Ghost - in the arms of Death

Chapter 12

The walk to Josh’s apartment isn’t far. We both walked in silence. His hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, while I pushed mine into my leather jacket. My fingers kept finding the card I have stored there, fumbling with the edges until I remembered not to crumple it.

Josh lives alone in a small, but comfortable apartment. It has nice wooden floors. His furniture has a retro look to it. This place looks like what the film industry thinks a nerdy poor guy's apartment looks like.

We all know that the kind of furniture they show on screen costs a fortune in real life and no nerdy poor guy could ever afford it.

I glance at Josh, watching him put down his keys into a dark blue plastic bowl, which stands decoratively on a sideboard next to the entrance.

„Nice place you got here,“ I try to break the silence.

„Thanks,“ he mumbles and heads into the next room. I follow him into his mint green kitchen.

„Are you hungry?“ he asks upon my entrance.

„No, not really,“ I tell him and he nods absentmindedly. I wonder what he’s thinking about right now. Probably how to get rid of me the fastest way possible.

„Drink?“ he then offers as if he just remembered his manners.

„Okay.“

He nods and prepares a glass for me, placing it firmly on the counter in front of me. He doesn’t let go of the glass, his fingers curled tightly around it as he fixes his dark eyes on me.

„What do you think you can gain from this?“

„It’ll get me hydrated,“ I say pointing at the glass he’s holding hostage.

„The Milites Mortes. What do you think will happen once you find them?“

„I don’t know,“ I say honestly, „but I am hoping I’ll find my brother’s murderer.“

„And then? Will you call the cops and hand the case over? This isn’t a game. It’s not like you can sniff around and play detective. This is serious s**t! Once you’re part of this there is no getting out!“

„What do you mean?” It almost sounds like he’s afraid of the Milites Mortes. As if it’s some sort of gang or maybe even mafia. I never thought about the possibility that it is anything other than just some people testing their strength in a fight. I thought the only illegal thing about it would be some rich folks gambling their money on the fights.

Josh sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair, “I am saying this s**t is dangerous! There’s a reason the Milites Mortes is a myth. There’s a reason, not every random person can join the festivities. It’s high-class and anonymous. It’s a fiercely protected secret because there are some high players involved.”

“You make it sound like it’s mafia.”

“It’s not, but close.”

“And you know these people?”

“No,” he says shaking his head, “as I said identities are protected. It’s almost impossible to get into the club. You need to get on someone's radar to receive an invitation.”

“Like this?” I ask, pulling the black card out of Leo’s old leather jacket. Josh nods hesitantly, his eyes on the card I am holding between my middle and index finger.

“How was Leo involved in this and how the hell do you know about it and I don’t?”

“You think your brother wanted you involved in this?”

“So he was involved?” I ask wide-eyed. I can’t believe this. How could he keep this from me? It hurts more than I expected.

I swallow hard and turn away from Josh’s scrutinizing gaze. I don’t want to show him any weakness. I need to be strong if I want him to tell me more.

“I think you’re holding the proof in your hand,” Josh says carefully, “what I don’t know is how to get one of those,” he says pointing at the card. “I know they have scouts out to get new fighters every now and then. I know that the Milites Mortes takes place once a month. I don’t know when. I don’t know where.”

“How... how well did you know Leo?” I ask washing down the lump in my throat with a large gulp of water.

He sighs, “well enough to know that he would kill me if I get you involved in this.”

“You were friends?” He nods. “I don’t understand,” I sigh and close my eyes for a moment.

“We became friends,” he tells me, “which is exactly why you can’t pursue this. He wouldn’t want you to.”

“They killed him, didn’t they?” I ask, choking on the tears threatening to spill any minute now.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, “it’s possible. All I know is that he fought the night before he was found dead. I don’t know what happened. I wish I could give you a better answer, but as for now I don’t have any.”

“For now?” I ask, quickly wiping away the tears.

He watches me intensely. His dark eyes roaming over my face in a frenzy. I can tell he’s fighting some kind of inner battle on what to tell me and what he should keep to himself.

“I am not going to let this go!” I tell him.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he sighs. A couple of seconds tick by before he speaks again, “can I trust you?”

“With what?” I mutter and wrap Leo’s jacket a little tighter around myself.

“My secret,” he says meaningfully. I sigh and shrug. I don’t really care about what he has to hide. All I want are answers to my questions. I want my brother back.

“This is important! I need to know if I can trust you to keep your mouth shut about this!”

“About what you just told me?”

“About what I am going to show you,” he says, “everything depends on it. I am trying to do right by your brother. He wouldn’t want you here, but I know you won’t back down. So, I am trying something else, but I need you to promise me that you will not act on your own. We are in this together!”

“What... I’m not sure I am following,” I say hesitantly.

“Yes or no?”

Can I keep that promise? Do I care if I break it? He seems to be serious about this and I know Leo would want me to do the right thing. He would probably prefer if I stay away from this, but I can’t do it. I know he wouldn’t have done it either if the roles were reversed. He would try to make right by me.

“Okay,” I finally say and hold his perusing stare. When he decides that I am sincere he nods and gestures for me to follow him.

He takes me to his bedroom/office, directing my attention to a large mind map on his wall. I have seen something like this before. On TV. When some detective was trying to solve a crazy murder. Josh’s wall is lacking the red thread connecting the evidence he had collected. This is more like an overview of hints and ideas.

I take a careful step closer. There’s a picture of Leo up on his wall. I remember the day it was taken. I remember because I took it and made him smile into the camera, even though he wanted me to leave him alone. It was before a fight ages ago.

Below his picture, I find his information. Our address, all of his fights on a list, his wins highlighted.

There’s a map of New York next to his picture. Some areas are circled in red, others blue. Mostly industrial areas.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask turning around to find Josh watching me in silence.

“Detective Joshua Miles,” he answers, my jaw dropping at his introduction. He’s a cop? He’s investigating my brother's death? How the hell don’t I know about any of this?

“I’m undercover,” he says, “so you may understand why you can’t tell anyone about this. You need to stop asking questions. If you want to find answers you’ll stick with me and you will do as I say. Understood?”

I can feel my head moving up and down, but my brain is still trying to comprehend what he just revealed to me. Never in a million years, I would have thought that Josh is anything other than just a regular guy who likes to work out in my uncle's studio.

“Did you know who I was all along?”

“No,” he says shaking his head, “only after I saw you clearing out Leo’s locker. That’s when it hit me.”

“Why... why didn’t you say anything?”

“Beats the whole idea of being undercover.”

“So, is Josh even your real name?”

“Maybe,” he smirks, and I shake my head in confusion.

How come I end up in situations like this? If I keep this up, I am sure I will lose my mind in no time. Slowly, but surely my life is twisting out of its axes, spinning into something new and probably dangerous. I get that now, but there’s no going back. Not anymore.