Bethany (incomplete)

I'm Helping a Dead Girl

Amber always believed that ghosts were real. But she didn't think that she would ever encounter one so soon. She didn't think that she would know the ghost either. She didn't know the whole of Bethany's story, but she hated it. She hated Allen. She couldn't wait to put him in his place. Bethany was a odd ghost, if there was such a thing as a normal ghost. She had always come across as different to Amber, before her ghost days. Amber wondered what it was like to be a ghost. She dared to bet that it could be lonely sometimes. But Bethany had Amber to talk to. Amber was the only one who wouldn't be afraid of her.
Bethany hadn't showed up upstairs again, but Amber was sure she had been watching. Amber still couldn't get over the fact that she was helping her. She didn't know how she was. She couldn't figure out how she could help in any way. She wasn't a superhero.
It was the next day and Amber hadn't slept a wink the night before. After having her morning coffee, Amber decided to pay Allen a visit. Though, she wanted to do much more than that.
***
Amber knocked on his door. Bethany's door. That's what it would always be to her. Allen opened the door and Amber wanted to gag. She couldn't look at him without thinking about Bethany. She was sure he couldn't stop thinking about her either. Amber knew he had seen her.
"Hello?" he looked at her. "Oh, Amber! How nice to see you!"

She nodded and tried to smile. "I'm here on business, Allen."

He stared at her, confused. "What ever about?"

She took a deep breath, never taking her eyes off of him. "It's to do with Bethany."

He gasped. "Come in. Hurry."

She nodded and followed him inside.

"So you saw her too?" he implored after closing the front door.

Amber cocked her head. "You saying you saw a ghost, Mr. Goldberg?"

He laughed. "No! Well, yes! Maybe."

She smiled. "When did she show herself to you?"

Allen frowned as he ran his hand through his thinning hair. "At the funeral. I'll never forget it, Amber."

She shook her head. "Of course not, Allen. You saw a ghost. You saw your daughter, even though she was laying in a coffin not three feet away."

He nodded, sitting down in a chair.

"You know she's going to haunt you. You know that's why she's back. She's your daughter, Allen. She's like you, always having some unfinished business."

Allen groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. "Amber! You barely even knew her!"

"But I know you." she countered.

He glared at the white wall of the living room. "Would you care for something to drink?"

She shook her head. "No thank you." she answered, staring at the painting above the couch. She guessed it was by Picasso.

He laughed dryly. "Amber?"

She looked at him.

"Why do you think she's back?" he questioned, fiddling with the hem of his dress shirt.

Amber smiled. "Why else would she be?" she stood up. "She's back to avenge her death."

She walked to the door. "But she needs help, Allen."

She saw him stand up, and she turned the doorknob in her hand.
"And I'm helping a dead girl."