Day In. Hide Out.

Chapter 8

"Hello?" he asks with quivering lips. By the tone of his voice, I feel as if I've just kicked and injured a puppy.

"Yes....hello," I say softly, biting my lip.

"Hello," repeats the guard. "No one....no one's said that word to me in one hundred years."

"I'm, I'm Zanna," I say, scooting back a little bit and pulling my knees up near me out of the water.

"I'm....well, I can't quite remember, actually." The man's face begins dripping tears again but I hold up my hand.
"Don't cry! Um....you-your name is, uh, Walter," I say with a smile, the image of the wrinkled, smiling old man's face flashing on the inside of my blinking eyelids like a projector screen.

"Walter? Oh-ok," the man replies with a sigh. "I'm Walter."

I stare at him for a moment, and he stares back with a faint smile. Suddenly, gunshots. Gunshots everywhere. Crunching and men's whispers carry on the wind and leaves snap under their heavy boots. I look around instinctively and see dark figures emerging from the thick underbrush. They seem to jump between the trees, peering this way and that, shooting their guns in the air every so often.

I feel badly for Walter as I sit motionless and frozen in fear on the ground. I think for a moment, my hands searching for my head, which is thankfully capped and dusty as it should be. I lift myself from the mud silently, the conveniently placed trees hiding my movement.

Peeling the coat from the mud, I put it on. It nearly envelopes me as the bulky material hangs from my thin frame. More gunshots, more fear. I hide behind a thick trunked tree and glance at "Walter". His lips are pursed and his jaw set, his eyes darting to me and to the men quickly back and forth, and his body held steadily and solidly in place.

"Zanna!" I hear a familiar cry as Ascot appears, holding one bag on each arm. The men turn quickly and point their guns, but only one fires. Unfortunately, that man was a good shot.

Before I can even process the scene before me, Ascot is on the ground with vibrant, red blood seeping through his navy blue coat and forming a dark patch. I open my mouth, but the shock masks any sound that may have attempted its exit. I rush over, kneeling where Ascot lies limp and lifeless. Tears fall in gushing bursts, my loud sobs echoing throughout the forest.

"Ascot! Please, no! No...." I trail off, laying my head on his chest. The faint, offbeat thudding of his heartbeat lift my spirits, and now the tears are somewhat of joy. My head lifts and I whip my gaze around behind me as more gunshots ring out among the trees. The men all are pointing their guns toward the ghostman, shooting rhythmically.

The bullets, however, don't take the path the men expected. The man stands still, and bullets escape through him as if only disturbed by the wind. "Walter" turns and waves with a solemn glance at me, fallen helplessly on my knees over my injured friend. With that, he begins to walk away, shaking the ground softly.

"You can go, Walter! You can go to a better place, just let yourself! Away from all the evil in the world and the guns and the terrible people who shut you out and make you sad! Please, Walter! Be free!" I scream, still bawling but trying to speak steadily as I can manage. "I'm sorry for what everyone has done to you!" I call as the final bullet pierces his ghostly figure, and the wind carries him away, and the space he filled is empty.

The men stand dumbfounded, holding their guns at awkward angles and gaping. The man who shot Ascot is not standing toward where the ghost ascended, but rather where Ascot lies bleeding on the ground. As I turn back to him, the tragedy sinks in. I begin to sob again, lying my head on his chest and soaking his coat with tears. The faint heartbeat is gone, at least to my ears. I believe my best friend is dead.