just because this was an old and falling-apart cemetery. It was like any other case where he and Ecks became separated. He needed to stick with his goal and he would regroup with Ecks somewhere along the way.

So, with that in mind, he took up running again and headed in the direction he thought the thief had taken.

He wasn’t in the mood to pass another open mausoleum, this one with the bottom compartment completely chipped away to reveal what looked like a particleboard casket. He swore under his breath again. How was that considered a decent or acceptable burial situation for someone?

This place was probably going to haunt him in his dreams, if he wasn’t careful.

He gasped as what looked like a wooden beam (or worse, a board from a coffin) was suddenly thrust at him from around a corner. He leaped aside, barely avoiding being struck, and turned to look at what he was sure would be the sought-after thief.

Instead, nothing was there at all, including the beam.

Now he was shaken to the core. He knew what he had seen!

Slowly he got up and drew his cellphone out of his pocket. Bringing up the touch screen, he found the Speed Dial button and pressed it. Ecks’ was the only number he had programmed into the thing. But it rang without pick-up. And when Wye listened, trying to hear the other phone ringing somewhere in the place, he could not.

“Come on, Ecks. Pick up, for cryin’ out loud!” he hissed. Not wanting to stay in the area with the swinging beam, he ran off in the opposite direction, still clutching the phone.

He weaved around headstones and ran past open mausoleums, his heart racing wildly. Finally, when he thought he heard a faint melody of a rock song—Ecks’ ringtone—he slowed his pace and listened carefully before attempting to follow it.

Ecks had probably dropped his phone somewhere during the chase. That was why he wasn’t answering. There wasn’t another reason why he wouldn’t pick up, unless . . .

Wye paled as he rounded another corner. The ringtone was very loud now. And between two old-style rounded headstones, it definitely looked like a person’s legs. Cutting off the call, he ran forward in horror. “Ecks?!”

There was a bed of autumn leaves directly behind the stones, either from this year or years before. Ecks was lying lifeless in the leaves, his head turned to the side, his left hand up by his face.

Wye swore under his breath, dropping to his knees next to the boy. “Ecks! Ecks, wake up,” he pleaded. He reached for the right hand, limp on Ecks’ waist, and fumbled as he searched for a pulse. Maybe it was this place, or his anxiety, but he wasn’t sure he could feel anything.

“I am not going to accept that you’re dead!” he cried. “Not this time. Maybe you wouldn’t have ended up as badly hurt in the stomach if I just hadn’t left you in the park thinking you were gone.” He reached down, gently lifting Ecks’ upper body into his arms. While supporting him with one arm, he used his free hand to feel for any sign of head trauma. Ecks could have been struck by whatever had wielded that beam.

“Ecks, come on,” he begged. “Speak to me. You’re not gonna leave me all alone in this place, are you?” Of course, he was worried about Ecks, not himself. But he knew that if Ecks could hear him, that thought would prompt him to fight for consciousness.

His hand touched a vicious bump under Ecks’ hair. At the same moment, Ecks violently flinched.

Immediately Wye let his hand drop, thoroughly relieved at the movement. “Oh Ecks. . . . Come on, come back.”

Ecks groaned, slumping hard against Wye’s shoulder. “Wye . . . something hit me,” he mumbled. “I sensed something there . . . tried to turn. . . . But there was nothing. And suddenly it . . .” He reached up, gingerly touching the bump. He cringed, his hand swiftly dropping again.

“I know, Ecks, I know. It tried to get me too.” Wye debated whether to lay Ecks back on the soft leaves or to keep holding him. By now he was so suspicious of the place that he didn’t like the idea of letting Ecks out of his grasp.

Ecks didn’t seem to want him to, either. He moaned, burrowing into Wye’s shoulder. “What was it? It wasn’t the thief we’re chasing, was it?”

“I wish it were, Duck,” Wye said sincerely. “I’m afraid it wasn’t. For all we know, maybe he’s lyin’ around here with his skull bashed in.”

“What are we going to do?”

Wye picked up Ecks’ hat and placed it on his head. “Well, you’re in no condition to go wandering all around. Unfortunately, by now we’re so deep into the place that we don’t have much choice. We’re going to have to do a lot of wandering just to get back out! Either that or stay in here all night, and I’m bloody well not going to do that!”

“I’m not either.” Ecks tried to get his footing and slowly stand, gripping Wye’s shoulders for balance. “Let’s get started. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find our man while we’re trying to find the way out.”

Wye got to his feet, grasping Ecks’ hands to support him. “We’d better get something for this case,” he grumbled. “Besides a knock on the head. I think I’d rather be chasing spies around Europe than this! At least spies are somethin’ I can understand!”

Ecks had to weakly smirk.

“Are you sure you can walk?” Wye demanded.

Ecks took a step forward and stumbled. “With help,” he said in embarrassment.

Wye promptly drew an arm around Ecks’ waist. “Let’s go then.”

Ecks woke up more as they walked. He looked around, uneasy at every shape and shadow. “I don’t know what any gang or drug dealer finds appealing in here,” he said. “Unless they figure they won’t be bothered when they go about doing their criminal deeds.”

“Probably,” Wye said. “And maybe comin’ in here is like an initiation for new gang members, some daft way to prove that they’re brave.”

“Heh. Makes sense that they’d look at it that way,” Ecks smirked. Sobering, he added, “It’s strange we haven’t seen anyone else around, unless it was one of them that clobbered me.”

“Considering neither of us saw anyone holding the weapon of attack, I question exactly what did clobber you,” Wye said. “Maybe the spooks are just getting fed up of all the disrespectful traffic through here and are starting to fight back.”

“That’s . . . not a pleasant thought,” Ecks frowned.

“I know.”

“And we don’t mean them any harm, unlike the vandals and grave-robbers,” Ecks continued, a bit annoyed.

“No, but we’re still a disruption. Especially since I, er, knocked over a tombstone back there a ways.”

Ecks looked up at him in shock. “You did what?!”

“It was loose,” Wye defended. “I wasn’t trying to make it fall!”

Ecks frowned. “But if they were angry about that alone, why come after both of us?”

“Depends on what kind of people they are, I suppose,” Wye said. A bit of anger slipped into his voice as he said, “Maybe at least one of them realized that hurting you would be the worst thing they could do to me.”

“Most of the people buried here are probably decent,” Ecks said, “but it would be foolish to believe that every one of them is.”

“Exactly,” Wye nodded.

“And even some decent people could start growing angry about the disrepair, after all this time.”

“I’ve never seen a cemetery this bad off,” Wye declared. “Some vines or some broken headstones, alright. But open mausoleums? Broken coffins? The dead themselves splattered all over the place? Isn’t there anyone around to do more than try to fix up a little part here or there? Doesn’t the Health Department care about this bleedin’ mess?”

“I don’t know many of the details,” Ecks admitted. “I know there was some sort of lawsuit going on for years involving the parties that are supposed to be taking care of this place.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s helped much,” Wye grunted.

“Some of the mausoleums have their doors cemented over,” Ecks said, indicating one such tomb they were passing. “It’s regrettable, but I’m assuming that’s to keep the grave-robbers out.”

Wye shivered, looking over at a much different mausoleum—one with the doors wide open, one of the inside plaques shattered, and another coffin in splinters hanging out of its space. “That’s fine with me,” he said. “I’d rather see that than this.”

The last thing they were expecting as they rounded a corner was to encounter the thief they were after, barreling towards them with panic in his eyes.

“Here now, what’s this?” Wye frowned.

“Get me out of here!” the thief wailed. “Take the money back, anything! I’m not staying here another minute! Something tried to hit me over the head with a piece of wood. And there was nothing there!”

Wye and Ecks exchanged surprised looks before starting to smirk. “Well, if that’s really how you want it,” Ecks said. “We’ll be happy to take the money off your hands.”

“That is what I want!” the thief cried. “I never would have come in here if I’d known what it’s really like!”

Wye wrenched the valise away before he could change his mind. After opening it to make sure it really was the missing money, he nodded and handed it to Ecks. “Alright then,” he said. “Let’s be off. Without him.”

“What?!” the thief yelped. “You can’t leave me here!”

“We can and we will,” Ecks replied. “You’ve caused us nothing but trouble. And I literally have a bad headache because of this search for you.”

“Oh please!” The thief crashed to his knees in desperation. “Take me with you! Do anything you want with me after that, but just don’t make me stay here!”

“Anything?” Wye said easily. “Well, maybe we could go for that. Have you got any rope?”

“Rope?! To strangle me?!” the thief wailed.

“Or to hang you,” Ecks said matter-of-factly.

“Or just . . .” Wye took a long handkerchief out of his pocket, twisted it into a thin line, and he and Ecks each wrenched a hand behind the thief’s back. “This.”

The thief scowled at them both once his hands were firmly tied. “You were playing me all along, weren’t you?”

“Now, we had to get some enjoyment out of this mess,” Wye drawled, resting an arm on their prisoner’s shoulder. “Givin’ you a little taste of fright does my heart good after what we’ve been through.”

“Get moving,” Ecks said, prodding the thief forward.

He went without protest; he was terrified and eager to leave. “You guys are real sadists, you know?” he declared.

“Wye’s the sadist,” Ecks said flatly. “I’m just along for the ride.”

“Well, bully for you,” the thief shot back.

It felt like countless eyes were watching them as they made their way through the cemetery and to the gate. But, perhaps realizing the group honestly was leaving, no attempts were made to hinder them. They arrived outside with an immense sigh of relief.

“Boy, I’ve gotta thank you guys for getting me out of there!” the thief exclaimed.

“And we wouldn’t have been in there if you hadn’t led us in!” Wye grunted. “You’d better not have any ideas of grabbin’ the dough and runnin’ off again, even with your hands tied. I might just take up my gun and plug you in the back.”

“No running,” the thief insisted. “I’ve had all the running worn out of me. I just want to go home. Or to jail.”

“Since we were called in instead of the police, probably not jail,” Wye said.

“But we’re expected to bring you back to the people you stole from,” Ecks said. “They’ll decide how best for you to make restitution.”

“Good!” the thief declared. “I can make restitution to living people, sure. Not to ghosts!”

A bit amused, Ecks and Wye loaded him into the car. Ecks settled into the passenger seat and Wye, the driver’s seat. It was an immense release to drive away from the cemetery, hopefully to never return.

Behind them, the eyes of the dead continued to observe.