Every Touch

by Parke, Nerika

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s a very personal question.”

  He hadn’t meant it to be. He just hadn’t been able to think of anything else to say.

  “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  The silence returned.

  “It’s not easy for her, you know.”

  Denny was startled by the sudden, unexpected interaction. “I’m sorry?”

  “A relationship with a ghost isn’t easy on the living,” Crystal said.

  He didn’t know how to respond. “I, um...”

  “She can’t go out with you, or be with you anywhere other than here. She can’t tell anyone about you. She has to be careful all the time. What if you’d met her when you were newly dead? You could have spent five years together and she wouldn’t have been able to get married or have children. And she can’t grow old with you. Her whole life could be ruined because she fell in love with a ghost.” The angry tone of her voice took him off guard.

  “But if this works...”

  “The chances of this working are slim to none,” she snapped. “It’s far more likely that she will lose you forever.”

  The outburst was astonishing. He didn’t understand why Crystal seemed to be so incensed over their relationship.

  “I can see how much she loves you, and that’s the worst thing that could have happened to her. She’s going to end up broken hearted and alone.”

  Denny began to get annoyed. “I know all that,” he said, “but I can’t help how we feel. Do you think I meant for her to suffer?”

  “I don’t know. Did you?”

  He almost yelled his response. “No!” He glanced at her and saw her eyebrows raised. Looking away, he tried to calm down. “Of course I don’t want her to suffer. I love her. Look, it’s obvious you don’t like me...”

  “I don’t feel about you one way or the other. But starting a relationship with her was selfish. She is the one with most to lose. You’re already dead, but you’re taking her with you.”

  He opened his mouth then closed it again. He didn’t need to hear this.

  “I’m going downstairs to see if she’s coming,” he said, standing. “Feel free to watch TV if you want to.”

  Without waiting for her response, he stalked out.

  He walked down the stairs, grumbling to himself. “Where does she get off, judging me? She has no idea what Laila and I have. She’s met us once. Self-important, stuck up bi... Hey, Jerry.”

  Jerry Carter from flat eight jogged past him on his way up and down the stairs four times before he headed out on his daily five mile run.

  “... stuck up bigot. She just hates ghosts, for whatever petty reason she has. I didn’t do all this on purpose. I saved Laila. What was I supposed to do? Let Avery hurt her? And she was terrified afterwards. I couldn’t just leave her alone like that...”

  He stopped abruptly, halfway down the flight of stairs between the ground and first floors. Was that true? What would have happened if he hadn’t touched her hand then? She would have been scared, but she would have got over it. Maybe she’d even have been scared enough to move out of the flat, but she would have found somewhere else and she would have been alright, eventually. For whom did he really reveal his presence to her that night? Laila? Or himself?

  He slumped against the wall of the stairwell. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew it had been for him. He was in love with her. More in love than he’d ever been in his life. He had wanted her to know about him. He had wanted her to feel about him the same way he felt about her. And now she did and what good was it going to do her? Crystal was right, he was selfish.

  Sliding down the wall, he sat on a step and put his head in his hands. If this ritual of Crystal’s didn’t work, he would end up wherever he was going anyway, but Laila’s heart would be broken. She would have to live her life with the pain of his loss. And it was his fault. The realisation made him sick.

  He stood up again and resumed his progress down the stairs. Jerry passed him again, this time going down. Denny just concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other.

  When he reached the lobby Laila was crossing the street in front of the building. He watched her through the glass as she climbed the steps, unlocked the door and walked in. His heart rate climbed, just as it always did in her presence. Love flowed through him like the memory of blood in his veins. His arms longed to hold her. As she neared him, he reached out his hand to take hers, then stopped.

  His fault. All his fault.

  Turning away as she walked into the lift and the door closed, he looked at the street outside, at the people passing. He missed Oliver. If there was ever a time when he needed to talk to his friend, it was now.

  He took the stairs back to the flat, guilt dragging at his feet. Despite all his doubts, he still held onto a hope that he could be brought back to life. The crushing disappointment they would suffer when Crystal told them it was impossible wasn’t something he wanted to face right now.

  When he got back into the flat, Laila was sitting on the sofa and Crystal was still in the armchair. To his surprise, she was holding a glass. He noticed the newly opened bottle of Bell’s scotch whiskey standing on the kitchen island. Laila must have bought it on her way home. Well, he thought, at least Crystal should be in a better mood now.

  “Finally,” she said as he walked in, “we were beginning to think you’d got lost.”

  “I took the stairs,” he said, not really looking at her and leaving the explanation at that. He sat down next to Laila, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. She smiled and wrapped both her hands around his.

  “Well, now you’re here...” Crystal leaned forward to reach into a large, worn, tan leather shoulder bag on the floor at her feet and pulled out two A4 sized sheets of paper. “I’ve printed out the instructions for the restoration ritual.”

  Laila leaned forward, excitement touching her voice. “So it can be done?”

  Crystal held up one hand. “In theory, yes. But I called around and spoke to everyone I could think of and no-one has ever heard of it working. But then no-one has heard of it being tried either, so who knows? This information had to come from somewhere, possibly someone in the distant past who did make it work.”

  She emptied her glass and waved it pointedly in Denny’s direction. He stood and fetched the bottle, pouring her a refill and setting the bottle on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Knock yourself out,” he said, “just tell us what we need to know before you’re too drunk to remember it.” Somehow, her accurate judgement of the situation with him and Laila only made him dislike her even more.

  She lifted her glass to him in a mock toast and drank. “The instructions are very specific,” she said, handing the pieces of paper to Laila, “so I would suggest you follow them to the letter. You never know when a detail might mean the difference between success or failure.”

  Laila was reading what looked like a very complicated instruction manual, complete with diagrams. Denny read over her shoulder, his arm around her waist.

  “Wait, what does the blood of the spirit carried within a living vessel mean?” Laila said.

  “Page two is the plain English version, for the...” she paused, “...uninitiated.” Denny was sure she wanted to say ignorant.

  Laila separated the two pages and laid them side by side on her lap.

  “What?!” Denny exclaimed, appalled. “No. There is no way she’s doing that!”

  “Then it will fail,” Crystal stated matter-of-factly, finishing her second glass of Bells and reaching for the bottle.

  Laila turned to him, putting her hand on his face. “I can do all this,” she said. “There is a way to do all of this.” She smiled. “We can do it.”

  He looked at her. She seemed so sure even though they didn’t even know if it would work at all. She was so much stronger than he was. He took her hand and kissed the palm, then tapped her wrist once.

  “I will do anythin
g to stay with you,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “I love you.”

  When he looked back at Crystal, he was surprised to see her expression had softened, until she noticed him watching her and her barely concealed contempt for him returned.

  “Will you help us?” Laila asked her. “If we need you, can I call you for help?”

  “Yes Laila,” she said, “I will help you.”

  Denny heard the emphasis and didn’t really need the mild glare she threw in his direction to stress the point, but he got it anyway.

  “One thing,” she said, “you’ve got to be sure or it won’t work. This little paranormal love nest you’ve got going here,” she waved her hand around vaguely, “might be nice, but you’ve got to be sure you’re ready for it to hit the real world. There must be no doubt in your minds that you both want this.”

  “I have no doubts,” he said. “Whether or not I should have done it in the first place, she is all I want.”

  Crystal looked at Laila. “Well, the ghost is sure. How about you?”

  A moment of uncertainty touched Denny when she didn’t respond immediately. He knew how he felt, but Laila was the one whose life would be turned upside down. What if she wasn’t sure? He held his breath, waiting for her to speak.

  “I’ve made a lot of bad decisions,” she said, “and done some really stupid things, and I regret a lot. But the one thing I know is right in my life is Denny. I have never been as sure of anything as I am of wanting to share my life with him.”

  He breathed out and closed his eyes, resting his head against hers. Hearing her words was enough to convince him they could do anything. As long as they had each other.

  “Okay then,” Crystal said breezily, “that sounds like my cue to leave.” She stood, gulped back the rest of the scotch in her glass and placed it down on the coffee, eyeing the bottle as she did so. “Will you be needing this?” she said.

  “No, take it,” Laila said as Denny rolled his eyes.

  “You’re not driving, are you?” he said when the liquid in the bottle sloshed as she grabbed it.

  She cast him a deprecating glance. “I’m not stupid,” she said. “I have no wish to end up like you.”

  He briefly thought what a nightmarish ghost she’d make. “Glad to hear it. For the sake of the living and the dead.” He knew he should try to get on her good side, if she had one, but she seemed intent on rubbing him up the wrong way.

  She harrumphed and headed for the door, Laila following.

  “Just remember,” she said to Laila as she walked out, “it’s not too late to change your mind.” Casting a final scowl at Denny, she walked away.

  “She really doesn’t like you, does she?” Laila said after closing the door. “I wonder why.”

  “Because she’s a bitch?” He immediately felt bad for saying it and was glad Laila couldn’t hear him, although not because he thought it was untrue.

  She was walking back to the sofa. “We need to make a shopping list,” she said, laying the two sets of instructions out in front of her on the coffee table.

  Denny sat beside her and grabbed hold of the pen and pad, turning to a blank page.

  “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

  She was staring at the paper, but her eyes were unfocused. He put the pen and pad back down and put his arm around her, smiling when she leaned into him.

  “You know what I’m looking forward to most?” she said. “Seeing your eyes. I can’t wait to look into your eyes.” A mischievous smile crept onto her face. “And running a close second to that is seeing your ass.”

  He erupted into laughter, wrapping both arms around her as she giggled.

  “Oh, Laila, I love you so much,” he said, his laughter trailing off in to a grin as he nuzzled his face into her hair.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, looking serious, “let’s do this shopping list.”

  She leaned forward to look at the papers and he reluctantly let her go to pick up the pad and pen again.

  There were a few seconds of silence.

  “I’m betting your chest is worth an ogle too.”

  He dropped the pen and pad and grabbed her. She squealed and laughed as he pushed her down onto her back beneath him and kissed her breathless.

  It was some time before the shopping list got written.

  Thirty-Six

  Laila stared at the house from the relative safety and comfort of her car, nervously winding a strand of hair around her left index finger.

  She’d rehearsed what she was going to say when the door opened a hundred times, but with each practice it sounded more and more ridiculous. There was no way it was going to work. At best she would be asked nicely to leave. Laila knew it was silly, but what made her even more nervous than what she had come to do was meeting Trish. Though Denny’s parents were no longer alive, this was just as nerve wracking as meeting them would have been. She wanted her boyfriend’s sister to like her. But the chances were very good that she would just tell her to go away.

  Laila sighed. She wanted so much to just start the car and leave now and never come back.

  “No,” she said to herself quietly, “I can do this.”

  With her heart pounding but her mind made up, she stepped from the car and walked across the road to the pleasant semi-detached house with the well cared for front garden. Bees and hover flies buzzed around her on their journeys to and from the lavender bushes in full bloom lining the path. Laila took a deep breath of the heady scent as she reached the door. For Denny, she told herself, and knocked.

  Jay answered the door. This close up, when she wasn’t hiding in her car filming from across the street, the resemblance was striking. He obviously took after his mother.

  “Hello,” she said, “I’m looking for Patricia Mason. Is she your mother?” She didn’t want to admit she already knew their family details.

  Jay nodded. “Yeah. Hold on.” He stepped back from the porch into the hallway and yelled in the way of teenage boys everywhere. “MUM!”

  She smiled. Looking at him with his light reddish brown hair and blue eyes, she could imagine a young Denny doing the same thing. A woman walked into the hallway and came to the door as Jay bounded up the stairs.

  “Can I help you?” she said. She had the same reddish brown hair, tied into a pony tail, and blue eyes as her son. And her brother.

  “Hello, my name is Laila Smith.” Laila extended her hand, smiling. Trish took it and shook, looking curious. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a freelance writer and I am very interested in writing an article about your brother, Dennis.”

  A shadow immediately passed across Trish’s face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about Denny.” She placed her hand on the door in preparation to close it.

  “I understand completely,” Laila said quickly. “It’s just, I’ve become very interested in Mr. Carpenter’s story since I moved into his old flat. I think people should know about the person he was and what happened to him. I would like them to know about the tragedy of a life cut short, so that he can be remembered.” She’d rehearsed her speech dozens of times. Sadly, it sounded like it.

  Trish let go of the door. “You live in his flat?”

  Laila nodded. “Yes, for sixth months now.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know what’s not in the newspaper articles. I want to know about the man he was, the man his friends and family knew.”

  Trish looked at the floor for a few seconds, then she nodded. “I think I would like people to know who my brother was. At the time everyone seemed more interested in the man who killed him, and the murder. Denny was just a tiny part of it, barely even mentioned.” She smiled. “Would you like to come in?”

  Trying to hide her surprise and immense relief, Laila smiled back. “Thank you.”

  The house was average size, but pleasant and obviously as well cared for as the front garden. Trish led her into a long living room that spanned the length of
the house with a comfortable looking sofa and armchairs, a large television and a dining table at the far end. A set of patio doors looked out onto the lawned back garden beyond.

  Several framed photos hung in a group on the far wall and a large one in the centre caught Laila’s attention. She walked over to it, mesmerised.

  “That’s my favourite photo of the two of us,” Trish said, walking up next to her. “It was taken about a year before he died.”

  Laila stared at the close up photo of Denny, his head leaning against his sister’s, their matching hair blending together. He was smiling slightly and his eyes were bright and happy. It was a much better photo of him than the one she had found. She’d been right, he did have faint freckles across his nose and cheeks. And his eyes were the most incredible shade of blue, with a hint of green. He was so handsome. A lump rose to her throat and she swallowed quickly.

  “You look so much alike,” she said.

  “Yes. People sometimes thought we were twins, even though I’m two years older.” A fond smile lit her face. “He was so good looking. All the girls loved him.”

  “Did he have anyone in particular?” Laila hated herself for asking as soon as she had.

  “Oh, he had a lot of girlfriends over the years. Some of his relationships even lasted quite a long time. But I never saw that spark in him. You know, when you find the one? I always hoped he would find the one special woman for him, but he never did.”

  Laila’s heart did a quick shimmy around her chest and she carefully suppressed the smile trying to surge onto her face.

  “Would you mind if I took a photo of this, for the article?”

  “No, not at all.” Trish took it from the wall and removed the photo from the frame, placing it on the table where Laila could use her phone to get a picture. “I have photo albums, if you’d like to see more?”

  “I would love to,” Laila said, barely able to contain her excitement.

  Trish made them coffee and they sat down at the dining table, spending some time looking through albums from Denny and Trish’s childhood through to their adult years, eventually moving onto more recent photos on Trish’s laptop. Laila took photos of several of her favourites as Trish told her stories about her brother, Laila using her phone to record what she said. She was surprised at first that Trish was so forthcoming to a complete stranger, but she began to realise that she wanted to talk about Denny. She probably hadn’t had much chance to remember him like this and Laila wondered if it was a kind of catharsis for her. Whatever it was, Laila enjoyed every word. She was learning so much about Denny that he hadn’t told her, maybe even some things he’d forgotten himself. She knew he was going to love hearing it all when she got home.