Dead Man

Dead Man

I pull my coat tighter around me, the chill in the air burning my cheeks. Catherine kept me late, going over her wedding plans. She still has a lot of decisions to make, especially with her being the centre of attention. It seems it’s always her and only her. The wind blows, chilling me to the bone. And I notice something odd in the air. Like the distant smell of mulch.

I look around the street, the faint light from lampposts pouring onto the walkway, giving the faint assumption it is safe at this time of night. It seems eerily quiet. But I don’t hear footsteps behind me, and it seems no one is about. I glance behind me. As I suspected, I’m not being followed. But as my eyes focus forward a figure stands in my way, darkness cloaking him and shadows emanating from him in tendrils. I nearly jump out of my shoes, my hand coming to my chest as though trying to stop my racing heart.

My feet plant themselves firmly on the cement as though stuck and shake slightly as a light brush of sweat coats to the small of my back. I fear what might become of me should I venture further so I remain where I am. We stay this way for several minutes, my breaths coming quicker and fainter, staring each other down before he takes a few cursory steps towards me. I flinch but fight the desire to step away at his small approach. In this position, the light from the lamppost above cascades over his face and glints in his eyes. The eyes are dark and devilish, though now filled with light.

My heart stops and I hold my breath waiting, knowing something is about to happen, but not knowing what. A trembling begins in my chest and spreads outward. How? This can’t be real.

I know this man to be dead; I was there as he lay dying, blood pooling from his head and soaking the Earth beneath. He had seemed afraid, though spoke no last words. Yet here he is blocking my path, smiling. His smile is daunting as though he knows something but won’t reveal it to me. His eyes seem soft, though the rest of him is menacing.

He reaches towards me, his voice muddled as he struggles to speak, but I can still make out the uttered word. “Mallorzia…” then his voice drops away, but his finger still points accusingly.

Shaking my head, my palms grow sweaty, though my mouth is dry, and my heart hammers wildly in my chest. “It wasn’t me,” I plead, “I tried to save you, only I couldn’t. I’m sorry, but I stayed with you until the end. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

But it’s as though my words pass out of existence, for he seems not to understand them.

Again, he steps toward me, his eyes growing darker and his features hiding in the shadows of the shaded street. My head shakes and my brows draw together, this doesn’t make sense. I grip my arms tightly as though holding the last shred of my sanity inside. I need him to believe it wasn’t me. That I tried to stop it.

“I didn’t, I promise. I wanted to save you it tears me apart that I could not.” My voice comes out almost shouting in my frantic need to be heard. But still, it seemed he could not comprehend my words or chose not to.

Two, now three more steps forward. His closeness now fills me with an odd sensation, and I try to push it away. His eyes now visible, are darker than ever, recounting the past and forming a knot in my stomach. They show the horror of the mistakes that day. The day that he died. His name occurs to me and as he moves to take another step, I speak it aloud, “Debadon…” I pause and so does he, mid-step.

It seems he understood that word. He seems to ponder his actions for a while before continuing through his step and taking another towards me. Then another. He stops again, now his eyes are not the only feature that is soft. He seems to understand.

His arm stretches out to me again, though this time it seems not in accusation, but affection? Could that be right? And he utters my name once more, “Mallorzia…” then stops.

I reach towards him, tears now falling from my eyes, my emotions getting the better of me. “Debadon, I’m sorry. I should have tried harder to stop your death. I saw good in you, that day.

I stop for a moment to clear my throat and wipe my eyes. I take a deep breath before continuing, “I’m sorry we came after you. Catherine accused you of something you never did. You never did it, did you?”

He shakes his head, listening to me this time and understanding my words.

I nod, “I know. We believed her then, me and the others. And you’re dead because of it, you paid for our mistake with your life. We should never have hurt you that way. None of us was thinking.”

I take a few shaky breaths before finding my voice again, “Can you ever forgive us? Can this ever be over?”

He stops to consider it for a moment and begins to shake his head before changing his mind and nodding.

“Are you sure?” I ask, wiping my face again. “You don’t have to. I’d understand if you couldn’t forgive us. We didn’t know she’d been lying, but it was still our fault, our mistake.”

This time he utters a word that isn’t my name, though it seems to strain him, “forgiven.”

More tears fall like rain from my eyes and I go to him, wrapping my arms around his stiff body and press his body into mine. “You are the best man I’ve ever known. I’m so sorry that your life ended too early. I’m sorry that four women ended you because of a lie. You never deserved that.”

Arms wrap around me, returning my embrace, but feeling all too real as though he couldn’t possibly be dead.

I pull away and stare into his eyes. “Are you… Are you alive?”

He nods and I only pull him into a tighter hug, my emotions now cascading from me like a waterfall. “Oh, thank God, I’m not a murderer, you’re not murdered. Thank you.”

This time he pulls away, staring at me. His eyes now seem brighter like he let go of what was troubling him.

I nod, “I understand, you don’t have to say it. I’ll call the police. She’ll pay, I promise she won’t get away with this.”

He only nods holding me close once more, as no one ever had before. “Only her,” were his last words, and I nod.

“Only her.”