Bill's Story - 6

Looks like I'm winning this battle against "writing laziness". Here goes part 6...and please don't get tired. It'll soon be brought to an end ;)

For a recap, click on the links below

Bill's Story - 1

Bill's Story - 2

Bill's Story - 3

Bill's story - 4

Bill's Story - 5

I had an uneventful journey. Uneventful in the sense that for once in my air travel history, I did not find myself seated by a chatterbox who would not shut up for a second or a weirdo who repeats every single action I make. Prior to the trip, I helped Berth move her stuff to her end before she dropped me off at the airport. She was being uncharacteristically emotional about the whole moving out and my travelling thing, I almost asked her why she was doing it if she didn’t want to do it. I stopped myself because I knew it was only going to result in a lengthy talk about “this situation” in which she’s found herself. I let it pass.

I’d checked in, ordered my lunch through room service and was ready to sleep my jet lag off by 5pm after I’d called Berth to let her know I’d arrived safely. The meeting was planned to start on Tuesday. Enough time for me to get over this trans-atlantic flight. I jumped into bed ready to catch up on my missed hours of sleep.

I was woken up by a knock on the door. I groggily reached for my wristwatch from beside my pillow to check the time. It was 5:30pm. “That’s not possible”, I muttered to myself as I dragged myself towards the door, making a mental note to have the battery changed.

“Who’s there?” I looked through the peephole but only saw a mass of dark hair. Whoever it was had her back facing the door. She most likely thought she was knocking on the right door and was just waiting to be let in. I considered ignoring the knock and heading back to bed because I was expecting no visitors. I had not even informed my Yankee friends I was coming to town, and none of the people I know lived in Seattle. I went ahead and cracked the door open and the neck bearing the mass of dark hair turned around with a smile, waiting for me to let her in. I blinked and screamed my heart out.

“Noooooo!!!!” This could not be! I slammed the door shut and backed away from it. The knocks started again. This time, accompanied with mentions of my name.

“Bill, Bill, Bill?”

I remained silent, seated on my bed and staring at the door in disbelief.

 “Bill, are you not going to let me in?”

“Go away. I do not communicate with the dead.”

 I had heard so many stories of the dead appearing to people who were not yet aware of their passing. I had never for a second stopped to think if these stories were true or not. No one told me she was dead. That was just an assumption I was making. But going by all logic, that had to be the only explanation for how she could turn up in front of my hotel room when she was supposed to be in Ghana. How did she even know the hotel I was to be lodging in and my room number? She must be a ghost.

She snorted with laughter.

“Okay, Bill, I was looking forward to your surprise at seeing me turn up at your door, but I was not expecting this!”

I was not going to communicate with a dead person. No way. I remained silent.

“It’s been one long flight. I’m heading over to my room to rest. I’m in room 27, up on the next floor. See you later.”

I did not hear her retreating footsteps so I knew she was still waiting to see if I would change my mind. I remained silent and seated on the bed, still staring at the door when I sensed she’d turned to leave. That was when I called for her to wait while I tentatively headed to the door. My heart was racing with every step I took, and I didn’t know I’d been shaking until I touched the door knob. When I opened it, she looked straight into my eyes and asked with flames darting from her eyes,

“Do I look like a ghost?”

I was very confused. She did not look like a ghost. I did not even know what ghosts are supposed to look like.

“No”, I said with a vigorous shake of my head.

“So what was all that about?” The anger in her eyes gave way to concern. I was still rooted in position. She reached out for the door, opening it wider and making enough room for her to let herself in.

I closed the door, turned and watched her drop her handbag on the desk, kick off her shoes and make herself comfortable on my bed. All this while, she held my gaze, waiting for an answer.

“I’m confused.”

“Why?”

“I am confused because you’re not supposed to be here. I am confused because I only got in a few hours ago, had a late lunch and fell asleep for about thirty minutes and here you are in front of me when I know very well you were in Ghana when I was leaving. And you don’t expect me to be confused?” I was incredulous!

She only laughed, patted a spot by her side on the bed and beckoned for me to come take a seat. I shook my head and opted for the desk chair which only made her laugh harder.

“So now, I’m a ghost and you’re afraid to sit by me. I’m not a ghost.”

She got up and did a twirl as if that was to disprove her being a ghost. Whatever fears I'd had of her being a ghost had subsided at this point. I knew there had to be a logical explanation for this.