The Aftermath

When Gerard some time later came back out, I followed him to the park. Once he had chosen a bench to sit on, I sat next to him, watching people - living as well as dead - while he sketched away.

There were a lot of people in the park, and more than once I saw a single person or even a couple looking for somewhere to sit. Many times their eyes glided over the bench which my brother and I occupied, but none of them came over to sit in spite of the fact that I knew they could not see me. It made me frown.

Casting a sideways glance at Gerard, I took in his appearance. His black-dyed hair fell into his eyes as he drew, and his black clothes clung to him; the leather jacket being the only loose-fitted item he wore.

I could see how it looked. But he seemed so peaceful as he sat sketching away unaware of the world around him that people shying away from him angered me to an extend, where it made my glow pick up.

“It is not him,” a voice interfered with my thoughts, “it is you.”

“Excuse me?” I asked the ghost standing just a little off to my right, much too startled to make him go away as I usually would have.

“It is not the human that is keeping people away from the bench. It is you.”

“I... I don't understand.”

“It's simple, really,” the ghost sighed, “The living all avoid us, avoid contact. I reckoned you would know that. From the looks of you, you have been around for a while.”

I tried to get my head straight, simply watching the ghost for a while. He was a man, maybe in his forties, and his clothes led me to believe he had been around for a while as well. A few decades, maybe.

“How can you tell,” I asked, hesitantly, “that I've been here for a while?”

“Your aura is strong, but it is not as scorching pure as that of those who come down.”

“Those who come down?” I raised my eyebrow questioningly.

“You don't know anything, do you?” the ghost asked his voice suddenly soft.

I shook my head.

“People who are not ready to move on become spirits, like me. On that note, there are different types of spirits and I would highly appreciate it if you stop thinking of me as a ghost. I am not,” the ghost, spirit I mended, smiled at me taking the sting out of his words, “People who are ready, in turn, become either heaven-bound creatures or hell-bound creatures. Angels or demons, for example.”

I sat staring at him for a while, pondering. Somehow something did not add up for me. I flexed my wings.

“But I am not a spirit. Am I?” I asked at last.

“No,” he shook his head with a smile.

“But if I'm not... Then I should have been ready to move on, right? Then I should have moved on. Right?”

“Well,” the spirit sighed, shifting his weight, “it happens. In your case it is not you who have unfinished business with the living. It is the living, who have unfinished business with you.”

I fought the urge to let my eyes flicker to my brother who, of course, was entirely unaware of this conversation. Somehow I did not want to draw the spirit's attention to him. The old man shook his head.

“I mean your brother no harm.”

“But... How?” I gasped, startled.

“I have been around for very long. And even before that, I was always good at reading people. Reading your aura is almost too easy for me now. That's why I am so good with the children, I can understand them easily. I can help. That is why I choose to stay.”

“You weren't ready to move on?”

“I never will be. I am a true spirit. I stay because I have a calling I feel I can still do. When I lived I was the caretaker of the playground over there,” he pointed, “now I take care of the children who die young but are unable to move on immediately.”

“All the small angels,” I guessed.

“Yes. You know from yourself that just being heaven-bound does not give you peace of mind. I talk to them, tell them that their parents need a little time to adjust to life without them. So they stick around to make the transition easier for the adults. Usually it takes between a few weeks and a few months, but when the parents have accepted what has happened, the children can move on. They can go to Heaven.”

“Are there... Non-true spirits? You know, as opposed to what you are?” I asked, intrigued with finally getting some answers.

“They are not 'non-true', as you call it. They just divide into subclasses, essentially making them something different. The most obvious difference is that any spirit you can fit into a subclass will eventually move on.”

He paused for a moment looking towards the playground. A young couple were just letting their son and daughter loose, before going to find a bench to sit on. The spirit sighed.

“The most common subclasses of spirits are ghosts and ghouls. Ghosts generally have unfinished business with someone still alive, ghouls with the world of the living,” I looked at him, perplexed, “Someone who never got to ask his lover to marry him would be a ghost, someone who never got the wedding he wanted would be a ghoul,” he clarified, seeing my expression.

“Is that... the only difference?” I asked, chewing my lip thinking back on the ghost with the unnerving eyes.

“Ah, no. Ghosts are usually gentle. More or less. They usually know what their unfinished business is and how to go about it. Or they can afford to wait. Ghouls tend to be slightly... resentful. They often have a hard time figuring out how to solve their business and move on,” he hesitated for a moment, “If you come across a ghoul who has given up hope of moving on, on their own, they might seek out your, eh, help. And they might not necessarily be nice about it. You cannot do anything for them, anyway. So do not try.”

The last part was clearly a warning and my memory flicked back to the hungry look in the eyes of the ghoul I had met.

“Don't worry, I won't,” I whispered.

The spirit's attention strayed to the playground again, mine to my hands. I did not look up till my brother suddenly moved and I followed his gaze, which was also trained on the playground. He smiled softly at the boy and the girl playing by the swings. The spirit in turn hissed.

“This is bad,” he said, his voice sounding alarmed.

“What is happening?” I asked him startled, standing up swiftly.

“Don't know yet,” he muttered, “in just a second... It is getting closer,” he trailed off.

I looked back at the playground like both the spirit and my brother, to see the boy pushing the girl higher. The spirit made a high screeching sound next to me.

“No,” he gasped, his eyes never straying from the girl on the swing, “get her!”

I stood unmoving, unable to understand who he was even talking to until he suddenly spun to face me.

“I cannot interfere on a physical plain,” he hissed, “Get her!”

His last words held the force of a truck and I felt as though a gust of wind slammed into me, picking me off of the ground. I stretched my wings to soar, in the same second understanding what was going on, as I saw the little girl being thrown from the swing.

Flapping my wings I flew towards her with a speed I did not know I could obtain. I managed to catch her in time to set her down gently. My heart raced madly, but the little girl just giggled.

With a movement much too deliberate she slapped my hand away from her, grinning.

“Anna, Anna, are you okay?” The girl's brother came running.

My brother had moved much closer too, I suddenly noticed. I looked at him looking at the children. His eyes seemed to darken slightly, though his expression was kind.

“I'm fine, Danny, really,” the girl smiled happily.

“But Anna, you fell off the swing!” her brother said in a shrill voice.

“But he caught me, so it is okay,” his sister said before turning to me as though it was the most natural thing in the world, “Thank you, mister.”

I felt shock course through me, strongly, because the little child in front of me was definitely seeing me, even if her brother as well as mine, was not. Desperately, I looked around for the old spirit, wanting an explanation. He was gone.

“Are you both okay?” Gerard's gentle voice drew my attention back to the living in front of me.

“Yes,” the little girl replied, while the boy nodded, “Why are you asking if Danny is okay, though?” she added, confused.

“Because I know you scared him,” my brother told her and I shifted my weight uncomfortably.

“I don't understand,” she said.

“You need to be more careful. When you ask your brother to push you higher, he will, 'cause he is you big brother and he'll do anything for you. But if he gets you hurt, then he'll be hurt too,” Gerard continued in the same soft voice, making my heart burn with his words.

“That's right,” the boy said, nodding, “How do you know, mister?”

“I,” Gerard hesitated, “I had a little brother.”

I was just about to leave then, unable to take it anymore, but the little girl stopped me in my tracks.

“Where is he?” she asked innocently, causing my brother to flinch visibly.

“No,” I moaned, making the little girl look at me, “You can't ask him that,” I whispered to her, “you'll make him sad. You'll make us sad.”

“Sorry,” she said with a sad expression, returning her attention to Gerard, “please don't be sad. It makes us sad as well,” she finished seriously, unaware of the fact that the plural was wasted on him.

Gerard just smiled at the children with a slight shake of his head. I hoped they could not see how fake and forced the expression was. As my brother waved goodbye I followed him, leaving the children to their parents, who had finally come.

My brother picked up his things from the bench, looking back towards the little family. I looked with him, scared of how much the pictured looked like that of our family not too many years ago.

“Please be careful, little girl,” I heard Gerard whisper, “if anything happens to you, your brother will never forgive himself.”

I turned just in time to catch the pain on my brother's face and my heart shattered as he started walking away.

“You have to,” I whispered after him, “It wasn't your fault. You have to forgive yourself, Gee.”