Ghost - in the arms of Death

Chapter 4

Two weeks passed by in the blink of an eye. It’s strange how time flows when you’re hurting. It just all becomes one fluid stream. Days blur into nights and nights blur into days. Nothing ever changes and everything stays the same. With a few exceptions that is.

I follow the voices around to the backyard of my dad's house. He bought it ten years ago for little money. It was a ruin back then, but he rebuild it with his own two hands. He had a little help from his brother, but other than that, this is a home he build himself. Literally.

My dad and my uncle used to work in construction. Dad still does, but Vincent moved on to focus on his gym.

A year ago dad landed a big gig with his company and he made good money. I remember mom saying that she never thought he would make it. I was a little mad at her for having that little faith in him. I think that’s one of the reasons their marriage didn’t last. My mom wanted more.

I’m not mad at her for wanting more, but she could have stuck with dad. He came around in the end. I sometimes wonder though if their marriage would have survived losing a child. I don’t think it would have.

Dad started drinking and mom started therapy.

I keep telling myself that he’s fine. His drinking hasn’t gotten out of hand yet, but the truth is, that it has become a regular thing, which makes him an alcoholic. A functioning one, but still.

“My baby girl,” he yells when he sees me creeping around the corner. He kisses my cheeks enthusiastically before he holds me by the shoulders to take a good look at me, “my beautiful baby girl,” he says again with a happy smile on his face.

A pang of guilt explodes in my chest. I shouldn't avoid my father as I have. “Hey dad,” I offer him an apologetic smile.

“Come on, we just started,” he says guiding me to Vincent who’s operating his brand new, fancy grill. He got it just a few weeks ago and he send me a couple of pictures of it. Oh so proud of all the extras this thing has. He gets easily excited about anything BBQ-related.

We used to come here every Sunday. Leo, Vincent, and me. Sometimes even Alessandro. He and dad get along quite well.

Sometimes I feel like Alessandro likes my dad better than his own. Usually, a few neighbors would join. It always became quite the event. Ever since Leo passed it has quieted down.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” today Alessandro is here too. He hugs me and offers me a bottle of dad's favorite beer. “How are you?”

“I’m getting by,” I say with a little shrug. He nods in understanding, but I know the look in his eyes. He thinks that I should have moved on by now. But he doesn’t understand.

“I found something in his locker,” I tell him hesitantly.

Alessandro works for a big law firm. They have ways to find things out. At least that’s what I’ve learned from TV shows like Law and Order or Suits.

“I know you’re not into the martial arts, but we have this myth going around. Supposedly there’s an illegal fight club. Underground fighting with no rules. Big money is involved too. They call it the Milites Mortes,” I tell him.

“That’s a myth, Liah,” Vincent says, joining us, “since when do you believe in this kind of thing?”

“Since I found a business card in Leo’s locker, and I keep wondering if he was involved with them.”

“Even if it exists, Leo would have never gotten himself into trouble like that.”

“But what if he did?” I ask, my voice low. Vincent shakes his head dismissively and takes a sip from his beer. I know he doesn’t want to talk about this. He strongly believes that fighting without rules is disgraceful. It contradicts the ethics of martial arts.

“A myth is usually nothing more than just that,” Alessandro says.

“But what would I have to do to find out more about it?”

“Ah, this is where I get involved, right?” he guesses right. I nod.

“I don’t want you to look into this, Liah!” Vincent says, “things like that are dangerous!”

“I don’t want to start some underground s**t, I just want to know... I feel like there’s a side of Leo that I never knew. It’s driving me crazy! A part of you must understand that. I just want to know if he was involved or not. That’s all!”

“I don’t know. Vince might be right about this,” Alessandro says hesitantly, “it sounds like gang stuff. You don’t want to get involved with that. Not even a little bit.”

“I’m asking you for help, Lex!” Using his nickname usually gets me what I want. But this time he doesn’t look convinced. He looks torn.

“Please?” I try again, “I need to know! How am I supposed to move on if this keeps buzzing in my head.”

He sighs heavily, “I see what I can do. But it stops there, Liah. No further investigating it if –and that’s a big if- I find something.”

“Promise,” I say, but I’m not sure this is a promise I will be able to keep. “Thank you.”

“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” Vince mutters.

“Why? Do you know something?” I test him, but he shakes his head.

“I know people disappear from one day to the next. They are either dead or in jail. You can add up the rest!”

“So the Milites Mortes does exist?”

“Shady fight clubs exist all over the city. The Milites Mortes remains a legend though. I guess that it’s for a reason,” he says and gets up to join my dad at the grill.

“He’s right, you know?” Alessandro adds, “but I get why you need this. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Leo was a responsible guy. He wouldn’t have pulled a stunt like that.”

“Maybe,” I whisper. What I don’t say out loud is, that Leo died. He was killed in a fist fight. Who says that didn’t happen in some illegal fight? So far that’s the best explanation I have.

“Who’s hungry?” dad cheers, oblivious to the tension in his brother's posture, my hopeful smile, and Alessandro's hesitant reply.

As it gets later, I keep checking my watch. Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by my stepbrother. “Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his voice low so neither dad nor Vincent can hear us.

I don’t exactly have anywhere else to be, but ever since that one night at AMB I kept running into the mysterious stranger. We never speak to each other, just acknowledge the other's presence. That’s it.

But there is a strange, comforting understanding between us, that had me going back to the gym.

I still have no clue who he is and why he suddenly showed up. All I know is that he’s been there almost every night since. Maybe he appreciates the silent company as much as I do. He looks like someone who carries his own kind of baggage.

“I think I want to go to the gym,” I whisper. Vincent doesn’t need to know that I am not going to his studio. I think he would take it personally.

“Now?” Lex asks, with a frown.

“It’s quiet around this time,” I shrug, “I like it quiet. Working out helps me sleep. I need to be exhausted.”

“And you think that’s healthy?” he asks, worry lacing his tone, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you know I’m here for you, right? Maybe you should try-,”

“I don’t need therapy and I know it’s helping mom, but I’m not her. I found my own way to deal with this.”

“Are you though?” he asks. I don’t answer him, I just stand up and say my goodbyes. I hate when someone points out how bad I am actually doing. I know they mean well, but I can’t help how I feel and there is nothing that will make me whole again.

It takes me almost an hour to get to the AMB building. “Hey, Bob,” I greet my favorite night guard, “brought leftovers,” I say and hand him a doggy bag with some grilled goods from earlier.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he smiles happily and pats his belly, “if you keep on feeding me like that I’ll have to buy a new suit soon.”

“You look handsome as always,” I chuckle.

“Stop it, you are making me blush,” he says, actually blushing. With an amused smile, I make my way up to the gym. With disappointment, I have to find it vacant. I guess the stranger isn’t here yet. Maybe he’s not coming at all.

I shake my head at myself and quickly change. This time in the women’s locker room. I put my hair up as I walk out. I can’t help but smile at the sight of my new friend. He glances at me and greets me with a nod.

I return it and while he works out at the head bags, I decided to go for a run on the treadmill. Today I don’t listen to music, I listen to his breathing and the way his fists connect with the punching bag. I can tell he’s holding his breath, whenever he strikes.

I stop running and walk over to him, placing my hands on the swinging head bag. He stops his beating and looks at me with a frown on his very handsome face.

“You’re not controlling your breathing!” I tell him and his brows rise in surprise. “You hold your breath with each punch. Don’t do that!”

He tilts his head to the side, almost arrogantly. Guys usually hate it when a girl gives them fighting advice.

“It’s pretty easy actually,” I continue, ignoring the look on his face, “if you hold your breath, you waste energy. What you need to do is put the energy into the punch. Exhale with every blow!”

He changes his posture, his eyes remain on me. After a moment it becomes uncomfortable and I just roll my eyes at him, “fine. Don’t listen to me. What the f**k do I know, right?” I mutter and turn away.

“Where did you learn to fight?” he suddenly asks. I stop and turn around to face him. There’s a curious look in his blue eyes.

“My uncle. He owns a boxing studio.”

“I see,” he says and for a brief moment, his eyes travel down my body. Usually, it would piss me off to be gaped at like that, but with him, it feels weirdly different. Almost like he’s given me a silent compliment with just one look.

“Why come here if you can work out at his place?” he asks.

“Because it’s quiet here,” I tell him and he nods in understanding, “that’s why you’re here too, isn’t it? To be alone?”

“But I am not alone,” he states.

“You might as well be,” I shrug and let go of a little sigh to release the pressure I keep feeling inside my chest. I turn around to go do something else.

“How long have you been working here?” he asks.

I chuckle, “what makes you think I work here?”

“Because there is no way you would have had access to the building if you weren’t,” he says, sounding pretty sure.

“Maybe Bob is a good friend of mine,”

“Who?” he asks confused.

“Bob?! The night guard?!”

“Are you saying that, so he loses his job for letting someone who is not supposed to be here in?”

“Are you saying you have the power to fire him?”

A knowing smirk forms on his lips. Almost as if he’s enjoying an inside joke. I cross my arms in front of my chest, not very pleased with his smug expression. I thought I could like him. But I preferred it when he was quiet.

“What’s your name anyway?” I ask and his smirk turns into a low chuckle.

“What’s yours?” he retorts without answering me.

I stare at him for a moment, before I shake my head and turn away, “if you really wanna know, you’ll find out!” I say and head to the locker room.

“Is that supposed to be a challenge?” he calls after me.

“No,” I say over my shoulder, “you’d know if I had challenged you. Trust me!“