Dead Guy

My attempt at a mystery.

I am not overly sure when I begin to realize I did not exactly mesh well with the living world. However, when I did, coping with the fact remains difficult. I can’t even remember how I died. All I can recall is waking up in my home, weirdly laying on the kitchen floor as if I had just fallen. 

I got my first clue when the kids come home and don’t stop to give me a welcome back hug, but instead run right through me. Or when my wife arrives back from work and does not greet me with a kiss at the door much less a: “Good day at work, Darling?” 

Well, the moment doesn’t really matter because each one strikes just as deep as the last. Several days pass me by like that; I’m not even able to leave the house. When I attempt to open the door all that I see on the other side is a black void. As long as the windows are closed I can see the scenery outside, but the moment I open them it all disappears. 

None of that bothers me more than the fact my wife and two precious daughters can’t hear or feel me. I’m incorporeal to them. I try to get their attention by screaming their names and begging them to look my way�"they never do. 

A few more days after that it seems my absence finally begins to take notice. I’m not surprised it took that long; it isn’t uncommon for me to be gone on weekly projects. Well, maybe it did bother me that Scarlet does not bother to ask questions. I never fail to call home every night and tell them all I love them. Why did Scarlet, my wife, not become suspicious? She hasn’t bothered to pick up the phone to contact me or ask anyone of my whereabouts. 

Maybe she already tried that after leaving the house? I can’t follow her after all.

“Mama, where’s daddy?” Velvet, the eldest daughter asked last night. Leave it to my brilliant girl to notice something is wrong. 

Scarlet smiled the sparkling smile I fell in love with. “Don’t worry sweetie. Don’t worry.” 

At first, the answer seems practical to me. I figure she is putting up a farce to keep the little ones from worry. Until a month flies by with the children crying for their daddy to come home. My little ones begin to question whether I have abandoned them and yet, Scarlet never utters a word in my defense. She lets doubt fill my little girls!

Why isn’t she showing emotion? Why will she not comfort the children? Why is she still laughing with her friends on the phone and planning nights out? My suspicions begin to grow more and more. The dark thought fills my head; my lifeless heart grows heavy. 

I continued to tell myself not to be negative, to stay positive and think about what could be going on, surely she has a reason for her behavior. If my being fills with negativity I might become an evil spirit and scare my children. I must sustain positivity.

Another season falls behind. Nothing changes except the kids grow quiet and reserved. There is snow outside the window, building up on the frames. Velvet never talks anymore, but I know I remember from my years of being alive that she is a chatter box. Violet, the littlest refuses to leave her elder sisters side and is no longer eating regularly. Watching my children fall into depression is something I never thought I would have to do. 

Questions are swimming to the surface: Why is Scarlet not giving the children proper care? She won't even look at them if she can help it. More often than not she stays out late on the weekends and hires a babysitter named Angel. 

One night after Scarlet leaves somebody knocks on the door. I become concerned because the time is much late for visitors and surely the babysitter didn’t invite anyone over? 

My worry increases, even more, when the door opens to a set of cops. “Is Miss Scarlet here?” they ask a baffled Angel. 

They introduce themselves; the taller and much older seeing one’s name is Jonny and the younger sprout is Samuel. 

“When will she be back?” The taller of the two who isn’t talking keeps glancing around the house scribbling notes. 

The babysitter explains Scarlett has odd hours and her never really knows when the woman will decide to come home.  

I float by watching the surreal scene play out before me. What had Scarlet gotten our family into? I did not want to imagine what the neighbors are pondering. 

The smaller cop pulls a slip of paper from his inner jacket pocket and flashes it to Angel. The young girls face pales as she recognizes what the document means. I stare at the standard warrants that authorize them to search my home. 

“C-come in.” Angel stutters as she steps aside for the two men to pass, “As I mentioned, I-I’m not sure when the mother will return.” 

They don’t reply to her instead they march in my home there faces a hard and unreadable slab of stone. I start to become concerned, I do not want the kids to get involved in any of their Mothers shenanigans. They are much too young to watch their mother go to jail-- if that becomes the case. 

Who would take care of my babies? They could go to their grandparents but I know they won’t be happy there. I start to become frustrated, I hate the fact that all I can do is sit and watch from the sidelines. 

What use am I? 

“We are here in concern of Mr. Radcliff’s death.” Samuel blurts out. 

If I had been alive my heart would have stopped in my chest. Surely this is not what I think it is? They want to speak to my wife about my death, to clear her name surely. Yes, the wife is always suspected and they just want to cross her off the list. 

If my body had any density what so ever I would be biting my nails off my nerves are getting so bad. 

The taller one jots notes on his paper. I float around so I am just over his shoulder reading what he writes. There isn’t much, just about Angel's reaction to the news. “Much to surprised to be of worry.” Is scribbled in chicken scratch. 

They walk to the kitchen and Angel is the perfect hostess as she serves them tea. They begin to ask her questions such as the mother's behavior, schedule, and when Angel was hired. 

I have no idea what I can do, I am only thankful that Angel kept the kids far from the action. They are upstairs playing in their bedrooms with no idea what is unfolding below. 

Of course, I am curious as to what they will ask my wife. More so to hear the answers she gives. After all, it's been almost half a year since I woke up as a ghost, shouldn’t the cops have come before now? 

The cops stop talking after their questions are answered and they begin to search the house. I float my way to the second floor checking on my children. I find them asleep cuddled up in their cozy beds. Their faces lift any of my doubts, my precious children I only ever wish the best for them. 

Our door is a loud one because around the last Christmas I was alive the children wanted to install a bell that would jingle when it opened. They wanted to catch Santa. So, the moment I hear the loud ring caused by metal hitting metal I know it can only be one of two things: the cops are leaving or my wife is home. The latter more likely.

I quickly exit the girl's room and head for the kitchen that leads to our front door and there, standing with an expression of utter shock, is my wife. As beautiful as ever, even with the dark rings that hang under her pale green eyes. Her luscious blonde hair falls around her face in perfect ringlets. Her petite body is slouched against the doorjamb ready to collapse. Ghosts can’t smell but I know if I could I would smell the whiskey that she tried to drown herself in this night. 

Scarlet had a love for whiskey and coke, it’s the only thing she drinks when she goes out to the bars. 

“May I help you, Officers?” She slurs over her words making her drunken stupor even more obvious. 

Jonny and Samuel get up from their seats and head towards my wife. As they introduce themselves they lead her to the kitchen and sit her down at the round mahogany table.   

I sit smack dab in the middle of the table, for humor if nothing else. I have to make light of this heavy situation or it might get to me. The questions begin. 

“You are aware of your husband’s death, correct?” It’s the smaller one, Samuel, asking the questions. His voice is gentle it doesn’t have the edge that Jonny’s does. I bet Jonny is used on the men. 

My wife does her best to keep a neutral expression, but it shouldn’t be hard since she hasn’t batted an eye at my hallway picture for the time that I’ve been dead. 

Apparently I’m wrong because she starts to cry immediately. I think it might be all the whiskey in her system-- then I wonder if her tears are whiskey flavored. 

She’s having really bad hiccups as she tries to answer the first question. “I- I know. I’ve known,” hic-up, “that he’s dead!” 

Sammy reaches through me and rests his hairy-knuckled hand on Scarlett’s. “Why haven’t you contacted us, where is his body?” His voice stays gentle but his eyes don’t match, they scream: “I caught you!” 

I want to tell my wife to just ask for an attorney, that the warrant only allows them to search the house! Scarlet, my dear foolish Scarlet! She knows nothing of the justice system has not bothered to learn. She would always say, “But I have you, Howard!”

The fool. 

Scarlet’s stops even attempting to meet the cop’s eyes; she just stares at her clenched fists that were covered by Samuels' hand as she answers, “I never saw the body.” 

“How did you know he was dead then, Scarlet?” His voice holds a sense of eagerness. I’m getting annoyed. I don’t know if it because of the cop or because my darling Scarlet is looking more and more like my murderer. 

I can see the sweat drip from Scarlet’s brow; her voice is breaking more, “I-it’s the cone- a connection between a husband and wife.” She is crying so hard; her eyes are as red as the cherries outside on the fruit trees. Jonny is taking many notes, so many I think he might need a new pocketbook soon. 

“Tell us what happened Scarlet so we can help you.” I watch as he tightens his grip on her hand�"mock comfort. 

“He won't help you, Scarlet!” I scream silently, “He will condemn you!” It is useless, I know, no one will hear me. Even though I’m sitting right in the middle of the blasted table. 

Scarlet suddenly stands to make all three of us jump, “Nothing happened! Nothing!” Her eyes are wide and there flicking back and forth between the two cops frantically. I see her breath become rapid threatening to make her hyperventilate. 

The cops are up, much faster than me who is still taken aback by my wife’s sudden outburst. 

“Jonny! Detain her, she’s gonna run!” Jonny does just that. He rushes to my wife’s side and grabs her around the waist just before she turns to flee. Scarlet tries to scratch at the arms of her captor, but it is futile. My sweet Scarlet is drunk and weak; She falls in the cop’s arms folding in half to touch her toes. 

My doubts about my wife have doubled. Why would she run if not to hide from her consequences? The hate I so desperately squelched these past months is rising.

“Howard!” My head turns to Scarlet’s call. “It was an accident, Howard! I’m so sorry! Violet sh-she didn’t-“ She cuts off into another wail of agony. Jonny, currently cradling Scarlet’s flailing body, is looking confused but not near as confused as I. 

I ask her to explain, but ghosts cannot talk to the living. It’s becoming cumbersome. 

“Samuel you getting this?” Jonny shouts over the screams. I don’t listen for Samuels reply and I don’t look to see if he nods. My ears are only for Scarlet’s explanation. 

“Violet didn’t mean to! It was an accident!” She is sobbing, this is all I can make out. What does Violet have to do with this? 

Samuel is talking now he is showing a picture of my dead body into Scarlet’s face. My body is covered in filth, bloated and purple-- beyond all recognition. “This is your husband's body that we found in the river just below the mountains months ago. That’s not how he died, is it? He died from an overdose the doctors found traces of medicine that are deadly to mix.” 

I didn’t need to hear any more of the story because it was flashing before my eyes. 

I woke up early in the morning and headed down to the kitchen for my usual toast and medication routine. I hear something crash, so I chase down the stairs. I find my youngest child Violet smiling up at me from behind the counter. She’s holding my pill bottles in her hands. 

“I got them for Daddy!” Her smile brightens my whole day. 

I smile back plucking the bottles from her hands, “What would I do without my sunshine?”  I pat Violet on the head and she beams, blinding me again with her joyful rays. I shoo her off as it is much too early for my cutie-pie to be up. 

She has gotten all my pills from the cabinet: Antidepressant’s, allergy pills and my methadone. Each morning I take the first two and once I come home from a 15-hour shift at work I take the methadone for my bodily pains. 

I don’t bother to check the pills; they all look the same at four in the morning. I eat a piece of toast and leave for the bathroom but I don’t get very far. 

My body’s in pain and I’m puking. It doesn’t take long for me to realize my mistake. I crawl to the counter, open one pill bottle and dump the contents. None are the same size, shape, or color. My sweet Violet made a child’s mistake and I made a foolish one myself. 

I’m dying and I know it. I can’t call for help. My organs are shutting down and my eyes are closing for good. The only thing I can think is that I hope Scarlet won’t let Violet know. I hope she won’t blame the child. I hope they will be okay. 

Ghostly tears are running down my face. My wife is passed out; I can hear the children calling from upstairs. Angel, the doll, must be holding them at bay. Everything has fallen into place, my wife, with no knowledge of the legal system, attempted to hide my body for the sake of Violet. Unbeknownst to her that this would not be a murder charge of any kind. 

So I was thrown into the river with weights from the basement tied to my feet. I know she got the idea from crime shows, but they never work. When my body was found so was much of the evidence. Which took time, months. 

I hope with all my heart that Scarlet obtains a brilliant lawyer, I hope the kids will be happy with their grandparents. I hope for everything I did the moment of my death. 

It seems another rule for the dead is the dead cannot remember their death because I’m fading. My metaphysical body is dissolving. Where will I go? 

“I love you,” I whisper to my beloveds just before the last of me disappears. 

Author's Note

plot holes may exist but I can't really point them out.

Reviews

[Aiden Fox]

Holy, damn. That was a great twist, and I gotta say I really like this style of writing! leaving it open ended like that was a great idea, you should write more mystery type stories!

[Deadaisycat]

Well, That was a plot twist I didn't expect. I thoroughly enjoyed this story. The strong emotions were really powerful with it.

[Chris A Jones]

I love the story! Although, I have to admit now I am curious what happens to Scarlet. Does she get charged with anything?