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The next morning I was woken by the sound of the front door being opened. Nick was still out for the count with his hand entwined in mine. After taking a second to thank the stars that ghosts didn’t seem to get hangovers, I shook Nick and he woke with a jolt “W… What’s… ahh… going on?!” I pointed downstairs “someone’s in the house” listening in curious panic, fuelled by the adrenalin rush of an abrupt awakening. “Who would be letting themselves in?” he whispered, despite the fact there was no need as even if he screamed it no one would hear. Muffled chat could be heard drifting through the floorboards before an authoritative order sounded above the hushed gossip “Right lads, you know the story. Ben and Derek, you take upstairs… where’s Ben? Derek, fill him in when he gets here and tell him to see me later. Mark you take downstairs, Paul front entrance, Steve you cover the back door”
“I think it’s the police!” that or an extremely organised group of squatters. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs before the bedroom door swung open and a man in a white boiler suit strolled in, he was a young Indian guy with neatly parted, swept back hair and a hint of stubble “no, it’s forensics,” Nick said sitting up “they must have found something!” at last some progress! I sat up to face him as the suited man began taking photos of everything “why are they here?” I asked “shouldn’t they be at the hotel?” Nick’s eyes were glued to the man snapping photographs of his laundry basket “They’ll have a team in both, don’t you watch CSI?!”
A tall guy with a blonde crew cut, charged up the stairs and into the room zipping up his paper suit before putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath “God I need to quit smoking,” he said holding a hand up to the other suited man “Del, man, I think I’m dying; I had to use my son’s bike to get in, car broke down” Del lowered his camera “Ben you’re cutting it fine mate, inspector wants a word with you later” “I know, I know,” Ben straightened his back, using an arm to support his spine “just fill me in, what’s the story here? Is this the business trip guy?” It seems Nick had found his alias; ‘the girl who fell down the stairs’ and ‘the business trip guy’ “Guy didn’t turn up for his hotel check out and uniform found blood stains on the carpet. CCTV shows the missing guy going in, another guy going in, second guy exits with a very large, very heavy suitcase; if you catch my drift and missing guy’s never seen again” I glanced over at Nick who was observing in placid astonishment “shit… I was murdered and packed into my own suitcase…” This was heavy.
He was murdered? This is ridiculous, who would have a grudge against Nick depraved enough to cram him into his own suitcase? Nick got up, put his shirt on and sat back down on the end of the bed with his head in his hands “This kind of shit doesn’t happen to people like me! I was a good person, I paid my taxes, I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t even gamble!” he had a point; no money owed, substances stashed or associations with the ‘wrong crowd’ did certainly limit the reasons for murder. “Nick it must be to do with your money then, can you think of anyone who would gain from your death?” He straightened his back, removing his face from his hands and nodding in agreement “okay… no, you’re right… well they said it was a man who left the hotel room, so that rules out an angry ex or something” this was good, a whole gender ruled out, must cut the suspects down; especially with Nick’s track record with women “Erm… as I have no wife and kids, my younger brother would get pretty much everything; but he couldn’t and wouldn’t orchestrate something like this, he’s my brother! And only nineteen!” I never knew Nick had a brother, let alone one so young but as much as I hated to admit it but he would be the key suspect in this.
“How much are you worth? Money can do strange things to people” he rubbed his chin mentally adding up the figures “taking the third quarter’s profits into account… roughly… twenty five million” Christ, he really is minted “Twenty five million?! Bloody hell nick! Most people would strangle their grandmother for that sort of money!” he looked at me in total horror “calm down, I wouldn’t personally, but times are tough; it’s a recession and all… Wait, why are you living in this dump if you’re filthy rich?!” “It’s NOT a dump! I like this place; it’s not pretentious and the council tax is very reasonable” closet wine snob and closet millionaire “okay Nick, back on topic. Who else would get a slice of your abundant wealth?” I can’t believe I’ve been living with someone worth that much; I should have made an effort and died in something a little more elegant than a baggy jumper, jeans and slippers.
“Well…” Nick continued performing a mental role call “A few charities, a couple friends; but they have no idea and my business partner, Ethan, he would have a chance to buy my half of the company from my brother, then he could have total control” Ethan? That wet flannel of a man who’s petrified of me? “I don’t think Ethan is capable of killing somehow” the guy probably sleeps with a night light in his mother’s basement “Don’t be so sure” Nick replied “We had a team building day paintballing and he got pretty ruthless! We’ve been friends since we were kids but he hates that I’m the face of the company and yet refuses to come out of the background” looks like we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one “what does your company actually do?” “Advertising” couldn’t be something placid like floristry, had to be one of the most cut-throat businesses going “Anyone else on our suspect list?” The paper suited men moved onto taking pictures of the bed, they looked like bizarre origami puppets and Nick’s eyes were still glued to their movements “There’s Dominic Crane, I have a restraining order against the guy. He tried to sue me for stealing his designs but the case was thrown out, turned out to be a leak in copywriting”
“Hey Ben, look at this pictures,” one suited man beckoned to the other “all the pictures of the bed have these white spots of light, weird huh?” “Must be the guys ghost! Woooooo!” taunted Ben waving his arms around, Nick frowned “Did we look that stupid talking about you Jas?” “Oooohhh yes” and that was our cue to leave, the last thing we needed to do was freak out forensics or get in the way of a murder investigation. On the way down the stairs Nick continued “Yeah, Dominic is a complete psycho, my money would be on him”
It made me sick to think that someone had just taken Nick’s life, thrown it away; let alone squeezed him into his own suitcase. It’s just not cricket. I suppose the thing that vetoed the need to grieve was the fact he was here with me. Death wasn’t such a big thing when you are a fully paid member of the club. On our street there were mundane accidents (like mine), grisly acts of nature (like Mrs Butler who was killed by a falling tree in a storm, and it wasn’t pretty) and even crimes of passion (like Mr Bradley who’s wife’s lover shot him in the sixties, and he’s still hanging about). You get desensitised to it, like the way horror films are getting more and more violent as people just aren’t shocked anymore; hearing of Nick’s exit from this world was terrible, but shit happens, you know? It was the fact that someone else ended his life that shocked me, more than the manner with which it occurred.
Once downstairs we were even more in the way than in the bedroom, forensics were taking pictures of everything, even inside the bin and the contents of the fridge. I was lucky my death was so straight forward; it had been embarrassing enough watching my mum file my ‘date night’ under apparel in a bin bag with a motherly wince; having strangers taking photos of everything would have been excruciating. It’s not even that there was anything incriminating or out of the ordinary, but family get a very tailored slice of your life on exhibition. Anything to do with lovers, personal habits or intense emotions is locked away and kept just for your eyes.
After having an elbow put through my head for the fourth time and being backed into a corner I’d had enough “Nick, let’s just go next door till these guys are done” Nick looked pretty down trodden, this was all a lot to take in “yeah… these guys are going to be back tomorrow, and probably every day until I’m found; might be easier to stay there for a while. Do you think Edith will mind?” a chance to interfere with my love life? No, Edith with love it “I think she’ll be okay with it” We silently crept out through a gap in the back door, past Steve; the officer that had brought Nick’s mum round and hid a window key under a flower pot so we could get back in later.
I hated not having a handle on the situation; not having any control, or even a say. I liked to be in control of situations when I was alive, I suppose I was a natural leader (or just a bit bossy) but since I died I had control over nothing. There was nothing left for me to manage; apart from myself I had nothing left. Not being able to help with the investigation grated on me, making tea for forensics would have satisfied the desire to help “we can pop back tomorrow to check on progress, Edith has an old radio, we can listen for any news”
Entering Edith’s, she was sitting by the radio and called to us “you’re famous Nicholas,” tea was put to the side and the volume was turned down “apparently you’re missing though. How careless of you” “Yeah, they know I’m dead, must be trying to get more information from the public” She started to shuffle forward in her chair, preparing to rise “remembered how you died yet dear?” “Nope!” “Good… it’s not a pleasant memory by the sounds of it… better off without… you two want tea?” Nick placed a hand up to keep Edith seated and took her mug “stay seated ladies, this round is on me” Edith gave me a nod of approval whilst checking out his behind as he left the room “you’ve trained him well!” “No need, he came pretty well broken in actually”
I wondered how our afternoon tea club would be if we were alive. Not much different except Edith’s house wouldn’t look like a forgotten museum and there might be some biscuits on offer. What I wouldn’t give for a custard cream. I doubt if Nick would be joining us though, probably out with some gorgeous model in a swanky bar. “Edith,” I began, descending further into my chair “do you remember being your life? You know, before you lived here?” Edith picked up her crocheting but winced like I had driven a needle into her, keeping her wrinkled eyes to the ground. I could almost see memories flashing across her irises “I remember the war… and I was married” I thought she’d always run solo; this was a development, she’d never mentioned a husband before “what was your husband like?” Edith’s eyes refused to meet mine, but her eyebrows told of sadness beneath the chinking needles “He was a bit of a bastard actually! Very violent after a few drinks… and he liked a drink” I can’t imagine anyone getting one over on Edith; she’d been kicked out of the social club for booting some old chap who took a shine to her and copped a feel in the cue for bingo. “Did he go to war?” Edith’s gaze briefly found the front window, alien and unwelcome tears were welling in her eyes “No, he was a deserter… he left the night before he shipped out… never saw him again” her eyes dropped to the floor once again and her face wilted with unpleasant recollections.
Seeing Edith look so vulnerable wasn’t right; she was always so exuberant and boisterous, the frail woman fighting back tears wasn’t the woman I knew at all. Nick came back in the room laden with cups before seeing my expression of confused alarm; nodding and turning straight back into the kitchen to afford us a few minutes. Edith was fighting to retain control but fat tears were slipping down her face every now and then when her eyes reached full capacity. I leant over and placed a hand on hers “It’s okay; he would have got what he deserved” with this Edith solidified back to her firm self “get off me! I’m fine. He got what he deserved,” her eyes finally found mine and were full of fire “men like that, always get what’s coming to them. They need to be punished!” then as quick as it had arrived the fire was extinguished, returning her to being lost and small, turning her head to the kitchen “sometimes the good ones get punished too though” “I know… The man who did this to Nick will be punished though. The police will figure it out” Edith wiped her face and straightened up in her chair “…yes… I hope so… He didn’t deserve this…any of it… not at all”
After hours more chat and infinite more cups of tea, we broached the subject of staying a couple days to which Edith agreed, however not with the zealous I expected. She has been quiet all afternoon and in a world of her own, her past must really have some horrific memories if it affected her like this. As dusk snuck into the room golden silhouettes of the garden rose higher on the walls before they faded into silver moonlight. Edith took a deep breath and set her crocheting down “I’m going to sleep in my chair, you two take your tea upstairs and find a place to sleep” We both got up in unison and Nick took the lead going up “you sure you’re okay Edith?” I slipped in before I left “I’M FINE! Now bugger off and take that young man to bed before I do it for you!” yeah, she’s back “good night Edith, sleep well”
We took refuge in the little back bedroom, Nick closed door and cast an eye round the pokey little room. It was bare except for a patchy woven rug doused in dust and a few tattered strands of filigree wallpaper that had relinquished their vertical stances and settled on the floor like drunken courtesans. Moonlight creeping through the window streaked across Nick’s body, highlighting the plumes of steam emanating from his mug of tea as he stepped over to join me in the centre of the room “what was all that about? Is she…” I put a finger to Nick’s lips so he would keep his voice down before putting my tea cup on the floor and sitting cross legged in front of it “bad memories from the past,” I whispered “her husband wasn’t the nicest character by the sounds of it” “Edith was married?! Didn’t see that coming… I always thought she was a bit of a lone ranger?” Moonlight created an abundance of shadows that enveloped us both and made Nick’s features more pronounced; even in such poor light his eyes were like cerulean beacons in the gloom. Nick sat down in front of me and took a gulp of tea, adulthood rarely afforded many opportunities to have a conversation sitting on the floor; it felt like we were kids at a sleepover.
I leant in closer, we were a division of conspiracy that the occupant downstairs was exiled from “I thought she wasn’t the marriage sort too, but I’ve never seen her like this… I guess we’ll just see how she is tomorrow” silence forged from concern engulfed the room with the occasional slurps of tea being the only sound to penetrate the darkness; we needed to change the subject. Nick started tapping his fingers on his mug before catching my eyes with his and holding my gaze a few seconds too long “so… looks like I was murdered and packed into a suitcase!” we both laughed into our drinks, swirling the last few mouthfuls around; the comedic delivery of this line detracted from its severe topic “it’s not funny Nick! Not exactly a mood lifting topic of conversation either!” “it’s quite ironic that it was my own suitcase, a bloody expensive one at that” Chugging my last mouthful, I set the mug down behind me and laid down on the floor; curls winding into the strands of the dilapidated throw rug “You’re strangely calm about it; you haven’t really flipped out about being dead yet” “did you flip out?” Nick asked, casually running his eyes over my stretched out frame “a little… I flipped out a reasonable amount…” also known as ‘I went bat-shit crazy for a brief period of time’.
Nick took the last remaining glug of tea from his mug “I’m not really the flipping out sort; you’ll have to humour me when it eventually happens. This all feels like a bit of an adventure at the moment” Nick placed his mug behind him as a smile tickled my face “To die will be an awfully big adventure!” he turned back round with a similar grin “Yeah! Peter Pan! That was my favourite book when I was a kid” He laid down on the floor beside me, both studying the ceiling through the veil of night that hung in the air “Do you remember being a kid Jasmine?” “I don’t even remember being an adult! Just bits here and there, like how I took my coffee and that I was superstitious; silly things” Nick rolled onto his side and waved his arm, gesturing me to continue “details…” “Erm… black, one sugar and I’m wearing my lucky pants… I must have had a big day ahead of me” Nicks voice was laced with amusement “A very big day… you died… May I ask what defines the luck of a pair of pants?!” I shot him a jovial threatening glance, laughter tearing at the edges of my voice “Maybe I won the lottery or passed an exam in them. I guess we’ll never know!” Nick straightened out his face and strained to remain serious “Well if you need a second opinion, I’d be happy to take a look”
A playful jab hit Nick’s stomach; I knew he couldn’t feel it but the teasing message was received amongst the onslaught of laughter that followed “is that the best you got?” he taunted, trying to keep his voice hushed “didn’t feel a thing!” “Oh and why was that Casper?!” I replied poking his ribs, to which he started trying to tickle me “It won’t work Nick. I have nerves of steel” less nerves of steel and more no nerve endings at all come to think of it. Nick continued his disorderly assault of my ribs and shuffled closer “how about now?” absolutely nothing, I shook my head giggling at his determination “how about now?” he said moving even closer and trying even harder to render amusement, still nothing. He really was stubborn, finally he closed the remaining space between us and when he looked up to meet my gaze, we both seemed to realise that a play fight had granted the proximity we both appeared to be yearning for “How about now?!” no sooner had he finished those words, a crackle of energy surged between us, switching on sensation and my torso was enflamed with ticklish flesh. Unable to control myself I yelled and squirmed in surprise, elbowing Nick in the face, to which he also yelled and grabbed his nose before we both stopped with astonishment “you felt that?!” came a nasal muffle from the hands encased over Nick’s face. I sat up to check his face for injury “did I hurt you?!” “WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING UP THERE?!” rang up the stairs from Edith, to which we both swiftly chorused “NOTHING!” and laid back down on the rug, like mischievous children, up after lights out.
I just felt something. We just felt something. Again. I would be a complete idiot if I could see that the common denominator in these electric incidents was us getting close; physical proximity. I could actually feel him tickling me; his fingertips were dancing across my skin, leaving a trail of iridescent feeling behind them. The other times it was just a tingling or a shockwave, nothing like this; adrenalin coursed through my veins. I wanted to take advantage of the rush and pull him closer “Psssttt” slithered through the darkness from Nick “my face is fine. Thank you” I turned my head to see those eyes, the concentration it took not to just give in to the urge and plaster myself to him was immense “thank you for what? I smashed you in the face!” “Ha-ha! Thank you for caring about the welfare of my face!”
Edith called upstairs one last time “WILL YOU TWO EITHER GET NAKED OR GO TO SLEEP!” an embarrassed, wide eyed glance between us answered that question “Night Nick” “Night Jasmine”
