It was raining again, hard to remember a day that it hasn't rained this week. That night the rain felt different, heavier somehow, like a school backpack full of bricks. It was the kind of rain that brought all the strays into my office rather than my regulars.
See, normally I get the same thirty or so people a week wanting me for this-and-that, odd jobs and missing husbands etcetera, but the rain brings me a whole 'nother type. The desperate for some kind of help, he'll kill me if I stay help, or (in the case of last night), I think I'm being hunted and everyone I know is already dead help.
She must have been about seven feet tall,striding into my office like the hounds of hell were at her heels and eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"You've got to help me."
A statement, not a plea.
I didn't even get the chance to ask for her name before she started begging, taking my lack of speech to be refusal rather than allowing me the time to say as much. I don't remember too much of what she said, too mesmerised by the way her eyes darted about the room like emerald dragonflies.
By the time she'd grown tired of begging, I'd grown tired of her eyes and she fled as quickly as she'd come in, promising me that if she died I would be the one to blame.
I've looked back over that night countless times and I still can't figure out what killed her, only that her bloodied remains were strewn round the alley outside my office, still steaming fresh. I only recognised her by her eyes. She hadn't made a sound.
I still don't know what killed her, she won't tell me. All she does is glare at me from whatever corner she's managed to prop her shredded ghostly form against and all I can do is say I'm sorry for something I could never have prevented.
See, normally I get the same thirty or so people a week wanting me for this-and-that, odd jobs and missing husbands etcetera, but the rain brings me a whole 'nother type. The desperate for some kind of help, he'll kill me if I stay help, or (in the case of last night), I think I'm being hunted and everyone I know is already dead help.
She must have been about seven feet tall,striding into my office like the hounds of hell were at her heels and eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"You've got to help me."
A statement, not a plea.
I didn't even get the chance to ask for her name before she started begging, taking my lack of speech to be refusal rather than allowing me the time to say as much. I don't remember too much of what she said, too mesmerised by the way her eyes darted about the room like emerald dragonflies.
By the time she'd grown tired of begging, I'd grown tired of her eyes and she fled as quickly as she'd come in, promising me that if she died I would be the one to blame.
I've looked back over that night countless times and I still can't figure out what killed her, only that her bloodied remains were strewn round the alley outside my office, still steaming fresh. I only recognised her by her eyes. She hadn't made a sound.
I still don't know what killed her, she won't tell me. All she does is glare at me from whatever corner she's managed to prop her shredded ghostly form against and all I can do is say I'm sorry for something I could never have prevented.
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