Haunts of the Past

Prologue

My hands worked meticulously over the dishes, inspecting each piece of dishware before storing it on the drying rack. The lighting was dim and the room, almost empty. I moved on to a plate with very stubborn chocolate smears. I scrubbed furiously at the dishware.

“Jesus, calm down or you’ll break it,” The man sitting at the counter in front of me remarked. He was an adult, in his late thirties, with dark chestnut hair and warm brown eyes. He sat lightly sipping the steaming espresso I had made for him minutes earlier.

“Easy for you to say,” I grumbled, scrubbing on anyways. “You’re not the one running a business.”

“And the Café is doing great, right? No need to kill the dishware in your success,” The man smirked and swiveled slightly in his chair. I sat the dish of argument, now spotless, on the drying rack.

“Yeah well-” I cut off as the bells on the front door jingled. Both pairs of eyes turned toward the man who came stumbling through the door. He was hunched over and appeared to be clutching his abdomen, so I couldn’t get a clear view of his face.

“I’m sorry sir, but the Café is closed,” The man at the counter piped up for me.

“Tristan,” I addressed the man at the counter. “I don’t think that’s what he’s here for.” The stumbling man collapsed to the ground with a moan, red liquid pooling out from under his corpse. Tristan and I sat in silence for a moment.

“What are you thinking?” Tristan asked, taking another sip of his espresso and adjusting his suit. He was watching my grim expression as I gazed upon the body.

“I’m thinking I’m going to have to mop the floors again.”

Chapter One

         
Within a half hour, the police had already arrived to process the scene. I sat grumpily in a chair outside my café with my arms crossed, Tristan leaning against the ambulance I was in front of. An officer strolled over to us.
         
“Which one of you is the store owner?” the officer asked.

“I am,” I answered at the same time as Tristan said, “He is.”

“We’ll be closing your café for maybe a few days, but you should be able to reopen soon,” The officer informed me. I grumbled a little bit. Having cops around my café was bad for business.

“Is everything going alright?” Tristan asked the officer, his eyes scanning the personal working around.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” the officer asked uncertainly.

“Tristan Clark, Police Captain,” A voice announced, casting Tristan to perk at his name. A lean, young man, in his thirties, was approaching us in a long jacket with a badge on his breast pocket.

“Mathews,” Tristan greeted, going up and vigorously shaking Mathew’s hand. “It’s been a while.”

“Certainly has, a few years at least. When’d you get back from England?” Sergeant Mathews asked, forcing the officer to stand awkwardly nearby. I didn’t know this man but; then again, it’s not like Tristan ever introduced any of his police friends to me ever.

“Just yesterday, I was just getting settled in before I start up working again,” Tristan answered.

“Mm-hm,” Sergeant Mathews nodded in appeasement. “And who is this?”

“I’m Will sir, William Cooper,” I introduced myself before Tristan got a word in. “I run the café here.”

“Really? What’s the situation in there?” Sergeant Mathews asked the officer who had hovered in uncertainty.

“The body’s been removed but the crime scene still needs processing and we have to take witness statements,” The officer seemed a little nervous to be revealing this information in front of Tristan and I, even knowing Tristan was a Police Captain. He kept glancing nervously between us. I tapped my fingers restlessly against my side and shifted in my chair. I didn’t like sitting in one place for so long.

“Hmm… alright, we’ll do witness statements now then,” Sergeant Mathews announced. “I’ll take Mr. Cooper and, since I know Captain Clark and it’s best to stay impartial in an investigation, you can take Captain Clark.”

“Come on,” Tristan ordered the poor officer. He disappeared around the unused ambulance with only a quick glance back at me.

“So…” Sergeant Mathews began, sitting down in a chair in front of me, and pulling out a small notepad. “Name, age, and occupation please, just to be formal.”

“William Cooper,” I repeated. “Age 19 and I am the owner of Le Café De La Vie.”

“Can you describe the scene to me please?” Sergeant Mathews scrawled on his notepad.

“Sure, I was behind the counter washing dishes, Trist – ah, I mean Captain Clark was sitting at the counter in front of me, and we were just chatting. Then this man comes stumbling in and Captain Clark tells him we’re closed but the man just collapsed on the floor and that’s when I called 911 and Captain Clark went to see if he could provide first aid.” I laid out the scene for him.
         
“Did you touch the man?” Sergeant Mathews inquired.
         
“No,” I answered.
         
“Did you know the victim?” Sergeant Mathews continued.
         
“I don’t know,” I answered uncertainly. “I didn’t get a very good look at him.”
         
Sergeant Mathews scribbled some things in his notepad. I fidgeted uncomfortably in that moment of silence.
         
“Alright, that’s it,” Sergeant Mathews announced.
         
“Really? That’s all?” I started.
         
“Yep. If we need any more info, we’ll contact you later, but for now, that’s all we need,” he explained.
         
“Oh, Okay, so what now?” I asked. I probably wasn’t allowed to stay here, since my living quarters were on the second floor and would require me to go through the crime scene.
         
“The officers should finish up the scene soon, so just wait and we’ll figure things out,” he answered. He stood up, adjusted his jacket, and strode off without another word. He seemed to like Tristan more than he liked me. Maybe it was a cop thing.
         
Leaning my head back against the chair, and watching the officers rush around, I realized just how tired I was. I hadn’t been sleeping well lately and it was well into the night. I’m sure I could afford to take just one , short nap.



         
I was washing the dishes again, my hands working in the soapy water. It was a pleasant time, until the screaming began. Women’s terrified shrieks filled the air.
         
“No!” I protested. “Leave me alone!” I pulled my ands out of the water only to see them dripping in blood. The water in the sink turned the sticky red liquid also and it poured out, flooding and covering my feet. The blood continued to poor out of the sink and the level rose up to my legs. The screaming became more and more persistent. The blood was up to my waist, chest. Shoulders. Neck. My head went under.
         
“No!” I screamed, my eyes darting open and my arms flailing. I barely recognized the familiar room before moving, crawling on my hands and knees. Blood. Too much blood. Clean. Gotta get clean.
         
Cold tile greeted my hands, but I wasn’t paying attention. Clean . Gotta get clean. Somehow, I got water running. I grabbed the white block and scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed. The blood, it wasn’t coming off. It won’t come off my hands.
         
“Will!” Someone yelled, yanking my arms forcefully apart. What was left of the bar of soap dropped into the tub and I realized just what exactly I had been doing. Long scratches were carved into my arms by my own nails. Blood flowed out of the open cuts and dripped lightly into the bathtub, which now held the remains of scarlet tinted water.
         
The cuts closed up, healing almost instantly, but that was normal, for me at least.
         
“Are you back to your senses?” Tristan asked as he collapsed to the floor next to me. “You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought you said you hadn’t had an attack in months.”
         
“I haven’t,” I mustered, the room still spinning precariously. “Must’ve been the blood from earlier that set it off.”

“Are you going to throw up?” Tristan asked, his brown eyes wary. As if on cue, I leaned over the bathtub wall and heaved. I wretched for a few seconds, then pulled back, feeling surprisingly better.
         
“Yes,” I answered, a little late. I was still shaking uncontrollably but I could feel my heart beat slowing down. I pulled my knees to my chest, my shoulder touching Tristan’s, and breathed in and out slowly.
         
“Geez,” Tristan sighed. “It still haunts you, doesn’t it?” I didn’t answer that, there was no need. I hadn’t told him about the nightmares, the hallucinations, only the attacks. I was not alright. I hadn’t been for a long time.
         
“Come on,” Tristan stood up suddenly. “I’ll make you some tea.” He helped me up from the bathroom floor. We traveled my walk slightly unsteady, into the kitchen. No wonder the bathroom had looked familiar; I was at Tristan’s house.
         
I sat down on the bar stool next to the kitchen counter while Tristan messed around in the cabinets. I was already beginning to calm down, but some tea would be great.
         
“What type you want?” Tristan asked. “I’ve got cinnamon apple, orange spice, chamomile, earl grey, green …”
         
“Chamomile,” I interrupted. If I had let him continue, we would have been there a while. Tristan could probably fill up a room with the amount of tea he had.
         
“Feeling better?” Tristan asked off handedly, starting the tea.
         
“Yeah, a little,” I answered vaguely. “Did you bring me here when I fell asleep?”
         
“Yeah, you were out like a light. I figured they didn’t want us going up to your apartment, so I brought you here,” Tristan explained. He put the tea leaves into the strainer, and then placed the whole thing into the hot water filled tea pot. That was Tristan for you, classic, tea leaves and all.
         
“What time is it anyways?” I asked. Tristan glanced at his watch. He was leaning against the counter now, waiting on the tea.
         
“About noon,” He answered. So I’d slept a decent amount of time. Tristan’s apartment didn’t have very many windows so I hadn’t noticed on the way to the kitchen.
         
I watched as Tristan swirled the tea pot around slightly in order to mix the tea, before he poured it into a mug and handed the mug to me. I sipped the tea carefully. The flavor was warm and filling gut not as strong as I was used to.
         
“They sure don’t make tea like they used to,” I remarked. Tristan just smirked and poured a cup for himself. He had barely taken a sip when the doorbell rang.
         
“What now?” Tristan sighed as he sat down his mug and went to answer the door. I sipped at my tea some more.
         
“What’s wrong?” Tristan’s voice was slightly raised, causing me to be able to hear him from my seat.
         
The answering voice was lower, so I could only make out one thing. My name. I swiveled in my chair to face the entrance to the kitchen only to see two police officers pushing their way in. Tristan was standing hesitantly behind them.
         
“William Cooper, We’d like to bring you in for questioning. Please comply to our wishes or we are permitted to use restrictive force. What is your answer?” The officer on the right asked. I stared at him wide eyed. Me? For questioning?
         
“Um… Well, can I finish my tea first?” I asked.