Free Ghost Writer by Margaret Gregory Page B

must come in the end,” a deeper voice
spoke.
    “I am not coming yet!”
    “Very well, but yours is a
lonely choice.” The second glow took the shape of a worldly looking
man of middle age.
    “Who are you? Another soul
collector?” Edwina asked.
    “Not exactly, but I can offer
you a choice.”
    “What?”
    “If you go up, you can find the
truth, but you cannot go back. Or if you stay here, you might
discover the truth, and try to help those who have stayed
behind.”
    “I’ll stay.”
    “It won’t be easy. Only one
person will be able to see you, and you must complete a task.”
    “What?”
    “There’s a woman, contemplating
dying. It isn’t her time. Help her, and perhaps you will be able to
find out what you want. Only guardian souls are allowed to stay on
Earth.”
    “I’ll help the woman and I will
find out why I died. I won’t give up. I promise. I’ll prove I can
do this even if I never had a chance to prove myself to my
father.”
    The glowing figures bowed to
her.
    “Can I stay here a while?” I
asked.
    “Time is already passing.”
    I looked around. The plane was
gone and the scar on the hillside was becoming hidden by new
growth.
    “Where is the plane?”
    “Gone to be investigated. Come,
you have a task to do. Do it well, and you can choose your next
placement.”
    The man shape glow reached out
and touched me. Time and space vanished. A garden replaced the
scarred hillside. The glowing man faded out.
    “Wait! What do I do?”
    There was no answer.
    “It’s up to me,” I thought,
suddenly feeling very alone and very sad.
    A breeze tickled me, bringing
the smell of roses. I wiped a phantom tear from my eyes and saw the
array of roses in front of me. Roses of red, white, yellow and
pink.
     
    My first thought was of how
peaceful it was in that little garden. Oh, you could hear the
children at the playground in the park, but they were distant –
beyond the ornamental privet hedge.
    Then I saw the woman. She was
alone – sitting on the patio of the house – in one of those awful
white plastic chairs. I never found those things comfortable and
she didn’t look relaxed. She was leaning back, but she had her
right leg locked behind the left, and she was clutching something
flat. Her gaze seemed fixed on something in front of her.
    I looked that way as well. The
roses were in full bloom, red, yellow, pink and white. The scent
was heady, I could have stared at them for hours too, but I didn’t
think she was seeing them. I wandered closer.
     
    “Evening!” I called as I passed
her. She didn’t even twitch an eye.
    That, I thought, is a woman with
a problem. Maybe that was reason I was there – in the garden.
    I studied her from near the rose
bushes. The sun reflected off her reading glasses and put a glow on
the rest of her face. She would be a lovely woman – if she hadn’t
retreated so far into herself that her face looked almost as serene
as it would in death.
    I shivered. The thought of dying
still affected me. Surely she hadn’t. No, I would know if she’d
died, and yes, her chest and the clutched book above it, rose and
fell regularly. I needed to rouse her so that she didn’t stay there
all night.
    Again I walked past her – closer
this time. I could see that her knuckles were white, and the book
had a red cover. Her position hadn’t changed. From the blankness in
the eyes above the glasses, she might have been considering ending
it all. But she was still young – it wasn’t her time to die.
    I shivered again and called
aloud, “Good evening.”
    Looking back over my shoulder, I
saw her face was wearing a faint frown. It was a start. I continued
through the gap in the hedge.
    The next time I crossed in front
of her, the frown deepened. Still clutching the book, she stood and
called to me.
    “Hey! Who are you?”
    I looked over my shoulder and
smiled. “Edwina,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”
    With that, I continued walking
into the park and took a seat on the