Back from the Dead

It was a day like any other.

The sun was shining and the birds tweeting while balancing on the slender overhead branches of the trees.

There was a cool breeze which was welcome as I jogged through the park, beads of sweat glistening on my brow.

I’d made good time, not quite good enough to beat my record but still pretty good, when my mobile started to buzz angrily inside its little pouch.

Pausing next to a bench to answer, I smiled at the man sitting there, apologising for interrupting his calm. He ignored me and continued to stare stonily ahead of him.

Fine, be like that, I thought to myself.

“Lucy, is that you?” the voice at the other end asked. It sounded harassed and impatient.

“Of course it’s me. It’s my phone”.

The man on the other end tutted,” Yes, well, when are you coming in? We need the Johnson file”.

“I’m not. It’s my day off”.

More tutting and a loud sigh while he tried to remain calm,” Can’t you just pop in for a bit? I’ll make it worth your while”.

“The last time I came in for ‘a bit’, I ended up staying all day, worked overtime and didn’t get paid for it as it was my day off”.

“Ah, well sorry about that but it won’t happen again”.

A bird, obviously angry that I was disturbing its peace as well, swooped low by my head. The tips of its talons brushed my hair.

Instinctively I ducked, sensing the man sitting on the bench smiling.

“Fine, I’ll come in. Give me about an hour”.

“Thanks. I owe you”.

Slipping the mobile back into the pouch, I glanced at the man again.

He was still staring straight in front of him.

So much for my day off, I muttered to myself.

The park was packed with people as I turned and jogged back the way I had already come, all trying to side step each other.

Smiling and nodding at several of them as they moved out of the way, my mind was already focusing on the Johnson file.

A murder case where the husband had been killed by the wife. Motive and opportunity. An easy case for us but yet the defense team were putting up a good fight. Claiming the husband had been having an affair although they had been unable to prove it.

Why would they say he was having an affair unless they had proof? I thought to myself, absent mindedly glancing from side to side as I crossed the street.

There were several cars in the distance driving slowly. Maybe trying to mind a car park. And a few people further in the distance about to enter the park through a distant gate.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and stood on end despite the sweat clinging to them.

I paused as I reached the centre of the road and turned.

A man stood only a few meters away. His skin looked paler and more waxy than when I had last seen him and his hair was no longer straightened and held in place by gel, but ruffled and out of place.

He grinned as he noticed me stare.

My mouth felt dry.

“Mr. Johnson? No, it can’t be”, I whispered, feeling the sweat on my brow become cold.

The man continued to grin.

“But you’re dead!” I gasped.

A car horn beeped behind me.

Jumping, feeling as if my heart was beating way to fast, I whipped my head around.

The driver smiled politely.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I’m fine”, I muttered not sure if I was or not.

The driver manoeuvred his car around me when it seemed obvious I wasn’t going to move, and continued his slow search for a vacant car park.

I turned back around but the man had gone.

Other than the driver now parking, and me, there was no one else around.

I just need some fluids, I muttered to myself as I crossed the rest of the street and let myself into my apartment.

It felt cool inside and I shivered as I quickly peeled off my clothes and stepped into the shower.

The steam quickly filled the bathroom.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the muscles in my back and neck loosen and relax.

A loud thud outside the shower made me freeze as I rinsed the soap hurriedly off of my skin.

“Hello?’ I asked, turning the taps off,’ is there anybody there?”

There was no answer.

I mean if some one was there, would they likely answer? Probably not.

But I’d definitely heard a thud.

Cautiously I poked my head out from behind the shower curtain and looked around. My hair started to drip onto the tiled floor.

There was no one there.

The bathroom was as immaculate as always although now steamy. The mirror was fogged, obscuring the view I normally had of the lounge when I kept the door open.

Hurriedly I towelled myself dry, stepping into my clothes still partially wet.

A loud thud came from the kitchen.

Definitely a thud.

“Hello?’ I called out,’ is there anyone there?”

Again no answer but as I tiptoed along, willing myself to remain silent, I saw a smear on the floor that hadn’t been there before.

Cautiously I bent and looked at it.

Blood.

Why would blood be here? I thought.

Further along there was more, in the shape of a footprint.

Feeling the blood drain from my face, I grabbed hold of the wall for support.

The footprint was the same size and print as my shoes.

Had I stepped in blood somewhere? No, otherwise there’d be blood from the front door.

Behind me, the front door opened and then shut again quickly.

“Hello? Whose there?” I yelled, turning around.

This is ridiculous, I thought, some one’s playing a joke on me.

Without thinking further I snatched the door keys from the stand in the hall where I’d left them and sprinted out of the door, slamming it behind me.

The street was busier now. Several cars and buses shot past as I glanced around.

There he was.

Mr. Johnson, still standing in the middle of the road, seemingly oblivious to the traffic around him.

He grinned at me as he noticed me stare at him.

My eyes travelled down his shirt.

The blood was now dry from the bullet hole in his chest.

At least they’d never find the gun.

As I watched, he turned and started to walk away from me.

“Hey, no wait!”, I yelled, not bothering to check for traffic, desperate for one more hug, one more kiss against my lips, his fingers running through my hair.

I didn’t see the bus as it crashed into me, or hear its tire’s screeching.

I didn’t even feel the concrete as I landed on the road.

My eyes remained on his.