Farewell Tulips
Ophelia was drunk, drowned in a multicoloured sea of neon lights and blurred figures. The sound of laughter seemed miles away as she slumped against the cool leather of the booth. She ran her finger around the edge of her empty glass before stacking it on top of her leaning tower of therapy. A man in a sparkly tank top bumped into her and giggled an embarrassed apology before being whisked away by an equally giggly man in an equally sparkly top. Ophelia brushed the glitter from her shoulder and signalled to a passing server for another drink. The server was all smiles and manners but Ophelia could tell that he didn't think she should have anything but water. She waved a handful of notes in front of his face and he eagerly scurried off to give her the best beer they had. A tall black man sat down opposite her. He looked out of place amongst the literal rainbow of the crowd; dressed head to toe in black, the only splash of colour belonging the ruby dangling from his left ear. He reminded Ophelia of a pirate. But Jonathan Darcy wasn't a pirate, he was something much more dangerous. "Strange choice of location." He said with a raised eyebrow. "Just means no one is going to find us." "Or that you just wanted to meet in the place with the cheapest beer." Ophelia grinned slyly. "You got me." He laughed. "Also," she carried on, "I wanted to see how many people would hit on you." "What people?" Ophelia nodded to a guy in a leather jacket with long hair who was staring at Jonathan, not hiding his intentions. Jonathan raised his eyebrow again and gave a bemused smirk. "What on earth does he find interesting?"
"You are the literal embodiment of tall, dark and handsome." Johnathan shrugged. "I try my best." The server came back with a glass full of sweet poison and Ophelia took a long swig before slamming it down on the table with satisfaction. "Right," she said, her speech slowing as she felt the alcohol filter into her system, "down to business." Jonathan leaned forward, his smile replaced by complete seriousness. "I need you to exterminate someone." Ophelia lowered her head and stared into the amber liquid. "Then why didn't you contact the agency?" She already knew the answer, but she didn't like it. "It's someone who was murdered by a very important person." "How important?" "Important enough that if the ghost starts blabbing, there is going to be chaos." "So, you need them gone before they can tell anyone." Jonathan nodded. Ophelia sighed deeply, wishing she was a little soberer. "How much?" "Enough." She glared at him. "300,000" Ophelia masked her surprise. Just how important was this person? "Who's the ghost?" Jonathan looked around, his earring catching a spotlight which split it into a thousand blood red pieces. "Clarissa Mendez." Suddenly, the lights were too bright and the music too loud. Ophelia dropped her head into her hands, feeling a migraine growing like a weed in the centre of her forehead. She swore. "You owe me another drink. Something strong." "No. You need to be sober." "Well, I will be tomorrow." He stared at her and she swore again. "You could have forewarned me!" The night air was crisp and stung Ophelia's face with a million frozen needles. She pulled her trench coat around her shoulders and tried not to fall over as she stumbled towards Jonathan's car. It was black and expensive, she wasn't sure what type. The drive was long and quiet. Ophelia rested her head on the window and thought, not for the first time, about retiring. She had enough money. She could get a nice house in the country with climbing roses and a pond in the back garden. It would be someplace sunny, and she could lay in the hammock and read all day long. There would be no need to kill. The car pulled up outside an impressive manor house with wrought iron gates and an unnecessarily long drive. It was a house that had graced the front page of every newspaper over the past week for being the murder place of Clarissa Mendez. It had been a gruesome ordeal involving a meat cleaver and a lot of salt. "Who did it?" Ophelia asked. "The less you know the better." "Meaning if you told me, you would have to kill me." Jonathan turned to her, "You and I both know that killing you wouldn't be enough to keep you from talking." He nodded to the manor, "Our case and point being Miss Mendez." He got out of the car and Ophelia reluctantly followed. He led her through the gate but instead of following the path up to the house, he turned left towards a shed that looked out of place in the grandeur of the grounds. It was surrounded by yellow and black police tape but there were no police to be seen. Typical. Standing just in front of the shed, illuminated by the full moon, was a woman. She was wearing the remains of a blood-soaked dress. Even though she had been bleached by death, Clarissa Mendez's wounds were a vivid red that could be seen from miles away. Ophelia winced as the ghost turned towards her, revealing the long gash that ran from her hairline to her chin. "Miss Mendez," she called out, her words a little slurred, "can I talk to you?" "Are you going to arrest him?" "The man who killed you?" Clarissa nodded stiffly. "Eventually." Ophelia lied. "Then I'll talk." She ducked under the police tape, one hand inside her coat just in case the situation turned sour. "Why do you feel inclined to stay?" Clarissa's eyes flared with sudden fury. "Why the hell do you think? I've just been murdered!" Ophelia groaned internally. She wasn't in the mood for this. "What I mean is don't you have people waiting for you on the other side?" Clarissa turned her head, her dark hair falling in front of her face. "No. They're all still alive." Her voice was softer now, melancholy. "They're never going to see me again, are they?" "Not if you stay here." "But what about him? What's going to happen? How will I know he is going to pay for what he's done?" "You won't but you can trust us." That was a lie. Clarissa seemed to know it. She laughed bitterly, "Trust people who are trying to get rid of me? I'm not stupid. You're a ghostbuster, aren't you?" Ophelia didn't reply. There was no use pretending if Clarissa already knew what was going to happen. "Then you know you have no choice but to move on." Clarissa stared at her, her brown eyes pale but fierce. "Why are you doing this? It's not right." Ophelia's voice was barely above a whisper. "It's my job." She brought her hand out from underneath her coat. In it was clasped a yellow tulip. She held it out to Clarissa. "Take the flower, Miss Mendez." "What happens if I don't?" "You don't want to know." Clarissa stared at the flower, its delicate petals a stark contrast to the bloody scene. She took it hesitantly, her ghostly fingers wrapping around the stem. Ophelia reached back into her coat and removed a lighter. It was silver with a single circle carved into the bottom left-hand corner. She thumbed back the lid and watched the flame flicker to life before extending it to the tulip in Clarissa's hand. "Goodbye, Miss Mendez. I'm sorry." She lit the tulip and watched the petals go up in flames. As the flower burned, Clarissa grew fainter and fainter until all trace of her was gone. Ophelia watched a single blacked petal drift on the wind, disintegrating as soon as it reached the ground. She turned on her heel and walked silently back to the car, stumbling on the frozen earth. A bitter taste coated her mouth and her limbs suddenly felt like they were made of lead. She leaned against the car door, waiting for Jonathan to catch up. She hated her job; it involved all the things a person tried to avoid in life. And death. The car lights blinked as Jonathan unlocked it, but Ophelia didn't get in. The wind picked up, whipping her hair in front of her face. She could just see the glint of his blood red earring as he stood in front of her. He didn't say a word. Neither did she. The silence spoke enough of the crimes committed in the name of peace.
