Misguided Ghosts

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Thirty-Nine – Liam

I sat up, panting. Pushing the damp sheets away from me, I ran my hands through my hair. Reaching out blindly, I couldn’t find my fags. Then I remembered that Ed had stolen them. My hands began to shake when I saw her standing in the corner. Her brown hair was dishevelled and matted with blood; her face bruised; the gash in her neck open; blood staining her torn and tattered hospital gown.

“Why, Liam?” She whispered, her voice trembling. “You knew this was going to happen,”

“Emilie,” I said softly. “Em, I’m so sorry,”

“You dreamt about this for days,” A tear of blood fell from her eye. “And you didn’t stop me,”

“It’s true,” My voice cracked. “I did dream about you getting hit by a car, and I didn’t stop you. But I didn’t know when it was going to happen. How could I stop something that I didn’t know the specifics of?”

“You could have told me!” The tears of blood were pouring down her face. “I could still be alive!”

“And another girl would have died,” I argued. “Please try to understand that,”

“I was your best friend!” She screamed. “And you let me die!”

She pounced across the room, her fingers curling into claws and her nails sank into the skin of my chest. She began to slash at me, turning my skin into ribbons, blood pouring out of me. I screamed, doing everything I could to get her away from me, flailing wildly.

And then the pain was gone.

“It’s okay, honey,”

My mother was sat on the end of my bed, smiling warmly at me. I’d convinced myself that I had to be strong after she died, and so I did. I made it so no-one could ever get near me. I never spoke about my family. I didn’t invite people round for tea. I kept my head down and got work done. At school, when you looked like me, you got attention. To the girls, I was the guy they all wanted. To the guys, I was the guy that they all wanted to be: the one who was seen smoking on his way in; the one with the straight A’s and a devil-may-care attitude. I simply stopped caring.

“I don’t mind about what happened,” She said softly, putting a hand on my shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. You were nine years old,”

“Yes, it was!” I shouted, not caring if I woke my Dad and Lisa up. “It was all my fault!”

It had been a Tuesday in July when she died. I’d always liked Tuesdays – something about the u and the e next to each other looked friendly. She’d picked me up from school and taken me to the park, buying me an ice cream when we left after going on the swings. When we’d got home, she’d told me to do my homework so I could go out and see Emilie and Ed after dinner. So we sat in the dining room together, me working on my spellings while she sketched. I’d inherited my love of art and drawing from her. Just as I was writing out arithmetic for the third time, she cried out in pain, tumbling to the floor. I’d rushed to her side, but had no idea what to do. So I froze, crouched by her side while she clutched at her head and started jerking. And then I broke from my paralysis and freaked out. I screamed and I cried until she was still and then, I sat with her. I thought she’d fallen asleep. And then my Dad came home, and all hell broke loose. My Dad had never quite looked at me in the same way ever again. Even if he never said it, we both thought it. It had been my fault that my mother died.

“You’re right,” Her voice suddenly deepened to a growl and when I turned to look at her, her eyes were glowing red. “It was your fault. You’re a murderer, Liam. You killed me,”