Chapter 2: Flowers for the Forgotten Bride

My voice barely carried, but the clerk’s eyes narrowed. I fidgeted, wishing I could disappear right then and there.

"Detective Quinn?" The clerk did some quick calculations, then suddenly shouted, "You bold spirit! You’re tangled up with the living—confess the truth!" The room seemed to vibrate with his anger.

His shout sent a ripple through the room. I shrank back, wishing I could melt into the floor.

The clerk’s anger made my ghostly courage shrink. I wanted to vanish.

I could feel the eyes of other souls on me, curiosity and judgment mingling in the air. I shrank further into myself.

Even the faint golden light around me flickered. I clung to it, desperate.

It sputtered like a dying firefly, leaving me feeling exposed and cold.

A little over a month ago, Maple Heights had three days of heavy rain. It washed away my grave.

The storms had been relentless—thunder rattling windows, rain beating down on the old cemetery until the ground turned to soup.

Mud and sand mixed with my bones and covered someone else’s grave. The world above was shifting, and I was lost in it.

I drifted, weightless, as the world above shifted. My resting place lost, my bones tangled with another’s story.

After the rain, it was Memorial Day. I remembered the flags and the way the town smelled of summer.

The whole town turned out, flags and flowers everywhere, the air heavy with the scent of cut grass and memories.

Unexpectedly, someone visited the wrong grave and left flowers on my bones. I watched, stunned.

The bouquet was wildflowers—daisies and goldenrod—wrapped in a paper grocery bag. I’d never expected anyone to remember me.

That was the first offering I’d received since dying. I could hardly believe it.

A warmth I hadn’t felt in decades seeped through me. I almost cried, if ghosts could cry.

I appeared, wanting to thank the person. My form shimmered with anticipation.

I stepped out of the shadows, my form flickering in the sunlight, heart pounding with nerves.

I didn’t expect him to be so scared that he kept backing away, pulling out his badge and holding it in front of him. I almost felt sorry for him.

He looked young, still carrying that rookie edge. The badge shook in his hand, catching the light.

"Spirit, back away! Get out of here!... I’m the new detective for Maple Heights, Quinn Harper, protected by the law—I’m not afraid of you!" His voice wobbled, but he tried to sound tough.

His voice cracked, but he tried to stand tall. I almost laughed, but bit it back.

I tilted my head and pointed to his feet. "But you just stepped on and broke my finger bone. Now we have a tie between us." I tried to look serious.

I wiggled my ghostly hand, and sure enough, a tiny bone lay snapped beneath his boot.

Quinn trembled, pressing the badge almost to my forehead, as if he didn’t understand what I meant. I almost rolled my eyes.

He looked ready to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. Poor guy. I almost felt bad for him.

I brushed aside his hand with the badge and explained, "Don’t worry—even though I’m a ghost, I’ve never hurt anyone. But you broke my finger bone, so you’ve got to fulfill a wish for me to balance things out."

I tried to sound reassuring, but my voice came out more haunting than I meant. Sometimes it’s hard to control the ghostly vibe.

Quinn straightened up a bit and asked, voice trembling, "What’s your wish?" He looked like he was bracing himself for anything.

He licked his lips, eyes darting from me to the grave, as if expecting me to vanish any second. Poor kid.

I waited thirty years in line in the afterlife for reincarnation, and it’s still not my turn. The unfairness burned.

The weight of those years pressed down on me, heavy and cold.

I want to get back into the cycle and get a new life. I felt desperate.

My words hung in the air, desperate and raw. I’d never wanted anything so badly.

As I spoke, I sent a beam of cold light into Quinn’s chest. He clutched his heart, bending over in pain. I didn’t mean to hurt him that much.

He gasped, knees buckling. The cold was sharp, like ice water poured straight through his ribs.

A ghost’s wish can only be dispelled once it’s fulfilled. That’s the rule.

It’s a rule older than the hills, one even the bravest souls can’t break.

"As long as you don’t do as I say, your heart’ll keep hurting." I waved my hand to ease his pain, hoping it would help.

I didn’t want to scare him too much. The pain faded, but he was left panting, sweat beading on his brow.

Quinn’s face was covered in sweat, looking like he’d just resigned himself to fate. Poor guy.

He wiped his forehead, then looked up at me with a shaky kind of determination.

"What do you want me to do?" His voice was steadier now, resignation giving way to resolve. I could tell he was ready to listen.

I remembered what the older soul told me: a wrongful death with an obsession becomes a restless spirit. The words echoed.

His words echoed in my head, a warning and a promise all at once.

And my obsession is my death. I felt the truth settle in my bones.

It gnawed at me, day and night, the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

"You’re the detective, so investigate the truth for me. Let me die with peace." I tried to keep my voice calm, but desperation leaked through.

"Were you murdered?" He looked at me, suspicion and pity mixing in his eyes. I saw his doubt.

I lifted my skirt and spun in front of Quinn, speaking lightly, "Isn’t it obvious? I was buried alive for a ghost marriage." I tried to make it sound less tragic than it was.

The hem of my dress floated around me, pale and tattered, the lace stained with time. I tried to smile, but my lips trembled.

Only then did Quinn notice I was wearing a wedding dress. He looked me up and down for a long time, his expression complicated. I could see the wheels turning in his head.

His eyes lingered on the old-fashioned lace, the faded ribbon, the way the dress clung to my bones. He swallowed hard, clearly rattled.

I stared at the things in his grocery bag, picked up the flowers he hadn’t placed yet, and smiled. "Leave another bouquet—I like this scent."

The wildflowers smelled like summer afternoons, sun-warmed and sweet. I breathed them in, wishing I could hold onto the feeling forever.

Quinn obediently placed the flowers beside my broken finger bone. He looked like he was handling a bomb.

He knelt, arranging the bouquet with trembling hands, careful not to touch the bone again.

I felt a rush of soothing energy flow through me. Suddenly, I felt refreshed. The headache that had bothered me for years eased a bit.

It was as if the flowers pulled the pain out of me, leaving only a gentle ache behind.

"Thank you. I’m a polite ghost." I tried to sound cheerful, though my gratitude nearly made me tear up.

I tried to lighten the mood, but my voice wavered with gratitude.

Quinn looked at me strangely and asked, "Everyone buried here is from the Hargrove family. What’s your name?" He sounded genuinely confused.

He furrowed his brow, scanning the headstones as if searching for answers.

"Mr. Hargrove is a well-known philanthropist in this town. How could he use a living person for a ghost marriage?" The disbelief in his voice was clear.

His tone was skeptical, but there was a hint of curiosity too.