Ghostly Wisdom
It was quite late when William walked through his door that night. His day had had three more violent crimes added to his list of cases and he was still waiting for another detective to permanently replace Frank. He hung up his bowler and coat and walked straight to the kitchen. His landlady left him a meal he could eat cold but he wasn't feeling that hungry. He reached for his whisky bottle and poured a half glass.
He swallowed a small amount when he heard a voice say, "She has a valid point you know."
William sensed Henry's presence and simply said, "Who does?"
When there was no forthcoming response, William looked toward Henry where he was standing next to the stove. He was giving him a look of "You're going to be cheeky with a ghost right now?" Henry never let him get away with that sort of behaviour when he was alive.
William then begrudgingly asked, "That being?"
"Confiding in her," he said.
"About what?" William asked, trying to deflect the question.
"Come off it, lad, she wanted you to open up this morning. You've had a rough go and this morning wasn't easy," Henry scolded him slightly.
"Frank got what he deserved."
"That's not what I mean. If you talked to her more, you could use this bottle less." Henry pointed at it.
"This bottle is almost used," he joked sardonically.
"Indeed. I used many myself. If I could have shared my feelings with my grown-up daughter, I may have used less over the years. You even figured out that I was missing Lavinia more as I grew older. You told Eliza as much at the funeral."
"Your drinking had increased. You always had a glass half full when I visited your office."
"And now your drinking has increased."
William said nothing.
"You're younger than I am."
William sipped again.
"You have someone you can talk to," Henry insisted.
William scoffed. "You mean a ghost?"
"Not me, daft boy, Eliza."
William just looked at Henry.
"The one thing you both share is your grief for me. Letting her know your sadness exists will endear you more to her."
"You asked me to take care of her," William insisted.
"What makes you think I didn't ask the same of her for you? She at least has Ivy. Who do you have now?"
William had his glass almost to his mouth, but this last sentence stopped him.
Would Henry have asked this of Eliza? He couldn't know that he'd die prematurely, or be murdered, but maybe he had considered there was a risk of leaving her alone.
Henry continued while William remained frozen with this thought. "If you let her know from time to time that she can be helpful as a friend, you may endear yourself to her enough that she may not cause you so much trouble in the future."
William laughed out loud at that thought. "That may be wishful thinking."
"It wouldn't hurt," Henry smiled.
"What more do you have to lose, dear boy?"
What more indeed? William thought. At those words, a deluge of memories flooded his head. His grip tightened on his glass. He suddenly thought of his childhood, his mother, the lack of a father, and how he was forced to take to the streets of London for survival when he lost his mother. He remembered how Henry discovered him and saw potential in this ratty boy from Glasgow. Then he thought of how Henry had been murdered, not killed by lifestyle as they had thought. And Frank had been the one who had done it. Frank. A fellow police officer. He lied, he killed and was prepared to kill him and Eliza….
Lord, what more does he have to lose indeed? Eliza. If she had been killed...oh!
Eliza. She finds herself in such a difficult situation running a business, with no father to provide for her. Her sadness. Her strength. Her bravery.
William looked up to say something to Henry, but his ghostly image was gone. If I lost Eliza, he thought again.
She was right. He'd lost so much. If he lost Eliza. The thought tormented him.
The whiskey was affecting him. He had a momentary vision of Frank pulling the trigger at Eliza.
He looks at his bottle. It's nearly empty.
Henry missed his wife more as he grew older, William thought.
How much would it wrench him if Eliza was gone?
How many bottles would he need to empty to dull that pain? How many tears would fill those bottles? How long would he have to cry to do so?
His eyes began to fill.
It had been years since he'd cried. He tried to fight it by closing his eyes, but it only made the water leak out over his cheeks. He let go of his glass and covered his face. As long as he thought of Eliza being dead he couldn't stop the tears. He decided to let them fall.
After a short while, his thoughts changed to her flirting with him this morning after a bit of whisky. He managed a laugh at the memory. She had been consoling him all morning. And for the first time after all this murder and betrayal that had been consuming him for weeks, he realized there was a ray of light for him and it had been walking into his office annoying him the whole time.
He smiled through his tears.
William poured the rest of his whiskey glass into the sink and walked upstairs to bed.
The catharsis he experienced from tonight's revelations was so great that he slept like a babe for the first time in a very long time.