Christopher woke at the sound of the door opening. He glanced beside him, and smiled at the sleeping Julianne. Pulling the sheets up to her chin, he stood and pulled on a bathrobe. Charles was seated at the kitchen counter, drinking milk.
"Good morning, son," said Christopher, and Charles turned around.
"Good morning."
Christopher sat in front of the boy, and tried to catch his gaze.
"Where were you tonight?"
"At Clara's."
"Sleep well?" Christopher asked, and Charles looked up. The look he gave his uncle was more than enough to let him know that he'd passed the limits of polite conversation.
"No," he said, and left the kitchen.
Christopher sat there awhile, contemplating his nephew's behaviour. It was obvious the boy had loved his father dearly, and that an uncle would never replace that love, but why would Charles act this way? The boy hadn't ever liked Christopher, but now that dislike was turned into such hate! What had he done to deserve dear Charlie's malice?
"Hello, sweetie," said Julianne as she snaked her hands around his neck from behind and gave his cheek a kiss.
"Hello," said Christopher absentmindedly, still shaking the thought of his brother. Julianne yawned, stretched and went to get the milk from the fridge, when she noticed the half-empty glass on the counter.
"Is this yours?" she picked it up.
"No. Charles came in earlier."
"Where was he?"
"Clara's."
Julianne grinned, and settled down to finish the remainder of Charles's milk.
"I'm so happy he's found himself a girl! I mean, all those years of girlfriends, on and off… It's just so good he's finally found someone he could settle down with!"
Christopher looked up.
"Do you really think…"
"Well, as far as I see it, they're in love. And love stops at nothing, does it?"
"…. Yes, I suppose." He replied, the thought of his brother returning again. Would it haunt him forever?
"So, what'll you have for breakfast?"
He shrugged.
"You know me best."
Clara was watching television when the phone rang. She turned down the volume and picked it up.
"Clara?"
"Yes, daddy?"
"Are you alone?"
"Yes, daddy. How else would I be?"
"I'm just checking. Did you have anyone over tonight?"
"No."
"I see."
"No, daddy, I'm serious! I had dinner, and then I came home, watched a movie, and went to sleep. As usual."
"… alright. Well, is everything fine? I didn't see you at dinner last night."
"Oh, I left when they called everyone in. Sorry about that."
"That doesn't seem like you. I didn't see the young Manser at dinner, either. Did you leave alone?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, daddy! Why would I lie to you?"
"Where did you go for dinner?"
"A friend's."
"Alright. I believe you. What are you doing today?"
"I don't know, I haven't decided. Has Kurtis left yet?"
"Not yet. He wanted to say goodbye to you before he did."
"Well, I'll probably be home all morning, so tell him to drop by. Is that all you wanted to say?"
"Yes. Bye, Clara."
"Bye, daddy."
She put down the phone and rolled her eyes. Just as she turned the volume up again, her doorbell rang. She groaned and turned off the TV, and opened the door, and admitted Charlie. It was odd in the first place that he had actually rang the doorbell. Hadn't she given him the keys a year ago? He didn't say anything; just looked at her, taking in every little detail of her eyes, reading her.
"Charlie? Are you ok?"
He didn't answer. She reached out, and he caught her hand.
"Charlie?"
He backed away, letting go of her and not breaking eye contact until he was out of view. Clara slid on her slippers and followed him, but by the time she reached the elevator, he was already gone. She knew it was useless to follow him; he hadn't asked her to. And his gaze was a dying man's last.
He arrived at ten thirty. Frank was on his shift, so Charles spent some time walking about with him, discussing this and that. The man seemed to be deeply superstitious, and believed the ghost was a sign of the apocalypse or something. But he was an interesting guy; kept talking about the importance of family and love. Charles saw him as a bit of a hypocrite, carrying a gun when he spoke of love and eternal peace. But Frank had to get by somehow, and it was a cruel world out there.
The way Frank described his wife, Charles got the impression of a black-haired Spanish beauty, a jewel from some world beyond mortal comprehension. Then again, Frank would laugh, maybe it was just an illusion.
Mark and Carlos arrived some time after twelve. Donnie was there, too, somewhere behind the security guards, always glancing over his shoulder. Charles suppressed the urge to laugh. It seemed Donnie had become suddenly afraid of the night. No doubt he'd slept with the lights on after his ghost encounter.
"Well, goodbye," said Frank and shook hands with Charles. "It was a pleasure meeting you."
"Bye," said Charles, "Sleep well."
They didn't speak much for the next three or four hours. Donnie kept Charles company by the building, until he slumbered off. Charles couldn't sleep. He stood and paced awhile, checked the time, sat down again, and repeated the procedure almost a million times until at last, around seven a.m., it appeared. The men gathered to watch it. Donnie, having woken to the silver light, stood and joined them. Charles stepped forward.
"…dad?"
The ghost turned its head towards him, his gaze softening for a moment. It wet its lips and spoke.
"Son." Its voice was barely a whisper, a hiss that carried itself to the men. Maybe it was just the wind.
"Dad. Please, there's not much time." Charles stepped forward and the ghost stepped back.
"Follow me," the ghost hissed, his words rough and forced. Charles nodded, and followed without a word to the forgotten men that stayed behind. When the two were well out of the sights and sounds of the others, the ghost began.
"I don't have much time before the sun comes up, but I'll try to explain. I did not kill myself."
"I know, father. You never seemed to be suicidal."
"It was a murder. My brother slipped extra tablets into my glass."
"Your brother…"
"Yes, Charlie, my brother, your uncle."
"I… what… what will I do?"
"Take revenge, Charlie. For my sake."
"But, father, I can't… they'll… I can't kill."
"You don't need to kill. Take revenge."
"Father?"
The ghost turned around at the rays threatening to spill from the horizon.
"Goodbye, Charlie."
And he turned to walk away, before fading into golden light. Charles just sat there until Donnie found him and cheered him enough for Charles to go home. No one questioned the brief conversation between father and son.
Charles stayed in his room for the remainder of the day, sometimes sitting by the window, sometimes reading in his bed, sometimes meditating in the soft armchair his mother had bought him.
There weren't many new thoughts in his head. He listened to his father's words over and over in his mind, until the lust for revenge had settled upon him and moulded a new desire. Revenge? He despised his uncle all the more, but he could not kill him. He wasn't capable of killing. He didn't even have a gun.