Speaking to the Dead
It had been 3 weeks since my girlfriend Amira took her own life. I still can’t believe she did it. She was so happy. We were both so happy together. Why would she have committed suicide when we had so many plans. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.
I tried to go on, but I couldn’t. I saw her everywhere. At school, I saw her decorated locker and remembered all the conversations we had together. It was there we made plans to take a year off after high school and travel, seeing the world.
Seeing her empty desk reminded me of all the times she let me cheat off her in class. Especially French class which she became quite fluent in. She was always the smart one. She always tried to get me to learn the material, but I was too stubborn and it was much easier to just copy her.
I went to the coffee shop we always attended after school, it felt hollow without her. Seeing her empty seat only made my already broken heart shatter into more pieces. There was a void inside my chest in her absence. We would spend hours in this coffee shop, discussing everything from my obsession with superheroes to her obsession with books. She’d always get a chai tea while I resorted to hot chocolate. I still remember the way she’d look at me as I went on and on about how Titan was the strongest superhero of them all. She’d just sip her tea and listen intently. Her shimmering brown eyes seemed to light up as I spoke. She’d occasionally tuck a loose string of her silky brown hair behind her ear.
I couldn’t get enough of her creamy angelic voice whenever she’d speak about her latest book obsession. She went into detail about every twist and turn she read about. I’d listen with enthusiasm as she explained why the ending was so perfect. She was perfect. She even started writing her own novel. Sadly she never finished it.
The only other person who seemed to understand my pain and truly know my loss was her mother Madeline Poole. I visited her quite often after Amira left this world. She’d make me tea, the same tea Amira loved. Then she’d tell me stories of what Amira was like growing up. How she was always such a curious child. Always questioning things and always had her nose in a book.
That’s Amira alright, I said. God, I missed her so much. Life wasn’t worth living without her. I still look at her social media accounts every day. I’d see all the pictures of us together and how happy she was. I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand why she left us.
One day after school I found myself on one of her social media accounts, watching a video of us together. We were at a cornfield maze. I remembered that day well. We had so much fun. We got a bit lost in the maze but enjoyed every minute of it before we picked out pumpkins and carved them later that night. She told me she had never felt happier in her life that day. We had our first kiss that night. I had driven her home and we sat in my car in her driveway. We both were nervous, I could tell. She looked over at me and I looked over at her. We slowly leaned in and our lips touched. She then whispered in my ear Mon Chéri which meant my dear in french. She continued to whisper that to me whenever we were alone and I called her Ma Chérie. It was our thing. No one else knew about it. I felt like I was reliving the memory when I got a message.
I nearly toppled over in my chair as I saw who it was from. It was from Amira. I couldn’t believe it. Was someone playing a prank on me? It wasn’t funny, that’s for sure. I swore if I found out who was behind the prank, I’d make them pay. I opened the message and it only had 2 words. Help me.
A sudden chill crept over my skin. I stared at the message for a long time before I pulled myself together. I quickly typed a reply. Look, whoever you are, you’re not funny. Knock it off!!!
I saw they were typing again. I was getting really angry. Who would dare hack into her account and play such a disgusting prank?
Patrick, please, I need your help!
It’s not funny! Stop playing around! I typed back.
Once again they were typing. I swear, I’m going to find out who’s doing this and when I do…
They sent another message and I froze. My hands became very sweaty and my heart started to race. It couldn’t be. That’s impossible.
The message read. Mon Chéri, remember the time we were at the cornfield maze? We got lost but we had so much fun. You drove me home that night and we kissed for the first time. Remember?
Could it really be her? No one else knows about what happened that night. Maybe she told someone about that night. I started typing again.
Who are you and how did you know that?
It’s me, Amira. Your Ma Chérie. Please, you have to believe me. I always let you cheat off my homework even after I tried to persuade you to do your own work. You have to believe me. I need your help.
I didn’t know what to say or even what to think. She knew things that only Amira and I knew. Could it really be her? She’s dead. I remember seeing her cold dead body in the casket during her funeral. I began typing. How is this possible?
I waited with sickening anticipation as she started to type. I don’t know, but you need to get my laptop. It has everything. You need to get it, Mon Chéri. Watch what’s on it. It has the truth.
What truth? What’s on the laptop? I typed furiously.
I have to go. She began typing again but stopped. I waited for almost an hour, but no other message came.
The next day after school, I went over to Amira’s house and was greeted by her mother. She smiled as she invited me in for tea. I sat down and we chatted a bit. She told me about a memory of Amira’s homecoming. How we both looked so adorable together all dressed up. She said she had been going over the pictures that day and fell into tears. I try my best to comfort her while thinking of a way to ask her if I could go to her room.
“Ms. Poole?”
“Oh, darling you can just call me Madeline,” she said.
“I was wondering if I could go up to Amira’s room and get her laptop,” I asked.
She looked up at me apprehensively. She seemed shocked that I would even ask that. “What would you want her laptop for?”
I had to quickly think of an excuse. I didn’t want to tell her that I could be talking to the dead ghost of her daughter over social media. That seemed crazy. I really thought I might’ve gone mad and I didn’t want to validate it. “She was writing a book and I wanted to finish it for her and publish it. I thought that she deserved some sort of recognition.”
She thought it over a bit before a sincere smile appeared on her face. “Yes, I think that would be nice. Amira would want that.”
She led me up to her room and let me inside. I noticed there were scuff marks on the door, but it didn’t seem all that odd. I knew Amira had argued with her mother sometimes. As we walked into her room, my breath caught. It was exactly the same as it had been while she was alive. I couldn’t fight the tears as I walked in. My emotions overwhelmed me and I found myself breaking down at the sight of all her things. Her mother did her best to comfort me. It took me a while to pull myself together. I found her laptop on her desk and she took it into her hands and hugged it close to her chest. She told me to be careful with it and if I found anything in it to let her know immediately. I nodded and promised I would. She reluctantly handed it to me. She held on, looking me in the eyes as I went to take it from her.
“Her things are all I have left of her. Please don’t mess with anything on her laptop. I want it left the way it is,” she said, with tears streaming down her eyes. I nodded and I promised her I wasn’t going to change anything on it. I just wanted to publish her novel.
She let go and hugged me. She walked me out and watched as I got into my car. I took one last look up at her as she stood at the door staring down at me. She seemed very reluctant to give me the laptop and I understood. It was a piece of her daughter she had given me.
I drove back home, plugged the laptop in, and booted it up. I came to the login screen which was password protected. I logged onto my social media account and messaged her, saying I had the laptop but it was password protected.
Her reply was instant. Moncheri.
Of course. I quickly went back to her computer. After taking a deep breath I typed it in. It worked. I was taken to her desktop. I found her novel. I opened it to find she had actually completed it. Tears welled up as I began to read it. I read the entire thing that night. It was brilliant, but what I found typed at the end left me puzzled. It was a file extension. I searched her computer for the file and found it. Inside the file were a bunch of videos. There were 2 videos. One was dated the day before she died and the other was dated on the day she died.
I clicked the first video and her face popped up, but what she said made me sick.
“I think my mother is sick in the head,” she said in a very scared and panicked tone. “I don’t know who to tell about this, but she needs help. She found out that I was planning on leaving after I graduated high school. She was angry about it. She said I couldn’t leave her. I don’t like the look in her eyes. She’s really starting to scare me.”
She quickly looked over her shoulder. “I have to go.”
I was speechless. I quickly pulled up the next video and watched it. Once again Amira’s face came into view. She looked truly frightened. “I think my mother is going to kill me. She’s gone deranged. She says I can’t leave her. She says that I have to stay here with her forever. I told her she’s crazy. She won’t let me leave the house. She took my phone away and shut the internet off. I have no way of getting help! I’m scared. I’m really scared.”
There was a pounding noise in the background. Amira looked behind her and then back at the computer. There were tears in her eyes. I felt this nauseating feeling in my stomach as I watched in horror. “I have to go, she’s trying to get into my room.”
“Who are you talking to? You can’t be talking to that Patrick boy, I have your phone and shut down the internet. Open the door!” I heard Amira’s mom shout behind her. “You need to stay with me. You can’t leave me. You’re all I have left. I won’t let you leave.”
She starts to cry and panic. “I have to go. If you find this, it might be too late. Please, tell someone.”
The video doesn’t stop there. It shows Madeline breaking in. There was a struggle. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t stop watching. Amira tried to pull away from her mother, she tripped and fell. Her head smacked hard against her desk and there was a loud crack. Madeline screamed. I felt sick. I bent down and found the waste paper basket and threw up. The video continued as Madeline sobbed. It was clear that Amira was dead. So it wasn’t a suicide. Then how did the police determine it was? I continued watching to find Madeline coming to her senses. She rushed away and came back with rope. She a noose to the ceiling fan. She strung up her dead daughter, then she pulled her down and in a hysterical fit, she called the police.
As the police arrived, she told them a huge lie. That she broke in to find her daughter was hanging there. They ruled it a suicide. The video goes on for a while longer before it cuts off.
Just then I saw someone pull into my driveway. It was Ms. Poole. My heart froze. Could she suspect that the truth is on the laptop? I quickly called the police.
I heard downstairs my mother answered the door and invited Ms. Poole in. My heart tried to leap out of my chest. I told the police everything and how Ms. Poole was downstairs. They said they’d send someone over.
I heard Ms. Poole asked my mother if I was home. She told her that I was upstairs. I heard her footsteps as they climbed the stairs. My stomach turned and I felt sick as my mother knocked on the door. I quickly shut the laptop “Honey? Amira’s mother is here. She wants to speak with you.”
My mother opened the door and she let Amira’s mom in. I tried to compose myself. I tried to act normal. I tried to get my breathing under control as Amira’s mom stepped in. She looked at me and then at the laptop. “Were you able to get in?”
“No, it’s password-protected,” I lied quickly. I saw a sense of relief cross her face. She killed the love of my life. Her own daughter.
“I think I like to have it back,” she said.
“No,” I spat out, grabbing the laptop.
“Honey, I know how you feel, but it’s not yours,” my mother said behind her.
“Sweetie, please. I just… I didn’t realize how much it meant to me…” Ms. Poole said. The look in her eyes said otherwise. She knew what might be on there. I could see it on her face.
“Liar!” I spat out to both my mother and Ms. Poole’s shock.
“Madeline, I apologize. Patrick hasn’t been himself ever since Amira passed away,” my mother said.
“I understand, now just give me the laptop,” she demanded, holding out her hand.
I saw the police lights in the distance. “I lied. I was able to get into her laptop. You wouldn’t believe what I found.”
Her eyes went wide and her face contorted to both horror and anger. With the laptop clenched in my hands, I pushed past her and bolted downstairs as the police arrived. I ran outside and told the woman officer everything except the part where Amira messaged me.
They took both Madeline Poole and myself to the police station. I showed them the videos Amira made and they arrested Madeline. The news was all over the internet by the morning. Psycho mother murdered her daughter and made it look like a suicide.
None of it made me feel any better. In fact, it made me feel worse. I couldn’t sleep. I felt horrible about it all. I never would’ve guessed all that was going on. Ms. Poole seemed so kind. Why couldn’t Amira have told me? I would’ve protected her. I didn’t understand any of it.
A little after all that happened I received a message from Amira. I quickly opened it.
Thank you, mon chéri. I wish I could spend one more day with you. I love you. I want you to live a happy life. Will you do that for me?
Tears fought their way out of my eyes as I read her message. I love you too, ma chérie. But we can still talk, right?
I waited as my heart ached while she typed.
I wish we could, but unfortunately, I can’t stay here any longer. I love you so much. Please forget about me and find someone to be happy with. That’s what I want for you. Promise me you’ll still travel.
Please don’t go. I can’t be happy without you. I don’t want to live in a world without you in it.
Oh, my sweet mon chéri, I would love nothing more than to stay here with you, but I can’t. You have to let go of me. Please live a full life for me. I love you. Goodbye Patrick.
I broke down and cried. She’s gone. She’s really gone. It took me a long time before I could pull myself together. I saved her laptop. I ended up publishing her book in her name. After I graduated, I did exactly what we planned to do and traveled. I got postcards from every place she wanted to visit. It felt like she was there with me. I hope wherever she is, she’s at peace.
The End.
Remember, you’re never safe in the dark…
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