The boy with ginger hair

Just like every other evening, I drove back home, tired from the long sessions at court. After changing into my white satin nightgown. I prepped the oven and the meat that was to go inside it. I opened an already opened bottle of wine. And after gulping my first glass in one-go, the bittersweet taste of wine hit my tastebuds and my thoughts drifted to work again. Today's session to be more particular. It was one hell of paparazzi outside the court today. The media is having fun with the amount of the news they got with the latest scandal about the CEO of ERC Industries.  "I could bet that the next few months would be no different, as ERC Industries is breaking down. Well, he paid for his sins. I still wonder how he could do that to his own sister?" whispered to myself. The crimson colour of the wine gave me blow in my heart which reminded me of the unbearable pain and loss. I sighed! I was going to reach for the bottle, to pour some more wine to forget everything, when the bell rang. I opened the door. In the next moment, my neighbour heard a gunshot and dialled 911.

I am a soul mediators. I can see, talk to the dead people or be more technical, their souls. As far as it could make you uncomfortable with the knowledge that I am someone with such capabilities with talking to the deads. I won’t lie, It is true. I am a paranormal activity expert, a person who can help the dead souls with their unsatisfied desires. And I'm also a public prosecutor. But that day I was neither the soul communicator nor the famous sword of the law. That day, I was just my best friend’s bridesmaid. Emma Marian Cabral. My soul sister.

Emma and I went to the same law school. We were seatmates, roommates and the famous inseparable. If it wasn't for Emma and her company in law school, with my not so normal identity, I would have been the weird girl nobody wanted to deal with. Post law school, when I decided to be the public prosecutor. She wanted to work for her brother's company as his legal counsel. Therefore, we went our separate ways, and with our busy lives, we lost touch. I was taken by surprise when while tending my fresh babies’ breath in my small garden, my mother gave me the invitation card of her wedding. I was so happy and thought I wouldn't miss it for my life.

I was there standing at the venue of Emma's wedding but why doesn't it feel like her wedding anymore? Everything has been said and done as for the plan. Yet, the decoration doesn’t offer a sense of holy matrimony. Walking around all the places, she planned so well with her brother. From the white carnations which her brother specially asked the planner to dress the entrance, I remember she mentioned over the phone. The wedding room where she and her groom were supposed to take their vows at the end of the aisle, and the sitting area, where her family and friends were supposed to witness the holy act of togetherness, all draped in silvery satin fabric and ribbons. And the aisle where the babies’ breath and the lush Tully heightening the wedding essence. The dining area, where after the ceremony her guests and her family where to join and celebrate the day, decorated with vanilla scented candles and white roses on each table. At a distance, the illuminated garden and the entrance of her house held a celestial vibe with the fairy lights. I found her there, she was walking towards her house. Or was she guiding me somewhere?  

Everything was as it was supposed to be. Without an error. Her angelic wedding gown, the heavenly arrival of the guests and her groom, who was so excited last night like it was all a dream. Yet, why the impulsive hurry of marrying my best friend has replaced with dorn devastation? Why, is nobody happy and celebrating anymore? All these decorations, why do they not make any sense anymore? Why is it no longer a wedding anymore? With all my Whys I looked at Emma. She faintly smiled at my confusion and dragged me to the crowd at her doorstep. Everyone was standing, some shell-shocked. Some, whispering. Then there were people clicking pictures for paparazzi. Everyone was there, her brother, her groom, his family, other friends and herself. She was there lying still and cold. Her body laid on the concrete pavement of her doorsteps with a scarlet pool around her.  

I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. Emma, standing-no, hovering over her lifeless, limp body. Where her extremely pale bridal gown united with her crimson pool. Living unified with the non-living. Standing there I saw, Emma, no! her soul, trying to touch her face with pale white lifeless hands. Her insipid face, now moist, looked like a part of nature, serene. Like she has received the feminine passivity, my Lady of Shalott. I couldn’t find my normal voice and finally whimpered.  

“How?”

“Correction - “who?” her soul said.

“This can’t be a murder?” Maybe I asked this question more to myself than her. I mean, who could murder the most powerful businessman’s only sister, that too on her wedding. I remember in our law school whenever we were to go outside the campus, Roland’s watchdogs were always around us. Even in the most crowded places. And this is her home. Who could dare to do such a foul thing to a bride, to my Emma?

“Murder? Oh! It’s an accident he would say. Or might just kill one of his goons on false charges.” She answered the question I never asked. But these words made me wonder.

 “Who?” I asked her again.

“The only man in a blue tux and ginger head, my brother, Roland! The company is under my name. Our father made sure of it and my brother loved money more than his family.” Her pain-stricken smiling face replied. Her face and her brother’s horrific deed made me go against ERC Industries. I swore to ruin him and his precious ERC Industries. EMMA ROLAND CABRAL Industries.

......

I was about to reach for the bottle when the doorbell rang. I opened the door. Before I could ask him, what he is doing here. He said, "Hi, I don't know if Emma ever mentioned about me, I am Peter." in a hopeful expression in his voice. 

Which forced me to welcome him inside saying, "Of course, You were the groom, Peter, I saw you at the wedding." 
The mentioned of the wedding must have broken him from inside, as he whispered more to himself, "Yes, the wedding which became her funeral."
This statement made both of us silent for a moment. To overcome this situation, I said, "I am really sorry, for what happened. Would you like to drink something?"
He chuckled, " I would love to have a glass of that." Pointing the bottle of wine.
"Sure. Please, make yourself comfortable." I smiled. "So, what made you come here, today." Handing him his glass and pouring another one for me.  










 He pulled the trigger. I saw the bullet pierced through my clothes, my skin, my muscles and then reached the organ which made the body system stop working. A ricochet occurred when the bullet hit me and it threw me towards the coat closet. I could feel myself falling towards the ground. Like my body doesn't have the power to reach act against gravity. With my last breath and soon to me lifeless eyes I captured my killers pale white face and ginger head.

…

         I woke up, I should be feeling tired or in pain. I was shot for god sake. However, I was feeling rather light and weightless. Like all the stress, pain, frustration is gone. Life is beautiful again, carefree. Nothing else matters. I looked around me, the place gave a sense of morbidity, like life as no hope at all. A question bothered me, where am I not in the hospital. This place looks like a lab. That’s when I heard someone said, “Time of death, 1938.” And I saw my body on the table. 

Quill~