Haunting a Ghost

*Video feed begins.

Celia is sat at her desk, amidst a hanging cloud of smoke bathed in the soft orange light of her apartment. An overflowing ashtray, several empty nerve-stick vials and an unopened bottle of brandy stand on the smooth black marble surface. Celia herself looks terribly distraught; beneath the lank strands of hair her eyes are swollen, red-rimmed, streaks of her dark make-up betraying the recent tears. She regards the camera with a burning stare for long moments before speaking in a broken voice*

So now I know the truth. Or rather, recalled the truth; I've always known it. It's in everything I do, everything I say. Even in the way I kill. It's haunted me for twenty years and all I could do to keep myself going was to block it out, along with every other shred of human emotion. I took every measure to ensure I didn't remember. And now, I see it all... so clearly, as if it was yesterday.

*She sighs and lights another cigarette*

I can see my father's body, lying in the mud, his throat torn out. I can still feel her hands... my mother's hands... slick with his blood, stroking my cheek. I can hear her words... so determined, so courageous in the face of what was inevitable. Then she was going... dragged out into the night by the SecTeam... then gone. And I have never seen nor heard of her since.

*Celia bows her head, choking back a sob. She looks back up to the camera, her eyes livid and burning with passion*

Why did they take her? Why?! The only person to have ever shown me love... genuine love. She was trying to defend me from him... What gave them the right to take her away from me and put me into the care of the Clan? Self-righteous bastards, all of them!

*Her speech becomes steadily more aggressive, a hiss through gritted teeth. She absently begins toying with an empty vial, flipping it over and over in her hand as she continues*

Thinking the rest of the cluster owes them something because they were enslaved and mistreated? Forever backward-looking, stuck in archaic tribalism. No wonder they don't make any progress. Slavery is too good for them.

*The vial breaks in her hand, glass fragments sinking into her flesh. Celia does not flinch, oblivious to any physical pain.*

They condemned her as a criminal, just as they have condemned me. No wonder then, I couldn't access her file. I have the know-how to crack the encryption now and I plan on doing just that. I can't rest knowing she could still be alive...

*Celia looks away, choking again and blinking back tears, her lips attempting a faint smile*

She used to sing to me. She'd tell me how much she loved me. Despite our stark poverty, she made every effort to make it bearable for me. She called me... Angel.

*She suddenly grabs the ashtray and flings it out of camera-shot, a resounding crash as it hits a wall. Her head sinks into her hands, her shoulders quivering. She remains silent for long moments, before re-lighting her cigarette and continuing her monologue with the camera*

If I were to find her and see her again, she would despise what I've become. Maybe Milo was right, maybe I should've just let this lie. But if I carried on I the way I was going, I would've ended up like the drunken wretch my mother left in the mud that night. Destitute, insignificant and prematurely dead.

No, I've got to find her. I need the closure. She will undoubtedly hate me, but I've learned how to deal with hate. It comes with my job. It's love that scares me most...

*Celia falls silent again, looking down at her bleeding hands. She concentrates not on her cuts, but on the two rings on her left hand. She gently twists them round and round, her own blood allowing them to slide off her finger easily. She places them on the desk, giving them baleful look.*

Why did I hold onto these for so long? I told myself a dozen reasons. Told others a dozen more. I can see the simple truth so clearly now... this was the closest I got to feeling loved again... and I killed them both.

*Celia shakes her head angrily, as if trying to clear it, unhappy with her train of thought. She sweeps her arm across the desk, sending the empty vials and rings to the floor. Only the unopened bottle remains. She fixes her weary gaze on it and continues to talk, as if to the bottle.*

Where do I go from here? I'm confused and this hurts so much. It would be so easy to drown it all out, feel numb and happy again...

*She caresses the side of the bottle with a black-varnished fingernail.*

Camera off.

*Video feed ends*