The Girl Who Was Buried in Her Ball Gown

As the weeks went on, my darling little blister toyed with both boys, and their hearts. She revelled in her prowess and the two of them were stupid enough to allow her.

She went to more movies than I’d ever been to and ate more burgers and drank more coffees, without having to pay. I did sneak into the movies with them, to keep an eye on her and him, whichever him, it was. They did behave, which was a small relief, but still, I wouldn’t have played them like she did… but then again, I’d never been fifteen! It was fun to watch them fall for her feigned emotions and how they followed her every beck and call. I’m not sure who was having the most fun actually – Nikki or me. I was so jealous of her uncanny abilities but at the same time very disappointed in her. She was being wicked and very selfish, to be frank.

I must admit though, I did admire her listening ear, she really did care about these boys; even though they both carried baggage from their past. Martin, having been with me (intimately) when I was killed and how his physical abilities now, were somewhat hindered. He still needed a walking cane, which was not a usual accessory for teenagers. He still suffered from painful reminders of his handicap… he sometimes needed to take strong painkillers for relief; unfortunately, he had to take the ones that made him feel like he was going to spew!

Also, Patrick seemed to have a lot of issues to deal with. He suffered from nightmares almost every night, and I had seen some of them — real crazy stuff. Doug the (revolting) gorilla tended to make an appearance sometimes and I felt horrible for Patrick, that he’d been through such awful experiences. He’d been beaten and raped while inside Ngawha Prison, he was classified as a criminal, even though what he had done to me was an accident.

He was eighteen, for goodness’ sake and has had more life experience than many of his age; and was plagued with insomnia and bad dreams, what could one expect?

Oh Nikki, sweet Nikki, she was such a darling and had an understanding beyond her years, but even she had baggage. Her big sister was gone, dead… yet still here. We talked, from time to time and I’d ‘popped’ in to see her a few times over the years, but that was becoming less frequent. As the seasons rolled on, so too did the memory of me dim; they became cloudier and forgotten, all the while more water passed under the bridge.

I had enjoyed this extra time with my loved ones and did love to see them grow, and learn new things. But I still struggled, with why I was still here? As I understood death, or passing, you moved on, into your final destination, that being one of two places; hell, or heaven and never the twain shall meet. What was this then, where was I? Purgatory or something? Paradise perhaps — like where the thief went, when he had asked if he could come into the Lord’s kingdom, when he died. He was hanging on the cross next to Jesus Christ, two–something–thousand years ago, I couldn’t tell; whatever it was, it was a big can–of–worms and I wanted out!

Some fantastical news came into our household, soon after Dad was out of prison; Mum was pregnant! Nikki and Tim were going to have another brother or sister and the household was buzzing. Mum and Dad, did say not to break the news too early to friends and family. They wanted to make sure the pregnancy was far enough along before they told anyone. However, because of Facebook it didn’t take long for the word to get out, and congratulations were coming into the family. Many people were excited.

One day, while I was visiting the family, a strange visitor arrived, a very tiny visitor. So small, that I couldn’t tell whether it was a boy or a girl and then it spoke to me. The voice was strange to me, because it was a high voice and yet masculine.

“Hi Emma! I’m going home now, are you coming?” It was very curious… it had eyes that were a deep blue, almost violet. I wasn’t sure who was more curious, me or it. It seemed male, don’t ask me how I knew, but it – he – had the same intelligent eyes I’d seen before; yes, it was when I was still cooling down, after my heart stopped pumping that hot, life sustaining blood around my living body. The blood that I should still have pumping, around my body today.

“Wait a second, who are you, how do you know my name?” I asked, while still being attracted to those attentive eyes.

“I’m your brother, silly — and I’m going home today. Are you coming?” What? Tim was the only brother that I knew of.

“My… my brother?” I was confused. “You’re not Tim!”

“Yes. I know that.” He replied in a matter–of–fact, “I have to go home, but I really wanted to stay here and grow up with my family. Will you hold my hand Emma, so we can go home together?”

“I… I’d love to!” I replied, nearly bursting into those stupid invisible tears again! I found myself reaching out for his tiny hand, but then found myself hesitating.

“Well, come on then… let’s go.” But suddenly he paused, as if he was deep in thought. Then he said to me, downcast, “Oh, you can’t come yet, and I was hoping we could go home together.”

“What are you talking about? What’s your name? Where is home?”

“Oh, I don’t have a name yet. Mum and Dad haven’t given me one, but they will one day.” His tiny face seemed to be looking out for something exciting, that wasn’t there yet. He looked like he knew more than he was allowed to tell me. Suddenly his composure changed and he said, “Home is where we come from Emma! Where we go back to after we’ve had our journey here.” He was laughing a cute little laugh for a moment and then he became solemn. “You can’t come home yet Emma, because you still have something to do. But I wish you could. I really want to get to know you better. I want to hear all of your stories you have to tell, I love stories. I want to know all about living on earth. I love you Emma!”

“What is it… what do I have to do, little brother?” and then I saw the familiar burst of light that had taken my Auntie Annie and those little babies in the hospital, who had been aborted. He was leaving me, “Wait! What do I have to do? What?” Too late, he was gone. I felt as if a sopping wet blanket had been thrown over me and I was suffocating. Why was my little brother here, and now, why has he gone? What about me?

My mind was spinning out of control! Oh, I wished I knew what I had to do. I began to feel like Patrick, depressed, plagued and hopeless!

Time went on and I remained in my stupor. Not going anywhere, not doing anything except watching my vixen sister, with her quarries; watching all of their gooey eyes and the dreams of their future… together! Yuk! Jealous! You’re just jealous Emma. I was jealous! I was stark raving jealous — and mad! Mad at God, mad at the boys and mad at Nikki! I had to keep reminding myself, it’s ok… it’s going to end soon; it’s not finished yet, but surely it will be over and things will all make sense… soon, very soon!

It wasn’t until three weeks later that Mum and Dad found out that the (brother) baby she was still carrying, had already gone… gone home! Mum’s midwife couldn’t find a heartbeat at the fourteen–week mark, and so she ordered a scan for her. Mum and Dad (and myself) went along, to see what Mum didn’t know yet.

As the nurse, or doctor swept the nozzle thingy around her belly, to find an image of the baby, I noticed that Dad had already worked out that the baby was gone. I could tell how he knew, because I saw it too. The baby was lying flat on its – his – back and his legs were not raised up around his chest like they should be, which is the usual fetal position; instead, his legs were lying flat out, on the bottom of the amniotic sac and he was not twitching or moving his little hands or anything; he was lifeless, his head lolled to one side.

Mum tried to reason away the fact that there was no movement but she knew. We all knew. The nurse, or doctor, told Mum that it could take weeks before the body naturally gave up the fetus (she called my little brother a fetus!) and she should talk with her midwife to find out what her options were and what she could expect while going through the birthing process. Mum and Dad had to tell everyone who was expecting a new baby Walters, they had to say that there would not be one, anymore. That was hard for them, I could tell.