A Bleached Christmas Carol – Part Four: The Ghost of Christmases Yet To Come

Okay, just one part left after this one! There will be a happy ending! Thankyou for your kind words in the reviews, glad to know you enjoyed the fic!

Grimmjow heard the chiming of the bell on the church clock as it struck three. He looked towards the tower and the white face of the clock. A tap on his shoulder startled him and made him whirl round. As soon as he caught sight of what must be the third spirit of the night he wished he hadn't turned round. The ghost was as white as the snow on the ground, including his hair and lips. The only breaks in the snowy white complexion were the spirit's black nails and his eyes; their sclera were black, with almost iridescent yellow irises which practically glowed in the darkness. Despite his unusual colouring, the silent spirit was oddly familiar, something in the set of his jaw and the unruly spikes of his hair.

"You're a handsome one aren't ya?" Grimmjow's voice cracked as he spoke. The spirit said nothing, instead grabbing his wrist and leading him through a warped and shimmering patch of air. They emerged onto a buzzing street, full of bustling people each heading in different directions. Eventually they came into earshot of a group of well dressed men, Grimmjow even recognised some of them as fellow businessmen. They were talking excitedly amongst themselves.

"He's finally gone! Thought he would never leave! The miserable man!" a tall, heavy set man roused a laugh from the others with his words.

"I hear no one is going to his funeral" another man chimed in.

"It's how he would have liked it!" the first man spoke again; another round of laughter went through the group.

"Who's death has brought these men such joy spirit?" Grimmjow asked, searching dark eyes. The white figure merely pointed at a small building on the other side of the street, prompting Grimmjow to go inside.

"My my, they're still warm! I don't give you extra for that you know!" an old man sat with a large sheet draped in his hands.

"Warm? Surely the git had no warmth to give even to his sheets?" an elderly woman laughed at her own joke while the man surveyed the sheets.

"I'm sure his bed curtains will be of value too!" another woman approached the man, handing him richly dyed dark cloth "The miserable man barely had anything in those rooms! It's a wonder what he did with his life really! Apart from work all day and be sour about it" she laughed dryly.

"Spirit, what does this man's death have to do with me?" he turned to the spirit who was regarding him with those strange, black and yellow eyes. Offering no reply, the spirit merely waved a pale hand.

When Grimmjow turned back around he was once again in Ishida's house. The family were sat in front of their roast goose, but the little boy who had spoken so excitedly of the dinner the time before was noticeably absent, his chair sitting empty by the table, an abandoned crutch rested upon it. Grimmjow glanced at Uryuu's glum expression as he pushed his food around the plate, tears misting the corners of his eyes.

"Please spirit, no more" he looked into vivid yellow irises before turning back to face a graveyard. A long, bony, white finger indicated a nearby gravestone. The small, cheap stone, unblemished by lichens, was covered in the thin layer of snow. Curious, Grimmjow wiped the snow off the stone with numb fingers, finally he was able to read the inscription carved into it.

'Here lies Grimmjow Jeagerjaques'

"Is it me they were talking about then? Did my death cause so much joy?" Grimmjow clung to the white robe of the spirit frantically, receiving only a curt nod in reply to his questions. "I can change! I can! Just give me another chance spirit!" he leaned further into the figure before him, only to find himself falling forwards.

He landed on a cold wooden floor, stunned and shaking. After a long moment he realised that is was his cold wooden floor. He stood up quickly, pinching his arm to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He spun around, looking in all directions. He was back home, in his bedchamber and nothing was out of place, his sheets and curtains were still there in one piece, and the ashes from the fire the night before were still in the grate.

"Thank God!" Grimmjow ran a hand through his sky blue hair.