Requiem For A Ghost

REQUIEM FOR A GHOST.
By John Paul Dodds

This is the first story in a new setting under the working title 'Survivors'.  For those of you about to take part in round 7 of OC-training (starting June 2017) this story contains some spoilers for the 'Guess Who' task.  But even if you read it first, it won't give everything away.  Because I'm like that

They hadn't just sealed off the the area, they'd actually walled off the body.  With real bloody walls.  I mean I sorta get that they couldn't just leave her there for everyone to gawp at.  But building an entire wall over her, or was that through her, was a bit much, surely?

Jemma had been my friend for three years.  She'd saved my life.  All of our lives.  Those of us who'd survived.  And then she'd died.  Slowly.  Painfully.  And for all our cursed... gifts, powers... whatever you want to call them, there hadn't been anything any of us could do about it.  
Except watch.

Watch my friend die of thirst and starvation, surrounded by food, water and the best doctors, nurses and scientists that money could buy.

There's more to it that that, of course.  But that's the crux of it.  And that's why I'm here.  To pay my respects.  I whispered a prayer.  It's an old Hindi one that my mother used to say.  It's supposed to bring peace to the dead, at least I think it is.  My Hindi's not that good.  Father always told me it was his shame that I couldn't speak our first language properly.  Jemma would have joked I was a heathen.  She was a good Christian girl.

“You shouldn't be here.  Aesha”.  The man's voice made me panic.  Even through the disguise I was wearing, he knew who I was.  I mean he mispronounced my name, Ay-sha instead of Eye-ee-sha.  But he knew.

I span, my heart racing.

The man was only a few years older than me, though he looked weary and careworn now.  Round framed glasses couldn't hide bright, intelligent eyes.  But the rest of him looked wasted away, propped up in the electric wheelchair he used to get about the campus.
And that was my fault.

“Simon”.  I breathed his name like a prayer.  Or a curse.  My eyes took in what I'd done to him.  I hadn't meant to.  But looking at him, I knew it didn't matter.
“Get away, Simon.  I'm dangerous.  I'm a monster.  You, of all people, should know that.  Or are y' here to arrest me.  Keep uz busy until the soldiers come”.

He frowned.
“I turned the cameras off.  You've got a few minutes until someone notices”.

“Why would y' dee that!”, I demanded angrily.  “Look at you.  Look at what I fuckin' did t' y'!”.  My accent always got stronger when I was pissed.  It always made people stare.  A good Hindi girl shouldn't sound like some Toon slapper.

“Because everyone deserves a chance to pay their respects”, he caught me off-guard with his candour.  He was always doing that.  Even when he'd been the one in charge of the tests.  “Though I must admit, I didn't expect you.  I was expecting maybe Dynamo... Dianne”.

I snorted a laugh.  It wasn't pretty or lady-like but then neither am I.  Well, okay, I'm pretty, everyone tells me that.  But I'm no lady.  
“Dynamo.  You've nee idea how much it cracked me up when you called her that.  You wonder why she always looked so pissed half the time?  It's coz that was her nickname all through high school too.  Dynamo Di.  You read my files, you know how I like to get pissed, pick a fight.  I never picked a fight with her.  I mean I could probably take her.  Probably.  But she doesn't na when to quit.  Never did.  But you lot did.  You picked a fight with her and I'm staying the fuck out of it.  You know we had a pool going all through high school and uni, right?  When she'd be Prime Minister.  Not if.  When.  I put my money on twenty-three.  An' don't think all this AP-shit has changed me mind, either”.

Simon smiled condescendingly.   “Don't change the subject, Aesha”.  He pronounced it right this time.  “You came here to pay your respects and I'm trying to let you do that.  So why don't you tell me about her”, he gestured unconsciously at the wall.

“Bastard”.  I said it without any real feeling.
I looked away.  Maybe some people would have said I was looking into the past but they're just a bunch of fucking idiots.  Real people div'int do shit like that.

“Her name was Jemma.  Jemma Watts.  We met outside a pub, probably in the Bigg Market or somethin'.  I don't really remember, I was half-cut at the time.  I'd never seen a girl who looked so fucking White.  Like she was outta some old sit-com or something.  You know.  Blonde curly hair and a fucking cardigan.  I mean, howwaaaay.  She looked so middle class it was fucking painful.   And this guy was ragging on her an' she looked like she was about to beel.  So I sent the bastard packing.  He wasn't ready for a girl who would actually fight back.

'Turns out she was in the same halls as me.  I had this horrible feeling she was gonna latch herself onta me like some leech or something.  But she didn't.  Jemma... was kinda the opposite of me.  And the same, sort of.  But you'd never understand that.  She never had a bad word to say about anyone.  Probably cos she was a bit religious, not that that helped her, did it?  But it wasn't like she was a bible-basher either.  She was just a genuinely nice person.  Oh and kinda rich too.  But she didn't make a fuss about that either.
She hated fuss.

After... It happened...
Jemma... Jemma's...”

“Alteration?”

“Is that what you're calling them?  I guess.  Jemma's alteration put her sort out of phase with the world.  She could literally walk through walls and stuff.  That's why your lot nicknamed her Ghost.  She literally was like a ghost.  Only she couldn't become solid any more, ever.  But we didn't na that.  And she didn't tell us either.  Too much fuss.  She hated fuss.

Jemma would walk through the doors and open them from the other side.  It's how we got out.  It's how we found  Peter.  And Mr. Michaelson.  But each time she did it, she drifted further and further way from... us.  From being solid.  Real.

Until she couldn't come back.

After we got out, your lot came in and took over.  Set up wards and hospitals and laboratories and stuff.  But you couldn't help her”.

I grabbed the lapels of his jacket.
“You couldn't help her.  You couldn't save her.  Or y' wouldn't”.

“Couldn't”.  Simon said softly.  “We couldn't.  We tried everything we knew and whole load that we didn't.  And none of it worked.  None of it made any difference”, his voice faded in what sounded like real regret.

“Jemma died”.  I tried to sound calm and removed but the tears were welling.  “She starved to death.  She starved to death because she couldn't pick up food or water any more.  Because she couldn't touch the things that would save her life.  And all we could do was watch.  Watch her suffer without any kind of hope or medicine.  And watch her pray.  But not for herself, for the rest of us.  Because that's who she was”.
I felt the tears run down my face but somehow it didn't matter.

“We couldn't even cover the body”, Simon added softly.  It had to lie there for everyone to see.  Like some cruel work of art.  No-one could touch it or move it.  When we moved the bed it just hung there in mid air.  Like some Judas cross.  We sealed it off but the gawpers still got in.  Again and again.  The body was a permanent reminder that we failed.  And some men don't like to be reminded of that.  It was deemed best to wall her off so that she could rest in peace.  And so no-one had to be reminded of their failure”.  He sounded bitter.

His phone beeped.
“You should go, Aesha.  They've probably discovered the cameras by now.  If you'd come last week, on the anniverary of The Event, then you'd have been caught for sure.  But no-one remembered about Jemma.  Faced with everything else, no-one thought her death was important enough to remember.  Except you.

I'm glad you came.
I'm glad we got the chance to talk.  Now go.  Before they do catch you”.

I walked off, tears still blurring my eyes.  I walked away from my friend's body, slowly rotting away inside the walls they'd built through her.  And I walked away from Simon who'd always been good to us.  Always treated us like people, not laboratory rats.  

And who I'd almost killed.
I hadn't meant to.  But that didn't matter.  He'd probably never walk again.  Chances were I'd taken decades off his life.  I'd crippled him.  I glanced back at him and saw him mouth the words.
“I forgive you”.  

It only made it worse.  He might forgive me.
But I never could.