Ghosts

Her breathing was silent –soft and shallow–, her chest rising and falling in time with the upwards spiralling of blue breath escaping her pale chapped lips. He knew there was little he could do for her now; she was weakened beyond any state of redemption, yet he stayed with her, cradling her head in his lap.

She was a virtual stranger to him, he knew her not by name, but nevertheless a dull recognition addled his brain. She had seemed nice enough, from the little he knew of her. She was in her early twenties with a surprisingly sturdy head on her shoulders, age considered, and was in her last semester of university where she was studying medicine, or so he'd been informed at one point or another. It was a cruel irony, he mused, stroking her dark locks, that the people she planned on saving -the people of this run-down city- were the people to bring death knocking at her door so early.

The nameless man was no stranger to the cruelties of the city he called home; they visited him often at night, plaguing his dreams with vicious and unforgettable nightmares; a lingering consequence of seeking absolution after burying his skeletons in a closet he'd long-since forgotten.

The woman wheezed a little, the only show of life she'd offered in the last four dragging minutes. Voices captured his attention, 'there's nothing you can do for her any more, she's gone. It was an accident; only an accident. No one has to know'. He let the woman's head fall to the floor, and it was then he noticed she'd since stopped breathing. The snow that lay around her abdomen had been tainted crimson.

He could feel his past evils crawling back into his very being.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered simply as a way of apology to the deceased girl before rising and turning, stumbling as he ran from the snow dusted street.

The snow had turned to sludge along the pavements and roadsides he noticed now his path had carried him into the bursting city centre. It was a short walk, but much too far nevertheless he judged now he found his feet swimming in icy pools of water.

He reminisced on his mother as he continued onward: she, like the majority of her peers, wouldn't allow her children to leave the house without fuss unless wrapped in an infinite number of thermal layers, two pairs of woollen socks and a pair of thick sturdy shoes during the winter. He had never acknowledged her warnings as a child, and even in the present, years later as a supposedly mature and responsible adult, he paid them no heed.

The streets were bustling with the annual round of Christmas shoppers and the ever present patrol officers on his journey, he found himself delving his cotton covered fingers firmly into his pockets as he passed them – out of sight and out of mind. They wore no bloodstains; no visible show of his inner guilt, but his paranoia would not settle otherwise. The feeling was bitterly familiar.

As he turned off the main streets, into the residential areas he could once again hear the snow crunching under his feet, temporarily soothing his wounds and quieting the whirring in his head. He removed his gloves as he walked up the steps to the community church, depositing them among the rose bushes that surrounded the monument. Once again, he felt his conscious scolding him, he'd done nothing wrong, he reminded himself, he'd simply found her.

However for the second time in his life, he found this was not enough to sooth his temperamental state of mind. Walking between the rows of benches, glancing fleetingly at the bibles placed in the holsters in front, he found a lump rising in his throat, his pulse-rate rising significantly. Once, twice, he swept over the room to check there was nobody currently here to witness his confession and breakdown.

It was a whispered fact among society, that the most reprehensible of sinners found themselves gathering among the religious and holy establishments. He was no different, he'd never accepted God, not really. He held a belief in a singular holy deity, but that on it's own simply wasn't enough, he knew this. Having spent so long drowning himself in self-pity he found himself unable to accept forgiveness or acceptance; unwilling to give up his security blanket of familiarity; able to admit that he could be a better person once more, but not prepared to actually have to work, perfectly content to believe that his every sin would be forgiven in the end – perfectly content with the knowledge he wasn't the only one of this kind in the blasted city he found himself in.

He fell to his knees at the podium, his tongue loosening instantly and accidentally dropping a word of confession here and there, but inside he found himself screaming his every misgiving, his every wrong thought and urge. Apologies soon became all he chanted, as his thoughts began to blur together, his speech falling apart. The image of a young, merry girl bouncing around the insides of his closed lids.

And then it came to a stop, his eyes opened, and the tears fell. He hugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth, allowing himself to lapse into a false sense of security. He knew he'd never feel truly happy again, not unless he found the one thing he was so desperately searching for, whatever that may be.

The tears dried into crystal tracks that would glimmer in the light, however he spared no time to wipe them away and began the journey back towards the girl he'd left lying in the snow. He approached the back alley once more, only to find his access barred by a luminescent yellow crime scene cordon. They had found her.

He shifted back around the side of the complex, pulling his keys out. He jabbed his key at the lock, finally managing to get it jammed inside the lock after his forth attempt, held back in all his haste. Tugging and twisting the key, it seemed an age had passed by the time he'd yanked it out, and he was certain he'd never be able to slam the door shut behind him quick enough to satisfy his, once again, racing heartbeat.

Clack, clack, clack. The sound of every footstep on the hard concrete stairs carried throughout the entire building, and so did the voices resonating from the upper-floors. It took another three sets until he could clearly decipher the voices “Excuse me, are you a Ms. Palmer?” a brief pause and the sound of the a chain being slid along and unhooked from the lock,

“May I help you?” The woman's voice rang out. Clare Palmer had lived on the floor above him for as long as he could remember and she didn't often get visitors, his curiosity held him in place.

“I'm detective inspector Paul Byrne and this is my accompanying officer James Keane, we're here investigating the body that has been found outside your housing complex in the early hours today, and were wondering if we could ask you a few questions..?” Nimbly, he unlocked the door without much noise, however the little there had been had apparently been enough.

“Excuse me, sir.” He didn't seem to recognise the voice of the uniformed man and thus assumed the man to be the aforementioned James Keane. “Is this your flat?”

He nodded numbly, clearing his throat, mustering up every daring molecule in his body, “Can I help you?” Not shaky enough for the officer to have picked up on, he assessed reading the man's body language. He felt his lungs contract and expand once more, a small amount confidence building.

“I'm here with some colleagues investigating the death of Anna Stones, and would like to ask you a few questions in connection with the case.”

“I'm sorry pal, who?” He asked, his voice layered with confusion despite having already concluding this 'Anna Stones' to be the name of the deceased girl. 'Deceased girl' he thought, 'I've already disassociated myself.'

“Anna Stones?” the officer tried again, searching for any look of recollection in his face. He found none. “She lived on the second floor of this complex...” the officer's voice trailed off as the he removed the key from the lock nodding musingly as if finally putting a name to a face.

“Aye sure, come on in, mate. Dead you say?”

“Aye, we're currently investigating it as a murder enquiry, and so your assistance would be appreciated. Do you mind if I come in and ask you a few questions?”

The officer was young and fairly inexperienced he'd assessed, 'what's the harm? I'll look suspicious otherwise'. “Sure thing, mate. Bloody hell, murder of all things,” His voice held strong and welcoming, “I don't really know what help I'll be, but I can do my best,” He widened the door, welcoming the officer in. “You'll have to excuse the mess, I wasn't expecting visitors and unfortunately I've been out most of the day and not had time for a tidy.”

The two settled themselves on the couches in his living room, he shifted some magazines from the coffee table, offering the officer a warm smile. “Can I tempt you with a brew?” The officer shook his head mumbling a quick thanks anyway whilst fiddling to find his pen and fetching the notebook from his pocket.

“So,” the officer began, flicking the notepad open onto a new page, “What can you tell me about Miss Stones?”

He ran his hands through his hair as if struggling to recall every detail he'd gathered on the girl, reclining into the sofa, “Ah, not a lot, unfortunately. I don't spend a lot of time around here y'see, I work across on the other side of the City and spend most my time bunking around there, but ah.” The officer nodded, a slightly upturned smile as if in recognition of a good Scottish night out. “She was studying medicine in the university, eh...” He trailed off, “I don't really think I know much more about her if I'm honest.”

A nod was all he received, “Have you noticed anyone visiting her at all of late. Friends? A boyfriend maybe?” He shook his head looking regretful, the officer nodded.

“Is there anything at all? Any idea of how she was doing financially? Perhaps mingling with some funny crowds? Drugs?” He shook his head once more.

“From what I know and what I've heard of her, she was a good lass. She never brought any hassle this way, and to be doing medicine I assume she must be fairly studious, not a lot of time for parties an' all that.” He paused a smile coming to his face, “Then again, you know kids.”

The officer stood placing a card on the coffee table. “If you think of anything; hear anything, you know the call, feel free to give us a ring, it would be a great hand.” He offered a hand to the officer, guiding him towards the door.

“Sure thing mate. Sorry I couldn't be a bigger help, I'll keep an eye out though.” The officer nodded, a thankful smile on his face, nodding a head in greeting to his colleague as he wondered down the stairway, shuffling his notes into an oversized pocket. He too gave the D.I a nod, slinking behind the door and closing it quietly.

Once again, the guilt returned, he grabbed his keys and a jacket, deciding once again a walk was a good idea. Exiting the building he spared the guys gathered around the patrol car a quick acknowledgement, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling out a tab and a the lighter he'd earlier shoved in aside them out, lighting it up quickly and beginning to put as much distance between himself and the bloody crime scene he'd left earlier.

The snow would have melted in the past few hours and thus have cleared any traces of DNA he'd left behind, he wasn't guilty of murder, but he'd prefer to distance himself from any police investigation where possible. So, whilst he was perhaps he was guilty of not being entirely forthcoming with the officer from earlier, but he hadn't outright lied. And that was enough to satisfy his conscious for now. That, and a steady flow of nicotine.

Exhaling, he allowed the blue wisps of smoke mingle in with the air, breathing in the stinging cold, trying to wash away the days events. He lied to himself as he continued, tracing his steps from earlier back into the city centre, pretending he had no idea why he'd stopped for the girl. He knew exactly why he'd stopped, he'd wanted her to have someone there for her as she was claimed by what many saw as an infinite sleep. He wanted to be there for her like he couldn't be for his sister.

And there he was again, once again chasing away the memories of his sister. The one he'd allowed to be taken from him for nothing more than a decent fuck. The lady in the petrol station gave him a disgusted look as he purchased the wilting flowers, he wasn't going to explain to her they weren't a cheap sorry to a lady friend he'd mistreated. The truth was worse still and he deserved nothing more, nevertheless he offered her a vacant smile as he left the station and continued down the side-street that would take him towards the cemetery.

Her tombstone was bare, reading simply her name and some dates. He'd paid for it himself, it was his only contribution towards her funeral, other than of course the fact he all but put her there himself. His mother had barred him from the funeral. He'd stood at the gates, dressed in his best, watching miserably as they lay his sister to rest, but he knew he deserved nothing less. He fled when the guests began to leave – they all believed him to be in a critical condition in hospital after drinking himself silly upon hearing the news. It was a near truth, not near enough for his liking.

He'd lay by her side that night, spending two or three hours arranging and re-arranging the flowers he'd brought for her, whispering his apologies once again. He'd spent his life apologising to her, she'd always been the perfect child, and the perfect sister, but that hadn't stopped him. He gagged. He'd lay with her as the rain fell mercilessly from the sky. It always seemed to rain when he felt at his worse, but then, he'd not felt true happiness for a long time, and it was Scotland for Christ's sake. When didn't it rain?

He was bitter, and angry, and self-pitying, and it only served to aggravate him all the more. He loathed his being, and he knew that everybody else did, they'd look at him like his mother had as the rain fell from the sky, and she looked down at him, hugging his sister's teddy bear into his chest like lying there, swamping himself in his own selfish sorrows would bring her back; like it'd would take the pain away. She had told him never to come back, ever again. He didn't.

The gate screeched an unearthly cry as he opened it. He laughed manically, his eyes searing with pain as the tears threatened to fall once again. He kept them open, wide with an innocence that he'd long since forgotten as he scanned the many headstones, taking the sight in, refusing to blink and let the tears fall. The walk to her grave was but a distant memory but one that he'd watched almost every night of the last fourteen years.

His hand reached out, touching the smooth granite only enough to feel the chill it radiated. “I'm sorry.” He announced once more. Nothing changed with those words, but his heart clenched and the sobs distorted his body. “I'm sorry, Anna. I'm so, so sorry.”

Legs giving out, he fell sprawled out beneath the plot of grass she lay under. Sobbing, crying, screaming, aching. He had no idea how much time came and left, but the snow fell once more coating him in a white that failed to hide the impurities. He could never make up for the huge mistake he made in leaving her in that house alone that night, but he would live with himself for as long as God saw fit, and that was a greater hell than even the most painful of deaths. The snow fell harder across the ground, he didn't move.

He lay there for that night, and as the sun rose, the next morning, he pulled himself up and traced the steps back to his flat once more, blue with the cold, icy to touch. The police had gone, as had Anna Stones' body, as had the luminescent cordon. No trace of the tragedy that took place in the early hours of the previous day lingered, perhaps some of his neighbours would move away to escape the thought they were living meters from where a dead body had once lain, and perhaps he'd gain a new neighbour, one just as unaware of the person he really was.

He wouldn't move however. He'd stay. In the flat by the murder scene of Anna Stones, the twenty-four year old university student, found lying in the snow where she'd bled slowly to death from a fatal stab-wound, the killer never discovered; and in the flat where he'd lost his virginity to a cheap whore two-years above him in school whilst his fourteen-year-old, blue-eyed, blonde-haired angelic little sister had stayed alone in the family home he was no longer welcome in, and burned to ashes after waking up very much alone to her house ablaze.