After/Life: Anger: A Paranormal Ghost Romance

by Scarlett Whispers

  “Not afraid, really,” Ada said. “After all, I lived a long life on Earth. And I got to live many decades here too. You can’t do much here, can’t experience life much, but it is life nonetheless. You should do your best to enjoy your life as much as you can, however much you have left available to you.”

  “How?” Molly said. “There’s nothing to do here.”

  “There are millions of people here,” Ada said. “Millions of lives, millions of stories. You can get to know them. And who knows, you might end up seeing them again someday.”

  That’s true, Molly thought. What happened to them here was as much as a mystery to them as it was to those on Earth. No one knew what happened after death. Except Molly did now know. And no one knew what happened here after your Countdown Clock reached zero either. Life was always a guessing game.

  Molly glanced up at the Countdown Clock again. She located her name, forty-first from the bottom of the second line on the right. She was one step closer to leaving than she had been when she’d first arrived here. Whoopee.

  Molly was surprised to find some of the names on the boards were ones she recognized. Mostly politicians and celebrities. Molly wondered what it was that some of them had done that was so bad, but then decided to leave it alone. Who was she to judge?

  “You’re lucky,” Ada said. “Some people have to be in here for centuries.”

  “What could people have done that was so bad that they had to be here that long?” Molly said.

  “You used to be a police officer, didn’t you?” Ada said. “I’m sure you have some idea.”

  Molly looked at Ada, eyes wide. She lowered her voice and leaned in close.

  “How did you know that?” Molly said.

  “Know what?” Ada said.

  “Know I was a… police officer,” Molly said.

  “I’ve known enough police officers in my time to know when one is standing right in front of me,” Ada said.

  “Do you think anybody else knows?” Molly said.

  “Not yet,” Ada said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be having such a good time with me.”

  Molly was in a prison full of people who had done terrible things. What would they do to her if they knew she was a police officer? No doubt they had had some interaction with the authorities in the past.

  Lucky me, Molly thought. Just my luck to end up in a place like this.

  “Don’t worry,” Ada said. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Molly was a little relieved, but couldn’t help being afraid. She had six years left in this place. And if some of these people discovered she was formerly a police officer, what kind of life could she expect?

  She was reminded of what the Warden had told her, about how ghosts could still feel pain. She wondered how that was possible, and if these prisoners could do it too.

  “How is this place organized?” Molly said. “Are there gangs? That’s how they’re usually organized.”

  “Gangs, yes,” Ada said. “They don’t pay much attention to me. I’m old. But some of the younger kids, they like to play for power.”

  “What gangs are here?” Molly said.

  “Look over there,” Ada said. “You’ll get a good idea of the variety.”

  Molly could identify the different factions with ease. They couldn’t change their appearance, nor the way they dressed, so there were no real gang signs. Instead, they appeared to group together according to their original ancestry.

  There was a group of African American prisoners. Another, just whites. Another that had mixed race. People always associated with those they felt the most kinship with.

  Ada nodded to the basketball game. The two teams were good, fast. It took her a moment to notice what was wrong with the setup.

  “Wait a minute…” she said.

  At either end of the court was a totem pole of figures, standing on one another’s shoulders. The figure on top held his arms out, forming a hoop. And as for the ball…

  There was none.

  There were no balls here, no equipment. And so, as the prisoners ran, they bounced an invisible ball and passed it to each other. The game flowed without it, each of the players knowing instinctively where the ball was.

  When they jumped, they floated a little higher than usual, ran a little faster. They never fatigued. Perhaps the laws of physics affected a spirit differently here.

  Still, after all these years of practice, they were very good. Molly would have no chance of keeping up with them. They also had another rule not applicable on Earth. These figures could pass through each other. No fear of contact here. They bounced the invisible ball past one another, ran through each others’ bodies, recaptured the ball, and continued with their run.

  Go school, Molly thought. The next big thing.

  “I have a question,” Molly said. “Can any of them hurt me?”

  “Yes,” Ada said. “They can. Never underestimate the ability of the human imagination. If they want something bad enough, they can always achieve it.”

  “How?” Molly said. “If we’re ghosts, we have no physical being. How can we hurt each other?”

  “I’m not entirely sure how,” Ada said. “It’s not something I was ever much interested in. Some have mastered the ability to touch each other. If we watch this game long enough, I’m sure we’ll see an example of it in action.”

  The game went on for some time. The only way to time a match was by counting down using the Countdown Clock.

  “Look!” Molly said. “Someone’s timer is about to go down to zero!”

  “Yes,” Ada said. “It’s Alice. Over there. She’s been here for over twelve years. Never caused any harm or difficulty to anyone. Now, she’s going home.”

  A pair of guards floated down from the ceiling. Alice beamed, crying, and waved at her friends, unable to hug them or make any physical contact. The guards were patient and waited. Her time was up, and her name was removed from the list. Everyone else’s name shifted down one.

  Alice turned to the guards sheepishly. They stood beside her on either side and touched her. She rose in the air toward the roof and moved through the ceiling.

  And Alice was gone. Relatively painless, Molly thought.

  The prison carried on after that, used to such sights. Molly couldn’t help but feel a little envious, that Alice was gone from this place, and she still had years left.

  “Intercepted!” a large black basketball player said.

  “I passed!” a tall Asian said. “Anyone can see that!”

  “Here we go,” Ada said.

  One player had passed the ball. An opposing team player said they intercepted it, while the thrower said she couldn’t have. That was the problem with playing without a ball, Molly supposed. It was easy to twist the rules in your favor.

  The two teams squared off against one another. The viewers of the game backed away, not wanting anything to do with this.

  “Wait for it,” Ada said.

  At first, Molly couldn’t see what Ada was referring to. And then she saw it.

  The captains of the two teams, the large African-American lady with piercings in her nose, and a tall but lithe Asian figure squared up.

  They stared one another down. They leaned forward, so close they could touch. And then they did touch, pushing against each other, holding each other in place.

  “Can you feel it?” Ada said.

  Yes, Molly could.

  As the two ghosts leaned against each other, Molly sensed a change in the air. Electricity charged every atom, sparking and frazzling, like exposed live wires placed against one another.

  The two figures interlinked their fingers and kept on pushing, hard, using all their bodyweight, like two competing elephants.

  As the larger black woman pushed the Asian back, the Asian shifted her weight, pulled her fist back, and threw it at her competitor. It struck the black prisoner full in the face.

  She spun and hit the ground. She was up in an instant, incredibly fast, and hurle
d her own impressive weight at the Asian, knocking her flying, as if there was less gravity here.

  A darkness came over the room, as one of the guards floated down from the ceiling, between the two fighting women. Its clothing was dark as night, filling the women with fear. All thought of fighting left them at once. The figure’s clothing moved like it was in water.

  The two women shouted at each other, jabbing their fingers and explaining the situation to the guard. The guard did not speak, did not even give the slightest hint it understood or was even listening. It simply held out its arms—where its arms should have been—causing the two fighting ghosts to stagger.

  The other inmates turned to look at the scoreboard. Molly followed their gaze. The Asian prisoner’s numbers shifted. Suddenly she had an extra two months tacked onto her sentence, causing her to shift position above the next person in line. Meanwhile, the black ghost’s number also increased, by just one month.

  They had both been at fault, Molly surmised. Though how the guard had figured out who was at fault most, she didn’t know.

  The guard floated back up to the ceiling, drifting into the outside world once again.

  “Some of these prisoners will never get out of here,” Ada said.

  The two ghosts held out their hands and shook. The argument was over. The ref had spoken. They began to play again as if nothing had happened.

  “Sure is a steep way to learn how to get over your anger issues,” Molly said.

  “It certainly is,” Ada said. “But when all you have is time, there’s nothing else to threaten prisoners with.”

  “There is a way out of here,” Molly said. “There has to be.”

  “Good luck,” Ada said. “People have been here a long time, and no one has figured it out yet.”

  “Then I’ll be the first,” Molly said.

  She knew she would have to do it soon. Before it was too late. She got to her feet and dusted herself off. There was a way out of here, and she would find it.

  Molly turned and immediately stopped. Standing before her was a guard.

  It was looking directly at her.

  Chapter Five

  Sam sat in his favorite armchair watching TV. His mind floated off, numb, not really focusing on any one topic. It bounced around, bumping into information without making any real contact.

  “Did you want to turn it on?” Casey said.

  “Hm?” Sam said.

  “The TV,” Casey said.

  Sam peeled his eyes from Casey and turned to the TV. It wasn’t even switched on. His contorted reflection stared at him. A hollow man with a hollow life.

  Sam’s face was swollen and bruised from where Lopez’s thugs had beaten him. The shock of the situation still wore on him. But it all paled in comparison to Molly’s death. He still couldn’t quite get his head around it. It didn’t make sense.

  Just a day ago, she was still here. They’d eaten in the kitchen. Her favorite. Chicken carbonara. He’d made it especially for her. He didn’t know he was crying until he blinked, the tears rolling down his face. He held his head in his hands and wailed. The tears might have been acid, they stung his eyes so.

  His face was still sore, throbbing like it had a life of its own. There was no painkiller for the mind, except a swift bullet through the brain. Right then, that seemed much more preferable than the pain he was going through. He wasn’t usually the type of person to feel sorry for himself, but right then it soothed his wounds like a cool balm.

  He had lost her. His soul mate. And she was never coming back.

  Sam’s nose was blocked, the thick mucus running down the back of his throat. Molly couldn’t be dead. She just couldn’t be. She was still there somewhere. There was no way she could have passed away like that. So fast. So easily. She was indestructible. She had been on so many missions, so many raids, that it didn’t seem right that that was how she would go.

  To be shot in the back by scumbag Lopez…

  Sam felt a rage inside him that burned like a raging tempest. He was not usually a violent person, but if he could get his hands on Lopez, he would destroy him. He would rip him to pieces with his bare hands.

  His anger began to fade, and he was in misery again. He’d felt like this for the past day, the constant seesawing of emotion was exhausting. He didn’t feel embarrassed at all when he cried, even with Casey sat beside him. She had Sam’s hand on her own. She was his rock.

  He had cried a lot over the past twenty-four hours. While Sam had moped around the house, it had been up to Casey to take care of him.

  Sam couldn’t even bear to look at the photos and images around the house of Molly. Casey had wanted to take them down, to put them in a box, but Sam couldn’t face that either, not yet. He couldn’t pretend Molly had never existed. She had. She had been the apple of his eye, the center of his universe.

  And now she was gone.

  He found himself talking to her sometimes, whispering out the corner of his mouth. Sometimes while he washed his hands, drying them on the towel. He would see her perfumes lined up in the bathroom. He would smile and say, “I wish you would buy perfume with less kick to it. You know how it affects my sinuses.”

  He turned to the doorway, but she wasn’t there. It was only in his weaker moments that he did see her standing there. He would smile at her, and she back at him. But she never spoke to him. He didn’t know how he was going to carry on after this, how he was going to live.

  The police officers began turning up early in the morning. Molly was a popular member of the force, and each officer wanted to pay their respect.

  They came wearing uniforms, hats in their hand, and gave little trinkets that meant the world to them. Sometimes it was a packet of biscuits, Molly’s favorite, each with a story attached. Or they were medals or money they owed Molly from when she had bailed them out of a sticky situation. Or photos of them together on fun nights out. Casey had made the request. She wanted to use them at the funeral.

  Funeral.

  Molly’s funeral.

  Sam felt the knot in his throat again, the hot wad lodged at the back. He wiped his eyes and took deep calming breaths. He could not stop the rush of tears as they ran down his face. The pain was still too raw, too real. He went into the shower and let the hot water wash over him.

  He came out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He had intended on putting on his home clothes, something to help make him feel more comfortable. He didn’t feel like going out today. Then he saw the pile of freshly-pressed clothes on the end of the bed. His work uniform.

  He considered them for a moment and realized Casey must have put them there. They were folded, neatly, in a way Sam would never have thought Casey was capable of. She was usually so messy and off the cuff.

  “It’s for the ceremony,” Casey said, entering the room.

  “Ceremony?” Sam said. “What ceremony?”

  The funeral wasn’t until tomorrow.

  Casey gently closed the door behind her. Through a tiny gap, Sam made out a clutch of men in the front room in full dress uniform. He recognized a couple of them, but their names, for the moment, escaped him.

  “I told you several times already,” Casey said. “It’s the honor ceremony today. For an officer killed in the line of duty.”

  Sam shook his head.

  “I can’t do this,” he said. “I’m not ready.”

  “I know you’re not,” Casey said, genuine sadness in her eyes. “None of us are. But it’s going to take place today. And everyone is going to be there.”

  They’re going to hold the ceremony, with or without him, Sam realized. The ceremony was more important than Sam’s feelings. It was for the entire force to celebrate and remember her and her life. Sam couldn’t argue with that, though he wished it was set for another date, perhaps a year, or better yet, ten years hence.

  “Do you think you can do that?” Casey said.

  Sam searched himself, for the strength he would need. The loss of Molly was still sore.
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  “Give me a minute,” Sam said.

  Casey nodded and turned to leave.

  “Casey,” Sam said. “Thank you.”

  Casey’s eyes drifted to the side and then back up again. She smiled. It was tight and filled with sadness. She opened the door and left.

  Sam sat on the edge of his bed for a moment. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. Today was going to be an endurance test. He looked at himself in the mirror.

  What would Molly do if she were here? What if it had been him who died, and she who lived? How would she deal with this?

  She would’ve been strong. Sam was sure of that. She would have been sad, of course. That was natural. But she would have stood up straight, head held high, put on her uniform, and gotten ready to go and do her duty. That was Molly. That was her nature.

  Taking a leaf out of Molly’s book, Sam pushed the images of her side and drew on the strength he associated with her. He was surprised to find he had a deep well of it inside himself. It was untouched by his recent sadness.

  He picked up the dress shirt and slipped it on over his head. He took great care with each item, making sure to do the buttons up correctly. His mother used to say that doing it wrong, linking a button through the incorrect hole, meant he was in love. And it was true, he was in love. He was still in love.

  His was a love for Molly that would never die.

  Sam felt the raw emotions begin to well up inside him again. He turned to the pile of clothes and continued to put them on. It was enough to distract him.

  Once he was finished, fully dressed, he looked at himself in the mirror. His face was still beaten and bruised, swollen in some places to twice its natural size. He could hardly smile without having to flinch. But he supposed he wouldn’t be doing a lot of that for the next few days.

  His eyes were the most pained. They shimmered, with a liquid he knew would not end, not for a long time. There was a deep sadness in them, cloaked in dark shadows that hung over his face. His eyes were bloodshot, demon red. Angry.

  Sam’s life was one of purity. He had never broken the law—not until Molly had asked him to keep a piece of evidence back for her—and had never done anything intentionally harmful to anyone.