Ghosts, Matt Rogers [reading the story of the .txt] 📗

stared straight ahead. Maybe trying to pretend he wasn’t there.

He turned to her.

She didn’t meet his gaze.

He said, ‘What’s wrong?’

She bowed her head.

Closed her eyes.

Fought back tears.

He said, ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

She scoffed, and the eyes flew open.

The blue irises turned to face him. They were thick with cynicism.

She said, ‘You know, I don’t think I’d care if you did.’

Her voice still had defiance in it, but it was overshadowed by fatigue. King identified it. It was the hopelessness of trying to fight something for so long to no avail. He’d seen the same symptoms a hundred times over. Mainly in survivors of war, beat down and emotionally crippled by the horrors they’d witnessed. Like, We’re capable of this sort of evil? What’s the point of anything if this is who we truly are?

‘Why’s that?’ he said.

Another scoff.

She said, ‘Please leave me alone.’

He shrugged. ‘Okay.’

Got up, restarted his workout on the digital watch face, and shook out his tightening quadriceps and hamstrings. She watched him, slightly bemused, maybe under the impression it was a performance.

Then he set off running.

She said, ‘Wait.’

He stopped, four strides from the bench. Turned around and looked at her. ‘Yes?’

‘What was that about?’

‘You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. Rule number one.’

‘You have rules?’

‘That was a turn of phrase. I don’t have a list, if that’s what you mean.’

‘What makes you think you can help?’

‘I like to think I’m in a position to help.’

Her wry smile returned. It was the furthest thing from a jovial expression. It was a smile of soul-crushing defeat. ‘Not this time.’

‘You haven’t even told me what it is.’

‘Why should I?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I can’t help. But consider the fact it might be worth telling me anyway. Just in case. What have you got to lose?’

She stared at him, chewing absent-mindedly on her lower lip.

He tapped his watch face. ‘If that’s all there is, I’ll get back to my workout…’

He started pivoting away.

‘Sit,’ she said.

He turned back. What anyone else might take as rudeness he understood as distraction. She was thinking of anything but being polite. It was the last thing on her mind.

Once again, he’d seen it all before.

But she seemed to realise.

‘Please,’ she added. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ he said, returning to the bench. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘Apparently I have.’

He raised an eyebrow.

She said, ‘I’m getting sentenced tomorrow.’

‘Oh.’

She fell silent.

He said, ‘What’d you do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘That’s what everyone says.’

‘Which is why I told you to leave me alone. I don’t expect you to believe me. And I’m not in the mood for a lecture.’

‘And I told you I’ve been around. I can spot a lie from a mile away. So far, you haven’t told me one.’

She put her head in her hands.

He said, ‘What?’

She barely stifled a sob. It wracked her body, but didn’t spill out from between her lips. She suppressed it.

She said, ‘Call me jaded…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I refuse to believe you’re doing this for any other reason than to get in my pants.’

Now it was his turn to fall quiet.

She looked over at him. ‘Am I wrong?’

‘Completely.’

‘You’re a good-looking guy. You don’t need to be taking advantage of sad women on park benches.’

‘If that’s what you think this is, I’ll leave.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. You’re fine. I’m just … looking for an excuse to sabotage this. Looking for an excuse to crush my last bit of hope. Easier that way than always thinking what-if…’

He didn’t respond. He admired the objectivity. Few were capable of that sort of self-analysis.

She said, ‘I need to know about you. Tell me something. Anything at all. You know, before I tell you my story. I need to know I’m not spilling my guts to a crazy person.’

King thought about it.

I’m getting sentenced tomorrow.

What did he have to lose either?

He said, ‘I have a long and storied history with an off-the-books wing of the military. I can’t go into more detail.’

The cynicism returned to her gaze.

Instantly he knew she was a victim of corruption.

He said, ‘I don’t work for them anymore. Myself and a few colleagues … we do our own thing. We left because parts of it were rotten to the core. I also have a long and storied history outside of official channels. Sometimes I do things for people. If the circumstances are right.’

She didn’t react.

He said, ‘I could be lying. I have no way to prove it to you.’

Silence.

He said, ‘Take my word, and I’ll take yours.’

She took a deep breath.

She said, ‘You’d better not be a lunatic.’

He shrugged. ‘There’s a fine line between genius and madness. Maybe you’re speaking to the right kind of lunatic.’

She took another deep breath.

She said, ‘My name’s Josefine.’

He said, ‘I’m Jason.’

She began her story.

3

Well, she tried.

She started with, ‘My daughter…’ then trailed off and broke down crying.

King sat still. Patient and understanding.

Between stifled sobs, she mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’

King said, ‘Stop apologising.’

Josefine went quiet.

King said, ‘I get it. You haven’t been able to speak to anyone about this. You just tried to take the cap off the bottle and everything came out with it. Take your time. There’s no rush. I’ve got all morning, if that’s what it takes.’

Josefine cried, and cried, and cried.

Eventually the crying stopped.

She dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse.

She said, ‘I’m—’ then cut herself off.

Remembering apologies weren’t necessary.

She took a breath deeper than any she’d taken before.

She said, ‘My daughter disappeared.’

‘When?’

‘Well, it would be … my God. Months ago now. There’s been the whole trial. And still … nothing. No sign of her.’

‘What are you going to prison for?’

‘Drug trafficking.’

‘Of?’

‘Cocaine.’

‘Were you trafficking cocaine?’

‘Do I look like a drug dealer?’

King said, ‘No offence, but you’d be surprised how normal most traffickers look.’

She stared at him, unabashed. ‘You know from personal experience?’

‘I’ve been around,’ King repeated. ‘Don’t take those words lightly.’

Josefine said, ‘I need to rewind.’

‘Like I said, I’ve got all day.’

She composed her thoughts, putting a closed fist over her mouth.

Then she took it away and said, ‘My daughter’s name is Elsa. Elsa Bell. She’s fifteen.