Ghost - in the arms of Death

Chapter 2

“I thought it wouldn’t be this busy,” I say to Vincent as he guides me to the men’s locker room.

The gym is usually busy in the morning and the evening. Around noon it used to be quiet. I guess times have changed.

There are quite a few people here training. New faces. Teenage boys testing their strength and blowing off some steam.

Vincent has a heart for those boys. The ones who don’t come from a loving home. He says before they land on the streets, dealing drugs or getting murdered, he wants them at his studio. He’s giving them some sort of purpose and a new family.

Vincent follows my gaze to a boy punching violently at a punching bag. He’s mad at the world and a part of me can relate.

“He’s a good kid,” he says, “father in jail and his mother drunk most of the time. She accidentally drowned his little brother a while back. He has a lot of anger inside his chest.”

“But you think he’s got potential?”

“I know he does, if he stays on the right path that is,” he adds with a little sigh and places his hand on my back, “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he changes the subject, “your dad sure misses you. He told me just yesterday that he’s worried about you.”

“He’s always worried,” I sigh. Especially since I tried to take my own life. It nearly broke him. The look in his eyes, when he came to visit me in the hospital said it all. It broke me just as much.

I didn’t think about how it would affect him or the rest of my family. I didn’t think at all. I was just so lost in my own pain and that made me selfish.

“Can you blame him?” Vince asks.

“No,” I sigh and lower my gaze, “I’m just... I am trying to get by. One day at a time.” I run a hand through my long, auburn hair –a quite mysterious trade that no one in my dark-haired family could explain.

Both my uncle and my dad are Italian. My mom is from a small town down south. She has short, brown hair that’s slowly graying.

She claimed that she had a distant aunt who had hair like me. But nobody ever saw her. Uncle Vince always joked that our father was probably the mailman.

But both Leo and I share evident features with our dad. There was no denying his paternity. Leo was a spitting image of him. Younger and his body was that of an athlete, whereas dad -well, let’s just say he likes to BBQ a little too much. He also started drinking more than usual since Leo passed away.

“I will call him later, okay?” I promise and Vincent nods.

It’s not dads fault that he reminds me so much of my brother. He’s always been a great dad. Even after he and mom got divorced. They somehow managed to make it easy for us kids. There was some tension between them, but they hid it the best they could. They were civil with each other.

“That would be good. He misses you.”

“I know,” I sigh as we stop in front of the locker room. Vincent pushes the door open and with a quick glance, he checks if it’s empty before he lets me in.

I can feel my chest tightening as I step over the threshold. My heartbeat quickened with anxiety.

“I can stay,” Vincent offers, sensing my discomfort. I shake my head.

I’ve only ever shared my emotions with Leo. He’s probably the only person who has ever seen me cry. Until his funeral that is.

“Holler if you need me,” he says and respectfully leaves me alone.

The locker room looks exactly as I remember. A mixture of sweat and body wash hanging in the air.

I sit down on the bench in front of Leo’s locker and stare at it, wondering what he was keeping inside. What kind of treasure will I find once I open it?

I take a deep breath before I finally work up the nerve to open the locker. I can feel my throat tighten at the sight of his spare gloves and a pair of grey sweatpants he kept here at all times.

His favorite leather jacket hangs on a rag. I’ve been wondering where it’s been. He loved that thing. Even if the leather had scratches all over and the white lettering on the back is almost gone. I sigh and take it out, pressing it to my nose.

It smells of his cologne. The scent sends daggers through my heart.

“I miss you so much,” I whisper into the leather. A single tear rolls down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away, before I slip the jacket on, pulling it tightly around myself.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to shake this empty feeling in my chest. It’s almost unbearable.

I close my eyes and just wish for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Erase every memory of me so I can just cease to exist. Nobody would be hurt or even miss me that way.

“Nice jacket,” I keep my eyes closed at the sound of the stranger's voice, “you know this is the men’s room, right?”

I hear footsteps approach, “was he your boyfriend?”

“Brother,” I sigh, collecting myself and pulling up the walls that protect my emotions from spilling. “He was my brother.”

“Sucks,” he says and I finally turn to face the stranger. It’s the tall guy from before. Josh, I think. “I didn’t know him well, but he seemed like a decent guy. Great fighter.”

“He was the best,” I say and Josh nods at me.

“Heard the stories,” he says taking a seat on the bench behind me. He slowly starts unwrapping the bandages from his hands, “so, you’re his sister, huh? That explains a lot.”

I stay quiet and take Leo's stuff out of the locker when something slips from his sweatpants. Josh picks it up and whistles under his breath.

“What is it?” I ask and sit down next to him.

He holds some kind of business card in his hands. It’s black, with gold lettering on it. Below a skull, the script says Milites Mortes. I turn the card in my hand, but the backside is blank.

There were rumors about an underground fight club. It’s a legend more than anything else. It’s called Milites Mortes.

It’s illegal and only the best of the best come together to fight. I’ve heard talk about it around here, but no one had solid proof that it existed. But did Leo?

I glance at Josh, who has become very quiet. “You should forget about that,” he says and stands up quickly, taking off his sweat-drenched shirt.

“Is it real?” I ask him, but he doesn’t answer. “Josh!” I press, “I need to know! Is this real?” I wave the black business card in his face, but he shakes his head at me dismissively.

“An underground fight club?” he says and turns to face me, with a fake smile on his lips, “I don’t think such a thing exists. It’s nothing but a myth.”

“Liar!” I call him out. His eyes narrow for a moment, before he walks off to the showers. I am tempted to follow him and harass him until he tells me the truth. Until he tells me what he knows about the Milites Mortes.

I stay rooted in place, staring down at the card in my hand. I turn it slightly so the golden logo catches the light. “What the hell, Leo?” I whisper, “what have you been up to?”

I wish I could hear his voice. Hear him answer me. But he won’t. It’ll stay quiet. Forever.

I pack up his things, emptying the locker in a hurry. I desperately need to get out of here and start finding answers. I need to find out who my brother was when he wasn’t with me. The nagging feeling that I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did keeps squeezing my heart with relentless force.

“Liah?” I hear my uncle call after me, “what’s the rush?”

“I have to go!” I say quickly, keeping my voice from shaking.

“Liah,” he grabs my arm to stop me and before I know it, I find myself in his arms, “I know it isn’t easy, but you have to let us help you get through this.”

“There is no getting through it,” I sigh.

“It might not feel like that, but there is. I miss him too, you know! We all miss him just as much as you do.”

I doubt that’s possible. Nobody can miss him as I do. He was my other half, my brother, my best friend. And apparently, he’s been keeping things from me. He had secrets and what’s most devastating about it is, that he didn’t feel like he could share them with me.

AN// I hope you're having fun with this so far and I hope that you're hooked and maybe feel like Ghost (meaning me) deserves a little something for the work I've been doing. So, this is my weird way to announce that Ghost will soon go on PRT. I hope I'll still see you around and read all of your amazing comments.