Late at night, Patricia received an unexpected knock from a visitor. On the other side of the door, Matthew stood with a plastic bag containing a lone glass shard.
"Hey, Pat."
"Hey, what are you doing this late at night?" Patricia looked down at her watch; it was already nine.
"Yeah, well, I uh... I'm just curious about the forensics report of the crime scene."
"That'd come out soonest tomorrow night."
"If there's any rogue blood, test it against this." Matthew shook the bag.
"Glass?"
"O'Neil. We might have shit that could bring him in for questioning." Matthew was excited.
Patricia, on the other hand, was skeptical. Matthew noticed it by her pressed lips and wandering eyes. "Please, Pat. Just this one favour."
"No, you've asked for plenty before."
"Add this one on top, please."
Patricia was still hesitant but eventually did receive the bag. "You owe me a really, really, really good cup of coffee."
"Really good." Matthew smiled ear to ear, with two big thumbs up. "Thanks, Pat."
"Go back to your wife before an argument starts."
"That'd never happen. She loves me too much for it."
———
Elsewhere, in a dark parking lot with bad lighting, a man climbed into his car after his night shift, only to hear a gun click behind him.
"What do you want?" the man asked, his entire body frozen, his jaw trembling.
The Janitor was behind him, holding a rifle against his headrest. The Janitor crossed his legs lazily, head and back completely relaxed as he spoke, "Where's Rick?"
"I don't know where he is. You can beat the shit out of me and I still wouldn't know."
"Where's Rick?"
The man was baffled; he panted hard as he turned around. "Are you deaf or something? I don't know—"
BANG!
The windshield was covered red in a split second.
———
The clock is ticking. It's 11:59, with forty more seconds to go.
I'm already in position, hiding behind the bedroom door in the suburban house of my target's target.
The three talisman papers are in place, ready to ignite and trap. My dagger in hand, ready to be swung.
Thirty seconds.
Lila was also hiding inside her closet while dumping pills down her system. She watched her living room through a slim opening, trembling.
Twenty seconds.
I'm counting every tick on my watch. The curtains wavered strong as the wind blew.
My leg shook by itself from impatience.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
I can feel him, floating past me to get to the bed. The floor is carpeted; his footsteps will appear any time now.
The slightest dent on the carpet prompted me to flick open my macabrely exquisite lighter, revealing the translucent male hiding in another dimension that wasn't the living.
He didn't seem afraid of me, just shocked.
My three talisman papers ignited in flames, forming the triangular barrier.
———
Meanwhile, at Lila's house, Sophie also returned. She spotted pictures on the shelves and went to inspect them.
She lifted one: a framed picture of Lila and her boyfriend, still with his skin.
Tsk...
"Argh..." Lila flicked open a lighter, finding Sophie. She tumbled to the ground in shock and fear, jaw wide. "Argh... ARGH!"
Lila bolted away immediately, while Sophie stayed, casually continuing to check the shelves. The lighter dropped on the ground and flicked closed by itself.
———
The ghost levitated in front of me, trying to gain height for intimidation. His distorted face and gloomy presence would make anyone's skin crawl. Anyone that's not an exorcist.
"Sit down," I said simply, dragging two wooden chairs over.
He didn't say a word, only stared holes into me. "You've watched too many horror films," I commented. "Silence isn't that scary. It's the sound effects that make it. And well, there are no sound effects here."
He was still stubborn, floating higher and higher until his head bumped into my barrier. "Don't embarrass yourself." I gave him a chair. "Sit down. Seriously."
He finally gave in and accepted my offer. We sat across from each other in the cramped triangular space, the three burning talisman papers providing sight.
"You're gonna kill me?" he finally spoke.
"Exorcise. It's exorcise. Gets confused often, but what's dead can never be killed."
"Then do it. What is this?" He gestured around. "Some sick ritual?"
"No, a therapy session."
"Yeah, it is a ritual." He nodded to himself. "You exorcists are no different from serial killers, and this proves it. You sick men with your sick rituals."
"Who were you in the living?" I asked, changing the topic.
"And if I don't answer?"
"I'll exorcise you without your mind at peace. I'm doing this because I feel sympathy."
"Sympathy, my ass," he spat.
"Okay, maybe that's the wrong word. I'm probably just finding closure for myself," I explained. "I don't wish to send you to death's hand without you accepting it. I find that cruel."
"So you sit me down for a little tea ceremony, and that's supposed to make me accept my death?"
"Something like that." I shrugged. "So, wanna tell me what's up?"
He finally made himself comfortable, laying his back against the backrest carefreely. "If I kill someone, I live again."
"Yes, you do. But you're not doing that." I shook my head. "Tell me, why do you want to live?"
"Because there are worse people out there who deserve to die. You've heard the news—the Janitor."
"That would be your murderer?"
"That would be him." He nodded, his face growing ever more furious. "If I haunt that guy, kill him, and live again, that's better for everyone."
"Hm." That sounds very familiar. "Logical."
"Yeah, logical." He nodded quickly. "Now let me out of here."
"The Janitor is meticulous in his work. He wouldn't target the innocent."
"I work for O'Neil. If you don't know who that is—"
"I know who that is."
"Good. Bastard deemed me a monster deserving of death just for that."
"What made you think you're not?"
His expression remained stoic and stern, albeit faltered just a tiny bit. "I don't get into dirty work because I want to."
"But because you have to." I nodded. Many of my clients had experienced the same thing.
"I've got a baby girl to feed. If I don't put food on the table, who will? She has no one left."
"No one at all?"
"No one at all. They all passed. And now me..." He covered his mouth and chin as his eyes began to shake.
"I'm sorry."
"If you're sorry, let me out of here."
"I can't do that." I shook my head lightly.
He scoffed bitterly. "Yeah, of course you can't."
"How old is she?"
"Eleven. Now living in an orphanage. After you exorcise me, please, empty my savings account to her. It's not much but..."
"I will." I nodded. "Of course I will. Just give me your account."
"If you steal that money for yourself—"
"I wouldn't. Every last penny will go to your daughter. I'll also make the world know about her so that everyone around the globe can help her."
"Sweet words. How can I trust that you'll actually do any of that? Until I see all of that realized with my own eyes, I'm not dying in peace." He slapped his thigh, his face tight with a frown.
"I can't give you anything more than a promise. So you'll have to just... trust my words here..." I swallowed a mouthful before a thought crossed my mind that curved the edges of my lips. "You know, I actually know a couple who've been trying for a kid for years, only to fail. The man's a cop too."
"That's a good father."
"Either that or the worst. But I can assure you it's the former. He's a dear friend of mine." My lips smiled on their own, proud of my idea of involving Matthew and Tracy.
"So, my daughter will get proper care. But I can't witness it myself because..." He whipped his palm around the invisible triangular barrier.
"Yes, I'm sorry. I must exorcise you."
He nodded solemnly, his expression weakened. "Hey, do me a favour."
"Yeah?"
"If a ghost is haunting Janitor or O'Neil, don't fuckin' exorcise it."
I wanted to say, "That's not possible," but the words didn't come out.
"Give me a pen and paper," he continued, seeing as my opened jaw amounted to no speech. "I'll write down what you need. My bank and my daughter."
"Alright." I borrowed the inhabitant's pen and paper without permission and lent them to him. "What's your name?"
"Paul Smith. Doesn't get more pawn-y than that, does it?" He smirked, but it faded quickly. "My daughter's Sasha Smith... Well, won't be Smith soon. Please, take care of her."
I received the notes with both hands. "You have my word," I said with the sternest face and voice I could muster.
"Alright. Just exorcise me now. I understand your lack of choice." He held his arms out in a vulnerable position. "We're both pawns in a larger game."
I didn't let those words sink in. "Rest in peace, Paul Smith."
My dagger pierced him into spiraling ashes.
———
Lila was already a great distance from her house, but she never ceased sprinting on the asphalt under the streetlights of the suburban area.
She couldn't take it now. She was running out of breath and eventually came to a stop.
She panickingly glanced back. Nothing followed her, but she still couldn't shake that eerie feeling that polluted the air.
Then, she remembered. She pulled out Jonathan's card from earlier and called.
She paced around the empty road while the phone rang. "Pick up... Pick up... You stupid bastards..."
"House." The phone sounded.
"IT WAS A GHOST! I SAW A FUCKIN' GHOST!" Lila roared into the phone, and she never stopped. "I AM BEING HAUNTED! MY LIFE IS IN..."
Jonathan, on the other side of the call, had stopped listening after the word ghost.
"Calm down."
"I'M..." Lila held her reddened nose with tears streaking down her face. "I'm... I don't..."
"Tell me, what did she look like?" Jonathan asked calmly, almost coldly.
"She uh... long hair."
"Colour."
"Black... The whole bitch was black and white... I couldn't see her face and shit."
"White dress?"
"Mmhmm..."
Jonathan hung up. "Jumping Ghost," he muttered to himself.