Ghost of Lifetime Past

‘Victor,’ the voice calls out. He hears it every second of every day, haunting him, burning his soul. His eyes shift, trying to find the source. He knows in his heart of hearts that it cannot be her. She’s gone. Yet her voice, her touch, her smell-just her-­ follows him everywhere.

The only rational explanation can be that someone is following him, reminding of what he’d done; reminding him of her. Chestnut hair, green eyes, beautiful smile. Catherin, the voice in his head reminds him. Her hands slide over his back, softly as if to soothe him; but all he feels is a chill run down his spine.

‘You’re not really here,’ he whispers, voice cracking in fear. It cannot be real. ‘Stop it!’ he screams at her, moving away from her. ‘Stop touching me! Stop comforting me! Just stop!’ he screams. Her eyes glass over with unshed tears, her lips tremble. ‘You’re not supposed to be here. You are not real!’ he shouts again, not knowing if he’s trying to convince her or himself.

‘Victor,’ she whispers again. She reaches out to touch him, the feeling so familiar but her hand has lost its warmth, leaving an icy trial on his cheek. He pushes her away, stumbling, falling, falling, falling....Falling into a dark abyss with apparently no end.

He jolts awake, his shirt sodden through with his sweat. It was the same nightmare, the same one that has been haunting him for the past one year. He can still feel her hands on his cheek, her phantom touch. He closes his eyes, trembling.

But it wasn’t her. It will never be her. She was gone and she can never return. He can remember the day as if it was just yesterday. The blood splattered walls, her pleading wails-her screams echoes through his head all the time.

He gets up from bed, moving to get a glass of water to soothe his burning body. ‘Victor?’ he can hear her phantom voice. He has learned to ignore it while awake. It is only in his dreams-nay, nightmares does he lose his mind, does he find it hard to distinguish between what is real and what isn’t.

He walks past her room to reach the kitchen, but this time, unlike any other, he pauses outside it. It used to be her-their- room. His and Catherin’s. He hadn’t been inside ever since she...But tonight, he paused. Tonight it felt different. Tonight makes it one entire year since she...well, since she stopped staying there.

He could hear her laughter from a life time ago inside that room. Remember the endless nights spent in there. Her presence is strongest in there, he knew. The room with the blood splattered walls. He hesitates before opening it, entering it. The minute he steps inside he is bombarded with memories. Memories of a good life, of a good marriage. He could still see her loving smile as she woke him up every day. Her soft hands, brushing her hair. He could see it all.

‘Victor, Victor, Victor.’ He could hear her voice all around him now, surrounding him, choking him-making it impossible to ignore. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ it says, earnestly. He jumps back, pressing himself against the door. All these months the only thing he heard was his name. This was new, this was not a memory.

‘It’s all mine,’ the voice cries, sounding so much like Catherin’s. But it can’t be because she died. He looks at his trembling hands and lets out a sharp cry. They were covered in blood...and it wasn’t his. He knows it isn’t. He wipes it frantically on his shirt, trying to get rid of it. But it didn’t go. He wipes it vigorously now on his shirt, on the wallpaper with already dried blood on it. But it refused to leave. His back was to the room now, his whole body trembling. Victor, she called, her voice coming from right behind him. He whirled around, plastering himself to the wall.

‘Catherin,’ he said, terrified. She was standing right in front of him, looking exactly the same as she did when she died. A red spot appeared on her dress, the same dress she wore on that day. The spot kept growing, getting bloodier by the second.

He could not utter a word as he watched her stalk forward. He could see it all now, everything that happened a year ago. He could remember the pain, the heart-wrenching pain he felt when he realised what he had to do. He could remember the feel of the wooden handle of the kitchen blade in his hand, leaving an imprint because of his tight grip. He could remember her pleading cries, begging him to end her misery. He could remember how tight she gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards her. He could feel it all, like it had happened just now.

‘I’m so sorry, Catherin,’ he says, his voice breaking, his hand reaching out to touch her. Her smile is sad, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears, just like in his dream. He hesitates because his head is screaming she can’t be real while his heart beats, as if whispering Yes, she is. He closes his eyes, his hand suspended in mid-air, going through the battle of head and heart.

His heart won out in the end and he reached out to touch her. He stifled his gasp as he felt her soft skin under his palm. She subtly leaned into him, closing her eyes, blissfully content. ‘I’m so sorry, Catherin,’ he says again, not moving a muscle, afraid that if he did, she would disappear.

‘Shhh’, she whispers, placing her hand over his. This time he couldn’t have held in his gasp if he wanted. After an entire year of phantom touches, to feel her warm hands instead of her cold ones, he almost fell to his knees. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Victor,’ she said.

‘Yes, it was. I killed you,’ he told her, looking at her with self-hatred. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too. Always,’ she smiled, though it was too sad for him to gain any happiness from it. ‘Stop blaming yourself.’

‘I can’t. All I see, all I feel, is you all around me. You are with me with every breath I take, with every day I live,’ he said with conviction, his eyes filling up with tears.

‘And you are with me,’ she replied. ‘You have to stop blaming yourself,’ she repeated.

‘The blood is on my hands, Catherin!’ he exclaimed. She looked unperturbed by his outburst. He held up his hands, so that she could see them with her own two eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have killed you. I am so sorry.’

‘Victor, you honoured my wish. I was miserable and you helped me find peace,’ she said imploringly.

‘Then why are you here?’ He cried, dropping his hands to his side. She looked at him in a way that said he already knew the answer. ‘You’re not really here, are you?’ he asked after a pregnant pause.

She shook her head, tears finally falling down her face. He slid down the door, resting his arms on his knees, looking the very picture of a broken man. He could still feel her presence but now that he knows that she isn’t here, he couldn’t bring himself to look up at her.

He couldn’t bear it, the feeling it invoked worse than those in his dreams.

‘Victor, please!’ she begged him, just like she had that night. ‘Forgive yourself. It was not your fault. Accept it.’

‘I can’t,’ he replied for the hundredth time, his voice cracking. He leans his head against the door with a dull thud.

~*~

‘Victor, please, just do it!’ Catherin cried, grabbing his shirt, her knuckles turning white.

‘I can’t. How could you ask this of me?’ he whispered, the handle of the blade digging into his palm. ‘We’ll get through this. You and I, together, just like we always have and always will,’ he said, trying to bring some hope back into his wife.

Her empty, soulless eyes looked at him. ‘I cannot move on, Victor. I’ve lost everything. Our child. My family. I cannot go on existing when I feel dead inside. End my misery. If you love me like you claim you do, end it.’

‘Catherin, you have me! I will help you. I will stand by you. Always,’ he promised, resisting her strong hand pulling his blade wielding one forward.

‘Always is just a lie,’ she hissed, so unlike his soft-spoken, optimistic wife. ‘I will lose you one day too.’

‘I cannot end your life, Catherin,’ he shouted, trying to pull away from her surprisingly strong grip. ‘You cannot just hand me a blade and beg me to end your life.’

‘But I did. Why can’t you honour my wish, Victor?’ she cried.

‘Because I can’t lose you!’

‘Seems like you already have,’ she whispered, broken.

‘I can bring you back. Come back to me, Catherin. We can start over,’ he said, hoping to get through to her.

He felt rather than saw her take a deep, shuddering breath. Her hand on his shirt loosened, draped over his shoulder. ‘We’ll get through this. We will because our love is strong,’ he promised, his rigid shoulders relaxing as he moved in to kiss her lightly. ‘I love you,’ he whispered.

‘I love you too,’ she whispered back and the hand holding his pulls him forward, making the blade stab her. He stares at her horrified, her blood seeping out and staining his hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says as she rips the blade from her body violently, spattering blood on her husband and the walls.

‘Catherin!’ he yells, catching her as she staggered forward, the blood staining her dress. ‘I am so sorry,’ he whispers, but she never heard him. She didn’t hear his roar of anguish either, as the only family, the only person in his life that ever mattered died in his arms, burdening him for all eternity. ‘No,’ he croaks, his voice rough from his crying and screaming. His lifts a bloody hand and traces her cheek, memorising her face, etching it in his memory. ‘Nooooooo!’ he howls along with the storm that started outside, holding his dead wife close to him.

~*~

The guilt that had eaten up inside of him the whole year eased up, letting him finally take in a deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered into the wind.‘Victor,’ the voice calls out. He hears it every second of every day, haunting him, burning his soul. His eyes shift, trying to find the source. He knows in his heart of hearts that it cannot be her. She’s gone. Yet her voice, her touch, her smell-just her-­ follows him everywhere.

The only rational explanation can be that someone is following him, reminding of what he’d done; reminding him of her. Chestnut hair, green eyes, beautiful smile. Catherin, the voice in his head reminds him. Her hands slide over his back, softly as if to soothe him; but all he feels is a chill run down his spine.

‘You’re not really here,’ he whispers, voice cracking in fear. It cannot be real. ‘Stop it!’ he screams at her, moving away from her. ‘Stop touching me! Stop comforting me! Just stop!’ he screams. Her eyes glass over with unshed tears, her lips tremble. ‘You’re not supposed to be here. You are not real!’ he shouts again, not knowing if he’s trying to convince her or himself.

‘Victor,’ she whispers again. She reaches out to touch him, the feeling so familiar but her hand has lost its warmth, leaving an icy trial on his cheek. He pushes her away, stumbling, falling, falling, falling....Falling into a dark abyss with apparently no end.

He jolts awake, his shirt sodden through with his sweat. It was the same nightmare, the same one that has been haunting him for the past one year. He can still feel her hands on his cheek, her phantom touch. He closes his eyes, trembling.

But it wasn’t her. It will never be her. She was gone and she can never return. He can remember the day as if it was just yesterday. The blood splattered walls, her pleading wails-her screams echoes through his head all the time.

He gets up from bed, moving to get a glass of water to soothe his burning body. ‘Victor?’ he can hear her phantom voice. He has learned to ignore it while awake. It is only in his dreams-nay, nightmares does he lose his mind, does he find it hard to distinguish between what is real and what isn’t.

He walks past her room to reach the kitchen, but this time, unlike any other, he pauses outside it. It used to be her-their- room. His and Catherin’s. He hadn’t been inside ever since she...But tonight, he paused. Tonight it felt different. Tonight makes it one entire year since she...well, since she stopped staying there.

He could hear her laughter from a life time ago inside that room. Remember the endless nights spent in there. Her presence is strongest in there, he knew. The room with the blood splattered walls. He hesitates before opening it, entering it. The minute he steps inside he is bombarded with memories. Memories of a good life, of a good marriage. He could still see her loving smile as she woke him up every day. Her soft hands, brushing her hair. He could see it all.

‘Victor, Victor, Victor.’ He could hear her voice all around him now, surrounding him, choking him-making it impossible to ignore. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ it says, earnestly. He jumps back, pressing himself against the door. All these months the only thing he heard was his name. This was new, this was not a memory.

‘It’s all mine,’ the voice cries, sounding so much like Catherin’s. But it can’t be because she died. He looks at his trembling hands and lets out a sharp cry. They were covered in blood...and it wasn’t his. He knows it isn’t. He wipes it frantically on his shirt, trying to get rid of it. But it didn’t go. He wipes it vigorously now on his shirt, on the wallpaper with already dried blood on it. But it refused to leave. His back was to the room now, his whole body trembling. Victor, she called, her voice coming from right behind him. He whirled around, plastering himself to the wall.

‘Catherin,’ he said, terrified. She was standing right in front of him, looking exactly the same as she did when she died. A red spot appeared on her dress, the same dress she wore on that day. The spot kept growing, getting bloodier by the second.

He could not utter a word as he watched her stalk forward. He could see it all now, everything that happened a year ago. He could remember the pain, the heart-wrenching pain he felt when he realised what he had to do. He could remember the feel of the wooden handle of the kitchen blade in his hand, leaving an imprint because of his tight grip. He could remember her pleading cries, begging him to end her misery. He could remember how tight she gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards her. He could feel it all, like it had happened just now.

‘I’m so sorry, Catherin,’ he says, his voice breaking, his hand reaching out to touch her. Her smile is sad, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears, just like in his dream. He hesitates because his head is screaming she can’t be real while his heart beats, as if whispering Yes, she is. He closes his eyes, his hand suspended in mid-air, going through the battle of head and heart.

His heart won out in the end and he reached out to touch her. He stifled his gasp as he felt her soft skin under his palm. She subtly leaned into him, closing her eyes, blissfully content. ‘I’m so sorry, Catherin,’ he says again, not moving a muscle, afraid that if he did, she would disappear.

‘Shhh’, she whispers, placing her hand over his. This time he couldn’t have held in his gasp if he wanted. After an entire year of phantom touches, to feel her warm hands instead of her cold ones, he almost fell to his knees. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Victor,’ she said.

‘Yes, it was. I killed you,’ he told her, looking at her with self-hatred. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too. Always,’ she smiled, though it was too sad for him to gain any happiness from it. ‘Stop blaming yourself.’

‘I can’t. All I see, all I feel, is you all around me. You are with me with every breath I take, with every day I live,’ he said with conviction, his eyes filling up with tears.

‘And you are with me,’ she replied. ‘You have to stop blaming yourself,’ she repeated.

‘The blood is on my hands, Catherin!’ he exclaimed. She looked unperturbed by his outburst. He held up his hands, so that she could see them with her own two eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have killed you. I am so sorry.’

‘Victor, you honoured my wish. I was miserable and you helped me find peace,’ she said imploringly.

‘Then why are you here?’ He cried, dropping his hands to his side. She looked at him in a way that said he already knew the answer. ‘You’re not really here, are you?’ he asked after a pregnant pause.

She shook her head, tears finally falling down her face. He slid down the door, resting his arms on his knees, looking the very picture of a broken man. He could still feel her presence but now that he knows that she isn’t here, he couldn’t bring himself to look up at her.

He couldn’t bear it, the feeling it invoked worse than those in his dreams.

‘Victor, please!’ she begged him, just like she had that night. ‘Forgive yourself. It was not your fault. Accept it.’

‘I can’t,’ he replied for the hundredth time, his voice cracking. He leans his head against the door with a dull thud.

~*~

‘Victor, please, just do it!’ Catherin cried, grabbing his shirt, her knuckles turning white.

‘I can’t. How could you ask this of me?’ he whispered, the handle of the blade digging into his palm. ‘We’ll get through this. You and I, together, just like we always have and always will,’ he said, trying to bring some hope back into his wife.

Her empty, soulless eyes looked at him. ‘I cannot move on, Victor. I’ve lost everything. Our child. My family. I cannot go on existing when I feel dead inside. End my misery. If you love me like you claim you do, end it.’

‘Catherin, you have me! I will help you. I will stand by you. Always,’ he promised, resisting her strong hand pulling his blade wielding one forward.

‘Always is just a lie,’ she hissed, so unlike his soft-spoken, optimistic wife. ‘I will lose you one day too.’

‘I cannot end your life, Catherin,’ he shouted, trying to pull away from her surprisingly strong grip. ‘You cannot just hand me a blade and beg me to end your life.’

‘But I did. Why can’t you honour my wish, Victor?’ she cried.

‘Because I can’t lose you!’

‘Seems like you already have,’ she whispered, broken.

‘I can bring you back. Come back to me, Catherin. We can start over,’ he said, hoping to get through to her.

He felt rather than saw her take a deep, shuddering breath. Her hand on his shirt loosened, draped over his shoulder. ‘We’ll get through this. We will because our love is strong,’ he promised, his rigid shoulders relaxing as he moved in to kiss her lightly. ‘I love you,’ he whispered.

‘I love you too,’ she whispered back and the hand holding his pulls him forward, making the blade stab her. He stares at her horrified, her blood seeping out and staining his hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says as she rips the blade from her body violently, spattering blood on her husband and the walls.

‘Catherin!’ he yells, catching her as she staggered forward, the blood staining her dress. ‘I am so sorry,’ he whispers, but she never heard him. She didn’t hear his roar of anguish either, as the only family, the only person in his life that ever mattered died in his arms, burdening him for all eternity. ‘No,’ he croaks, his voice rough from his crying and screaming. His lifts a bloody hand and traces her cheek, memorising her face, etching it in his memory. ‘Nooooooo!’ he howls along with the storm that started outside, holding his dead wife close to him.

~*~

The guilt that had eaten up inside of him the whole year eased up, letting him finally take in a deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered into the wind.