It Begins...

The Lost Ghost finds himself in a bad spot.

THE LOST GHOST
Book 1 Chapter 1

"Must not sleep...," I tell myself as I struggle to stay conscious. I've lost a lot of blood from the open wound in my arm. The security guard at the front desk got a lucky shot off as I ran for the emergency exit. I barely escaped by ducking into the air vent. He probably couldn't hit a urinal cake in the men's bathroom to save his life, but manages to hit a bulls-eye when aiming at me. I memorized his face and will be paying him a visit later. But first I need to attend to my injury. I didn't feel it at first, but now searing pain radiates down my arm. I crawl to a safe spot in the narrow cave-like vent, leaving a wet, red trail behind in the dust. Spots appear before my eyes and my surroundings are growing dim, even with my night vision goggles illuminating the darkness. I have to do something to stop this bleeding and I have to do it fast.

I take out my multi-tool, and despite the plethora of functions it serves, I need only the knife. I wave my lighter over the extended blade to sterilize it. As much as this is going to hurt, I have to take out the bullet. I remove my mask, bite down on a bundle of paracord I pull from my back pocket, and proceed to use the knife to dig out the bullet. The excruciating pain causes my eyes to water. I focus on the taste of the coarse nylon rope between my teeth, the saltiness of sweat and the grittiness of dirt on it distracting me from the task at hand. After what seems like an eternity of hell, I hit metal. I pry the bullet out of my flesh, blood coating the make-shift operating utensil. Hearing the squawking radios beneath me, I bite back a cry of pain, so not to give up my position. The air vent isn't that thick, and a hail of bullets would make this makeshift surgical procedure moot. I fumble the needle and surgical thread out of my pack and stitch up the gaping hole in my arm. I'm left handed so having to use my untrained right hand to sew it up will leave an ugly scar. It doesn't matter. I can add it to the ever growing list of scars, the physical kind, as well as the psychological variety. Afterwards, I bandage it up by ripping off a strip off the sleeve of my hoodie. It's already shredded from the earlier jump through a glass door. Might as well put it to use. Okay. Bullet is removed. Wound is stitched up. I finally have a moment to use the biofeedback techniques I learned to jump start the healing process. With biofeedback, I can accelerate the natural recuperative mechanisms of my body through meditation and concentration. I close my eyes and tune out the noise of guards looking for me, barking orders to check here, look there. Eventually they'll find me up here, so I have to get this done quickly. My breathing slows and my heart beat echoes in my ears.

As I zone out, I begin to see flashes of my life. They start off in black and white"quick flashes of happier times as well as sad times. I see family and friends, long gone and almost forgotten. I witness mistakes and regrets. I see Michelle Banderas, the woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. Then I see Tim Gelsomino. Before him, I was normal and I had a simple life. Now, because of him, I am a shadow of the man I used to be. I am a restless spirit, needing vengeance, haunting this plane of existence before I can move on. The events leading up to this moment are playing in my head, full color now. I can see what has made me what I am now, Calvin Jefferson, the dead man walking, a whisper in the dark, the lost ghost.

Author's Note

Art by Royce Southerland
www.fooray.deviantart.com