The Twelve Percent

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Three days after I found the obituary for Natalie Brightwell, she appeared again. Mom and I had been painting the living room all day, and I was covered in pale blue paint and wallpaper primer. On my way up the stairs to take a shower late that afternoon, there she was. At the top of the stairs, like she was waiting on me.

She opened and closed her mouth again, but before she could get frustrated and disappear, I held up a hand. “Your name is Natalie, right?” She looked relieved. She nodded vigorously and if she hadn’t already been dead I would’ve been afraid her neck would break. “Are you having a hard time staying visible?” Again, she nodded; this time just twice. I gave her a smile. “That’s normal. I can help you work on that and work on speaking.” Finally, a tiny wedge of a smile itched onto her face. “Would you like that?” Again, a nod.

“Okay.” I smiled again, coming up the last few steps to stand beside her. “I’ve heard others like you talk about the effort to stay visible, and I can help.” She gestured wildly, begging me to tell her how. “Alright, alright. Firstly, stay calm. If you get upset or angry, you’ll lose the grip you have on it.” I watched as she took a deep – albeit unneeded – breath, and then nod at me. “Just stay calm. Clear all of your thoughts except those about being visible. Don’t even think about talking yet. Just focus on being seen. Can you do that?” She nodded again and closed her eyes.

Just when I thought she was going to sit on the ground with her fingers pressed together on top of her knees, she opened her eyes. I had to give the girl credit; she was considerably more visible. There was now a much hidden tint of color to her clothes and hair. “Good. Very, very good, Natalie. Can I call you Natalie?” She nodded again.

“Okay. Now, let’s see if you can follow me, okay?” Nod. “Alright. Keep your focus on your visibility, and just walk with me to my room. Don’t try to go through walls or anything right now, it’ll break your concentration and your visibility. Don’t even bump into anything. Just walk straight this way, and then turn, and straight into my room, okay?” Nod. I walked towards my room, watching her from the corner of my eye as she moved, very slowly, after me.

I sat down at my desk and pulled out my notebook. I’d copied down her obituary on the page I’d been making notes about her on. I flipped past that so she wouldn’t see and get upset. Once I had my pen and notebook, she was standing in front of me. “Okay, Natalie. Can I ask you a few questions? Because, as far as I know, I am the only one that can see you. I’m guessing you’ve figured that out by now.” My answer was a sad nod. “Yeah. It’s okay though; because I’m going to help you. I’m guessing you stuck around for a reason.” Again with the nod.

“Alright. While I ask you these questions, I need you to keep about fifty-one percent of your focus on staying here, and forty-nine percent on remembering the answers I’m asking about.” Again, a nod. I smiled. “It’ll be okay. I promise I will help you.” A tiny smile was returned to me. “Natalie, were you murdered?” Pain filled her face, and I watched for a minute as she struggled to gain composure. The tint of color faded back to grayscale as she fought to stay. Finally, she nodded. Murdered, yes. I wrote in my notes. “Natalie, did you know your murderer?” She shook her head. Knew murderer, no. “Do you remember what they looked like?” She nodded vigorously again. “Good, good. Just hold up one finger for the first option, and two for the second, and so on, okay?” Nod.

“Natalie, was it a male or a female?” One finger. Male killer. “Was he tall, medium height, or short?” Two fingers. Average height. “Did he have brown hair, blonde hair, black hair, no hair, or a different color?” One finger. Brunette. “Was his hair long, short, or around his ears?” She held up two fingers, and then moved her hand like she was combing her hair back, and then spraying hairspray on it. “Okay, so if his hair was natural and he hadn’t combed or used product, do you think it would’ve touched his ears?” She nodded, pointing at me happily. Used a lot of product in his hair, had it combed back. Probably reaches his ears when not styled. “Was he around your age, in his twenties, in his thirties, or older?” She thought about this one for a minute, then held up two fingers. In his twenties.

When I looked up, she was starting to smoke, pieces of her disappearing into the air. “Natalie, last question, okay?” Nod. “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Her face went incredibly still and serious, and she nodded. “Natalie, I promise you I will help you bring him to justice, okay? I promise. When you get your energy back, visit me again, okay? I’ll help you learn more about your ghostly abilities.” A smile spread her face, and she mouthed her thanks, before completely evaporating.

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I mulled over the notes I’d just gotten for a few minutes before Mom yelled up at me that dinner would be ready soon so I needed to shower. After my shower, I grabbed my notebook and took it with me downstairs. We had a general no work at dinner rule, but I knew they would make an adjustment to that rule for ghost problems. Especially since there was a killer on the loose.

I tossed the salad and set the table before taking my seat. The dining room was the last thing on our renovation list, so we ate in the breakfast nook. Dad came down and sat beside me. “Hey, pumpkin.” He kissed my head.

“Hey Dad.” I smiled at him and then looked over at Mom, who was scooping taco meat onto a plate. “Mom, Dad, remember the ghost in my room last week?” They both replied they did. “She was murdered.” Mom looked over her shoulder and gave me a thoughtful look. Dad made a disgusted, angry sound. “And only about two weeks ago. She was barely seventeen.”

“That is absolutely horrifying.” Dad said, eyes on me. Mom set the last plate down, and then took her seat beside Dad; across from me.

“I know. Today she appeared again, and I coached her through prolonging her visibility, and asked her a few questions. I was wondering if I could talk to you about it.”

“Of course, honey.” Mom said, reaching to pat my hand. “Absolutely.”

I relayed the obituary, and then read off my notes from my one-sided conversation with Natalie. After that, I started talking about her appearance and about what else I had found out from online research. Natalie had been a straight A student, and captain of the debate team her junior year. She had been on the school newspaper and student council. From her social media it seemed she was on the edge of popularity, and hadn’t had a boyfriend since she and her boyfriend of nearly two years had broken up four months before her death.

By the time I finished talking, my parents had finished eating. Mom had taken my plate and made me two burritos, with everything on them, and set it back in front of me. While I gulped down my water and started eating, they started bouncing ideas around about motives and possible killers. By the time we had all had a sliver of cheesecake and our nightly drinks, we had hashed out everything we could possibly think of for motives.

And we were really not that far. Mom joked that we should watch Criminal Minds or Law and Order to see if we could get any ideas. She joked; but it was a good plan. Dad said he’d ask our plumber when he came out the next day if he knew of anyone that knew Natalie Brightwell. Then they both kissed me on the head, and headed up to read and get ready for bed.

I washed our dessert plates and triple-checked that all the doors were locked before turning off the lights and heading up to my room. I kicked off my house shoes and pants and got into bed. I laid back, and stared at my ceiling.

“Natalie, if you’re around, I hope you heard what we were talking about tonight. And I hope you’re able to tell me soon if we’re in even the remotely right ballpark. Hell, your killer probably didn’t even know you. You said you didn’t know him.” I sighed. “I’m really sorry this happened to you, Natalie. I’m really going to work hard to bring justice to you.”

“I promise.”

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