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*** Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts. If you've yet to read any of the prior parts, below are the links to do so.
For Part One go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html
For Part Two go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html
For Part Three go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-three-new-believer.html
For Part Four go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html***
"Murdered?" I repeated the word back to Thomas as if I questioned whether I had heard him correctly. That wasn't actually the case. I knew that I hadn't misheard him when he said that he had become a ghost because he'd been murdered. It was just that I was having trouble accepting such a terrible event had happened to someone as nice as Thomas.
"I'm afraid so." Thomas, ghostly and invisible, replied. "After all these years, I still have difficulty with the concept myself. Yet, I know it's true. I remember too much of what happened to think otherwise."
Stephanie interrupted. "Do you know how many years ago this happened? You said it's been years. Do you know how long ago you were killed?"
"Yes, I've been able to keep track of the time. It's been eighteen years since my death."
"Wow!" Stephanie exclaimed. "That's two years before I was born."
"That's right, and Lily, you would have been only five years old, just a little girl."
"How old were you when it happened?" I asked.
"Twenty-seven. Doesn't it sound strange to think that I've actually been twenty-seven for the last eighteen years? It's as old as I'll ever be."
"Yeah, it does." I agreed. "You died when you were only four years older than I am now. It's not fair that you didn't get to live so much longer than that."
Thomas sighed. "I've found life isn't always fair, and death is rarely, if ever, so."
There was sadness in his voice. It made me long to put my arms around him and give him a hug. Of course, this wasn't possible. I couldn't even see Thomas, yet alone touch him. I had only a general idea that he stood nearby, and to the left of me, since his voice came from that direction. This was also assuming ghosts aren't skilled ventriloquists, and that he really stood as near me as he seemed.
It was odd to me that I should have any feelings towards Thomas. I had just met him, and he was, after all, a ghost. Why should I have this desire to comfort him? Was this a normal reaction for someone to have in such an abnormal situation? I didn't know.
I spoke softly, hoping he'd feel some comfort from my tone. "Thomas, if it's too difficult to talk about what happened, then you don't have to. You don't have to tell us about it."
"No, I don't have to tell you, but I want you to hear my story. I feel you are. . . my friends."
Friends? I thought about this. Like my sister, I had become friends with a ghost. Yet, my friendship with Thomas wasn't the same as his friendship with Stephanie. He'd expressed having feelings for me that were more than friendly. Our relationship had begun with both of us aware of his attraction towards me.
Try as I might, I doubted very much that I could think of him as solely a friend. This confused me. If he was more than my friend, then what was he? I barely knew him, had only heard his voice and never even seen him, but, I wondered about my feelings. How long does it take to develop an infatuation?
"Lily?" Thomas sounded concerned. "Are you alright? You have the strangest expression on your face."
"Oh, yes. I'm fine. Just deep in thought." I realized I needed to stay focused on the conversation. "Please, go on, Thomas. Continue with what you've been wanting to say. Tell us your story."
"O.K., then." Thomas agreed, and he began to tell us about his life and his death.
"Thomas' Story"
Thomas Malcolm Davenport III is my full name. I was born forty-five years ago, the only child of wealthy parents. Unfortunately, both my parents were more interested in the idea of having a child than in actually raising one. When I was quite young, they sent me away to boarding school, and I regret to say, this only further damaged our relationship. Throughout my life, my parents were cold and distant, nearly strangers to me. Once I became an adult, I had very little contact with them. It was easier, on all of us, not to try to pretend affection that just didn't exist between us.
As an adult, I went to an Ivy League College, but instead of getting into a profession acceptable amongst my family's social circle, such as law or business, I became fascinated with art. I dabbled in painting and sculpture, with limited results. Eventually, I discovered that my talents lay elsewhere. I became quite knowledgeable in art history, and, after completing my degree, I went to work for an art and antiquities dealership with an office based in Seattle. My supervisor was a brilliant art historian, twenty or so years older than myself, named Professor Christine Harper.
In those days, Christine divided her time up between working for the art and antiquities dealership and teaching locally at the University of Washington. This changed, after my death. She told me it was too hard to work there without me able to work by her side, and she decided to quit the dealership altogether and focus on academics alone. You see, when we started working together, she and I became very close friends, really more like mother and son. I think that since neither of us were married or had children, we quickly adopted one another as our only recognized family.
Under Christine's supervision, my career flourished. I didn't need to work for the money, since I had a trust fund that supplied me with more than ample funds, but I enjoyed my job. I was also good at it. I'd been seeing a woman, romantically, I mean, for quite awhile. Her name was Angelique, and she was very beautiful. I wish I could say she had many other good qualities, but she didn't. Angelique was beautiful, but she wasn't a nice person. I believe my money was her main reason for being with me. I think that I was aware of this, even back then, yet it wasn't something I was willing to acknowledge. The fact that my requirements in a woman were so shallow didn't say a lot in favor of my maturity and judgement. Sadly, it seems that only after my death has my taste in women improved.
We all make mistakes, and my immaturity led me to make most of mine. I could blame my parents for not giving me a suitable role model in forming a health relationship, but long ago, I came to realize that blame gets me nowhere. I know that I must accept responsibility for my own choices. Dating a woman like Angelique was the first of those mistakes. Becoming so infatuated with her beauty that I proposed to her, was my second mistake. Yet, it was the third mistake that ultimately had the worst consequences. Although, I suppose it was the whole combination of errors, working together as a whole, that led to the final outcome.
***To Be Continued***
Until I type again,
Kami
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