The Mysterious Detective

For three years, I saw a frightened face I could never forget.

A woman stood at the same time and place as I drove past the abandoned homes on Lincoln Avenue. She was slender and tall in her thirties. She had long, white hair to her legs, and wore a black wardrobe from her head to toes. Her looks matched the night.

Her eyes were pure red-fire, something I’d never seen before. She was bashful each time she widely grinned at me like a child. And she stared at me with a fainting smirk that sometimes scared me but felt warmly harmless. She had unique, beautiful, and intriguing eyes. When she gazed into my brown eyes, it felt like she had a secret to share, as if we had known each for a long time, as if she wanted me to get closer to her, as if I had the one thing that could put her terrified soul at ease.

However, I never stepped out of my beat-up car and greeted her; I just kept on driving away, replaying in my mind the brief moments we’d shared.

Each day, we continued the same routine. She remained the same terrified woman who was standing in the darkness, hiding behind the shadows. She seemed to like the bleakness more than the light. Each time it moved towards her, she’d quickly take a step back to hide. It sounded as if the glare of the nightlight made her uncomfortable or frightened her. But she looked happier when our eyes met in the dark like two lovers who’d enjoy walking in the moonlight, holding hands.

As time went by, I got used to seeing her, though we never even exchanged a single word between us; only our eyes did the talking. By then, I already started missing her presence. She kept pulling me like gravity and made me feel helpless and vulnerable. My affection for her tamed my nervousness.

One thing always puzzled me during our encounters; she never looked at any other person, but her eyes only followed me. That made me curious and nervous. At first, it didn’t feel anything but accidental that we met since she didn’t look familiar. Although I wondered what she was doing or why she was following me, I didn’t want her to stop, knowing that it could be dangerous. Thus, I continued playing the silent game she had started.

One night, a noise startled me in my sleep. It was a hard pounding noise as if someone was kicking on my front door. I turned the nightlight on and looked outside the windows but saw nothing. I didn’t have pets that would make such a terrifying sound. Also, I knew that all the doors and windows were closed shut. After finding not a single moving soul, I went downstairs to investigate. Once I got there, since it was a pitch-black night, I turned the outside lights on. When I looked around, I saw a moving shadow hidden behind the trees on my front lawn.

“Hello, who is out there?” I said.

When the umbra began to reveal itself, I was flabbergasted. It was the woman I’d silently been passing by for three years. Even though my heart throbbed a little with her presence, I got terrified and nervous. I didn’t know what to say or do. So I slowly withdrew and went inside and locked my doors. Standing behind the sealed iron door, I wondered how she even knew where I live.

To this day, it’s a mystery to me. We never talked or exchanged any personal information before, and seeing her that night caught me by surprise. My mind sorted through random thoughts on what to do next. Before I could search my memory vault any further, I checked her through the keyhole. She was standing on my doorstep shivering, and holding a sign that said, “Help me, please!”

I wasn’t sure if I had to call the police or let her in. I picked up the phone and dialed 911. But, before I pressed the talk button, I put down my phone and decided to let her in. She didn’t look dangerous. She’d never have. So, I unlocked my door. My instinct told me to help her, to hold her on my arms, though I knew nothing about the poor and frightened woman.

“Thank you so much,” she said, rushing to get inside.

When the light hit her eyes, she looked down and covered her eyes. I turned off the living room light and left the door open. The glistening moonlight shone on my face. She signed, and without lifting her eyes from mine, she sat down on the couch. I didn’t know what to do or say. But when I asked if she wanted a drink, she laughed and said, “No, thank you!”

I went upstairs and fetched her blanket. Once she wrapped herself up, I sat across her. As soon I sat down, beacons of lights beamed from her eyes. By then, I couldn’t move or feel anything. I felt paralyzed when the glowing light from her eyes penetrated my mind.

Then I saw random images flashing in my head.

She showed me the places and the life she had lived, the childhood memories, families, and friends she had had. She was a happy, and wild woman. But when she began to throb in pain, the images suddenly started to change.

They became darker and scarier. She showed me the painful moments she had endured and the last breath she’d taken on the hand of a man. There wasn’t any fear in her eyes but confusion when he’d strangled her until her eyes turned bloody red. She looked like she’d known that man, or even loved him. His action seemed something that haunted her until the day she walked into my house.

My heart ached in pain as she moaned. Then her hands reached for mine, and she gently touched my face. Suddenly, everything paused. When I opened my eyes, she fainted and lapsed on the couch. A moment later, she became pale, yet looked relieved. She signed and turned to ash.

That was the last and first time I said hello, and bye to a happy woman, a woman who no longer hid in the shadows.

From that night on, I began to believe in ghosts and a parallel world, or mysterious things that swirl amidst us, even though they might be invisible to the naked eyes.

The next morning, I packed a suitcase and flew five thousand miles away to solve her murder.

Midnightinker-5-9-2020