Ghost Story 4.

The child's reaction to him had taken him by surprise. But the frisson he felt as the mother looked his way, shocked him. She had not actually seen him, of that he was sure, but she had sensed something, become aware of something.
Of course he had been seen before, there were adults who saw plain all that was about them, but it was rare and usually they hid that awareness.
Those who paraded a greater knowledge of such things were usually deluded or frauds. Once he had attended a performance of such an individual, a woman who claimed contact with the dead.

Such foolishness.

He had watched her with care, she was good at what she did, gleaning snippets of information from the crowd, telling them what they wanted to hear. He had spoken to her, asking why she traded on sadness, teased the grieving with nonsense. But she had not heard him.

There had been a priest once that saw and heard. It had been long since. The watcher had sat in the confessional, asked for forgiveness for his crimes, but the priest was horrified and had denied him grace.
Later that same priest became a chaplain and went to join the 'war to end all wars'. He returned a broken man. The watcher resisted the temptation to gloat at the others man's expense.
Some men's spirits are coarsened by war, some refined, others destroyed by it, but he never knew a man it healed.

"Letty, your mother and I have been talking..."
She closed her eyes, her heart sank. This was not going to be good.
"Don't you think it would be better if you moved back home with us?" Her father paused, not for an answer, but to gather breath for the 'your place is here with your family' speech.
But she wouldn't let him. "Dad, you know what will happen; it'll be exactly the same. Sofia and I have a home. OK, the arrangements aren't perfect, but only one more year, I qualify, find a nice quiet practice and it will all be fine." She had no intention of telling him the practice she had in mind was in the Outer Hebrides.
"Robert is anxious to help you know, he said only the other day..."
"You've been talking to him about us! Dad, there's a restraining order; the man took out a restraining order against me when I told him I was pregnant. What sort of help do you think I want from him?" She began snatching up her things. "How could you Dad? The man's a worse control freak than mum."
"Well he is Sofia's father; if he wanted to he could..."
"Nothing, he could do nothing. No court in the country would grant him anything; he denied any relationship for God's sake." Shoving the last of her possessions into her bag, she left her parental home, glad that Soso was already at nursery and didn't have to witness any of the scene.

Hospitals were not among his usual places, being too full of wearisome shadows, but he had been drawn there by an old woman. She had passed him in the street, turned, reached out and called to him, then her frail body crumpled to the ground. He stayed while others sought to help her. For reasons not fully understood he felt responsible for her state. He continued at her side in the large, bright, overheated room as she was lifted into bed in a small curtained off area.

To be acknowledged again so quickly perplexed him, years could go by without such connections.

Staff came and went, asked questions that the old woman answered weakly. A device was attached to her thin and thickly-veined hand.
She lay quiet, apparently sleeping; a nurse came with another list to be ticked. These peoples' partiality for lists amazed him. Oh, he saw the sense in recording what you possessed to husband recourses, but the list is not the deed, not the fact, it is merely... a list.
But for those of this age the list was paramount.
This particular inventory was of the physicians prescribed medicines that the old woman took for the relief of her ailments.
It was a long list.
"OK, Alice how long have you been taking Warfrin?"
Her answer was indistinct.
"Alice darlin'," the woman's voice took on what was obviously meant to be a coaxing kindly tone, but only succeeded in sounding patronizing. "How-long-have-you-been..."
"I'm old, not a fool!" She bit out hoarsely. "About two years..."
The watcher smiled, he liked Alice.
The inquisition went on, Alice's answers grew fainter. The nurse left, promising a cup of tea, as if it's very elements would cure Alice's ills.
"Why am I not allowed to finish with this life?"
He turned, Alice had spoken to him. "I do not know...do you wish its end?" It was so long since he had used his voice...it sounded strange to him.
"Oh...yes." The sigh was heartfelt. "Everyone is gone now, and there is so much pain." She did not cry, and he was glad of it, tears were ever his undoing.
He wondered why she was made to stay. Misguided convictions that life was all, fed the belief that if her fading organs could continue to function, all would be well. But her spirit wished for rest, for the succour of the light...as did his.
The pale eyes opened again and fixed his. "'Tis nearly at an end now." She lifted her head and spoke sternly. "For good or ill, 'tis nearly over." She fell back, the effort had drained her. Breathing came in short pain-filled gasps, then a hollow rasping sound.
He watched the light blaze in her, then fade.
She was gone.
"OK, death pronounced at...11.12...Bugger...anyone got a pen that actually works?"