At first I thought killing him would be the hard part.
Then I found out how difficult hiding and disposing of a body was and I thought that would be the hard part.
Now I know I was wrong twice. The most difficult part of a murder? Escaping the ghost.
I never believed in ghosts. Souls don’t stick around after they die. No, they move on. What sticks around might act like grandma, but it ain’t grandma so it’s best you call a priest.
I believed that. Up until Mr. McNealy sat at my kitchen table to drink his coffee with me the day after I dumped his body in the compost pile. I might add that he was in pieces.
Look, Mr. McNealy deserved to die. He was an associate professor in the English Department at the University and he used that position to do bad things ... I’m not here to defend myself. Just trust me.
The problem I have is I really want to believe that our souls don’t stick around after death, but unfortunately that would mean the thing sitting across from me is something far worse than Mr. McNealy. So, you will have to forgive me for deciding to change my outlook on life after death.
That first morning was a little rough.
”Does your coffee taste the same? After you had to wipe my blood off your mug?” He asked me. Smugly sipping from one of my other mugs. I stared at him.
”Your blood didn’t get in my mugs.” My mouth was hanging open, I know. Also it wasn’t relevant, but I felt the need to defend my cleanliness.
”Metaphors and imagery were never your strong suit.” He gave me a thin lipped smile and lifted his steaming mug to his mouth. His glasses fogged in the steam. That caused my stomach to drop.
”Are you real?”
”Can you see me?”
”Yes.” His sweater was the same as the one I had thrown into the fireplace yesterday. “But you’re in my head, right? This is all in my head.” I whispered the reassurance to myself.
”Does that make it better?” He tapped his fingers on my table. Each made a small, hollow thump against the wood.
”I’m sleeping. This is just a nightmare.” I stared into my coffee and willed myself to wake up. I pinched my thigh. It hurt.
”You’re hoping this is just a guilt dream.” I could feel his smirk in his words. “Your conscious is flaring up.”
”No. No. You deserved to die.” I was convincing myself all over again. “You were a terrible person. You did horrible things.”
“You’re one to talk.” He slurped his coffee. I stood abruptly and ran to my bathroom. I was asleep. This was a stress dream. Last night was tough and I was still on edge that I might get caught.
I looked at my tired face in the mirror.
”Wake up. Wake up.”
”Is it working?” His face reflected back at me from over my shoulder.
I screamed. I left the doors open behind me as I fled to the street where early morning students were commuting to class. I was suddenly aware how dingy my pajamas looked with the hole in the armpit and stains dropped down the front. Raised eyebrows and giggles shot my way as I stood on the sidewalk.
”You good?” A man with perfectly smooth, black skin called from halfway out his open car door, one leg lifted and backpack swinging into the passenger side seat. I recognized him from our shared class with McNealy. The one that started in 15 minutes. The one he was clearly still heading to. The one that wasn’t cancelled because no one knew to cancel it. The one that I hadn’t intended to attend because I knew there was no point. The one that would be my first absence. The one that might make me look guilty if I failed to also attend.
”Over, uh, overslept.” I stuttered. “Then there was a - there was, um, a spider.”
How could I be so stupid? If I missed this class and the teacher’s aide recorded my absence it might be looked into by authorities and they’d ask me questions. No no no no no no. I had to get dressed.
Mr. McNealy in my kitchen was my subconscious reminding me to go to class. Of course!
Even so, my chest thumped wildly. The cute boy smiled at me, clearly muffling his laughter.
”A spider, huh? Need someone to kill it for you?” Was he flirting with me? Didn’t he know this was no time for romance? No, stupid, of course he didn’t.
”Oh! Uh, I don’t, uh, don’t want to, you know, don’t want to bother you.” My stutter was a nervous tick. It was why I rarely dated. It was why I would never be able to hold my own in an interrogation.
”It’s no bother.” He stepped out of his car and closed the door behind him. He was coming towards me.
”No, no. It’s okay, okay. I, uh, threw my shoe, threw my shoe at it.” Don’t be suspicious, think! “B-but I could use, use a, use a ride maybe?” I gestured stupidly at his car. His smile broadened.
”Would you like to get dressed first?” He nodded politely at my dirty night shirt.
I looked down at myself, no shoes. I looked back at him and nodded rapidly, holding up a finger to indicate it would only be a minute and I ran back inside.
I grabbed the jeans off the back of my desk chair and slid into the sandals I never remembered to put away. With a fresh t-shirt, my blue hoodie and an elastic to put my hair up I could almost pass for just another hung over student. I had no time to brush my hair but that was fine. It was when I went to grab my backpack from the kitchen that I noticed McNealy again.
”Planning on taking notes?” He smirked at me.
”Planning on playing the part.” I grumbled at the chair where he sat, trying to pretend he was not there.
I sprinted back to the street, fumbling with my keys to lock the door.
”Ready?” My driver was leaning against his car, clearly still amused. I nodded at him and wordlessly climbed into the passenger side.
He turned the radio on, smiled at me, and pulled away from the curb. Out the window behind him, McNealy waved to me from my front door. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to try to combat the adrenaline.
”Rough night?” His voice was playful. I grunted a response through closed lips, something I hoped sounded like an affirmation. Something that he would chalk up to a hangover.
I heard him chuckle, and felt the car turn left towards the English building. We could have walked to class, but it was about a 30 minute walk. Driving took less than ten since it was a straight shot once we got out of the old residential streets.
I kept my eyes closed the rest of the drive. Acutely aware that my new friend was probably noticing. On any other day I would have worried about what he thought and how this affected my chances at dating him.
”You could use a coffee.” I felt the car come to a stop and heard him shift into park. I opened my eyes. We were sitting in front of the campus coffee shop, just over halfway to class.
”We’ll be late.” I watched him turn the key, killing the engine.
”Nah. I know the barista.” He nodded towards the cafe. From here I could see three people behind the counter. One a chubby girl with short, spiky hair. Another a boy, with high cheekbones, hollow cheeks and black hair pulled up into a high, short pony. The third was a very pretty girl, braids swinging halfway down her back.
”Girlfriend?” Surprisingly, in light of the ghostly apparition I was sure waited for me back home, I was disappointed.
”Sister.” He swung his legs out the door. “Come on.” He beckoned me to follow him.
I followed him inside, he lifted a hand to his sister who pointed at him and nodded with a smile. I saw it now. Same skin tone, same face shape, same eyes. His ears were larger. Her lips were fuller. Shockingly similar otherwise.
”What do you want?”
”No, no. I don’t need, don’t need a, uh, I don’t need ...” I shook my head. My stutter was back. Brought on by his lean towards me when he asked how I wanted my coffee; he was a good six inches taller and smelled like that Irish soap, the one that comes in a green bottle, what’s it called? I wracked my brain for the name while inhaling deeply, trying not to be obvious.
”Oh, you need coffee.” He chuckled, convinced a little caffeine could heal what ailed me. He lifted a hand towards his sister and motioned towards me. Two, he mouthed. She nodded.
There was a line curling around the room. Most of them wore backpacks or held a textbook in their arms. College kids, mostly. A few gray-haired patrons stood patiently amongst them, looking around to see if they recognized any of their students. I wondered if McNealy had ever done the same.
”Ready?” A coffee cup appeared in front of me, the hand holding it attached to an amused smile. I hadn’t noticed him walk to the counter. “You seem distracted.”
I smiled a close lipped smile at him.
”Yeah.” Please don’t ask why.
”You can call me J.” He led the way back to his car.
”What?”
”My name isn’t the easiest for some people. So you can just call me J.” I didn’t know his name. Was I supposed to?
”Oh, thanks.” He pulled into traffic. I sipped my coffee. It was creamy and sweet. Not my style at all.
The rest of the drive was quiet. We pulled into a space near the English building and wordlessly walked in. The rest of the class was there already, and the teacher’s aide sat in front checking her watch. We slipped into the back row. The minute hand on the clock on the wall ticked to the top of the hour.
”Well this is awkward.” McNealy sat in the chair beside me, my jaw clenched and my neck tensed. Was he really here? Could anyone else see him. I looked around the room as surreptitiously as I could. No one seemed to notice.
”Since I have you here, I was gonna ask what you plan on doing now.” McNealy leaned his chin on the palm of his hand, leaning towards me. “Did you even bring the essay that’s due today?”
My heart dropped. Of course I didn’t. I stopped doing homework for this class as soon as I had decided to kill Mr. McNealy.
“How long do you plan waiting it out?” Some one was asking their friend, motioning towards the clock. The entire class was getting antsy. The teachers aide opened the classroom door and looked down the hallway. McNealy, while an awful human, had always been punctual.
”Do you think she’ll raise the first alarm?” McNealy asked me, nodding towards his aide, who was biting her lip and wringing her hands, clearly uncertain with what her next steps should be.
Bile filled my mouth. The urge to hurl was unstoppable and the pit in my stomach was making its way up my throat. I rocketed out of my chair and out the door, shoving the aide aside and covering my mouth with a hand to keep it in.
I made it just out the side door to the building before my morning’s coffee emptied into the grass.
“Lovely.” McNealy was standing next to me, frowning at the sick.
”Leave me alone.” I wiped my mouth and wiped it on my pants.
”Sure, sure. Just as soon as I have somewhere else to be.” He followed me as I walked away, heading home.
”What do you want?” I murmured, looking around to be sure no one saw me talking to myself.
“Nothing, nothing.” He mused. “What’s your plan? Kill anyone and everyone that you deem bad?”
I walked away from his question.
”I get it. I did something horrible, right? You were simply doling out justice. The system be damned.” He was rather amused with himself.
”The system is broken.” I grumbled. I knew it was. I had yet to see justice play out in the lives around me. It was a slow, bogged down system that allowed the guilty to walk free on technicalities.
”You fancy yourself a hero. A vigilante. Sure, sure.” He nodded. Waking next to me, keeping pace easily as I walked as quickly as possible without running. It would draw attention, I thought.
”Seems to me you think the system works well enough to be afraid of getting caught yourself.” I nearly stumbled. Yes. I was afraid of getting caught. I worked so hard on covering my tracks that I had not been worried about getting caught until he showed up in my kitchen. I hadn’t counted on dealing with this. What else had I not counted on?
”If you get caught, you’ll be put away for murder.” He tsk’ed. “And all you did was take care of one measly little perv.” He scratched his chin.
He was right. He wasn’t the only one. He wasn’t even the worst kind. I’d killed a man, and for what?
”It’s not the end of the world. Consider me a practice round. You know what works, you know the pinch points. Maybe you step it up a notch.” He was leering over my shoulder, whispering into my ear.
”Get away from me!” I broke into a sprint and ran all the way home.
I told you that first morning was rough. The next morning wasn’t better.
A note was waiting for me by my coffee pot.
Leonard Johnston 434 2nd Ave, Apt A
I recognized the scrawl, the same was written across my English midterm with critiques on my use of passive voice. I threw it away.
”I thought you wanted me to leave you alone?” McNealy was there, at my kitchen table. My heart dropped all over again.
”Fuck.” I closed my eyes and willed him to go away.
”I’ll give you space.” He paused. “I just want to help you on your little avenger mission you started. No point in stopping now.”
I opened my eyes and he was gone, his note out of the trash and centered on the kitchen table. I studied it. I pulled out my laptop and searched the sex offender registry.
Leonard was there. His crimes listed. He was worse than McNealy.
Someone knocked on my door. I sat frozen in my chair, unprepared to face anyone today.
”Hey, are you home?” It was J. “Are you okay?” I slid to the floor and wrapped my knees in my arms, willing him to go away. He was beautiful, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested. Leonard Johnston’s profile still glared out from my computer. McNealy was apt to show at any moment.
I couldn’t let J in right now. Not until I had put a stop to this madness. I heard him walk away. I waited until I was sure he was gone before I stood up.
I am not a murderer. Except for the one. I wasn’t doing this.
That’s what I told myself while I went for a walk down 2nd Ave. It was a ground floor apartment, right on the edge of the complex, close to a side road with trees and hedges for cover.
I would not be drawn into this.
That’s what I told myself as I vacuumed my car and replaced the seat covers - water proof.
I am not a murderer.
That’s what I told myself when I bought the expensive floor mats - laser cut to fit perfectly and catch all sorts of spills.
The system already served him his sentence.
That’s what I told myself when I parked on the side street by his building at midnight.
Just to get rid of McNealy.
That’s what I told myself when I knocked on his door.
”I’m so sorry, I’ve got a flat. Could you help me?” That’s what I told him when he answered his door, bleary eyed and in nothing but his boxer shorts.
Listen. I thought killing him would be the hard part.
The next morning, I sat down to drink my coffee with McNealy.
”I thought you were leaving.” I tell him, annoyed.
”Happy to, except one small detail, what was it? Oh, yes. You cut me up and left me in the compost pile.” He sipped his coffee.
”How do I get rid of you?” I ask, exasperated. He shrugs.
”You tell me. You’re the one keeping me around.” He looks around the kitchen. Disinterested.
”I don’t want you here.” He scoffs at that.
”Be honest. You’re using me.” He stares into my eyes, studying me. “I’m just your excuse. Something to keep you going.”
I stare back at him and absently start to pick at my nails. The ones I couldn’t quite get the blood out from under.
”Sweetie,” McNealy starts, and he slowly morphs into someone else, someone familiar. “You’re just getting started.”
My face stares back at me, with a lopsided grin and a manic twinkle in my eyes.
