“Yeah, that’s the one,” he said, squinting down at the writing. “It looks quite nice. Expensive one, by the looks of it. I didn’t think they cared.”
“Who didn’t?” I said, shaking my head in bewilderment.
“Your father and the others,” he said thoughtfully. “They all had a collection. That’s what paid for it.”
“I don’t know how you can stand there and be...”
“Be what?” he asked, glancing sideways at me.
“So happy about it all,” I gasped. “You’re dead.”
“But I am happy,” he shrugged just like he always did.
“How can you be?” I asked him, fighting the urge to just throw my arms around him.
“Because I got to meet you, Sydney Hart,” he smiled. “I’ve watched you for years as you’ve grown up. I’ve watched from afar as your father bullied and belittled you, and I saw the mistakes you made because of that. As you got older, I just couldn’t help but fall in love with you.”
“So you’ve been...what...watching me all these years?” I asked.
“Not you as such,” he said sadly. “Your father. I just couldn’t pass over, not properly, until I knew justice had been done for what he did to me and Molly Smith. I’m fussy about things like that. Then there was that car crash, which your father was so happy for you to take the blame for. I watched you that night, consumed with grief and guilt for something you hadn’t done. And that hurt to see, Sydney. So, I decided it was time...time to get justice.”
“So you came into my life,” I said, looking at him. “You left all those little pointers to lead me to the truth. Why didn’t you just tell me? Wouldn’t it have been easier?”
“Would you have believed me?” Vincent asked. “A complete stranger appears and tells you that your father was responsible for a murder ten years ago, that he was responsible for the deaths of the Smith family and not you. No, you wouldn’t have believed me. You would have only believed it if you discovered the truth for yourself.”
There was a pause, as my mind tried to rationalise everything I had discovered, not only about my father, but Vincent, too. After some time, I looked at Vincent and said, “So what happens now?”
“Your father goes to prison,” he smiled.
“I didn’t mean that,” I said. “What happens to us? You are dead, Vincent. I guess that is my curse. Perhaps Jonathan Smith did curse me after all.”
“A curse?” Vincent frowned.
“For the first time in my life, I’ve met a man, a good man who I’ve fallen in love with, and he’s dead already,” I said bitterly. Turning to face him, I brushed the tips of my fingers over that scar hidden just beneath his hairline. “I’m the only one who can see you, touch you, and hold you, Vincent.”
“I don’t need anyone else to see me or hold me,” Vincent whispered. “All I want is you.”
“But haven’t you got to go...” I said, fumbling for the right words and looking back at the grave.
“Not just yet...not for a while at least,” Vincent said.
“So what do we do now?” I asked him, wondering what the future could possibly hold for us.
“Take your clothes off for starters,” he said back.
“Sorry?” I half-smiled.
“Oh, God...no...what I meant to say was...” Vincent started to mumble, looking embarrassed. “What I meant to say was...is that...your clothes look soaked through with rain...you’ll catch...a cold...”
“Give me a break,” I sighed. “We both know what you meant to say.” I took his hand in mine as we strolled away from his grave. “It hasn’t even been raining today,” I added, looking up at the sky.
And although I was holding the hand of a ghost, Vincent’s touch felt more real than anything I had ever felt before.