Ghost

“I’m hungry,” she said. I ignored her. She was a creature of complaint, a woman of the whine. It spoke of her skill that my considerable patience was already fraying after my third glass. Her voice piped up again, this time taking on the nasally intonation that was my weakness.

“Jimmy, I’m huuunn-GRRREEEEE!”  

My fists slammed down on the desk, bringing an end to her incessant cry. The objects on my desk jiggled and jarred, with the ink jar taking a swan dive over the edge. It ended its long service with a crash and slow leak, blackness soaking into the oak floor. I tried to reign myself in, but it was far too late -- my temper was as hot as the room’s roaring fire. “ You’re not hungry! You’re not cold! You’re not bored, and you’re certainly not lonely! You’re not any of those damned things because you’re dead!”

The ghoul blinked her single eye before edging a finger through the hole the other once occupied. “Huh, so I am,” she said before flashing me a smile. It was crooked and cruel, the signal for cutting words and painful jabs. “I wonder whose fault that is?” The one sentence was enough to end my anger. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes. I had brought it on myself. I felt her hands ease over my shoulders, delicate fingers that plucked at my shirt.

“Tell me, James, who was it that killed me?” She damn well knew the answer. I pushed up from the chair and paced across the room, away from her, away from her incriminations. “I’ve explained myself already to you, woman! A hundred times, a thousand! How many more times must I before you’re satisfied?”

“Long hours, marital strain, a terrible thirst,” she recited boredly, “The same old excuses, Jimmy. They rang hollow the first time. Do you think repetition will make them sound better?” A man could hope. I had certainly tried.

“Who could have saved you?” I whispered, staring out the window. The streets were orange and empty, influenced by lamplight and the night sky. Those images were soon replaced by another, of an empty socket and a single wild eye. She was laid out on the table, bleeding through the linens. There were shouts and orders filling the room. They were all coming from me.

It was a scene I could never forget. “You had been shot through the eye, right into your posterior cerebral artery! If you hadn’t bled to death, you would have been an invalid, a shell of yourself!” I whipped around, pointing a finger at the ghoul, accusing her, beseeching her. “I tried my best to save you, dammit! My hands didn’t shake, my mind was clear, I never lost focus! I couldn’t have done more!”

She laughed, a long, sinuous sound that slithered through the room and ‘round my heart. My finger drooped and the righteous red of my cheeks faded. Her blue eye watched me as red lips twisted into a smile. “Now we get to the truth of it, Jimmy. No matter what you did, no matter what you attempted, you couldn’t save me. It wasn’t spurned wives or fourteen-hour shifts:

“You just weren’t good enough.”

She shimmered, form blurring as tears filled my eyes. She was right. It was a fact I had been avoiding for weeks, months. My knees sank to the floor and my hands covered my face, banishing the terrible spectre for even a moment. “You were so young, so full of promise. You had the world ahead of you!”

“It never turned out how you wanted, did it?” she whispered in my ear. She was behind me again, my tormentor, my judge, with fingers stroking through my hair. “The big, empty house, the string of wives, the long hours… It was never the fairy tale ending you were looking for.” Her voice was soft, even sympathetic. I shuddered, waiting for the taunts or jabs that always followed.

They never came. She continued to soothe my hair and hold me close. My throat ached and my chest clenched as I wept. It was the first bit of understanding since the Incident. My body shook as I clung to her. “If I had been able to save you,” I whispered, “Maybe, maybe I could have saved myself. I could have lived a life that I didn’t regret. Maybe I could change.” I drew back from her, searching that pale face.

“You were right. Saving you was impossible from the start.”

She laughed again, this time a sweet sound. It was the voice of a girl rather than a ghost. Her hands were cool as they pressed against my cheeks, lifting my head up. “I’m not your salvation, Jimmy. I never was. Whether you keep on this track or get off, it isn’t because of me. It’s all you. It has been the whole time.”

The girl leaned in and gave me a whisper of a kiss. It was tender, gentle, and all-too-brief. When she pulled back I shuddered, fingers squeezing at her cool flesh. “Something sweet to remember me by, Jimmy.” Her single blue eye gave a wink. “Maybe it’ll help you move on.” Then the girl began to fade, her colors becoming dull before transparent. Soon she was gone, leaving only the memory.

I was left alone with a growing headache, which neither the bottle of whiskey at my side or the sunlight slipping over the windowsill helped. I stared at the amber bottle, fingers clutching at its glass surface. Today I could choose. Stop or continue. Live or keep dying. All it would take was one choice. My hand trembled.

I let the light liquid spill over the black ink.