The Murderer

by Paul Smith

  “I come and go Jasmine. You have forty-eight hours to find out who killed me. That's two days until I come back for you. If you are lucky enough to find out who murdered me you come back here and whistle for me three times. I will hear you.” Amanda told her as quickly as she could.

  Jasmine watched as Amanda faded away completely, she felt herself floating higher and higher into the sky. Knowing she was now a ghost too, if she wanted her life back she had to do what Amanda said.

  “I will find him Amanda and Jessica. I will find him and you guys will finally be able to rest easy. I promise.” Jasmine whispered, watching as the shack continued to burn down to the ground. Ted no longer in she had already lost sight of Ted, the biggest clue that she had. The only clue she had.

  Everything was different now, she wondered if she was going to see Jessica again. Wondered if Jessica was going to help her out from time to time. Jasmine knew she couldn't wait around for Jessica she had to get started right away. Already time was getting away from her.

  Jasmine heard Jessica crying once again, heard it as if she was in the ground with her. Wondering if Jessica was really in the ground again because she knew Jessica was no longer with her, no longer showing her what happened to her. All that was done, Jessica had done what she had set out to do. Thought she hoped she would see Jessica again she couldn't wait around all night, like Amanda had said she had forty-eight hours to figure it out for her. To help Amanda and Jessica rest easy together, no longer needing to be in this life.

  Jasmine knew that they were stuck in this life now, they couldn't pass over to the after life until she helped them and if she couldn't...If she failed it meant she was dead forever. Amanda and Jessica not being able to leave and cross over like they should have done to begin with.

  Jasmine went into the shack that looked like it was going to explode. Ted wasn't in there. She had to find him. She just had to if she was going to get her life back. She vowed to herself that she was going to find out who murdered Amanda, her life depended on it........

  “I won't let you down, I can't let you guys down. I will find out who killed you Amanda. In hopes that you can be freed. To give you the answers you need.” Jasmine whispered. She thought she heard a soft whisper in her ear as she floated in the dark sky but she didn't know what was said or if it was just her imagination to begin with. She was off to help Amanda get the revenge she so badly needed.

  “The End”

  Ruthless

  Chapter 1: Stereotype

  "I'm sorry, Michelle. I truly am."

  Sorry! Michelle silently scoffed. As of yet, the panic had not set in.

  It hadn't fully sunken in that she was now going to be jobless, and that she would have to look for a new source of income.

  At the moment, all that she could feel was anger, pure and simple. She wasn't sure at whom the anger was directed--her boss, her company or perhaps just her own bad luck.

  "Of course you're sorry," Michelle muttered, and this time it was out loud.

  Her boss, Jonathan, didn't seem to catch the bitter, sarcastic note in her words. If he did, then he chose to ignore it.

  "I'm glad you understand, Michelle. Times are tough these days, and we could only keep the very best employees."

  Although this statement was probably meant to comfort Michelle, it felt like a stab at her self-esteem. In her mind, her boss was saying, "You aren't particularly talented or important, so we need to get rid of you."

  Nonetheless, Michelle forced herself to smile stiffly and nod in what she supposed was an understanding manner.

  "You'll receive your severance pay very soon, so don't worry about that," Jonathan added, after which there was an awkward silence.

  Realising that this was probably her cue to leave, Michelle said, "I'll just show myself out, then."

  And she promptly did.

  As she exited the building, Michelle reflected on her current situation, and she couldn't help but laugh at herself, albeit slightly hysterically.

  She had become a living, breathing stereotype, hadn't she?

  A 34-year-old woman who had been divorced once, and was laid off from her job. A woman that hadn't been to a party in years, and didn't have any kids.

  I'm pathetic, Michelle thought as she continuously giggled to herself.

  A young intern that was just getting out of her car spotted Michelle laughing like a lunatic, and gave her a look that was both concerned and frightened. This only made Michelle laugh even harder.

  The intern quickly scurried away, tight black ponytail bobbing up and down, into the building that Michelle had just left.

  "You're probably going to be fired from there one day, just like I was," Michelle whispered with a half-smile.

  Once she had said the word 'fired' out loud, it suddenly occurred to her that she was, officially, jobless.

  As she got into her silver Volvo, Michelle's heart slowly started to sink. She thought about the beautiful little beachside apartment that she had taken so many loans to buy. If she couldn't get a well-paying job, how on earth would she keep that apartment?

  Which marketing company would bother to give a 34-year-old a chance, anyway?

  These days, it seemed like everyone wanted to hire youngsters, children, practically, that were fresh out of college and still went to Halloween parties every year, and went drinking with friends three times a week.

  It made no sense whatsoever to Michelle. Those kids didn't have a fraction of the experience that adults like herself had.

  She sighed at the thought of searching for job interviews and dealing with being rejected numerous times.

  And what would Adam say once he found out?

  The thought of facing her ex-husband made Michelle shudder violently as she stopped at the traffic signals.

  She had sworn to herself that she would never ask him for another dime, but she might end up doing just that if she couldn't find another job soon. It wasn't a pleasant thing to think about, especially since their last few conversations before their separation were still crystal clear in Michelle's memory.

  "I still think we can work through this, Adam. Every marriage has a few issues. We don't need to do this."

  "Just stop it. You say that we have 'issues' like this isn't a big deal, but it is! You're a sour old woman that wants to cling to me because I'm younger, richer and more successful than you. I suggest you stop making a fool of yourself and go through with this divorce with a little bit of dignity. Or is that too much to ask?"

  It never failed to shock Michelle how much his words hurt her, even now that it had been a few months since the divorce. Every time she remembered the harsh, derisive tone with which he'd said such cruel things, it felt like someone was ripping her heart to pieces.

  Before this year, Michelle had always thought that 'heartache' and 'heartbreak' were figures of speech that people used when they wanted to give a description of their past relationships with a melodramatic flourish.

  However, she had realised that there was, in fact, some truth to these phrases. Seeing someone that once truly loved her gradually coming to despise her more than anyone else was something that had caused intense, physical pain in Michelle's chest for quite a while.

  It still did, on particularly nasty days such as this one.

  As Michelle neared her apartment, she spotted a dingy looking bar with a few fluorescent lights--half of which were fused--spelling the name 'Dan's Bar'.

  On a whim, Michelle decided to stop for a drink. She couldn't remember the last time that she'd been to a bar, but that's what days like this were for, right? You were supposed to drink a lot when you were upset.

  She clumsily parked her car, and then strode into the bar, not caring that her polished outfit of a black suit and blazer made her stand out like a sore thumb in a sea of greasy old men.

  Michelle ordered a drink. And then another, and another. She soon lost count of how much she had had to drink.

  Only when she was out of cash did s
he get up.

  "Lady, do you need a taxi?" The bartender asked, raising an eyebrow as Michelle stumbled towards the door.

  "Don't worry," Michelle slurred. "My place is just five minutes away. I'll just walk, 'kay?"

  In a daze, Michelle walked towards her apartment, humming to herself and thinking about absolutely nothing.

  The next thing she knew, she was in her bed, and it was morning.

  "Ugh, my head," Michelle groaned, pressing a cold hand to her throbbing forehead. It had been a long time since she'd been hungover, and it was even worse than what she remembered.

  Trying to ignore the pain, Michelle got out of bed and started walking towards the closet. As she began to sift through her clothes in an attempt to find something presentable to wear, she suddenly remembered.

  I don't have a job. I don't need to get dressed today.

  It was definitely a new feeling. For the past 10 years, there had never been a day when she had felt quite this empty, but also oddly free.

  Michelle shook her head rapidly, bringing herself back to earth.

  She got back into her bed, tucking her comforter around her snugly, and opened up her laptop.

  Just as she had started typing 'marketing jobs in L.A' in the search engine, she stopped. She clenched her fists.

  This didn't feel right, at all. There wasn't an ounce of enthusiasm within her. The thought of looking for a new job and eventually getting back to working nine-to-five every day didn't make her happy, not even the slightest bit.

  "What do I want, then?" Michelle said out loud, frustrated with herself. She slammed the laptop shut and got up, going over to her full-length mirror.

  She stared at her watery blue eyes in the mirror, half-hoping to find the answer in them.

  Of course, she didn't find anything. It was just the same bland, boring face that she saw every single day. The face that had no feature that was particularly striking or aesthetically pleasing, but also had no feature that was especially repulsive. It was a nondescript face which was not at all expressive, even to Michelle herself.

  Michelle barked out a laugh.

  Am I actually insane? I'm staring at my reflection to try and figure out my own feelings!

  She turned away from the mirror and made a decision. She decided that she would take a little time off from worrying about getting a job, paying off her loans or confronting her ex-husband. She would focus on doing things that would make her happy, and that was it.

  The fact that she couldn't remember a day in the past few years when she'd really been purely happy frightened Michelle more than she wanted to admit. Sure, there had been days when she wasn't upset or angry at all, but happiness seemed like a feeling that was almost foreign to her, at this point.

  I will be happy. I will be happy.

  Chapter 2: Happiness

  For the rest of the day, Michelle lazed around in bed, watching all of the popular T.V shows on her laptop that she'd been missing out on because of her busy work life.

  She ordered pizzas with extra cheese for her lunch and scarfed them down without giving a second thought to how much weight she would gain because of it.

  Then, because she felt like a slob afterwards, she got out of her ratty sweatsuit and put on some jeans and a t-shirt, and then went out for a walk.

  As she wandered around the neighbourhood, Michelle observed all the other people that were walking around. Maybe it was just her imagination, but it seemed like everyone looked very content and self-assured. They all walked in a purposeful manner, and they all had a lively glint in their eyes that Michelle felt was missing in her own.

  So far, Michelle was not feeling particularly happy. In fact, she was slowly growing more and more unsatisfied as the day progressed.

  Annoyed, Michelle decided to go back to the bar from last night. It had, after all, made her temporarily forgot everything. If she couldn't feel happy, at least she could feel carefree for a little while.

  She trudged into the bar, receiving a weary smile from the bartender, who evidently remembered her from the previous night.

  No words were exchanged between him and Michelle, but she felt a sense of camaraderie as he poured her a drink. Something about his expression told her that his life wasn't perfect, and that comforted Michelle. It made her feel just a little less...alone.

  When, just like the previous night, she lost track of the number of times she'd gestured to the bartender to refill her cup, and her head was slightly fuzzy, Michelle got up and walked home.

  Once she was home, she collapsed on her bed and immediately fell asleep.

  The next morning, her eyes fluttered open to the sound of her phone ringing.

  The obnoxious beep beep made Michelle groan as she fumbled around the sheets in search of her cellphone.

  Finally, she managed to wrap her fingers around the cool metal of the device. She pressed the 'answer' button and brought it to her ear without looking at the caller ID.

  "Hello?" She mumbled.

  She was greeted by a man with a very cold, professional voice asking, "Is this Ms. Michelle Maguire?"

  Michelle blinked, surprised and perplexed.

  "Yes, why?"

  The man cleared his throat.

  "We regret to inform you that your former husband, Adam Chappell, was murdered yesterday."

  Chapter 3: Curious

  It was odd, but Michelle did not feel any heartache upon hearing about Adam's death. Just a couple of days ago, she had felt pained by reminiscing about their arguments.

  Yet, hearing that he had been brutally murdered by someone that had stabbed him with a knife caused her no pain.

  It had shocked her, yes. Hearing it over the phone had extracted a gasp from her, and it had made her stare blankly at the wall in disbelief for over an hour as chills went down her spine.

  However, she had not cried. Even when she brought to mind some of the nicest memories that she'd shared with Adam, it did not make her sad.

  She thought about the first time she and Adam had gone to a theme park. She'd been 28 and he'd been 23. They had laughed so much that tears had streamed down their faces. They had acted like children that day, and it was one of the few times that Michelle remembered being utterly content and happy.

  Then, of course, there was the day he proposed to her, just a year later. It had been perfect. They had gone canoeing, and the sun was setting. The sky was a beautiful pink-orange colour, and he'd knelt down and asked her to marry him, his brown eyes glowing with what could only be described as adoration.

  Michelle relived these memories in an attempt to get herself to feel sad about his death, but she didn't feel even a slight twinge of pain. She forced more memories upon herself, one after the other, trying to make herself cry, trying to make herself feel like a normal person.

  But she didn't. She didn't care that he was dead, and her nonchalance horrified her.

  Michelle glanced at her cat-shaped wall clock. It was noon, and she had to meet with a police officer in a couple of hours. They would be coming over to her apartment, and would probably have to ask her some questions about Adam, which Michelle was not looking forward to.

  She sighed, but got up and started to get dressed. She combed her hair and stared at her eyes in her reflection, just as she had done yesterday. This time, however, she was searching for sadness. She was trying to look for just a hint of sorrow in her eyes.

  Of course, it wasn't there. Her eyes were the same as they were yesterday.

  Michelle went to the kitchen and made herself a breakfast of slightly burnt scrambled eggs and toast. She ate slowly, contemplating whether she should continue to take some time off in search of happiness, or whether she should get on with trying to find a job and get back to work.

  Neither of the options was particularly appealing to Michelle. After yesterday, she had realised that it would not be easy to find happiness.

  Before she knew it, the doorbell was ringing.

  Michelle quickly got up, bru
shing breadcrumbs off of her clothes and smoothing down her hair before walking to the door and opening it.

  Two stony-faced officers--a woman and a man--nodded once at her as a greeting.

  "Come in," Michelle said.

  The officers entered the apartment and seated themselves on the living room couch.

  "So, Ms Michelle," The man started. "I'm Officer Darren, and this is Officer Nolan."

  He gestured to the woman.

  Michelle nodded.

  "I'm sure you've been informed about your ex-husband's death by now," he continued, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

  Again, Michelle nodded.

  There was a pause, and Officer Nolan took over from there.

  "Right, so, is there anyone that had a grudge against your former husband?" She asked. "Anyone that might have motives to murder him?"

  "Um," Michelle searched her memories, trying to think of any such person. "I don't think so. Adam was pretty well-liked by most people."

  Michelle realised after the words had escaped her mouth, that she had said the last sentence with a slightly bitter note.

  Upon glancing at the officers, she noticed that their expressions said that they had heard it, too.

  "You don't seem to have liked him quite as much as other people, do you?" Officer Darren asked.

  Michelle felt uncomfortable.

  "I loved him," Michelle said, and it was the truth. "And I am extremely upset that he's...gone."

  The last part was a lie.

  "But...?" Officer Darren prompted.

  "It's no secret that we did not separate on good terms. We argued a lot, and we did not speak at all after the divorce."

  Officer Nolan nodded slowly.

  "May I ask why the two of you chose to get divorced?" Officer Nolan asked tentatively.

  "He was with other women a lot," Michelle said flatly. "I don't know exactly who they were, but I knew he cheated very often. We fell out of love, and he grew to hate me."