Tragedy of the Killer

by Geekies

Francis is a regular man who finds himself hitchhiking on the side of the road. The man who picks him up changes his life forever. Or is it really his LIFE that he changes? First Person Point of View.

2. Living Death

To my surprise, I woke up standing in Arthur's living room. I rushed to the clock and read "1:30PM". It was noon apparently, and I was wondering why the heck I in the creep's house? Was it all a dream? Was it a warning? Was I starting over? I didn't want to think about it, so I reached for the door handle so I could run away as fast as I could. Hey, when you're given a second chance you need to do what's right for you and forget the creepy loner and his weirdness!

My hope died when my hand passed through the door. I was about to scream, until it hit me; I was still dead, and I was a ghost possibly. I pulled my hand back to see that it was no longer there. C'est bon, I was dead, a ghost, and handless. I hated my life. No, I hated my death. Why was I still there? Was I being punished? Those thoughts crossed my mind frequently. I figured that if I went outside then I'd disappear completely since my hand did. I wanted so badly to leave Arthur's house though, so I couldn't help but want to disappear. Would it be forever? I didn't care! I was dead, and stuck in the house of my murderer! So I walked through the door and stepped into the sunlight.

To my dismay, I woke up standing in Arthur's living room. My hand was back, so that was exciting. I slowly made my way to the clock and read "1:30PM". It was the next day, same time. I guessed that this was limbo...but I heard that ghosts in limbo did the same shit over and over again without knowing it. The thought sent a shiver up my spine. I figured that this would be how I lived the rest of my...death. So I walked out into the sunlight again, and again, and again. It was my idea of suicide, I really didn't want to be near Arthur. The next day, before I walked out of the house, I had this sudden message in my head. "Be Arthur's guilty conscience." I pondered this, and then I walked out into the sunlight. Guilty conscience? "Je m'en fous", I didn't want to see him ever again.

The next 1:30PM was the same, and the next as well. The next was eventful. Before I walked out into the sunlight again, I was stopped by a quiet voice, "F-Francis?" I turned around to see Arthur standing in the doorway of his hall. He beamed and began racing towards me until I screamed at him. He stopped and frowned, "Francis?"

I sent my arm through the door and glared at the bastard. "I don't think you'll understand this because you're not the one that has to walk through this door every day to die over and over, but let me make this very clear; I don't want to see you ever again because I fucking hate you. Now have a nice day." So there went another day through the door. I was certainly using my afterlife nicely.

Sadly, Arthur was waiting for me by the door the next day. He was curled up, probably thinking of some apology. Again, the message popped up, "Be Arthur's guilty conscience." I tried to ignore it as I began to walk towards the door. Sadly, Arthur noticed and stood in my way. I wasn't exactly sure if I would be able to pass through him so I hesitated. "Francis! You're back!"

Without thinking, my fist went flying towards his face, but passed right through him, sending me stumbling through the door and into the sunlight. Or...okay there wasn't any sunlight. It was raining, and I wasn't disappearing. I guess someone up there was mad at me for constantly killing myself. I sat on the steps for a second, taking in the scenery of the world that I couldn't quite enjoy anymore. Then I decided that I'd take a walk and see if I could make it to Veronique's house to say sorry or something. I tested if I could teleport or something, but it was no use, I could only pass through things and not punch the life out of my killer. Speaking of my killer, he came rushing out with an umbrella right after I stood up to leave. "Francis!"

"Fous le camp!" I yelled, rushing away from him. He continued to follow, his umbrella sheltering him from the rain. He remained silent until he caught up with me, which I thought he was going to be silent for the whole day, but no.

He held his umbrella over me as well and asked, "Francis, where are you going?" I told him that I was going some place far from him. "No really, I'll drive you there. Where to?"

When I stopped to stare at him and his foolish umbrella that I didn't need because I was already dead, I realized that he had asked that before, but for some reason, I couldn't remember when. Hitchhiking. That was it. He asked me when he picked me up the other day. "I'm going to Veronique's house, and I'm walking."

"Est ce que je peux venir avec vous?" When Arthur said this, I think I must have looked scared, because he smirked and turned back to the direction of his house. "I didn't teach you that much French," I scoffed, "I'm guessing you weren't so bad at French the whole time."

He led me back to his home so he could get his keys, "So I'm guessing that's a yes, I can come with you." He rushed into his room and came back with his keys and two coats. I shook my head at the coat he was about to hand to me, "I'm only saying yes because I don't want to walk." He wore this devilish smile on his face, pretty much saying, 'I caught you again,' but really, there wasn't much to having a ghost bend to your will.

Passing through the car to sit in the seat, I waited on Arthur to unlock the door and get in. As he did so, he kept his gaze on me, closing the car door. For a long while, he sat there looking me over. "What? Are you driving me there or not."

He shuffled in his seat and buckled himself in, adjusting his throat, "I just find it interesting that I get to see you walking and talking still. I was um..." I asked him to continue as he started up his car and backed out if the driveway carefully. "I really like you, is what I meant to say, so it's good to see you again."

I buried my face into my palm, looking out at the rain, rolling down the windows. "Then why did you just let me die? That's still murder don't you think?" I asked, wanting so badly for him to stop talking nonsense. If he really liked me then I was wondering why the hell would he stash me under his house after my head suddenly started to bleed? Or...had it really just started to bleed? "In fact, what the hell happened?"

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and kept his gaze away from mine. "I wanted you to stay with me," he began, "I-I didn't want you to leave, so I um..." I urged him to continue but he wouldn't. He only whimpered at everything I said.

"Well fine, I guess I'll never know what happened to me." I folded my arms and leaned back in the seat, watching Arthur as he drove. He felt my eyes on him and shrunk his shoulders a bit. After a bit, he finally mumbled that he had hit me in the head with a dumbbell. I nodded and began to watch as the road's side scenery passed by. I imagined myself out there, hitching for a ride. Okay, maybe I would have looked drop dead gorgeous to men too, to the point where they'd take me to their home, and want to keep me there forever. Very understandable since I expected girls to do the same. I had been hitchhiking, expecting someone to ogle me, I had expected someone to ask for a sexual favor, but I just hadn't thought that anyone would want to keep me the way Arthur did. It didn't make me feel loved, it made me feel captured. "It's off of Indian and Bijoutier."

Arthur nodded, "I remembered. Are you cold? I'm cold." He turned on his car's heater then exited the freeway, passing by the apartments I had been planning to walk through.

"I can't feel hot and cold anymore. I can't feel things now." My voice must have sounded despondent to him, because he began to apologize, but I ignored it. We passed by the field that I had planned to rest in. I was sure it was muddy from all the rain, and if I was alive, then I would have said, "Wow, this rain was random. Good thing I didn't have to walk through that today." For some reason, the thought of' living back in a time when I could be thankful for such small things and move on to something else made me feel full of despair. I wanted to cry, but my ghostly body would not allow it for reasons I couldn't understand. I groaned as the tears that would have been there never fell.

"You're upset, Francis." Arthur the heartless little bastard decided to say. I wanted to choke him, wanted him to die, wanted him to walk off of a cliff. That same message came back again, "Be Arthur's guilty conscience." I didn't even know what the hell that meant, and I didn't know where the hell it came from.

"Be Arthur's guilty conscience. Convince him not to do anything else."

At this point, I didn't understand at all. I just wanted to die like all the other dead people. I didn't want to be anything any longer, and maybe I just wanted to go to heaven and stay there, if it was there. I didn't even know anymore. I hadn't seen anything but the sunlight and the rain and Arthur. What a combination. "I'm in your car and I'm under your house, just that should set off some sort of emotion, oui?"

The bastard shrugged as if it sounded nice to him. "By the way, would you like to know where I've been this whole time?" He asked, smiling that stupid smile. I told him that I didn't want to know, but he told me anyway. "Well first I cleaned the house nicely, but for the rest of the time, I've been under the house, with you, drinking and crying. But I thought that it would be unhealthy to stay there every day. I went inside for once, so when I saw you, I was so happy. I think we'll be happy together. I'll do almost anything for you," he glanced over at me slowly, "almost anything, Francis."

"Be Arthur's guilty conscience. Convince him not to do anything else."

"Go fuck yourself," I told the message...and Arthur, who told me that he would find a way to if I really wanted him to. "It sounds exciting." He said, looking me over again and finally making it to the Second Plaza. "Where's her house?"

I hesitated to tell him until he told me that he wouldn't kill Veronique even if I gave him a million dollars. "If I killed her then her ghost would follow me around and all of your attention would be on her. So there's no way in hell." His was obviously angry just thinking about it, so I decided to believe him. I finally told him to drive through Veronique's neighborhood and directed him to her street. He did as he was told and pulled up at Veronique's house.

In the rain, her home seemed very solemn, and I could see her light on in her room. In fact, I could see her from her window, staring down at the car. "Can I say hi to her?" I asked, looking to Arthur for approval.

He quirked one of his huge brows and shrugged. "Why are you asking me? She's yours, not mine." He leaned down to look at the house from the window on my side. "I hope you're not saying that you want me to come talk to her with you."

"Oui, that would be nice. You owe her an apology after all." I told him with the most serious face I could manage. There was no way that I was going to just say hi to her and go on. I had to apologize for not showing and I had to tell her that it was all the rosbif's fault that she couldn't hug me like she used to. Arthur placed his head in his hands and almost jumped out o f his seat when he saw Veronique open the door of her house to stare at his car. "She owes me an apology more than anything." He said, determined to get one out of her. He grabbed his umbrella and hopped out of the car. I smiled and passed out of the vehicle, giving Veronique a toothy grin. Her eyes remained plastered on Arthur however, she was obviously concerned.

I walked on the side of Arthur, up to Veronique's doorstep and waited for her to greet me in her usual excited manner, but she did not. She stared at Arthur as if he was coming to collect a debt of some sort. "Veronique, I'm sorry I couldn't make it over," I began to say, but I was simply interrupted by her. "Who are you, and what do you want?" She asked Arthur, close to closing the door in his face. I could tell that she didn't like him just by the sight of him. That was just how Veronique was sometimes. But I was worrying about why she wasn't speaking to me, or even looking at me really.

Arthur pointed to me, his umbrella tight in his other hand. "You don't see him? He's talking to you. It's rude not to answer back." He jeered at her, making sure she knew that he didn't like her much either. By the way that she stared off into the nothing behind me, it became apparent that Veronique could not see me. I felt like sobbing almost, but I decided to tell Arthur to ask her not to slam the door on us. She listened to him and stood in the doorway, waiting for him to say something worth her time.

"Tell her that Francis says that he's sorry," I began, "and that he really tried to make it to her house on her birthday. But happy belated." Arthur rolled his eyes and repeated my words. She gasped at Arthur and remained silent for a while. "Who are you?" She asked him again.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and made up a somewhat plausible lie. "A psychic. This soul kept on haunting me until I told him that I'd find you and get his message across. He felt the need to tell you."

Veronique blinked and pondered this, then after a while, she looked up at Arthur with fear in her eyes. "Soul kept haunting you? You mean he's dead?" Her expression pained me just to look at it, especially when Arthur told her that it was so. She sobbed at my feet, though she didn't really know that I was there somewhat. Arthur had pointed me out but she probably wasn't thinking about that. "How?"

"This guy killed me." I replied, pointing to Arthur. He frowned at me and simply told her that I was killed. Of course he would say that, he was the murderer after all. "Tell her that I miss speaking to her and that one day we'll be united again."

He didn't quite say what I asked him to, and instead told her that I loved her dearly, but death was the start of a new life. I could go along with that. "Tell her that she will have to find someone new, someone way better than myself. I want to see her happy, not miserable." He told her just that, smiling at me a bit. "That doesn't mean that I'm with you now or anything, I simply want her to move on and away from the dead corpse under your house." I told him, and he started to frown up again.

My dear little Veronique stood back up and chuckled with a couple of tears streaming down her face. Mon Dieu, she was such a strong girl. It was the type of image that even gave me hope. I would have cried if I could. "Okay, I'll try my best! Please tell him that I'll always love him." She smiled up at Arthur, which was supposed to be for me but I could understand someone not wanting to stare up at nothing.

"Oh he hears you just fine. I think we should be on our way." Arthur nodded down at Veronique then nodded at me as if to tell me we had to go. I stood there and stared at Veronique as she cried at her doorstep. Arthur was already in the car, seatbelt on and everything when I finally go got in. "Such a damn water works show she had going. It's already raining, we don't need more." Arthur sighed, starting the car.

"I wish you weren't so pissy about everything." I huffed, leaning into the seat. He scowled at me then gripped his steering wheel as if it were the only thing he could hold onto.

After a long moment of silence, he finally stopped the car on the side of the street. "I am not pissy about everything!" It surprised me that he brought it up because it had been a while since I had said so. I suppose he had been thinking about it.

"You are being very pissy right now, Arthur," I pointed out, "Why don't you drive?" Why didn't I just get out of the car and walk around the neighborhood?

Arthur gripped the steering wheel again, driving off to his house again, "It's not my fault that that...that the person I love is just chock full of emotional friends that make me feel bad about every fucking thing!" He swerved a bit to fast to the right and I had a mind to just leave.

"Merde! I take it back! Stop driving! What are you talking about? Love? I met you a couple of days ago!" I screamed for him to pull on the side of the road and slow down. He did so and jumped out of the car, quickly crouching down on the side of the road, covering his head with his hands. The rain was soaking him, and for some reason, I was glad that there were no cars passing by. I stayed in the car, looking around the area, which was just a street that many didn't take in the rain, or so that's what Gilbert told me once when he was taking me to Veronique's house. I had hoped that Arthur was going to hurry up with his little tantrum and come in quickly, but it didn't look like he was coming back in any time soon.

I sighed and passed out of the car, making my way towards Arthur, the soaked bundle of mess. "Rosbif, get up. You'll get sick if you stay out here." At this time I decided that since Arthur was the only one who could see me I guessed, I would keep my company with him for the most part. Plus, the message wouldn't quite go away, "Be Arthur's guilty conscience. Convince him not to do anything else." I was beginning to think that whenever I did so, I would be able to finally disappear from this world. So it was now in my mind set, and hopefully it would benefit me as well. "Arthur, get up." Bending down to Arthur's level, I realized that he was in tears.

He was clenching his teeth and staring at the ground beneath him. The rain and his tears seemed to run down his face together. I sat down next to him, not quite caring if I got wet. "Arthur, what's the problem now?" He didn't look at me, didn't move his eyes from where they were even. With a whimper, he asked himself, "What have I done?"

I paused then breathed out heavily. He was asking himself what had he done after all of that? He was really late in my opinion. "Well, you killed me, for whatever reasons. From what I see, you were lonely and killed some guy you picked up off of the street." I tried to think of something better to say, but that was all I could think of. It was the truth anyhow, and maybe telling him the truth would help in the long run.

Arthur sniffled and groaned, hiding his head deeper into his knees. "I'm going to get caught." He mumbled, the rain almost drowned out all the words that came out of his mouth, but I could still hear him. "I'm going to get caught and I'm going to go to jail."

"So that's all you're concerned about? That you're going to get caught? Not the fact that you took such a splendid man such as myself away from all of these people who loved me so?" I felt that Arthur was being selfish. No, he was the most selfish person I had ever met. Killing someone who had to leave so that they could stay with you forever? Not only was it sick, but it was absolutely unfair for the poor victim, which was me. I didn't want my life to end so suddenly. Did Arthur ask if I wanted to die? No, but maybe he already knew the answer, he knew I'd choose my life over him, so it's no surprise that he wouldn't ask me, "Oh hey! Mind if I kill you? I kind of want you to stay with me." It had to be his way, even if he was doing something for me, it was still his way.

Said selfish bastard raised his head from his lap, instantly shivering at the breeze that I could only tell was there due to the whistling sound that suddenly passed by us. "I think you're more important to me than you are to anyone else. I mean, you're here now aren't you? Beside me like this. If I get caught and go to jail," he paused for a second, thinking about what exactly would happen, "I wouldn't be able to see you. You would be at my house, and I'd be in the company of scary people."

"You are a scary people," I pointed out before he told me that didn't make sense, "you should have thought of that before you killed me. I offered my friendship to you! I told you that I would stay another day, told you that you could even hang out with my friends and I, and that didn't satisfy you even! What satisfies you? What did you want that could be more than that, Arthur?"

He rubbed his eyes and took a gander at me, the rain continuously rolling down his face. "I thought that you were lying, and I wanted you to stay with me forever."

"So I realized and so I've heard! I have needs too! You think you're the only one in the world that wants things? And you have some trust issues obviously!"

"I didn't want to be without you for a second. You were my only friend."

I gestured to myself, my ghostly, untouchable self. "And now I'm dead." He began to cry again and apologize over and over again. At the time I thought that if he was really sorry, he should kill himself, but I slowly tried to calm myself, thinking, "He's the only one I can even speak to."

When Arthur was done trying to earn pity from me, or whatever he was trying to do, he focused on me again. "Francis, I'm sorry, I am. We can...still be friends right? I-I mean, I really am regretful for every damn thing I've ever done, every...every heart I've crushed, every... every everything!" I asked him if he could calm down and shut up, but he continued on. "But I see you as way much more than a friend, Francis, but if you don't want to be anything more than a friend then that's okay because just seeing you is fine with me and-"

I halted his speech and rubbed my temples, thinking that he really was a loon. "Arthur," I began, "I'm staying with you either way so there's not much that I can do but accept your...friendship bull shit. But I want you to make some friends in the process. Which by the way, I heard you make plenty of friends in jail, but try another route, as long as you make an attempt. You need to."

He stared at me for a long while, then sighed to the ground. "Fine, Francis. I'll make some friends eventually." I was hoping that I was telling him the right thing. I didn't know what else could possibly be better really. The reason why I met my demise was because he didn't have enough friends, or any friends apparently, so as long as he had friends then I thought that everything would be okay.

"C'est bon, now what next?" I asked, standing over him. I didn't know what he would say, but anything would be better than sitting in the rain I thought. He stood as well, rain pouring off of him.

His coat resembled a wet towel then, and his hair a wet mess, sticking to his face. "How about ice cream?" He suggested with the most serious expression one could manage after suggesting something so stupid.

I quirked a brow at him as he rushed to his car. I followed, passing through the car to sit in the passenger seat. "You're soaked in rain, probably cold, I don't think I can even eat food, though since I suppose I wouldn't mind the cold treat part since I can't feel the difference, and you're suggesting ice cream?"

Arthur started up the car after strapping himself in. He turned on the windshield wiper and shivered before turning up the heat to a higher temperature. "I like to have ice cream with all of my friends." His teeth chattered as he said so, and he rubbed his hands together as he began to drive off.

"What friends?" I inquired, feeling somewhat distressed that I couldn't experience the what I imagined as blissful heat.

"Exactly," he mumbled, squinting through the rain, "Ah, I shouldn't have taken this road." He tried to turn the car around, but after a long while of trying to not hit a tree, he just kept on driving down the muddy road.

I breathed on the window and was surprised to see that it showed up on the glass. I kept note of it in my mind, "You should try to pass through the grass and turn around through there." I suggested, nodding my head to the tall grass on the side of the road.

The large-browed man shook his head and continued to go through the mud. "I'm already on it, I might as well go all the way through. We'll be at the end in no time, don't cry princess." He sneezed and hit his head on his steering wheel, making the car suddenly stop.

The stop didn't quite affect me, so I just laughed at Arthur as I passed through the car seat for a little while. "I was just giving you an idea. If you're sneezing like that, then maybe we should have soup or something."

Arthur wiped his nose on his coat sleeve and continued down the road. I told him that his action was disgusting and he simply stuck his tongue out at me. "Let's have soup then, and tea too if that's the case. I have plenty of that."

"All I've seen you drink is alcohol," I noted out loud, causing him to blink at me with what I believed was an interested face. "Is that bad that that's all I've seen you drink?"

It seemed like such a shock to him that I hadn't seen him drink this beverage that I began to worry, was it a religious thing? I often offended people who practiced religions that I wasn't aware of even though I never meant to, but he assured me that my thoughts weren't the case. "Well no...but I like to think of myself as an avid tea drinker. I always find myself drinking it, so I always have this weird image that whenever someone meets me, I'll be drinking tea."

I paused for a long time, then rolled my eyes, finding interest in the gray clouds. "That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard." It was the truth. Who imagines how they would be when they meet someone for the first time? I decided that stupid thoughts like those were the reasons that Arthur had no friends. Really, he sounded like a damn idiot. "And I mean it, that's tres stupide. If you go around like that, then you'll only want to meet people as you're doing something. Do you think people are going to come into your house and simply say, 'oh you're drinking tea, what's your name? Let's be friends' and then you'll be all happy and joyous? Life doesn't work like that, I mean maybe in your dreams, and maybe in cheesy comedy movies but not in life, Arthur. You go outside and meet people, and in your case I mean you go out and pick someone up off of the road, meet them and then kill them. Apparently that works too." I was playing around with him on some of what I said, but it seemed like he was upset with my rant.

"Okay, I get it. I'll go meet people. God," he sighed out, "you're a professional at making someone feel horrible about everything."

He just thought that I was out to make him feel like a massive jerk apparently. That wasn't what I was aiming for at all. I really was trying to get along with him, but he just took my words the wrong way. "Oh yes, God sent me back especially to make you feel like a total asshole." Actually, it didn't seem too far from the truth. With that guilty conscience message that continuously popped up in my mind, I wasn't really doubting it at that point.

"That's certainly what it seems like. Anyhow, I enjoy your company, so he kind of fails, despite the fact that your words really do sting." He turned off of the road finally, frowning at the mud that splattered on his window.

"I'd rather not apologize to you, so I think it's fair to say that this is what you signed up for whether you like it or not. Don't complain to me, you're not dead, I am." I very pointedly told him.

He nodded and took another turn, "That's very fair. No more complaints from me then. Or I'll try not to at least."

"Good," I smiled, "glad we could come to an understanding, Arthur." It was a somewhat silent drive back to Arthur's home after that. The only thing that made noise was Arthur, who was humming a familiar tune over the heater's blowing. It sounded like one of the songs that you would hear at a super market. "By the way Arthur, You can meet people while drinking tea...if you're at a tea shop."

A chuckle escaped him, and he stopped humming, "But then I'd be like every person that drinks tea at a tea shop. It wouldn't be very romantic at all." Romantic? So he hadn't been thinking of meeting everyone like that, just special people, and I was considered a special person to him apparently, and that's certainly not how he met me. He had wanted to meet me drinking tea, wanted to meet me as a romantic person. I hadn't realized that his tea drinking image was something similar to a girl imagining meeting her prince charming riding in on a white steed. I felt like I crushed his romantic dreams, so I couldn't help but want to shut up for a long time.

Being my first day not stepping out into the sunlight and disappearing, I was interested in seeing what would happen to me at the end of the day, or by the time 1:30PM passed by again. I was constantly on edge as Arthur dried off and prepared some weird tea that I had never heard of. I had tea at my house, but apparently they weren't the same as his tea. When he asked me what type of tea I wanted, I just said, "The second one" before he finished listing them. He had a large collection, and if he named them all then the day would be gone. I began to see why he was so surprised to hear that I hadn't ever seen him drink tea.

I wanted to help make something, the soup if I could, but I reminded myself that I probably couldn't do so. I couldn't do the things that I used to love doing, such as cooking or gardening because I wouldn't be able to hold the tools necessary to do them. Or could I? All I knew was that I could pass through objects, I hadn't even tried anything else really. Well, I tried to reach for the handle on the door and failed. Okay, so maybe I couldn't, but it wouldn't hurt to try.

My hand reached for a pen on the table, and as I thought, it went through the table. I sighed and tried it again constantly, but no luck. "What are you trying to do?" Arthur asked, placing a cup of tea on both his side of the table and mine.

"Trying to see if I can pick up things," I tried to pick up the pen again, "it's not working out very well." I tried to pick up my cup, but failed. Arthur took a sip of his tea and went to find a straw for me apparently, because the next thing I knew, he stuck a straw in my tea.

When I looked up at him questionably, he gestured for me to drink it. "Since you can't tell the difference between hot and cold then I thought it would be fine to give you a straw. I don't know if that would work either way though."

Thinking that I really did want to have some tea, I attempted to take a sip out of the straw, but the straw just passed through me, "Non, thanks for the tea though."

Arthur thought for a while, probably not wanting to drink in front of me while I simply sat there and watched. He suddenly seemed to remember something and pointed at me. "You know, I read all the time that ghosts can move things! I hadn't really acknowledged it since I was neutral on the believing in ghosts thing, but now that you're here then I think it may be believable!" He stood and made his way to his room, coming back with a ghost hunters book. At first I thought that type of thing was idiotic, but since I was a ghost myself, I was beginning to believe a whole lot more as well.

"It says...ghosts can move objects by using their energy or the energy of someone else. They can open and close doors at times. The lighter the object, the easier it is for a ghost to move it." He set the book down with a smile, and gestured to the pen, "Try it again."

For some reason, I didn't quite believe the book. Had the author been a ghost before they wrote the book? Probably not, but I tried to pick up the pen again nonetheless. Nothing. Arthur urged me to try again. I sighed and stared at the pen, "I'm going to pick up this damn pen." I closed my eyes and attempted to pick it up again. Upon opening them, I found nothing in my hands again. Arthur frowned and took another sip of his tea, "Make sure you're focused on it maybe?"

Leaning on my hand, I looked down at the depressing pen. "I really don't think I can pick it up." Just as I finished my statement, a new message appeared, which I was really getting tired of those messages by the way.

"You can pick up objects, you just have to keep on trying."

"Ugh!" I yelled, standing up to check up on Arthur's soup, "Arthur, your soup looks done, it looks like it's burning! How can you burn soup?" On instinct, I turned the dial to turn the fire on the stove off and waved the smoke blooming out of it away as much as I could. Wait...I turned off the fire. Wait...I turned the dial. Wait! I touched something! "Arthur!"

Arthur rushed to the stove to see if the soup was done. "What? It's not black enough! What do you mean it's done?" He hurriedly reached for the dial to turn the fire back on then paused. "Francis...you turned off the stove?"

"Oui! Oh mon Dieu, oui!" I screamed with delight, going back over to pick up the pen. My happiness died when I couldn't pick it up the first time, but the second time I picked it up and held it in front of Arthur with probably the brightest smile that anyone has ever seen me smile. That somewhat saddens me now that I think about it. The brightest smile I had ever made was while I was dead, and because I picked up a pen. But really, the moment was more to me than just picking up a pen. It showed that I could do more than just not exist along the living. I could move things, I had accomplished something for myself. Something was bothering me though, my ghostly mind message was right kind of, but that was too fast and too spontaneous. I feared that I would lose the ability after the next 1:30 PM or something. I was still so unsure of how anything worked in the new dimension I found myself in, the dimension where only my murderer, Arthur, could see and speak to me.

"You do realize that I can kill you now," I told him jokingly. He backed away from me and the pen, not at all laughing at my joke. So apparently even murderers didn't want to die. I laughed it off and set the pen down, "Oh come on, Arthur. You think I would kill you? What would that make me? I wouldn't want to give you an excuse to complain more."

He forced himself to laugh and continued to keep his distance. I shrugged and sat down with my tea again, sipping out of the straw. Ah! I could even do that! Wonderful! So I continued to sip until I decided to try to pick up the cup. It was a success. I placed the straw on the table and began to drink out of the cup. I could taste it actually, but I couldn't feel the heat that was obviously coming from it. Death had just become better, until...

"You can't touch that cup, Francis!"

Suddenly the cup fell out of my hand and shattered on the ground. I glared at Arthur who jumped back a bit. "What the fuck was that? Excuse me? I was enjoying the tea you made me!"

"Just testing," Arthur began to pick up the pieces of the cup, "I read that in the book. If you don't want a ghost to touch something of yours, then you have to tell them that they can't touch it."

I groaned and put my head in my hands. "So you're still in control, even if I finally found something that I'm in control of." I felt like a kid under the rules of some strict parents again. It didn't feel very liberating at all.

"I wanted to make sure it worked before I say the next one," Arthur folded his arms and glanced at a drawer from the corner of his eyes, "You can't touch any of my larger knives, Francis!" At this, I opened the cupboard that he had been looking at and picked up a larger knife. "...Hah!"

He repeated the phrase and it slipped out of my hand. I picked up another of his larger knifes and shrugged. Apparently it didn't work for multiple things. "Fine, I only need to say so when you're actually attacking me." I rolled my eyes at him and put the knife back. Really, he thought I'd kill him? Really?

"You really do have trust issues," I told him, "what's with the soup?" I think I had told him that before, somewhere along the lines. But really, the soup would get cold if he didn't do something with it.

He fished two bowls out of his cupboard and poured soup into them, quickly finding spoons as well. "According to you, the soup is done, but I still think it's not black enough." He placed a bowl in front of me, "Here you go."

"Merci-"

"Please forgive me for killing you." He didn't look upset or worried, but he seemed a bit more angry to me. I supposed he was seriously fearing that I'd kill him, the poor man.

I leaned closer to him from my side of the table, looking him dead in the eyes. "Arthur, I'm going to tell you this once and hopefully I'll never have to say it again; I won't kill you. As long as you don't..." I stopped to think for a second, "as long as you don't...harm anyone I know and love, I won't kill you."

He sat back in his seat, "You're sure about that?" He asked, and if I would have known what else he would have done, I would have changed my answer more. I would have changed my answer to something that could have spared everyone so much trouble and despair.

Instead of saying anything that could have helped, I told him, "As long as you don't harm anyone I know and love and make an attempt to make friends, other than myself, then I won't kill you."

For the time being, his smile assured me that he wouldn't worry about it any longer, and I was satisfied. "Alright, I trust you," he took his spoon and dipped it into his bowl of soup. It was only a little overcooked, thanks to me saving it, but it should have tasted fine. "Ah, it tastes better than usual." He stated, taking another spoonful. I smiled and did the same, once again feeling accomplished for being able to do so, but my reaction was different than his.

What was he talking about? The soup wasn't even seasoned correctly, and I was beginning to think that he made the soup from a packet. Disgusting. No one could really enjoy this could they? I didn't even think that it was bad because it was slightly overcooked, I thought that it was that way just because it was always supposed to taste like that. I mean, it wasn't the worst thing I had ever tasted, but it was plain and still bad and not good. I didn't want to upset Arthur again, so I decided to take another taste of it, and another. "Pas mal," I lied, wanting so badly for salt or...something. Arthur was devouring it like it was the best thing he had ever eaten. The poor good food depraved man.

For the rest of the gloomy day, I remained inside Arthur's home, picking up objects, turning the door handle, and watching the shows that were on his television. I wondered if there was anything about me, but it seemed like everyone was concerned about soccer. It was pretty sad that a game had priority over the recent happenings. Becoming a bit upset, I attempted to sleep on Arthur's couch. I couldn't sleep though, and it wasn't because of my ghostly state I guessed, I had been thinking way too much. Wondering if my friends missed me, or if anyone except Veronique and Arthur knew that I was dead. Soon, Arthur came and sat next to me, switching to a news channel, probably wondering the same thing at times. "Trying to see if you won the lottery, Arthur?"

"No, I've been checking the news as of lately for...things." He furrowed his brow a bit, "I really shouldn't have gone to your little girlfriend's house. What if she reports me?" As soon as he clicked his tongue at the top of his mouth, there was a picture of me on the screen. Sucked for him, and me as well. It was an ugly picture of me. Did they get into my house and find it or something? Damn. And worse, I was dancing in the corner with a lamp, probably one glass of wine too many that day. And what was that shirt I was wearing? How unfashionable- ew, did it have lace ties? Where did I buy that?

All the while, Arthur was sitting beside me with his mouth open, probably waiting for them to show a picture of the main suspect which was him so he could freak out. The newscaster read off of her little teleprompter, "This man, Francis Bonnefoy, has been reported missing. We have word from his co-worker, Feliks Lukasiewicz- ah, well apparently we have a video, let's just roll that." Ah, Feliks, I forgot about my job and the people there, but it seemed like they hadn't forgotten about me. On the screen was Feliks, a concerned look on his countenance.

He flipped his hair and mumbled something to another co-worker of mine, upon receiving a reply from her, he nodded. "Yeah, Francis hasn't been for like... days. I knew he was going to visit his girlfriend and stuff over the weekend, and we were like 'oh he just doesn't want to work, the lazy bastard' and then after like...what? Three days we were like, 'this isn't like him'." Feliks lifted his cell phone and pointed to it. "So we called him right? And then he didn't answer his phone, and then we called his girlfriend, girlfriends whatever, and they were like, 'can't find him' or 'who are you? Don't call us, Francis sucks'. And then we kept on calling Veronique and she was all pissed and said that he didn't even come over and stuff. So we decided that something was wrong."

My other co-worker popped in front of Feliks and smiled. "Hi mom!" She never liked me, I couldn't blame her for not taking the situation seriously. "Oh, we walked down to his house and he wasn't there, and we looked in the window and there was rotted food and stuff and that sooo wasn't Francis! He's anal about stuff like that. Any way, yeah. He's missing. His mailbox was full too, and he loves paying bills and getting letters so we were like, 'did he die? What the hell?' So we put out a search thing."

Well I was touched; my co-workers really did care about me. The newscaster came back on, "Just recently, we received note from Mr. Bonnefoy's girlfriend, Veronique." Arthur almost had a heart attack. "She told us that a psychic told her that Francis is indeed dead. Was killed even. We received a message from a friend of his that he couldn't find a ride to Veronique's house because they were all too busy. We're speculating that he was kidnapped on his way to her home. Someone apparently saw him walking down the road near the freeway. There's a possibility that he was picked up, and it's all in the air from there. We have no solid suspects at this point, but we hope to find Francis eventually...On to sports!"

Arthur sighed in relief, relaxing into his couch, then quickly stiffening again. "Ah, I really should do something with your body Francis." His eyes seemed to glint then, and if I knew what he was going to do with it, I would have told him then that he sure as hell did not have to do shit to my body.

Instead, I shrugged it off, like I shrugged off many other things. When I look back on my actions, I feel like I could have prevented so many things, but I failed. Failed to notice the little things, failed to think of what he was capable of before not thinking the worst of everything, failed at being a guilty conscience. No, I asked him, "What did you have in mind? Throwing me in the nearest dumpster? Go ahead." I figured that it wouldn't be any different than staying under his house with the rats and so on. In fact, I thought that if I was thrown in the dumpster then I would be found and Arthur would get his just desserts, go to jail, come out as good as new, and he would live the rest of his life drinking tea and maybe even making a pretty memorial for me in his backyard. What a joke that sounds like now.

He told me that he didn't know what he'd do. "Throwing you in the dumpster is a bit too obvious." He concluded, rubbing his chin. I couldn't believe that he was really thinking so deeply on it. I was kind of hoping that he'd just burn me and scatter the ashes on the beach or something. I had been pondering being cremated a little while before I died any way, but then again, I wanted everyone to see my pretty face in a coffin after living such a wonderful life. And then my wife wouldn't cry over me at all and think, "Good riddens." Why did I want that exactly? I didn't know, it just sounded more realistic to me than my wife crying over me and telling everyone how amazing I was. I wanted something romantically chaotic, even if something interesting came up, such as, "Francis Bonnefoy had five mistresses and two illegitimate children!" None of that could happen, thanks to Arthur, or maybe that was a good thing for everyone else.

My murderer went to bed at 1:47AM, or at least that's when he plopped down on the couch through my lap. It was creepy since Veronique used to do the same, but this...his head wasn't on my lap, it was underneath it. I decided to wander around Arthur's house, picking up things as I went. I moved his wallet to some random place, took his umbrella and tossed it on the floor somewhere, and hid his keys under his bed. I imagined that it would be fun to see him scuttle around for his belongings the next day. I heard about ghosts moving people's things around as I was doing, and I couldn't help but chuckle at myself for fitting that stereotype. What was I called? A poltergeist? Sounded cool, Francis the poltergeist, a stylish, dead guy who stays in and under Arthur's house. Oh oui, that was some title.

The only reason why I was staying up so late was to see what would happen to me as the night ended and the day began. Was there a reason that I came back at exactly 1:30PM? I wasn't killed at that time. Then it hit me, maybe I had arrived at his house at that time. No no, it was a little before then. Wait, I think it was the time that I noticed the picture of the wailing woman. I went to take a look at it. Still wailing...alright. Then I looked down at the sleeping Arthur being a bundle of love on the couch. Still sleeping, and he seemed so innocent. If the police came in and saw him then, I'm sure they would check to see if they had the right house. They would check under the house, see my corpse and instantly think that someone else put me there. Back on topic, I decided that I didn't like the wailing woman.

That night, I didn't try to sleep, though it was on my mind. I assumed that I didn't need sleep, I was in an eternal one after all, but later on other nights, I decided to humor Arthur and close my eyes, pretending to sleep. But those times would help me think about things really. There were so many things one could reflect on after life ends. So many questions to ask yourself as well. The most reoccurring question being, "Why?"

A/N: Sorry that this chapter is really long. And sorry that this fic fails. I fail. Also, I wanted to avoid mentioning God and Heaven and stuff but it's kind of inevitable. The "message" is God guys. Just saying.