A quest for justice and a killer’s confession

IN the church where she had sung in the choir as a little girl and where as a young woman she had exchanged marriage vows, she now laid in eternal sleep, still young, as the pastor prayed for her soul to find everlasting peace.A life that was filled with the promises of love and happiness drowned by a raging sea of obsession and cruelty.
The church was filled with family and friends, their expressions of sadness and shock evident as endearing words described her life.
How did this happen? How could a kind and compassionate person, so full of life, die this way?
Somewhere, somehow, answers had to be found.
She was supposed to have been in the Bahamas on a month’s vacation. The pictures and short messages sent from her phone to her family testified to that fact. How then could that have happened whilst her body was lying in a shallow grave?
Someone clever and cunning had planned the crime, leaving not a clue nor a trail, thinking that if the body was ever found, it would be too late to identify the corpse. The plan was perfect until her image appeared on social media as ‘Missing.’
That had created a tidal wave of questions that almost overwhelmed the police and the million dollar question was – who had posted the image and message?
The complex nature of the case had the police, pressured by the family for answers, detaining several suspects; but the one person they focused on was the ex-husband. Dianne’s family were vehement he was responsible for her death because of their troubled marriage and recent breakup. But he had an airtight alibi for the night she was presumed to have been killed and after intense questioning, the police found nothing to hold him on.
His grief seemed genuine and he offered the family his support in finding Dianne’s killer; but they rejected him, angrily, knowing in their hearts he was the guilty one.
Arnold sat at the back in the church, moved by the eulogy of her life, thanking God in his mind that she was getting a decent funeral. He saw her standing by her coffin, her face pensive as she looked at her family in their deep grief.
“I hope she can now move on,” was his thought; and always she seemed to hear him as she looked directly at him and shook her head, slowly.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked, silently.
“Justice.” A voice from the wind answered.
He said nothing, nor thought anything, just keeping his mind blank to ponder later how she would attain the justice she sought when he saw a sudden change in her expression.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s him,” was her answer, dark anger on her face.
Her ex-husband was walking up the aisle to her coffin, a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand.
Arnold had already witnessed what she could do when in a rage and he stood up, shaking his head, a pleading look in his eyes. It would not be a god thing, he knew, for her to create havoc in the church at her funeral service. She heeded his plea and moved away as her ex-husband laid his hand on her closed coffin, his head bent as though he was saying a prayer for her when the organ that had been playing softly, made a sudden, loud sound that startled everyone.
The organ player immediately apologized, a perplexed look on her face and for the first time since that night at the morgue, Arnold saw a little smile on Dianne’s face. He knew without having to ask that she was going to enjoy tormenting the man.
“You could not have shown me love and care,” Arnold heard her saying, “and yet you were unwilling to let go.”
The Pastor’s Bible that had been sitting on the pulpit fell to the ground, prompting gasps from the mourners in the front pew, and she said, a harsh edge in her voice,
“God owns me, you do not and you never will.”
Dianne’s mother got up and said, as calmly as she could, deep dislike glinting in her eyes, “Travis, move away from her coffin. She doesn’t want you close to her.”
He stepped back, somewhat uncomfortable and cast a swift glance around, as though expecting to see her.
“Her soul is restless,” her mother whispered to him, “Because her killer is here.”
He hesitated for a moment, then walked out the church, disturbed, not waiting for the funeral procession to the cemetery.
Arnold waited until the last dirt was shoveled onto her grave, for this is where her soul would linger until her ascent to heaven. That night,Sthe scenes of the funeral, replayed in his mind and he wondered how she could achieve justice for her death, what her plans were. The police had nothing on her ex-husband except for knowing he had motive and opportunity, but no concrete evidence to build a case.
“Unless he confesses,” was the thought that crossed Arnold’s mind, “But how would she get him to do that?”
No answer which must mean she was not around and his eyes closed in restful sleep, for the first time since he had seen her ghost at the morgue. Arnold was not sure how long he slept but late in the night, he awoke, a faint floral scent touching his senses and turning, he sat up with a sudden start.
She was lying beside him in a long, white dress, in peaceful sleep, as alive looking as ever.
“Geez!” he exclaimed and stood looking at her for a long moment.
“She’s so beautiful, how could he have been so merciless to destroy such a life?”
He shook his head, not understanding life’s complexities and went to his cabinet for a drink of Scotch. He sat there, watching television and about an hour later she came and sat on the sectional sofa, a little way from him.
“Why did you leave your bed?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to disturb you?” he answered.
“Funny.” She smiled, not looking at him.
The communication between them was thoughts, not actual words, and for a moment, neither said anything, then Arnold asked, “What are you plans, given you want justice?”
She did not answer, got up, walked around the room, whilst he took another drink, then came and sat down, a look of mischief on her face.
“I’ll find ways to bring him down until he confesses.”
“What ways?”
“To start with, I can return the bouquet of flowers he brought to the funeral.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Not me, you will.”
“What?” he looked at her, unbelievingly, “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”
“No, I’ll be your unseen guide.” She said simply.
So that evening, he took a bus following her direction and along the way he noticed her expression had changed once more to a sad look. The question that had been floating in his mind to why he was doing this, changed course to a realization that he was doing this to help her soul find peace.
Not far from his stop, his thoughts were interrupted by the conductor hitting on a school girl. It always irked Arnold to see young girls being harassed and he admonished the young man.
“Hey, leave her alone.”
“Shut up man.” was the rude answer.
He said no more, just turned around and looked at Dianne, transmitting a message; and when he disembarked as the uncouth conductor was pulling the door shut, an unseen hand grabbed him and pulled him to the ground. He landed hard and laid there stunned for a moment; then as he sat up, someone slapped him and he scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly.
Arnold gave him a sober look and stern warning, “Stop interfering with young girls,” and he turned and walked down the street, focusing on his mission at hand. No one paid attention to him and the brown terrier at the ex-husband’s house did not bark as Arnold melted in the shadows, leaving the bouquet on the man’s doorstep.
He was safely on his way home when the dog snapped out of her trance and started barking furiously. The expression on her ex-husband’s face was epic when he saw the bouquet and angrily, he tore the flowers to pieces. He did not know that was the beginning of a plan to crack his evil mind by someone he had hurt, someone whose life he had destroyed.
One day at a time, she tormented him, the terrier that was her puppy, disappearing without a trace, her picture on the wall that caught fire one night and her ghostly form appearing at the bar, where he once socialized, freaking out his friends. He moved to his mother’s house on the West Coast, but the haunting followed him, yet he didn’t break down.
“I’m thinking he may never confess.” She told Arnold, as they were talking one night, the missing puppy curled up on the sofa.
“Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to let go of you.”
She sighed, not saying anything for a long moment, once again that sad look and she said, “Today would’ve been my birthday.”
Arnold smiled and shook his head in mock frustration, “Man, we’re wasting the night talking about a killer and his confession, let’s go celebrate!”
She looked him, surprised, “Are you crazy? I can’t do that anymore.”
“I can say I’m crazy helping a ghost and partying with her under dim lights.”
It was definitely a night Arnold would remember for the rest of his life. He took her to three different clubs and sat at the bar, drinking, watching her dance. She was a great dancer and in the last few hours, he danced with her, a beautiful woman, who was robbed of life, but who for him was undead.
He awoke late, the next morning and after a long, cool shower, he collected the newspaper from the doorstep and almost dropped the glass of cold water in his hand, at the screaming headline.
“Ex-husband confesses to killing of school teacher, turns in murder weapon.”
“Yes!” he laughed in relief, “She did it.”
The puppy barked and ran around the room, joining in the happy moment as though she understood what had happened. He called for Diane in his mind but she did not answer and he waited until late that night, knowing that she was free now, to leave, but wanting to see her one last time to say, ‘Goodbye.’ His eyes closed in sleep and sometime later, he heard a soft voice, calling his name, a voice he had never heard before.
“Arnold.”
He opened his eyes and beheld a most beautiful sight. She was standing in a long, flowing, white dress, her form illuminated by a golden light, a smile of divine peace on her face as she bid him ‘farewell’.
He stood at the window looking at the heavens and the twinkling stars, missing her, but happy she had gone home.
“One day, maybe,” he said quietly, “I’ll see you again.”

Maureen Rampertab