Chapter 18 #2
“When will I what? Learn?” I bite at the air as I pressure him to answer, “That was a statement, not a question.” Satisfaction and confidence seep into me as my lip curls on one side.
“Now, answer my question, and I’ll reward your response if I deem fit.
” An indentation forms where the point of the blade meets his body. “Whose name is under the roses?”
“Little bird?” Oliver sways his hips, a hungry look growing in his eyes. “If you don’t move that blade from my heart, there will be consequences.”
Tossing my hands out to the side, “Here, I thought this was what you wanted.” Once my confused face transfigured to a more nonchalant expression, I barked back. “Guess, you’re chickening out.”
He leans in my direction, rolling one shoulder at a time. “Don’t think for one second that I can’t break out of these cuffs.” Pulling at the restraints, I can hear the wood moan and creak, the corners of his mouth peek out over the cloth that masks it.
He is fucking smiling—enjoying every second.
“I would never underestimate a monster who hides in the dark.” He says, looking down his nose at me, ‘You should, however, fear one who isn’t afraid to step out into the light.’’
“Is that a threat?” I hold myself tall as I speak, forcing him to look up at me. “Because I don’t take lightly to being threatened.”
What is this rushing feeling? I feel inferior, powerful, and in charge.
This new sensation is empowering as it devours me, and he sees it too.
I must remember I’m not without my flaws—he just makes it so damn easy to forget.
With my life, it was difficult to look past my imperfections.
The difference between my sister and me is that I took heed when our father told us about the dreadful things in the world, making me paranoid and hyperaware of my actions.
“No one will ever do the things you want to do in life better than you, yourself.”
“Everyone is out to get theirs—so, give only when you can afford it.”
“You are the hero in your story.”
All these quotes that I have lived my life by have been the same quotes I used to pull my sister through some rough times. I remember in school, she endured so much bullying. Her beauty never stopped the snobby girls from making her feel less than.
I would always hear the popular jockeys spouting obscenities about her and how each of them was going to get her in bed with them.
My breaking point was when I overheard them discussing prom and their idea to jump her.
Slapping hands once they decided the order in which they were going to take, when defiling her body after she was drugged.
On the approach that night, I spent every waking moment beforehand mastering my plan of action.
I stayed up the whole time, plotting how I was going to stop them—prom went on without a hitch.
My sister was having fun—all was good. I almost believed that they had changed their mind, until she didn’t come back from the restroom.
When I found them and realized that three of them had already gone, my rage took over, and my plan hit the fan.
As years passed, the three who took it upon themselves to deflower my sister all met their end.
Karma came to them, and with her she brought a Demon of Vengeance.
Their passing was not slow, nor painless—It was justice enacted by the gods.
As I fade back into the present time, I had an awakening. “It was you.”
His hunger morphs to starvation. “What was ‘me’, dove?” My breathing is shallow as he rests his head against the backboard. “Are we doing this again?” Still facing the ceiling, his eyes shut as he speaks. “What would you do if I said it was mine?”
My exterior unwavering, while my emotions swirl. “What-” I am not sure where this conversation is going. “Do you mean?”
“What if I told you,” His chest expands as he lets loose a frustrated sigh, “it was mine?”
“Did you ever-? Wait, did you say-?” Then, it hit me he wasn’t asking ‘What if it was me?’ He said ‘mine’. He was talking about the headstone under the rose bush.
It can’t be, he is lying.
Why would he lie to me?
He can’t be dead because I can see him—I can feel him.
I think back to every unexplained event in my life… was it him?
Was he the demon of Vengeance?
No, he has said it already—He is the Shadow. My Shadow.
Between the time I spent arguing with myself over the memory of my sister, a fog formed in my head. “Was it you? The night with my sister—at prom?”
He drops his head back to look at me. “Are we counting this as a question?” The moment he gave me his piss-poor response, it triggers me, and I seem to have plunged the Ka bar deep in his chest. “Way to cut my heart out, little bird.” He lies back against the headboard once more, the knife still protruding from his body, as I sit there in shock and frozen to the spot.
“How long have you been stalking me?” The question slips out like a dollop of butter on a hot frying pan. “I’m sorry.”
“Is this-” His eyes move to look at me, but his head stays still.
“Yes!” a little more aggressive than I intended, but I’ve needed this answer since the alley. “Yes, Oliver, I need to know.”
“I-” He clears his throat. “I have never stalked you.”
“Bullshit!” I shout at him as I slam my fist on the bed.
“I have never stalked you. That would be an invasion of privacy.” I don’t know what to say. “I have haunted you... since you took your first breath.” Considering the information, I now know, I am still at a loss for words.
“Watch you undress?” He interrupts my thought, “No, dove. That would be stalking. On another note, I feel the need to make this fact noticeably clear… I didn’t fall in love with you till after the first man I killed in your name, on your twenty-third birthday.”
“You’ve… killed… for me? How many times?” Realizing that I had asked two questions, I pause. “Sorry.”
I didn’t care about his game anymore. I needed answers.
“Don’t answer that.” I bite my tongue and continue. “Next quest-”
“No, Emory, I owe you those answers.” I am shocked by his response. “I am ok to pause our game, for now. The questions that you ask, from here out, can only pertain to the subjects at hand: My being dead, the haunting you, and the things I have done to protect you—deal?”
Slowly, my chin touches my clavicle, then lifts again. “Good, I will make this quick.” Rocking his hips, he shifts to a more comfortable position. “Yes, I am dead, I died a long time ago.”
I don’t know where this is going, and I am both terrified and on the edge of my seat.
“I have followed your family since my passing.” He looks at his lap, “The night you turned twenty-three was the first time I had ever taken a man’s life in the pursuit of keeping you safe.”
I am taken back to that night at the bar—I don’t remember anything past the first half of the night. Then, I remember waking up the next morning to the news of the guy who was talking to me, and that he had passed.
“I’ve killed for your sister also—the screwed-up thoughts in my mind told me it still led to your happiness.”
It was him. He was the one who avenged my sister.
“However,” he shifts his hips again, “When it comes to you, I dare not give the complete count.”
A gentle pressure pushes against the small of my back as I swivel my top half to see what it could be. He was using his heels to force me towards him. “Any more questions on that matter? May we continue our game?”
Pausing for a moment, there was one more question I had. “I have one. In the cellar, and even just now… if you are dead… why do you still bleed?”
“Right.” He scoffs. “Remove my clothes.”
“Seriously?” I throw up my hands. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Demand things with no context.”
“Because I love watching your reactions, you have a filthy mind, little bird.” The air shifts, and his demeanor changes. “I will answer this last question, mostly because it will make our game more intriguing.”
He glances down at the dagger. I reach over, removing it from his chest. Then, working my way to the second button, my heart is pounding like a base drum. I tuck the blade under the little, round piece of plastic and stop. “No, I want the mask off first?”
“You’ve already seen my face-”
“Yes.” Cutting him off, “And lovely as it is, I am curious to see all your scars at once.” His eyes widen.
Once I release the knot in the mask, I finish with the rest of the buttons on his shirt, running my finger down its seam.
Separating the hems. I draw the fabric back, revealing his bare chest riddled with scars.
My fingers trail the lines, like a leaf floating with the ripples on a lake after a stone has been thrown in.
Some of them are light pink with a white hue, showing their age.
Others appear like dried-up wounds that could have happened a day ago.
I caress them using a swipe of my finger, ending one to start another, with a sense of dedication and understanding.
“Now,” The words come out soft, caressing my lips with a gentle breeze, “Tell me why you still bleed.”
The crow’s feet deepen in the corner of his eyes. “It’s the Gods’ cruel way of punishing me for choosing to stay and protect, rather than crossing over to live happily in the memories of my past.” My head falls to one side, puzzled. I scoot closer—a toddler to their favorite storybook.
He notices this and continues, “When it’s one’s time to leave this plane, for what most humans believe to be a ‘better one’, the reality of it all is you are only stepping into a looped existence—reliving what good memories you made in a life you already had.”
“How do you know that if you chose to stay?”
“A faceless—nameless deity, draped in all white, finds you lost in darkness. The echo of past mistakes… of chances not taken… beating you down harder than when you endure them in life.” Sorrow presents itself briefly in his eyes.
“The emotions of those moments are unbearably loud.
For instance, all goes silent, and the messenger speaks:
Brave soul—one who has overcome hardships most would find insufferable. Before you… lies a difficult decision indeed. You can stay and keep the promise of protection you have made, or you can step into the realm of your raison d’être.”
“He continued by saying:
Human souls have only two choices: they can stay and suffer the failures of their life, while spending eternity completing their ‘unfinished business’. Or they can move to the Great Beyond.
I chose to stay.” Rolling his head from side to side, “Little did I know the pain I volunteered for. I waited for those I loved to di as the loneliness of being forever alone, stuck rotting in a constant state of dread, slowly disintegrated my soul. Waiting for the same time I was murdered—doomed to relive my grotesque death all over again, like a residual torture session.”
Pausing for a moment, he turns his head, refusing to make eye contact, “Left with hope that eventually one would be reincarnated to live a better life to achieve that raison d’être.
” Practically sitting in his lap now, I rest my palm on his cheek—the hope that this gesture of ‘understanding’ will calm him.
I release the tie from around his neck, and as the knot loosens, I let it fall through my fingers.
The cloth no longer secured around his face falls and billows behind him.
“What, is the raison d’être?” I inquire, “Did this ‘mystical being’ tell you?”
“It’s the Elysian Fields for most. The celestial spirit went more in-depth with that as well.
But like I said,” He pulls his feet up to meet his ass, causing me to fall forward a little.
“Though it’s just a loop of the memories made in one’s life that they live through, a continuous cycle, and they don’t even know that it’s happening. ”
“Ok, so let me get this straight.” I prop myself up on my elbows, his chest firm beneath them, “You choose to stay and suffer rather than pass and be happy?” He nods. “So, wait, that still doesn’t explain why you bleed.”
Sitting back, I suck my teeth, awaiting his response.
“Right, I can only bleed from the spots I was cut when I died. It’s one of the sick, twisted jokes that come with choosing to stay.
It’s the only way… I can feel.” He gives me a slide glance.
“After my duty, my promise was fulfilled. With that said, before your great-grandmother passed, she made me promise to remain here… for Charlie—your grandfather.”
He inhales sharply through his nose, before the story goes on, “Weathering away, and desperate, I took a blade to my body. I don’t know what I was thinking.
Perhaps I hoped that the being would find me once again, or that things would get less…
lonely—that maybe I had the power to end it all.
I felt lost, that was until Niven came along and could see me. ”
“So, in the cellar,” I trace the palm of his hand, as it hangs, locked in the metal jaws of the cuffs. The very hand he cut open, before he shoved it in my face—the taste of his blood still potent on my tongue. I carry on with my question, “Did you do that yourself?”
“The cellar? No, that is different.” He shakes his head slowly, “When I died, it took a while for death to claim me. So, my residual passing in this state of existence is from the point of attack to the last breath—let me remind you, I didn’t die instantly.
My last breath wasn’t until dawn.” His eyes gloss over for a moment as he is brought back to that day.
I climb onto his lap, taking his face in my hands, guiding him to look at me—trying to break his focus on the past, when a realization hits me:
I am falling in love with him—a ghost.
I am falling in love with my shadow