The Ladder

Letting Go

The last thing I ever saw was a man.

The man's name was Ross Finch, a forty eight year old accountant. He'd had two divorces, three children with his first wife and one with his second. He lived on the next street over from ours, in a little brick bungalow. He had a passion for gardening, specifically roses. He had dull brown hair, dull brown eyes, and dull brown clothes.

He was also my killer.

I had been out walking in the park near the local primary school, the warm sun on my back. There had been a noise, and from the bushes a balding man appeared.

"Hello," he smiled. He was tall but slightly pudgy and had big hands. "What's your name?"
Alarm bells rang in my head. "Rowena Barter." I said cautiously.

"Rowena," he mused. There was something wrong. Something horribly wrong. But I didn't want to be rude. "Isn't it a lovely day?"

I nodded, ringing my hands. "I-I've got to go, sir. Goodbye-"

Suddenly, his face hardened. "You want to leave?" His eyes narrowed. "You remind me of my youngest daughter. Celia. Do you know what she did?"

I wanted to run. I was never good at cross country or sprints but this guy wasn't in the best shape. Maybe if I-

"She told me that she wanted to live with her mother, not me. No visits on the weekend, no holidays. Nothing." The man's voice had risen until he was full out shouting.

"Sir," I took a step back. "I really have to-"

"No one has time for me." He snarled. He reached into his pocket. "Well, now you have no time."

He raised his hand.

A gun.

I ran, but before I took three steps something hit me in the back.

I screamed.

I fell.

Numbness and darkness and the gravel ground digging into my back. But that discomfort was ebbing away, slipping. I wanted to hold onto it, needed it. This pain was nothing to the ripping in my chest and back, but I felt like I was detached to that agony, floating away, looking down at the thin, dark haired girl leaking scarlet with minor interest and concern. I needed the discomfort of the gravel but it was hardly there anymore.

The man's combination of screaming and laughing rang in my ears. "Well, Rowena? Do you now wish that you had had time for me? Maybe this'll send a message to Celia! What do you think, Rowena Barter?" I sensed more than saw him lean over me, barely smelled his stale, cigarette ridden breath. I hated my name on his lips. The last person I'll ever see. "Do you think she'll love me now?"
I wanted to scream for help. For my mother. For Celia to run from this man. Her father.

My father, my mother, my sisters, my friends. I would never see them again.

I shuddered for breath.

Then I was gone.

I woke up cold.

"Ah," a voice said. "Rowena Barter, the sleeping beauty of death, finally wakes."

I sat up, blinking, and saw a completely white room with nothing but a ladder stretching up high into the endless roof and a boy. The boy was probably anything from fifteen to twenty five years of age. He had jet black hair and pale porcelain skin. He was dressed in a black t-shirt with a sad text face printed on the front and clean black jeans.

I scrambled to my feet. "What-where-?" I spun around, taking in the almost complete nothingness in. "This isn't heaven, is it?"

The boy leant on the ladder and laughed. "Most people would be excited if it was. But no, it's not."