11 years ago my parents were murdered. The police told me it was suicide, and I believed them. Now I think they were just protecting a seven-year-old girl from knowing that someone wanted her parents dead. That same person is after me.
My name is Marie Alexander. I’m 18 years old. I’m always on the run. Everywhere I go there are people following me, and they always look like someone I care about, only if they are dead. I’ve seen my best friend Liz more than my parents or my other ghosts. Liz died three years after I met her.
It was raining. I was running. Liz was right beside me. We were running from the man with a gun. I was stupid enough to rob him. The man had gone out for shooting practice. I had been targeting him for months now. Ever since he tried to kill me, I suspected he was the one who killed my parents.
What I didn’t realize was that Liz had followed me. “Hey, Mar, what’re you sneaking around here for?” she whispered.
I yelped,”Liz, what the hell!? You know I hate when you scare me like that.”
“Sorry, but I love scaring you like that,” Liz giggled, “so, what’re you doing here? I’m pretty sure it’s not a good idea to rob a guy with a gun collection.”
“This guy tried to kill me a little while ago, and I think he has something to do with my parents’ death,” I told her while studying a gun case.
“Of course.” I walked into the kitchen and realized we weren’t alone.
“Nice of you to come visit an old man like me,” the man said in an ominous voice.
“You should be out shooting!” I yelled.
“Or maybe you just need to be more alert. Now, it’s time for you to be a good girl and die.”
We ran as fast as we could. Liz was a few paces behind me when she yelled, “Mar, keep going! I’ll stay here and distract him.”
“You know he has a gun, right?”
“I have my knives.” She ran back. I hoped she would be all right. I ran in the other direction, but barely five minutes later I heard a gunshot and a scream.
“Liz!” I screamed. I ran towards her, pulled out a knife, closed my eyes, and threw it, hoping it would hit my target. I opened my eyes, and what I saw was too horrible to describe. Liz’s arm was twisted at a strange angle with a bullet through her head and heart. The man was worse: he had a knife in each leg and one through his neck. Either Liz stabbed him before she fell and my blades missed him, or I didn’t miss, and Liz was too slow to kill. “Liz,” I said, crying, “Liz, why?” She was already gone. I got up, my tears flowing down my face in fat drops, and turned my back on her body. Someone would find her in the morning and no one needed to know I was here.
I walked to the man and pulled the blades out of his corpse. That way they wouldn’t have any fingerprints. At the moment, I had to be thorough. I could grieve when it was safer.
She died eight years ago, but I still remembered her face and her smile. I’d made a few friends since her death, but it’s impossible to keep them.
I visited my siblings every few weeks. Someone was always with them. My siblings Emma and Alex were fifteen, twins. After mom and dad died, they went to foster care. I ran away before they could make me leave. I would’ve taken them with me, but I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone. It’s been a few weeks since I visited them…maybe I would go later if I was in the mood.