My anxiety was through the roof. I couldn't speak, stay still or even breathe. My stomach churned with the unmistakable feeling of guilt as it gnawed at me from the inside out.
The air was colder outside, the gulls louder, the stares scorching.
We managed to get to the station easy enough, buying a ticket from the machine and slipping onto the train without fuss. Only when we sat at our seats, in the nearly empty carriage, did it catch up with me. We got the quiet table seats to ourselves and I crossed my arms over the wooden table before burying my head on top.
I closed my eyes while breathing in and out to calm the nerves that threatened to take over my body. It was so surreal. That was two different people in less than an hour or so that we'd collectively attacked. If I got caught then I'd have no excuse but to go to jail.
I was snapped from my thoughts when Kingsley placed a cold hand to my back. He soothingly rubbed circles but it only made goosebumps rise above my skin.
"Don't beat yourself up over this, Quinny," he murmured. "It'll all be okay in the morning. Everything will feel clearer then."
His words tore an ache through my chest. I didn't believe him, of course, but the gesture was nice. With my forehead resting against the cool wood of the table, I listened carefully as the train sped along the tracks. Leaving the towering buildings and passing the trees and fields outside, I couldn't wait to get home and go to bed.
I moved my head to the side to watch Kingsley who continued to rub circles on my back. It didn't help but I let him do it anyway. When he caught my eyes staring, he copied my action so that we were both facing one another, heads on our arms and eyes trained carefully on the other.
"Don't worry about today, okay? It wasn't your fault, it wasn't anyone's fault," he confirmed.
I smiled, touched by his efforts to cheer me up.
"Thanks, Kingsley," I answered barely above a whisper and our conversation felt intimate.
"Did your mum actually just leave without any reason?" He asked, choosing his words carefully. Though it stung, I appreciated the carefulness he surrounded the topic with. Mum was still a wound I had yet to heal.
"Yeah...I think that maybe she got sick of it all, you know?"
But he didn't know. So he stayed quiet for me to continue.
"She was a party girl, never seen in the same place twice. Then, even though my dad will swear down is wrong, I think she accidentally got pregnant. She didn't get rid of me, surprisingly. Probably because her parents were so excited. My prediction is that she was waiting for me to be born before dumping me onto Dad and doing a runner. But then, after she saw me for the first time, an idea formed. It would be her best one yet. She could experiment at being a mum for a bit and form me into her little toy. Then, if she didn't like it, she could just leave. Which she did."
Kingsley bit his lip as his eyes swirled with pity.
"I was so confused. All my life I'd been moulded into whatever she wanted me to be, I was everything except myself. Then, when she left, I had no one to mould me anymore. I didn't even know who I was without her. But still, I just wanted to impress her, make her happy."
"I know what you mean," he chimed in. "Wanting to impress a family member. For me, it's my grandad," he admitted hesitantly.
"Go on," I mused tiredly.
"Well, I don't mean to get all sappy but my parents had this totally cool forbidden love story. My Dad was this privileged, rich, white boy who was majorly uptight and future-orientated," he laughed quietly while his eyes widened in excitement. "Then my mum came along who was popular for being batshit crazy and reckless. She didn't come from money and she was black so obviously, my grandad hated her from the start but Dad was head over heels.
"She brought him out of his shell and showed him the world while he taught her self-discipline and love. So, even though he was meant to marry this snotty, rich girl, he told my grandad that if he couldn't be with my mum, he wouldn't be with anyone at all. He said that he wouldn't come home or help with the family business, he'd just go off the rails. Anyway, they're still together and had my two older sisters before me. Mum's this badass surgeon and Dad runs the family business, he's a lawyer and-"
Kingsley stopped mid-sentence and looked at me with a guilty smile.
"Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, especially with-"
I cut him off with a laugh. "Shut-up, Kingsley. Just because my family is more than a little dysfunctional, doesn't mean I don't love to hear about the success stories. Your parents sound like the best."
"Well...uh-thanks. I guess a lot of guys at my school have daddy issues with them all being stuck up and snotty like my grandad but I'm lucky to have my dad. He's one of my best mates. My mum is the coolest person I know, too."
"That's nice," I whispered with a smile. My eyes drifted closed as I listened to his soothing voice that hummed through my body.
"So, I know what you mean about being impressing people. I feel like I've already got a disadvantage. I mean, it's a pretty fucking fast game of spot the difference. My dad's Alfred Kingsley the second, a white man, Grandad is Alfred Kingsley the first, another white man, and then the third Alfred is just...not white," He laughed sheepishly. I loved that he was speaking to me like this. "I try as hard as I can and it still isn't quite what's needed of me. I mean, I don't even want to be a lawyer and take on the family business. I like swimming and painting and skating, not arguing. I don't know..."
He stopped talking as the train slowed to a stop and the speaker crackled to life, echoing the mumbled mess of announcements. People filed in and through the carriage, none deciding to sit next to us luckily. The place was empty and soon, we swung back onto our journey with ease.
Kingsley continued, "My older sister, Alex loves that sort of stuff but because my grandfather is a misogynistic piece of shit, he won't give her the chance. Mum hates it and it's obvious she hates him too. It's so funny seeing Dad have to hold her back from speaking her mind whenever we visit."
Inexplicably, my heart called out in dispute; they'd never see him again. His lovely parents with their lovely love story and his lovely sisters. They'd lost him forever.
I'd never see him again either. And even if I had only known Kingsley for the shortest amount of time and he'd been the biggest pain in the ass throughout the duration, it would be a shame to see him leave.
"You know, Kingsley. I'm gonna miss y-"
"Is this seat taken?" A deep voice interrupted.
I lifted my head lazily to see a deathly pale hand point to the seat opposite mine. My gaze travelled along the arm to his gauntly thin face. His cheeks were hollowed out leaving harsh lines in its wake. He wore a suit, tailored to perfection, and a tye, stained with red.
"No," I squeaked.
His movements were slow but determined. Every stride he took had a meaning and he didn't waste time or energy.
When he sat opposite me, I scowled. Even from across the table I felt the burn of his eyes, two puddles darker than night stared at me. His black hair was slicked back tidily, not a strand out of place and his paper-thin lips tugged up into a smirk. The cold of Kingsley beside me was merely a background thought as the man in front of me radiated nothing but...death.
"Quincy," he greeted. His voice was so deep that it grumbled along the table and sent all my nerves back into overdrive. The effect he had on me was numbing. "I trust you remember me."
"Death," I stated.
He smiled and it instantly made me want to cower. He looked at me like I was prey and though his stare was chilling, I couldn't make myself look away.
From the floor, he brought a black briefcase up onto the table between us and flicked it open. His sickly white hands picked out a piece of paper from inside before clicking the case closed once again and resting the paper on top.
He cleared his throat and it felt as though everything around us silenced. He ran his long, bony finger down the paper with a frown and tutted.
"You've been noisy, Quincy Sinclair. Both you and that pesky ghost. I told you to find a killer and instead, you have dug yourself a deeper hole. Of course, it could be worse. Still, I'm not happy."
I stared, open-mouthed, after his comment. Frustration rolled in waves from the depth of my stomach and to my face where if this was a cartoon, steam would surely have been flying from my ears.
"However, it's what I should have expected from a child," he sighed in disappointment.
"Y-you do it then!" I bit out. My words came out choppy as I forced the sourness from my mouth. "If I am so incompetent, do it yourself."
Death rolled his eyes, suppressing a laugh. "Quincy. Young Quincy. Don't you think I would have done so already if granted the power?"
I shrugged, not trusting my words.
"I wouldn't know where to start. I may be Death but if I cannot see a spirit, I cannot catch it."
"You can't see him?" I asked eagerly.
"No, I can't," he frowned before his eyes flickered to the free seat beside me where Kingsley had pressed himself as far back as he could into the cotton cushioning behind. "I have a feeling he's here, though. Am I right?"
"That's none of your business," I snapped. "Besides, I don't think I want to associate with you any longer, sorry. I've grown rather close to Kingsley and don't feel like doing your dirty work anymore."
He clenched his jaw. "You make it sound like I've asked a huge favour of you. All I want is for you to figure out who killed Alfred Kingsley III."
"Well, what if I don't feel like it anymore?" I provoked.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his long nose.
"Okay," he breathed out after a moment. "I understand it. You're working with Death, after all. I can't expect you to do it for free."
His answer caught me off guard. He was going to pay me for it? Did I even want money for this? For all I had gone through, would money make up for it. I could've gotten arrested or killed - would it be worth it?
"For your troubles, I will allow you one wish. The world is at your fingertips, Quincy Sinclair, so choose wisely."
My eyes fluttered to Kingsley whose head snapped back and forth between Death and I. I had never seen the ghost boy so nervous as he stayed deathly quiet. Maybe he thought his time was up already.
"So, what do you think? You can have anything you please, will you take it?" Death pressed but my eyes remained on Kingsley.
I tried to gouge out his reaction but it took him a pregnant pause to regain consciousness. He looked at me with a sparkle of nervousness in his wide eyes. His life was in my hands but he nodded slowly.
"So, this wish," I drawled out, facing Death again. I'd never get used to those beady eyes, like two buttons. "By anything? Do you really mean anything?"
"If you're asking if I can bring the boy back to life then the answer would be yes. I can do anything. So, do we have a deal?"
I crossed my arms and bit my lip. I had never made such a dangerous deal in my life and the pressure left a heavy weight on my chest. But, I had to accept it. I was already dealing with forces far beyond my understanding, I had to go all out or not bother at all.
"Yes," I answered curtly.
"Brilliant," he grinned grimly, showcasing his rows of sharp teeth. Dazzlingly white and pointed.
The blank piece of paper that sat on top of the briefcase began to bleed with words and formed sentences.
"This is the contract I have planned out for you," he began. Death blew a short breath out onto the paper, drying the words before he moved the briefcase aside and turned the paper to face me.
"I, Death, agree to grant Quincy Sinclair a single wish if she successfully collects the soul of Alfred Kingsley III within twenty-four-hours," he read out from memory. Then, he fished a ballpoint pen from the inside of his suit jacket and placed it next to the paper.
There was only one sentence on the contract, the one he read aloud. It was printed in neat handwriting, bold and easy to see with space at the bottom for the both of us to sign.
"That's it?" I wondered.
He nodded.
"Where's the shady small print I should read over or loopholes I should be aware of?"
He shook his head. "The only reason you're helping me, to begin with, is because the universe called for it. Some things are far beyond my control and the connection you have to Alfred is one of those things. Normally, I don't ask teenage girls to get involved with all this. So, no, there is no small print or loopholes. When this is all over, we won't be in contact until your time is up."
His words sparked a tinge of curiosity. Not even Death understood the wonders of the universe or why Kingsley and I were drawn to one another, especially since I never knew him when he was alive. I doubted I'd ever get the answer.
"And will you check on my uncle? I won't be able to solve this from jail."
He nodded with the roll of his eyes. "Yes, I'll make sure he's okay. But please, stop causing so much fuss."
Instead of answering, I read over the contract again.
"Twenty-four-hours?" I sputtered after noticing. "How the hell am I meant to figure this all out in twenty-four-hours?"
He shrugged. "With the prospect of a wish, I had to give you a deadline. I apologise if it's an inconvenience but if you sign the contract you'll have until..." he glanced to the watch on his wrist. "10 pm tomorrow to uncover the killer."
I opened my mouth to object but Kingsley interrupted me. "We can do it," he told me.
So, hesitantly, I took the pen and signed my name, Quincy Sinclair, messily just like I did every day on my wrist. I expected to feel some great release but the weight on my chest remained as heavy as ever.
Death blew out a breath.
"Thank you. Now, when 10 pm nears tomorrow, I need you to be ready. If you just announce the killer's name with conviction, I'll appear in time to take your friend away. If you decide your wish is to bring him back then I'll do so, if you want something else instead, I'll do that. But, I'm a busy man, so be prepared. If it passes 10 pm exactly I'll be forced to revoke the wish and use ulterior motives to retrieve the soul."
"Which are?"
"Far more unethical than I'd like to admit," he absentmindedly clicked his fingers and Kingsley flinched back. "Anyway, thank you for the co-operation, Quincy. I'll hopefully be seeing you at 10 pm tomorrow. No earlier or later. Have a good night."
He stood as the train slowed to a stop. Every bone in his body clicked as he returned to his full height and I cringed from the sound.
"Wait," I called out hesitantly when he'd turned his back to us. "How do I know if I've found the killer? What if it's not the right person I tell you at 10 pm tomorrow?"
He craned his body around, slowly and eerily.
"You'll know. I think you already have an idea, don't you?" He commented with a light smile before turning back around. His footsteps echoed along the corridor before he left out the carriage door.
I stared at the closed door, my head blitzed with the swirling thoughts that threatened to break everything else. My breathing was laboured and the malicious thought that I'd done something terribly wrong prickled at mind.
"You'll wish me back, won't you?" Kingsley whispered.
His body had crumpled from Death's powerful presence and he rested his head against the uncomfortable train seats behind us. Kingsley's dark eyebrows were pulled down pleadingly and my heart tore from the vulnerable look in his eyes.
It left me speechless.
The Alfred Kingsley the third was begging me to save his life. And so I promised. I had to.