Haunting (part one)

 

I've been betrayed by, pissed off by, or pissed on by nearly everyone I know in the past week. My favorite uncle died last week and left his innumerable assets to charity. Didn't leave me so much as a plugged nickel. To top that, he was the last of my family left after the raids of the twenties. The raids had left most families with more people to bury than remained alive to bury them. I had to spend the last of my savings to bury my parents, leaving me a penniless, out of work actor in a time when there was no one left with enough money to see a film except for those in the business of burying people. Maybe it was time for me to consider a change in occupation.

 

My vision blurred and sense reeled from an attack of the spirit that haunted me. It was a reminded of why you didn't cross women who dealt in the occult. Especially with the number of phantoms on the rise. But, d****t, that old tarot dealing hag had deserved what she got. My girlfriend of two years had left me for some dark haired Englishman because of her reading.

 

I turned the corner of the near abandoned street and entered the nearest coffee shop, hoping the caffeine might clear my head. Spirits hated caffeine, which was why I carried alertness pills at all times and cut my sleep to a bare minimum. But it was too late in the afternoon for that, if I ever wanted to sleep strong coffee would have to do.

 

I made careful notice of the girl who had been following me for more than two blocks. As I found a seat I watched her look over the sign outside of the shop as if contemplating a hot drink. I knew she would come in though, otherwise she might lose me altogether. Noticing a glimmer in her eye as she looked into the cafe I realized why she had been following me. She must have second sight and had to be scopeing me as the fool in some exorcism con. D****t, why couldn't I attract any normal women?

 

I ordered two double shots of espresso from the obviously overworked waitress and prepared to sit and think over my current dilemma. If I was to believe the old tarot hag the only way to get rid of the haunting spirit was to hunt down his killer and exact my revenge. Problem was, I only knew the poor fellow's name, Timothy Martin. The rest the old b***h had left up to me to find out.

 

Any hall of records in the state had been destroyed in the raids and internet access was at an all time low. Most phone companies wouldn't even extend service to impoverished areas like the one I lived in unless you paid enough to make it worth their while. I definitely didn't have that kind of money, nor did I have enough money to afford the train ticket to a town where internet access was allowed. The only money I did have I had from selling a timeshare in Florida to a rich coot who worked in a funeral home. Even that wasn't enough to keep me from being homeless. And it barely covered the tab in bathhouses so I didn't have to smell homeless. Coffee was a commodity I couldn't really afford, but I considered it a necessity. From what I had heard on the news possesion insanity wasn't any fun. I could end up a backseat driver to the will of the possessing spirit. My only options were bad, awful, and worse.

 

The girl from the street sat down at the table directly behind mine so that our backs were to each other but she was close enough that I could lean back in my chair and touch her shoulder if I wanted to. I didn't. It was starting to dawn on me that she might not have been tailing me to begin with. With the population so low because of the raids people often followed one another, “group comfort” it was called. Scientist's were beginning to use this as evidence that we, humans, were pack animals, much like wolves or elephants. If this was true than I was a lone wolf. People just gave me the creeps. Maybe it was that I never really knew what they were thinking. The only person I trusted anymore was myself.

 

Lately, even that trust was wearing thin. I wasn't even sure this girl had come in here for me anymore. Still, the question burned. I could only see one way of getting it answered. The direct approach. I slammed my first double shot hoping it might clear my mind. It didn't. I sat. Maybe in time, I told myself. Maybe more, I pondered, fingering the second glass nervously. Now is as good a time as ever. I downed the second glass and signaled the waitress to bring me two more. She shook her head at me disparagingly, as if she knew why I was here. I was practically a dead man walking, in every way but the physical.

 

Behind me I heard the soft, feminine voice of the girl from the street ordering an cup of some fancy a*s brew. I could tell by the name it was going to cost her big, but I could taste the gourmet liquid on my tongue. It had been too long since I had anything that tasted even halfway decent. Mostly, I ate the cheapest and most ample sources of foods, none of which were even remotely tasty. Even the double shots I ordered were bottom of the barrel, brewed with absolutely no consideration of taste. In the bitter amber, it was only the caffeine that counted. I might as well have waved a big red flag that said “poor and possessed”.

 

I didn't mind people knowing of course, I just didn't like the attention. In the two years since the raids people had developed this way of trying to make everyone they met in their day a sort of surrogate family. That, besides the cost, was why I quit riding the bus and took to walking. Walking was a rarity anymore, mostly people slept in the streets or rode the bus to avoid stepping over the people sleeping in the streets.

 

Looking around I realized that I was in one of the more depressed sections of Burner. A window near my table was partially busted out and let in a horrible draft of cold December air. No one in their right mind would've sat on this side of the cafe. I had only done it to avoid other customers; presently there weren't any, except for the girl seated behind me, but I guess you could call it a habit. The overhead lighting was dim and over half of the light bulbs were either burnt out or missing. You saw this kind of thing a lot in poorer areas, it helped keep the electric bill low. The whole room looked dim and ghastly.

 

As much as I hate to admit it, I was lonely here. Even in a crowd I was next to alone in my fate and I was doomed to it. Everyone I could stand had left me, and now even my so called stalker was leaving the cafe. D****t, now or never. I throttled the last two shots and tossed a crumpled bill on the table. I had grossly overpaid. I didn't really care. Clear headed or not, I was going to break the cycle and talk to that girl. D****t, I had to.

 

Even the spirit wanted to meet her.