The night was charcoal black, speckled with stars that glimmered in the distant heavens. Ariston Bonham pushed the door to the balcony open leisurely and walked out into the night air, stretching his sore back and sitting on a metal chair as he glared up at the stars. Floral scents wafted into his nostrils, making him feel immediately refreshed by their inordinately sweet perfume. Owls hooted as their hunting hour dawned and cicadas sung incessantly songs of serenity. Fatigued from the day’s work at the company, all Ariston wanted was to lay down and wonder into deep slumber.

A cell phone rang inside the apartment and Ariston’s gaze turned unwillingly away from the constellations above. Jumping up and whirling around, he bolted into the apartment, worried the phone would cease its ringing before he reached it. If it were his wife, she would be furious he didn’t attend to the phone immediately and a scolding would be in order. He crossed the marble floor of the living room hurriedly, his socks slipping on the polished ground, and turned right into the hall. Tired and calloused feet led him to his chamber door, which was ajar. He pushed his way through and lunged forward to grab the phone. The call identification read Cecilia and he promptly answered it.

“Well, hello Mrs. Bonham!”

“What took you so long, Ariston?” Cecilia inquired angrily in her high-pitched, humorless voice. “I’m in a hurry!”

“Sorry,” Ariston mumbled. All he had been doing of late upset his wife, though he knew she loved him; it was surely just a phase. “You on your way home?”

“Listen carefully, I’m only gonna say it once.” said Cecilia. “I gotta go to a seminar tonight at the university – Dr. Smith’s orders – and need you to send me a file.”

“You’re gonna speak at another seminar? Didn’t you tell him you were coming home tonight, Celia?”

“No. Decided not to. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked. “This is really important to me, Ariston. I thought you’d understand.”

“I know, Celia, but I think we need to spend more time together. I haven’t seen you on either of the two weeks since you got back from that one month guest lecture thing in Chicago! How about this – I go watch your seminar and then we go out to dinner? Just you and me, like the old times!” His tired feet cringed at the thought, though Ariston fought his exhaustion; Celia had spent so long away from him and he dearly wished to see her.

“All right,” Cecilia said, “just make sure you bring the file.”

“Sure thing! Bye, love you hon!”

“Bye.”

Ariston grabbed a USB drive and walked over to Celia’s computer to download the file. In two short minutes, the file was ready to go and he flung the drive into his coat pocket. As he was about to exit through the front door, he noticed he’d left the door to the balcony wide open. “I must’ve forgotten to close it as I ran in,” he thought. His legs moved towards the door and his large hands forced it shut. With two swift turns of the key, the door was locked and Ariston ready to depart. He strolled towards the front door again though was abruptly stopped by the faint sound of footsteps.

He heard footsteps all right, but had no time to react to the violent thrust of a foot against his lower back. His body tumbled forward – one, two, three seconds, he counted as his body fell, culminating in the much-felt impact against the cold, polished ground. His ears were ringing and his sight slightly blurry from hitting his head against the coffee table on the living room center. He could feel warm blood oozing from his nose onto the white marbled floor and to match this unforeseen sight, his nose suffered from astonishing pain. Stiff as a board, he lay there panic-stricken.

The weight of a body pressed him against the ground and a muffled protest slipped out from his thin lips. Hands indelicately opened his mouth, which he attempted to close even though finding himself greatly confused about the purpose of this quaint attack. He vaguely saw something of a brown coloration in the hands of his attacker, which dumped them into his open mouth, clasped his lips shut, and lifted his ragdoll head towards the ceiling, making him force down the irregular brown chunks. As his attacker got up, Ariston’s head dropped to the ground, his chin hitting against the floor and making his head bounce back from the shock. The attacker swiftly fished out Ariston’s keys from his pocket and fled the apartment, closing the door as he left.
Ariston could feel his throat begin to get warm and ache from the inside. The heat became greater by the second until Ariston felt an unbearable burning in his throat. His throat swelled up and his tongue punctually became completely numb. He gaped and attempted to suck in as much air as possible, lifting his hand and gripping his neck as if someone were strangulating him. Rolling on the ground, Ariston attempted to free himself from this asphyxiation. The air was completely cut off from his lungs and as he choked, he was able to distinguish the blurred figures he saw his attacker holding: nuts. Ariston’s body quivered a few more times and stopped. His chest ceased its frantic rising and falling motion and he lied there limply.
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Bright rays of light were in front of Ariston. He gazed ahead, attempting to distinguish what was beyond them. His feet were bare and he was clad in white. He deviated his eyes from the light of the cave and looked around. It was cold and dark, hard as well. A few rays bounced off his surroundings, making the place glimmer. “This is a home, even though remote, eerie. I’m sure of it. It looks like stone, though no stone I’ve seen back home. Dark, hard, beautiful. Is this a pit, a mine, a cave, or rather the home of a glorious power of nature, dweller of dark and force of light?” he found himself wondering in the gloomy structure. He was confused, for he normally didn’t sound like that, though he put aside the strangeness of the situation.

Reluctantly he began to move towards the light. Closer and closer to the point he had to squint so as to avoid blinding himself. The rays consumed him with heat and light and the corners of his lips inched slowly up, his mouth parting slightly in a satisfied, goofy grin. The heat and light lasted a while and every inch of his body tingled with the power of the rays. He felt everything around him. The movement of the structure, the light, the heat, the silence; absolutely everything. Magnificent, he thought, and then suddenly everything was gone. No light, no structure, simply gravity pulling him down to a place where he felt he didn’t belong. His arms moved frantically up and down as he dared try to propel himself up as if he had wings. He closed his eyes and weeped. The wonderful place was lost to him and he wanted to go back.
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When he opened his heavy eyelids, he found himself in his apartment, though something was wrong. He was just past the entrance door, not against the floor. In fact, he was floating a few centimeters above the ground. He tried walking, jumping, anything to touch his feet to the cold marble below, though failed miserably. He did find that he could move, even though there was a barrier between him and the ground. Ariston could move, so he did. His feet led him to the living room where he was attacked before. As he entered, he panicked. There lying against the ground, bleeding, clutching his swollen neck was, as impossible as it seemed, himself.

Ariston jumped back, surprised and perplexed. How could he be in two places at once; alive in one and dead in the other? He bent down and touched his own face, though his hands went through the body. “How is this possible?” Ariston asked himself. He walked towards the bedroom and looked at the mirror, stumbling backwards. His reflection couldn’t be seen anywhere. The man’s eyes immediately flew down and he looked at himself. Ariston could see himself – every outline, every color – perfectly. He headed back to the living room and stared at his dead body for a great length of time. “Dead,” he whispered. “Dead and a ghost.”

Voices whispered in Ariston’s head, though the thoughts weren’t his, as if somebody was trying to reach him, speak.

“Kill,” it said.

“What? Kill? Why?”, Ariston asked.

“Kill.”

“Answer me! Please.”

“Your killer.”

“What about him?”

“Kill the killer.”

“You mean murder? I can’t!”

“Kill the killer. Rest in peace.”

“No. There must be another way. Help me!”, Ariston shouted in his silent, dead voice. It was useless. That was all he was going to be told. He shivered neither because of being dead nor because of hearing voices, but because for a fraction of a second he genuinely considered this. To kill his killer. He was slowly becoming restless, annoyed. He needed to rest, to go back into the structure and once again walk into the warm rays which licked his skin.

When the police got there it was early morning. Ariston couldn’t believe Celia hadn’t gone looking for him when he didn’t show up. He thought she was bound to look for him and that when she found him, he would already be long gone. She’d cry and mourn his death and he’d stand there, unable to do anything to soothe her pain. “Where is she?” he asked himself. As the words departed from his mouth, a fair lady with brown hair and eyes ran in. She was screaming and officers had to hold her back so she wouldn’t ruin the crime scene. She sunk to the ground and cried her heart out, her petite body quavering. The ghost walked up to her and gently brushed his hand against her cheek, trying to brush away unbrushable tears. Parts of his hand either vanished into her face or didn’t touch it at all. He wasn’t solid and how he wished he was. Ariston wanted to hug her and tell her that she’d be fine and that he’d always be there for her.

As he was caressing his wife’s cheek, he saw a man walk hurriedly into the apartment. When he saw her kneeling on the floor, he walked over and hugged her. If Ariston weren’t so cold, his head would’ve been boiling with rage. Cecilia hugged his waist and cried against the man’s chest.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man said.

“I’ll be fine, Barrett,” she murmured, “I always am.”

“I just get worried about you, Cece.”

“I know.”

Those were the last words of the conversation. “Why is he calling you Cece?” Ariston thought, trying to channel his thoughts to hers. “Please stop hugging him, Celia!” The ghost’s face became stern as the hug continued. The man stroked her hair while Ariston just wanted him to leave. He punched the man; nothing happened. He screamed at him, cursed; nothing happened. He tried to split them up, end the embrace; nothing happened. “This man – Barrett – is taking advantage of my death! He wants my girl!” Ariston accused the man. His eyes narrowed slightly and his heart, which sounded artificial, hollow, and misplaced, beat faster. He was anger in person.

“Peace,” he thought, “all I need is peace.” His efforts to ignore the scene were great and he finally was able to turn away from the sight before him. Gritting his teeth, he walked through the front door and descended the long flight of steps that led to the bottom floor of the building. His mind made up, he exited the apartment building and followed a hunch, a feeling that his killers were somewhere around the area. He wanted to avenge his death so peace would come and all would be well. Ariston roamed the streets, his gut always leading him towards a destination which he could easily picture in his head: an apartment building with four stories, the navy paint almost completely off, displaying crumbling bricks. He walked a couple of blocks turning left and right, passing through people who walked along the sidewalk, and always cursing.
As Ariston approached the building at the end of Wester Street, he began to think more clearly. “I can’t do this, it’s immoral!” he said to himself.

“You can!” a voice inside him replied.

“I’d be hurting them! I don’t want to harm anyone!”

“Go to the third floor and knock on apartment 3b. Do it! Then we can rest!”

“Then you can rest, you mean! I’d suffer if...”

“No. You wouldn’t. Trust me. You’d be in peace.” said the voice – his primitive urge to rest – to him. “I am you. What you feel, I feel as well. You must rest.”

Ariston stopped to think about it. He needed the rest, he knew it was true. The only manner to rest in peace was to murder, which just the thought of doing sent shivers down his inexistent spine. Nonetheless, he was persuaded to kill, his urge almost dominating him. “All right,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent! We’ll be home before nightfall.”

Ariston dashed towards the apartment, his thirst for the light growing substantially with every step he took. He flew up three flights of stairs, passed by apartment 3a, and finally reached 3b. His body went through the door and he came face to face with three individuals. There was a man sitting on a rocking chair. He looked about forty years old and had strands of white which contrasted with the remainder of his hair, which was jet black. The man gnawed at a chicken wing and had his feet – which had a red complexion and peeling skin that clung loosely to the sole – on top of a dark wooden stool. “The leader.” the voice whispered.

On a couch next to the rocking chair lay a short, plump man. A newspaper was open on top of his gelatinous potbelly, which rose up and moved down as the man breathed with great effort. A bottle of whisky was stationed under his armpit. As he released air, the putrid odor of alcohol and tobacco escaped from his lips. There were droplets of scotch on his thick moustache, which he agitated from one side to the other every so often. “The one responsible for the getaway.” the voice murmured. The third man sat on the ground and polished a knife, eyes rising occasionally to look at his team. His legs were crossed and his back arched. He held a toothpick in between his teeth, which varied in shapes and colors. Some golden teeth were just visible as the man played with the wooden pick using his pointy tongue, which was the color of sangria. “The executor.” the voice said. Ariston glared at the man for a longer period than the others. His killer was in front of him, completely defenseless. Grinning, he began his work.

Ariston walked to the man on the rocking chair. He stuck his arm into the man’s body until it reached the heart. The leader began to shiver, though the other two didn’t seem to notice or ignored him completely. Blood began to freeze inside the man’s body and his heart slowly began to falter. The man’s eyes closed involuntarily and he began to turn pale, causing the driver and the assassin to take notice of the man’s condition.
“What should we do Bobby?” the assassin mumbled.

“Whatcha askin’ me for, Swift?”

“I dunno! You’re the brains here!”

“All right! Calm down, fool! Go grab one of ‘em – whatcha call ‘em – ‘em rags! Soak it up real good with hot water and come back. Put the thing on Joe’s forehead and he should be fit as suspenders.”
The assassin went to get a rag and hot water while the other turned on the heater. A soaked rag was placed on top of the man’s forehead. It was all in vain, within a minute the man’s heart stopped completely and he looked like a popsicle. As they realized the old man had died, their faces showed confusion and horror. “I bet you’re both wondering how he died.” chuckled Ariston, who was now completely led by restlessness.

Without wasting time, he passed through both the men, who were looking at each other side-by-side. As he travelled in, he sucked the heat out their bodies fast as a machine gun. Both moved closer together and struggled to heat themselves up. “What the…” one of them began to say as Ariston stuck his hands inside both men’s heads. Their brain stopped functioning almost immediately and both dropped to the ground, limbs firm and brittle.

A wait followed the murders. Ariston closed his eyes. When he finally opened them, there was no light.

“Where’s the light?” he screeched, the veins in his neck sticking out.

“There’s more.” the voice stated cooly.

“What do you mean?” Ariston asked, enraged. “I did what you said! Why am I still here? Why am I still a ghost?”

“Patience. I said you had to kill your killer.”

“And I did!”

“No. You didn’t.”

Ariston’s rage increased to the point he resembled a rabid dog. “I killed them! There’s no one else here! What do you want from me?”

“The contractor.”

“All right, let’s say I kill him, do I then reach the light?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s the contractor then?”

“You’ll see.”

“I utterly loathe you.” Ariston snarled as he headed out to the streets once more.
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His quest led him back to his apartment. He had a hunch that his killer was there and trusted it was so; he hadn’t been wrong before. Ariston walked through the wall. The police had already gone. The only ones in the apartment were Cecilia and Barrett. They were both sitting on a couch. Barrett was smiling wide and Celia laughing as if nothing had happened that day. “What’s going on here?” wondered Ariston, desperate.

“Thank you for helping me with the scene. The cops certainly bought it. I’ll pay you as soon as I get my hands on that money.” said Celia joyfully.

“At your disposal.” Barrett replied with a slight, silly bow.
Celia laughed. “I’m so glad it all worked out!”

“I bet he’s looking down upon us, wishing he had a prenup.”

“Fool should’ve protected himself and his company when he had the chance!” Cecilia snorted.

“Indeed he should, a viper like you should’ve been watched intently and every precaution should’ve been taken!”

“What can I say? I always get what I want.” said the malevolent snake as she smiled.

Ariston looked at the two strangers in front of him, disgusted. His eyes were glazed with sorrow and anger. “I’m going to kill you both. You will both suffer!” Ariston spat at the festive people in front of him. He paced forward and froze the man instantly with just a simple touch. Celia screamed and shook the man, whose limbs broke off, impairing the already dead being. Ariston’s dear, beloved wife glanced around agitatedly. She neither saw nor felt any natural phenomenon that could’ve frozen Barrett though left her intact.

Ariston materialized in front of her. Celia looked at the silhouette, which even though was of a milky quality, she knew belonged to her dead husband.
“I’m seeing things.” she murmured, walking backwards and searching for shelter in the white living room walls. Her fingers went through her hair and her lips and limbs trembled violently. Tears streamed down her eyes as she glared at the hard expression in Ariston’s face. Ariston moved forward at an unhasty pace. His eyes penetrated hers and the corners of his lips curled scornfully. About two meters away from her, he stopped and examined her entirely with his eyes, searching for the perfect spot to attack.

“Ariston? Is that you?” she choked out in a rush.

Ariston nodded.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked.

Ariston swung his head firmly from side to side.

“What happened to you?” she inquired. He didn’t answer. Celia stood there a while and suddenly her expression became nervous. “How long have you been standing there for?” she added.

“Long enough.” Ariston said in a distant, dark voice, as if not entirely there.

“I didn’t mean a thing.”

“Good try. Very convincing – that is – if I hadn’t been standing right here the whole time you and your friend spoke.” he added, a disquieting look creeping into his eyes. Cecilia gasped and turned a tad pale. A dagger made of light had appeared out of the blue in Ariston’s hand and he looked at it, stunned. He lifted his eyes up from the knife and moved towards Celia.

“Wait!” Cecilia screamed. “Please stop! I’m sorry! Forgive! Please forgive me!” Still against the wall, she began to shrink to the floor, trying to press herself closer to the hard concrete structure.

Ariston stopped and searched her face. All of a sudden, he smiled and laughed wholeheartedly. Celia cringed at the strident sound.

“Bravo, Celia! Excellent performance!”

“Please, Ariston! Don’t do this to me.”

“No. It’s only fair. You did this to me.”

He approached her again, this time faster. His thirst for revenge was almost satiated, all he needed was her dead, cold, motionless body. Celia began to scream for help, though was cut short when Ariston crashed into her and pressed her lips shut tightly. He held her up against the wall and her feet thrashed out at his legs. Ariston could now touch, though he didn’t feel a thing as Celia’s feet landed hard against his thigh. He rose the blade to her heart and it began to grow hot in his hands. The tip touched her chest and Ariston murmured solemnly in a voice that wasn’t his “Goodbye dweller of shadow, venomous snake, servant of greed and evil. May you miserably rest forever in the putrid pit you came from!” The knife jammed into her chest with great strength and almost immediately dark blood flew out of her mouth and slapped him on the face. Her eyes became milky and her expression froze, demonstrating surprise and outrage. Ariston closed his eyes, bent his head towards the ground, and cried like a toddler.
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When he opened his eyes, he was back where he belonged. He walked forward, still tearful and awed by his actions, regretting it all. Celia had been so desperate and yet he had the courage to brutally kill her, someone he had lived with for years. He felt her blood burning against his face. His fingers touched the black liquid, the blood of a traitor, and shivered all over. He glanced desperately at the light. “I don’t deserve you.” he whispered. “I’m sorry for what I did – I stooped as low as she! I don’t deserve this light, but darkness and despair.” Even though he said so, the light expanded throughout the cave and enveloped him wholly, reeling him in and filling him with light and heat, forgiveness and love. Ariston was taken by surprise and tried to fight it.
“Stop!” he screeched. “I neither need you nor want you!” he lied. “You turned me into this!”
As the light grew, he began to get puzzled. “Stop! Stop this right now…” It mattered not that he begged voraciously, for he slowly lost feeling for what he had done and caved in due to the appeal the light had to him. All feelings were positive, all surroundings were magical. He forgot his wife and exhaled calmly, changing quickly into a peaceful being unaware of his past doings. “Thank you! I’m humbled by your forgiveness and understanding.” Ariston said instinctively, not knowing what he was apologizing for, only that it was necessary to do so. He began to glow brighter by the second until all that could be seen was light and all that could be felt was happiness. He was one with the light and nothing else mattered.