Chapter Text
You didn’t know what you had expected, but this certainly wasn’t it.
It was supposed to be different, wasn’t it? You had heard about an almost euphoric experience after the pain, seeing light in the dark, then some sort of solution.
It was painful, yes - but for some reason, it didn’t end. You weren’t given the pleasure, wasn’t given an ending like you had craved. Wasn’t it supposed to end? Had you not earned some sort of relief, after everything that had happened?
The agonising, piercing feeling, the strange experience of something pressing inside you, again and again, hard as steel; leaving you broken, unable to ever be seen in the same way.
Why were your bones not given the relief, which they craved so badly it hurt? Where was this relief, the escape, the salvation you had been promised throughout your life? Did you not deserve it?
It will end, everyone said, it will end, it's the only thing everyone on earth has in common, it will end - and then depending on who you specifically asked - something would happen to you after this finale. Whether it was nothing, salvation, rebirth, an afterlife you could only dream of… who knew?
Well, apparently, you weren’t going to be the one with an answer to the big mystery of life, which was death.
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“It’s perfect!” His voice was nothing but ecstatic, surprisingly fresh after a two hour long drive, “Ach, I can see us grow old, ‘ere!”
Gaz winced - he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that he wasn’t pleased that Soap was thrilled, but it was quite early in the process that he was this excited.
“Calm down, mate,” he said, hoping to calm the other more down, moving to stand next to Soap, giving his shoulder a pat, “we haven’t even looked inside yet.”
“Ah - yeah, but we’ve seen pictures,” he nodded along while speaking, a bit more sedated now, the long mohawk flopping back and forth a little, yet he hadn’t lost the smile on his face, “but I can feel it, Gaz - I swear. I can feel it.”
“Where?” — Gaz definitely didn’t jump as Simon sneaked up upon them, not at all, the bigger man’s voice dark as he added — “feel it in ya’ dick, Johnny?”
“Ah will make ye feel something in yer dick, ye big—“
Gaz moved, not wanting to be in between Soap and Simon, in case they got into a fight or worse, a whole makeout session, removing himself from the situation like a good soldier. Yes, they had seen pictures of the inside of this house, but they all knew that pictures could be deceiving.
“Behave, muppets,” John snapped, getting out of their big car, tipping his head back a little, as the real estate agent’s car appeared a second later, honking happily before it parked a bit from them, “if we like this house, we can’t scare off the real estate agent again, can we?”
Gaz grinned at the last part of John’s little speech, sending a look at the last man to exit their own car. He heard Nikolai let out a displeased huff, the Russian man instantly ready to defend himself, as he had been the one to scare the last agent off - but as the new real estate agent got out of the car and walked towards them, Gaz elbowed the Russian man to stop him from going. Nikolai sent him an annoyed look but behaved. Only muttering out a small “it wasn’t even a nice house” in Russian.
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The house looked like aboslute shite. That was John’s first, honest thought. Even as his sweet Soap declared his love for it, loudly in fact - was his new hearing aid turned down again? - all John could see were the problems the house would bring them.
There were barricaded windows here and there. Roof tiles, which looked like they were right on the edge of falling down. The tall, tall grass that made the garden look like a wilderness, weeds and wildflowers peeking up. Most of the outdoor walls needed a new paint job and John knew there would probably be trouble with the electricity, only from looking at it. One of the front doors even looked a little crooked.
His knee hurt from the mere sight. They weren’t even close to the house, yet he gripped his cane a little harder. They were going to buy a drivable grass mower of some kind, he was not cutting this with an old school one. Though he doubted any of the others would even let him attempt to do so.
Signs littered the gravel road towards the big house.
All of the signs, almost all overgrown by plants, with words like “STAY OUT”, “PRIVATE PROPERTY”, “SURVEILLANCED AREA”, “KEEP OUT” didn't really help his mood - only one friendly looking sign; “FOR SALE!”, the number of the real estate agent written beneath it.
Bloody comforting, John thought, problems with people being around weren’t what they needed. Besides, he strongly doubted there were any kind of surveillance cameras around here.
“Hello, hello!!” The real estate agent waved at them, before pulling out a couple of files from the car seat, slamming the old car door closed. He seemed… overly happy. But in an optimistic, unsure kind of way. Dressed in a full suit, despite the fact that they were in the middle of fucking nowhere, the large glasses and great amount of sweat almost shimmering in the sun. A door slammed on the other side - another person came into view, a much younger woman, actually dressed for the occasion, wearing a pair of wellies in strong contrast to the dress shoes of the real estate agent. She was the smart one of the two, Price concluded. With the grass still wet from the rain two hours earlier, she would be the one of them to leave with dry feet.
The guy was wearing an anxious smile with his suit, while the younger woman was wearing a more polite, confident smile.
“Hello, Mr. Hansen,” John was the one to greet the man, not trusting the others one bit after the last couple of times, “Nice to meet you.”
”Likewise!” The nervous-looking yet happy man had sweaty palms as he shook hands with John, his odd smile never wavering - then he gestured to the red haired woman next to him, “this is my trainee, Beatrice, I hope it’s alright she joins us.”
John extended his hand to her, shaking hands for a second, “sure, the more the merrier.”
Beatrice grinned, not an ounce of fear visible on her body, “thank you. It’s an interesting house, so I wanted to tag along.”
“It certainly looks… interesting.” John couldn’t help himself, though Nikolai appeared next to him, shaking the young woman’s hand.
“Don’t mind his grumpiness, young lady,” Nikolai happily cut in, “he is merely tired after the drive - it’s a beautiful house.”
The real estate agent let out a nervous laughter and as soon as everyone had introduced themselves, they all began to walk up the gravel road, Gaz staying nearby John, nobody worried about him falling or not keeping up. John huffed. He felt old suddenly, the knee burning a little as he kept up with them, only stopping half way.
He watched the real estate agent pull a key from his pocket, opening a feeble looking attempt at a gate. It needed to be ripped down too, in fact, all of the rotten fence did.
“Problems with squatters?” Simon looked down at the nervous man walking besides him, his black surgical mask at least less scary than his usual balaclava.
“Si,” Gaz chastised, but John honestly wanted to know the answer too, so he kept his mouth shut, following as they began to walk again. Hansen let out a shaky laugh and when John cast a glance at Beatrice, he saw the younger woman roll her eyes.
“Well, uh, see, not exactly,” Hansen began, fingers shaking as he pulled another key from his pockets, unable to meet any of their eyes, “I mean, uh, there is a reason it’s cheap.”
John stopped, as they got close, watching the real estate agent walk up onto the veranda.
He looked away, up at the house and then out over the garden which was more of a field. It did have some charm.
“‘Cause it looks like shite?” Simon’s bluntness was as wonderful as ever.
“Well, no - this is a proper fixer upper, sir!” The man began, forcing a smile, “a house filled with uh, history and uh—“
“A woman was murdered in the house,” Beatrice’s voice was composed and as everyone turned to look at her, Hansen hissing out her name, the red haired woman shrugged, “they were gonna find out sooner or later, Benny.”
“What? Like, a proper murder?” Johnny asked, excitement seeming to spike all creepily and John didn’t chastise Nikolai when he gave the man an elbow in the side.
“When is a murder not proper?” Beatrice replied dryly, finally giving a motion to Hansen, “let’s go see the house. It will be easier to explain.”
Hansen let out a sound, which most of all reminded John of a scared dog, yet he finally pushed the front door open.
“Tw-two stories with eight rooms, three bathrooms and a cellar,” Hansen began, all of the team following inside, already knowing what the man said, yet none of them commented on it, instead taking in the hallway. John zoned out, ignoring the nervous, sweating man’s learned speech.
It had a high ceiling and even this first room was spacious. The wooden floors were rather nice compared to the outside look of the house, the stairs in the end of the room looked like they were renovated a couple of years ago, and the handrails were still nicely painted.
A simple, old chandelier hung from the ceiling and John felt a relief rush through him, as Beatrice turned it on, lighting the room up some more.
The only thing that made his mouth tip downwards a little was the wall behind the staircase. In fact it was the first thing one was to see.
Simon let out a dark “hehe” like the maniac he was, while the real estate agent let out a scared sound.
The big pentagram on the wall was done with spray paint, the black color standing out against the muted green wallpaper. It was a slight crooked circle, the star in the middle of it badly drawn. Clearly it wasn’t an artist who had done it.
Beneath it, however, clearly written in proper red paint, was four words.
I AM STILL HERE
Fucking hell.
“I - I’m so sorry, thi-this wasn’t here last time I checked, I, I,” Hansen began desperately, “it can be washed off, I’m sure, haha, maybe a t-touch of pain.”
“Maybe tiny exorcism,” Nikolai gleefully added, not even attempting to hide his amusement at the sight, not stopping despite the stare John gave him, “I have tried those before.”
John had no idea whether his boyfriend was talking the truth or not, but it didn’t really matter, because Hansen was shaking like a newborn lamb.
Beatrice mumbled out an annoyed, low “told you we should have checked,” behind him.
“Ah, uh, yes,” Hansen began once more, after a couple of deep breaths, “this is what we’ve had problems with. Not q-quite squatters — what did you call them again, Beatrice?”
“Ghost hunters,” Beatrice answered, moving to pick out the notebook from Hansen's hand, “a few mediums and I’ve found some YouTube videos of people coming here to contact the murder victim, faking interactions. Quite a fun view, if any of you are bored. Now, let’s go to the kitchen, yes?”
“Yes! Yes, let's do that!” Hansen happily agreed, following his trainee, John , “the kitchen has new water pipes and the former owner got installed a new stove and dishwasher before she passed.”
“Gaz, shouldn’t we do an exorcism?” John heard Soap whisper - or attempt to whisper, he needed the hearing aids tuned - “dinnae ye think that could be braw?”
John rolled his eyes so hard it hurt, ignoring how Gaz took a picture with Johnny and Nikolai in front of the pentagram, instead following Hansen and Beatrice.
The kitchen was nice. There were some cups on the counter, a broken plate, as well as a lot of black, white and red candles scattered across the counter and floor.
A circle of salt was made on the floor, candles along the edge, making John huff.
“So sorry,” Hansen continued, “but look at the counter! It’s - it’s - it’s actual oak, not some linoleum plastered onto plastic - these tiles on the walls are all intact too.”
“The candles are a part of the deal,” Beatrice added happily, earning a slap on the arm from the man, but she continued anyway, continuing to the dining room connected to the kitchen, “you won’t have to buy candles for at least a year. Besides, they’ve left a bunch of salt behind too.”
Nikolai laughed, Hansen jumping at the sound, clearly getting more and more on edge.
John huffed, but he appreciated Beatrice’s honesty at least. That was until he felt a chill go through him, making him frown.
Gaz felt it too, opening his mouth, but his other boyfriend didn’t get to ask - because in the same second, a door somewhere in the house slammed shut. While none of them really flinched, Hansen sure did - in fact, he let out a small scream too.
“Benny,” Beatrice hissed, but the man didn’t answer, the sweat almost dripping from his face onto the floor, before looking at the team, “sorry about that, lads. We have some broken windows upstairs - they can easily be fixed, but they mess with the doors, ya know? Why don’t we see the living room and the bathroom, then we can go upstairs?”
While Benny Hansen was a wreck, much to Soap and Simon’s amusement, Beatrice kept it professional, showing the different rooms, so John and the rest of them could focus a little more.
The different bathrooms were nice - they needed a little love, a deep clean and perhaps they needed to change some sinks or something, but otherwise they were nice. Surprisingly, they hadn’t been broken by these “ghost hunters” that had apparently taken to visiting once in a while. Beatrice had pointed that out too - mentioning that compared to a lot of others who explored buildings like these, the ones they had coming around seemed polite enough to not ruin too much.
Then again. There was a wall with the words who killed you written on - beneath it, in the same red paint as downstairs, capital letters wrote out YOUR MOM. There was a bit of fun to this deal at least. Soap got a photo taken with the graffiti.
They did indeed need to fix a couple of windows. Price watched Nikolai wince at the sight of graffiti on the wooden floor, in one of the bedrooms. That - if not most of the floors of the house - would need to be grinded and polished.
If one ignored the different pentagrams here and there, it was a nice house and Beatrice was a natural talent. He hoped that none of the other houses that Hansen attempted to sell were haunted, because then he doubted the man could sell anything.
There were a lot of things left behind from the deceased owner. Couches, chairs, a bed, desks, pictures, an odd amount of mirrors, clothes and lamps. In some rooms it seemed like time had just stopped; a hoodie hanging off the back of a chair, a newspaper and some advertisements from 2021, nail polish bottles scattered next to it.
A piece or two of police tape was fastened to some door frames, but they had seen so much of that, it didn’t really bother them. Perhaps John should have been more upset by the fact that somebody was murdered in the house, but death had become such a natural and normal part of his work life, that it hardly touched him. Death was a natural part of life. Sure, the former owner had not had the most normal end to her life, but it had ended nonetheless.
”This - uh - this - this is the room where uhm - she,” the real estate agent stopped in front of a door to one of the last rooms they needed to see, legs shaking so badly that John almost wanted to offer him his cane. John could see sweat drip down the back of his neck,
“Where she passed,” Beatrice chirped helpfully from behind them, making Hansen nod a couple of times, taking a deep breath before he opened the door. There were a couple of police tape pieces stuck to the door and the frame, which swayed gently as the door was opened.
It was then that all the painted pentagrams, all scattered across the house, began to make a little more sense.
“Y-you will probably need ne-new floors in here,” Hansen began, trying to stay in the corner closest to the door, while the others piled in. It wasn’t a giant room, a few things abandoned here and there. A piano pressed into the corner, white sheet halfway fallen down, exposing some of the yellowed keys. There were blood splatters on them. There were a few crystals here and there - more candles.
The most noticeable part was of course the giant pentagram, burned into the wooden floors. Burn marks where some candles had clearly been. There was a broken mirror resting against the wall, not really helping with the atmosphere.
“I - uhm, the—“
Just then, the door slammed closed behind them. That wasn’t what made almost all of them flinch - instead it was the loud, high pitched scream coming from Benny, that made them all do so.
For half a second, Price was back in the battle field, ready to pull his gun and find the danger, ready to make sure his men were safe. Gunsmoke and blood filling his nostrils, the still strong memory of the bullet entering his knee, shattering it. The pain which had him falling down, the way Gaz was instantly on him, pulling him to safety. The way his boyfriend had looked at him, the feeling of his leg almost going numb with the pain.
Captain John Price gripped the cane a little harder, eyes closing for a second. When he opened them again he was back in the room.
Said scream, coming from the real estate agent, then turned into a sob, as the man almost bent in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. Voice shaking like the civilians who had seen too much horror too suddenly.
Not a door slamming behind them.
“I can’t - I can’t- I’m not gonna - I - Can’t, its haunted, its haunted, its haunted, its—“ Hansen was sobbing out loud and he almost jumped into the air, when Beatrice patted him on the shoulder, the man clearly scared shitless. Glasses almost falling from his face.
”It was just the wind,” the red-haired trainee attempted to calm her boss down by saying, clearly having tried this before. John felt bad for the guy, he really did. He clearly didn’t have the nerves to sell this house. In fact, he looked like a man who could use a holiday and perhaps some help from a psychologist.
”it’s haunted, Beatrice, its - she- she-she is still here, Beatrice, i know it, she—“
“Hey, hey - why don’t you go sit in the car, Benny?” Beatrice’s voice was soft and not too loud when she cut him off, as if she was giving a suggestion to a scared child, “I’ll see if I can sell this place to these nice blokes, eh?”
The breath that Hansen took almost looked painful, he was still curled over, body shaking but he nodded - giving the last papers to Beatrice. She opened the door to the hallway and then the man all but sprinted.
John sent Simon a stern look, when the big man let out a dark “heh”. Not that he didn’t find the sight of the real estate agent bolting, while trying to sell them a house, slightly amusing, but it wasn’t polite as the man was clearly horrified.
Everyone was silent for a moment, listening to the front door being opened and then slammed again. Perhaps it was for the better.
Beatrice cleared her throat for a moment, giving them a small, slightly awkward smile, scratching her neck a second.
”Yeah, sorry about my boss - he hasn’t been doing too great lately,” she explained and by gods, John hoped the man might get some help - or stayed away from selling houses where people were murdered. John smiled politely at her and gave a tiny nod, as if to say it was okay.
”How did it happen?” Gaz’s question was genuine and John supposed they might as well know, if they were going to move in. Because several of his boyfriends already seemed like they had decided. John looked out of the window for a second. He watched Hansen sprint down the gravel road, towards his car.
”Ah, well. Apparently the woman inherited the house from a distant uncle,” Beatrice explained, John looked back, watching her open a file for a second, “she only managed to live here for two weeks though… I don’t know much more than what the papers say, but she was supposedly murdered by a cult.”
”A cult?” Gaz repeated in disbelief, eyebrows raised.
Beatrice shrugged, for once looking a little uncomfortable, “Again, I don't know if it's true. But according to what I’ve read and been told, they uhm. Well. Sacrificed her in a ritual… of some sort.”
John looked back at the floor. Poor lass. He can’t imagine the last hours of her life had been pleasant. If the pentagram was anything to go by, he doubted it was a quick kill.
It was only then he noticed what looked like some sort of bended metal, in some of the corners of the pentagram. Probably used to be tied down two. It made him wince.
Poor lass, indeed.
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Beatrice Florence Lowe was convinced this was going to be another failure; a couple of people, hoping for something they could live in, a big house with a cheap price, that offered lots of opportunities to rebuild and live a quiet life. The closest town was an hour away, the nearest neighbour at least half an hour away.
Hadn’t she been happy in a bigger city, she might have moved somewhere like this. Convincing her wife to move somewhere like this, however? An impossible task. She didn’t even want to attempt it. Besides, it would only be much more with work and commuting - not to mention visiting both her own and her wife’s families.
No, it was the city life for her. But, these men? She wanted to argue that it seemed like a perfect place for them.
Of course, she didn’t know actual shit about them, only their names and what she could figure out from the emails and this meeting. You had to be a certain kind of person to even willingly go looking at this house, in the middle of bloody nowhere, isolated and close to the mountains, up on a hill.
Despite being called dumb by her bullies all childhood, Beatrice was far from dumb nor unable to read people.
These men were clearly veterans. If she wasn’t wrong, the whole bunch were queer too, possibly even one big polycule. Not that she was judging that at all, but it also explained why they were interested in this place. It was far from a war zone, they were cut off from society enough to live their life in peace.
If she was going from the stereotypical idea of every soldier walking away from the army with PTSD, she would give a strong guess of the entire bunch struggling with that. A couple of them had clear signs of being wounded at least.
The cane that John Price held tightly, the barely visible brace beneath the jeans, supporting the knee that she suspected to be broken - or at least, in rather crass words, ruined. He seemed to be the leader of the bunch, having been the one to take contact with her and Benny.
Benny, who needed to be dropped off at his house, so his wife could help him calm down… again. She really needed to convince Mrs. Hansen to take a vacation with him. Beatrice had no doubt that his wife was just as tired of hearing of this house, as Beatrice was.
Besides John Price, there was the guy who had been called Soap by one of the others, wore hearing aids, his voice a little loud and words slightly slurred now and again. There was a wound, still pink, deep graze along his forehead and down the side of his head. Beatrice assumed it was a little miracle he was still alive, but what did she know?
The black man, which, in her humble lesbian opinion, was the prettiest of the whole bunch, who had been called both Kyle and Gaz, seemed to be missing a big chunk of his left hand. Beatrice could guess that missing that, would make it a little harder to shoot… or whatever he had done in his career.
Those were only the visible signs - the other two no doubt had something as well. If not visible, then invisible. The visible parts of them were the many scars that littered their skin, in particular the giant one, with the dark humor.
In a way, Beatrice hoped they bought this place, because she liked to imagine that they could have a nice life out here.
She showed them the cellar, where the different appliances like a washing machine and dryer could be connected. Then she showed them the backyard with the terrace, which was just as overgrown as the rest of the front garden - more of a field if one was to ask her - but there was a shed, which was in rather nice condition, that might be a little alluring to them.
“The roof needs fixing,” one of the men commented. Beatrice couldn’t remember his name, but he had a strong Russian accent and a charming smile, despite the comment about the roof. She nodded.
”According to the craftsmen we’ve had out, it doesn’t need to be changed entirely, but that would be up to you, of course,” Beatrice agreed, since she had pretty early on learned that honesty was the way to go, “but it is a fixer upper in general. As far as we know, it still keeps dry.”
She offered the men a copy of the evaluation from the men who had checked the house through earlier this year.
She and Benny had been fucking lucky with the weather, if Beatrice was being honest. If it had poured down, she had doubted the house would be just as welcoming — if one was to ignore the fact it was a murder scene of course. But a lot of places were. People passed away all the time, peacefully in their beds, from heart attacks in the kitchen, from falling in the bathroom. Beatrice had tried convincing Benny to get the place fixed up further, to at least hide the room with the crime scene, but he had been too deep into his superstitions about the ghost, to even consider doing so.
Beatrice tried not to think too much about the woman who had been killed. They had been around the same age at the time. She had been a veteran too, as far as Beatrice remembered from the articles. The police, if not the entire local area, had attempted to keep it as secret as possible. Keeping information and details tight. Not even a picture of the poor woman. It was in order to keep out those too interested in true crime away - which hadn’t fully succeeded- but also to keep the rumours from going, that it wasn’t a nice place to live.
They had found the killers after all. Most had committed suicide, leaving behind cryptic notes, but a couple was in kept in closed mental hospitals undefinetly. Probably for the best.
Yet, she kept herself slightly distanced from the murder, trying not to buy into the superstition unlike Benny, keeping her thoughts logical all the time. Explaining the weird writings on the walls and things moving by the fucking people who broke in all the time, the slamming doors from the wind, the occasional leftover food from people who slept over during their adventures. She ignored the occasional footprints from bare feet in the dusty areas or how the sheets covering the mirrors always disappeared whenever she returned - she didn’t tell Benny about those, his blood pressure high enough without knowing.
She certainly wasn’t going to tell this bunch either. Her boss having a breakdown was embarrassing enough as it was.
“What ‘bout the attic?” The giant man, with the dark humor asked, and gods, did she feel tiny next to him, “no water up in that?”
”Not as far as we know,” Beatrice answered, admitting without shame, “Honestly, we haven't been able to find the hatch - we’ve searched and the people who checked the roof weren’t able to see anything through the windows. We’re pretty sure it's just cut off completely.”
“Weird, innit?” The man asked, finally looking away and up at the windows. Oh, how Beatrice wanted to agree, because it was bloody weird. This entire house was bloody weird.
”I suppose,” Beatrice replied with a shrug, “you can always cut a hole up to it - call us if there is water damage. We’ll send some people out here.”
”That’s awfully kind of you,” Price commented and Beatrice felt herself blush, unable to look at the older man who awoke some of her unspoken daddy issues, “do your company usually offer that for everyone?”
Beatrice busied herself by looking down at the files and shook her head before answering.
”Nah, we don’t,” she worked on making her freckled face much less red, before finally looking up at him, a polite smile on her face, “But it isn’t a usual house or offer for it, you know?”
The man nodded.
”I can give you some time to think about it and talk it through?” She offered, customer voice returning, hugging the files, “Now, or I can give you my card - perhaps not Benny’s, he needs a vacation - and you’re welcome to call me.”
Fuck, Beatrice hoped. She hoped so badly that they wanted it - so that she wouldn’t have to drag Benny out here once more, so she wouldn’t have to threaten any more YouTubers with calling the police, explaining the fact that it was private property. Then she wouldn’t have to drop off a sobbing Benny at his house again, she wouldn’t have to apologize to his poor wife once more.
She - and her boss - could leave this place behind, knowing it was in safe hands. That it could be given a new life, a new purpose. Beatrice liked that aspect when it came to selling places.
“ - and - why don’t I offer an extra deal? 10 grand less,” she offered, like that proper saleswoman as she was, knowing Benny might be mad for half a second, until she promised he wouldn’t have to return ever again.
In truth, Beatrice had expected the men to ask for a few days to think about it. Perhaps, they would even do as a lot of interested parties had done and ghost - pun intended - them, never contacting them again.
The men looked at each other, complete silence between them. The only thing Beatrice could hear was the wind playing with the trees of the forest that surrounded the home. Birds chirping like this was paradise, the soft rush of the long grass. Yet, despite the silence, she was pretty sure they were having a conversation about this whole thing. It wasn’t like she never had wordless conversations with her wife. Sometimes it just came naturally.
”Why don’t we say 2 grand less?” John Price finally offered, turning to her with a soft smile, “Then both you and your boss could get a vacation each.”
Beatrice blinked, confused over his offer for a moment.
“So you - uh —“
”We would like the house, pet,” John Price gently confirmed, a calm smile on his lips.
Beatrice couldn’t remember the last time she had grinned that hard.
”Wonderful!” She chirped, as if she was one of the joyful birds in the nearby trees, “I’ll go get the contract!”