Writing Right Challenge: Face of a Ghost
Created | Updated Jun 22, 2014
Face of a Ghost
What made the difference on that day was that, since the murder, Daniel had never been out of David's mind, not for a second. The pain was with him constantly. He was haunted by Daniel's face, as he remembered him, as he saw it that terrible time when he went to identify him at the coroner's, as he saw him on that final occasion, in the casket, as if he were sleeping peacefully. But David could never forget the violence, the horror that must have been Daniel's final hours. Tied to a chair. There must have been more than one; Daniel was powerfully built and had little fear. But he was not foolhardy. They must have spoken with him; he must have reasoned with them – though David was sure he would not have pleaded – but he must have believed, or at least hoped, he would get out alive. But he did not. Shot … shot in the chest. David sometimes wondered if Daniel died at once, or if he had suffered for some time, fighting to stay alive as … but David did not have the courage ask the coroner for the details.
And all for what? Daniel had hardly a thing of value. He had only been in the apartment for two weeks, since the divorce. The apartment had been ransacked, but David could confirm with the police that the only valuable item that was missing, was Daniel's laptop computer. Still, that was a loss … for David most of all. Daniel had been working on a new novel; that was on the computer, with his notes, and various other writings, short stories, essays, poems. And photos, but David was sure Daniel had sent most of these to him already. There might have been some intimate photos that he had not shared, of him and Carla. Unless he had erased those. Perhaps he did; after what happened … but perhaps he did want to hold on to something, that still had meaning for him.
But the stories, the poetry … David would see to it, if he could get them, the unfinished ones, the unpublished ones … maybe he could get them published. He owed him as much. Daniel still had so many ambitions. His contacts in the publishing world were also on the laptop.
The police had no clues. It appeared to have been a random robbery. There were no good fingerprints, no other items left on the scene … this was Johannesburg, and the real world, not television wonderland where forensic experts could solve the case in half an hour after glimpsing a faint smudge or finding a piece of fingernail. No: six months passed by; no progress was made; the case was certainly dead. It never even made it into the papers. The police had more pressing concerns, many new murders and crimes to solve.
David's mind did not let go, though. Daniel haunted him in dreams and waking life. It felt like half of his own heart had been ripped out. How could he go on living without something – someone – who was so vital, so completely a part of who and what he was? His life felt to him as a dream; he'd constantly expect to wake up, to find that Daniel was still alive. Whenever he went to Jo'burg, he was on the lookout, expecting in a part of himself that was immune to reason, that he might bump into Daniel anytime, anywhere.
So too it was on that day in the mall. David was making his way through the crowd, towards the banks on the lower level. He scanned the faces, almost by habit now; he hardly reflected on what he was doing. Many people, many faces; men and women of many races. He smiled wryly; he was a poet and he did know it – but Daniel was so much better. But … what was that? A man coming towards him … skinny, with a cap on his head. The man glimpsed his way … there was something furtive in his eyes. The man looked away in distraction … and then with a start, looked back at David. He looked directly at the man, the man looked directly at him … and stopped in his tracks. His face went pale, his mouth dropped open. And in his eyes … he looked as if he had seen … a ghost.
"It … it is you!" the man stammered.
In that instant, David understood. Blind fury overcame him.
"It is you! " he shouted back. He rushed at the man. The man ran as fast as he could but there were too many people in his way. David, his physique as powerful as that of his deceased identical twin brother Daniel, ploughed through the crowd and wrestled the man to the ground. The mall security arrived, David explained, the police were on the scene soon enough. The man confessed and his two accomplices were tracked down. There had been other robberies and at least one other murder. All three got sentences of life imprisonment. Daniel's laptop was never recovered, though.
But for David, it was a kind of closure, to know that the culprits had been found at last … thanks to a chance encounter, with a man who saw the face of a ghost, of a man he had murdered, a face that must have shocked the wits out of him when he saw it that day in a crowded mall – a face that would now also haunt him for the rest of his miserable life, David was sure.
