he’d been the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He suddenly wanted to know why. Mr Duncan had said his killer had been caught. There must be something online about it. He determined to find an unattended computer the next day and find out.
***
It turned out that Denny’s death had briefly made national headlines, if not the front pages.
The first couple of computers he tried in the other flats were protected by passwords, but Larry White in flat two was apparently unconcerned with anyone finding out what he got up to in the privacy of his digital world. The wallpaper on his PC was a photo of a train pulling into Waterloo station. Denny guessed whatever he got up to wasn’t anything exciting.
He went to work.
His murderer’s name was Terrence Tate. He had been on two dates with Chrissy before she’d dumped him, finding him, according to the quote in the newspaper article Denny read, “creepy”. Tate, however, had become obsessed and when she’d started dating Denny two weeks later, his delusional jealous rage had grown to the point where he had concocted and acted out a plan to remove Denny from her life three weeks after he’d entered it. Chrissy had had no idea Tate had been following her.
Her quote said, “We’d only been seeing each other for three weeks, but I liked Denny a lot. He was caring and fun and I loved being with him. I miss him very much.”
He smiled at that. He liked her too. He wished they’d had a chance to get to know each other more.
Tate had two previous convictions for violent assault and was seeing a court ordered psychiatrist. Either the shrink was incompetent or Tate was a good actor, Denny couldn’t decide which. Not that it mattered. The end result was the same. His summation was right, he was the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anyone could have dated Chrissy after Tate. It just happened to have been him.
Tate had been caught easily. Apparently not the brightest person in the world, he hadn’t worn gloves and they found his fingerprints on the door handle and the murder weapon in his car with Denny’s blood still on it. His conviction was all but guaranteed.
The article ended with a statement Trish had given to the press.
“My brother was a kind, generous man and a wonderful brother, uncle and friend. Everyone who met him liked him and he will be missed greatly by all those who knew him. But he will be especially missed by his family. His loss is devastating. No-one will ever replace him in our hearts.”
Denny sat back and wiped his eyes. So it was over. His killer was behind bars. Life went on. For everyone but him, and his suffering family.
He shook his head, shut down the PC and made a decision. Tate might have killed him, but he wasn’t going to let him take his life. Other ghosts, like Oliver, had made being dead work for them. So could Denny.
Eight
Time passed.
Days became weeks, weeks turned into months, months grew up to become years. Denny learned how to live after death. He had hobbies, he had daily routines, he had neighbours who he came to think of as friends, even though none of them knew he existed. His yearning for his family diminished from a searing agony to a dull ache. And when, on occasion, the isolation started to drive him a little crazy, Oliver was always there to talk him down.
Little things that during his life would have barely meant anything, now became sources of great joy. A new DVD to watch when someone was out, a birthday party, a tenant renting his flat he didn’t mind sharing with. Oliver’s tales of what was going on in the outside world.
Some days were wonderful, some were bad, some were just routinely normal. And normal could be good too.
***
“Yes, sir, I’m on my way
He suddenly wanted to know why. Mr Duncan had said his killer had been caught. There must be something online about it. He determined to find an unattended computer the next day and find out.
***
It turned out that Denny’s death had briefly made national headlines, if not the front pages.
The first couple of computers he tried in the other flats were protected by passwords, but Larry White in flat two was apparently unconcerned with anyone finding out what he got up to in the privacy of his digital world. The wallpaper on his PC was a photo of a train pulling into Waterloo station. Denny guessed whatever he got up to wasn’t anything exciting.
He went to work.
His murderer’s name was Terrence Tate. He had been on two dates with Chrissy before she’d dumped him, finding him, according to the quote in the newspaper article Denny read, “creepy”. Tate, however, had become obsessed and when she’d started dating Denny two weeks later, his delusional jealous rage had grown to the point where he had concocted and acted out a plan to remove Denny from her life three weeks after he’d entered it. Chrissy had had no idea Tate had been following her.
Her quote said, “We’d only been seeing each other for three weeks, but I liked Denny a lot. He was caring and fun and I loved being with him. I miss him very much.”
He smiled at that. He liked her too. He wished they’d had a chance to get to know each other more.
Tate had two previous convictions for violent assault and was seeing a court ordered psychiatrist. Either the shrink was incompetent or Tate was a good actor, Denny couldn’t decide which. Not that it mattered. The end result was the same. His summation was right, he was the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anyone could have dated Chrissy after Tate. It just happened to have been him.
Tate had been caught easily. Apparently not the brightest person in the world, he hadn’t worn gloves and they found his fingerprints on the door handle and the murder weapon in his car with Denny’s blood still on it. His conviction was all but guaranteed.
The article ended with a statement Trish had given to the press.
“My brother was a kind, generous man and a wonderful brother, uncle and friend. Everyone who met him liked him and he will be missed greatly by all those who knew him. But he will be especially missed by his family. His loss is devastating. No-one will ever replace him in our hearts.”
Denny sat back and wiped his eyes. So it was over. His killer was behind bars. Life went on. For everyone but him, and his suffering family.
He shook his head, shut down the PC and made a decision. Tate might have killed him, but he wasn’t going to let him take his life. Other ghosts, like Oliver, had made being dead work for them. So could Denny.
Eight
Time passed.
Days became weeks, weeks turned into months, months grew up to become years. Denny learned how to live after death. He had hobbies, he had daily routines, he had neighbours who he came to think of as friends, even though none of them knew he existed. His yearning for his family diminished from a searing agony to a dull ache. And when, on occasion, the isolation started to drive him a little crazy, Oliver was always there to talk him down.
Little things that during his life would have barely meant anything, now became sources of great joy. A new DVD to watch when someone was out, a birthday party, a tenant renting his flat he didn’t mind sharing with. Oliver’s tales of what was going on in the outside world.
Some days were wonderful, some were bad, some were just routinely normal. And normal could be good too.
***
“Yes, sir, I’m on my way
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