Dead Girls Don’t Die

The cold was delicious; it draped over me like a blanket, the edges kissing my skin and caressing my soul. It slowly slipped away leaving me shaking, not from chill, but from power. The witches had been coming for days offering their knowledge. Women from so many different eras with rich and diverse skills.

The dark witches always seemed to stick, all but the chaos they said they belonged to another. They bid me goodbye, placing kisses on my cheek and whispering blessings in my ears. I had always loved the spirits. Most are satisfied with one meeting or they choose to come and go, but a few stayed. Mostly the women, it was a sisterhood connection of sorts. Alice Brody, a 23 year old 1950s housewife, killed her husband for cheating on her after learning of her infertility.

Alice occupied her time in “The Grey” as the spirits called it by taking on a maternal role with me. She gave great housekeeping and sewing advice I was capable of multiple elaborate 50s style hairdos and whenever someone hurt me she comforted me by explaining exactly how she would murder them. Most female killers preferred poison. Alice was not like most.

Joan the depression era pickpocket eternally age 14. She could get into just about anywhere while human so she enjoyed the freedom of her specter- like form. She was stabbed to death over a five dollar debt. She still insists it was better than starving. Dorothy Montie rising star of the cotton club. Her voice was haunting, do deep and sad it could swallow you up. I don't know how she died, all I know is that it was bad and white men with Harlem accents send her running.

Wyatt, one of the few male ghosts, was a cowboy in New Mexico. He talked about his friend and fellow Cowboy Manuel like he was much more than that to him. He wouldn't let me summon him though and despite my hints at modern terms he refused to admit his feelings out loud.

Martin was the other man who stuck around. He was huge and his body was riddled with scars but he called me Miss Sylvia in the softest voice. I had told him that he didn't have to call me Miss but he had scolded me “Ms.Sylvia it ain't nothing like that, you've been good to me and good women are deserving of respect.” He had another name in life but in his words “Since I'm a free man now I oughta have a free name.”

With the aid of my reading skills and multiple history books from the institute's library, he had settled on Martin. No one could be perfect when it came to the topic of race, but despite the fact it wasn't his job Martin sure did help keep all of us in check. He taught himself how to read, and we had a system that whenever he tapped my hand I turned the page for him. Now with concentration he could do it on his own. He was honestly more educated on the current political climate than I was. In my defense he didn't need to sleep.

Being the most modern I had the fewest problems ( note fewest not nonexistent) but the others needed some work. Even though Dorothy had lived in a time with more rights she struggled with believing she was worth it. I wish I could help her but giving my opinion on her no matter how kind wouldn't help. It would only cement the idea that other people’s opinions controlled her. Martin coaxed her out of her shell. They made me believe in true love. How morbid that the best example of a healthy relationship had was two dead people from times nearly seven decades apart.

There was a nun Sister Anne who popped in from time to time. Child ghosts could scare the crap out of you especially if they weren't verbal but I had only ever encountered one who was dangerous. They mostly just wanted to play or be held and talked too. Alice adored them and I had to admit I did too.

“You doing alright Darling, I saw you had another visitor,” she smooths my hair with her cool fingers. Ghosts could be anywhere from seemingly the same temperature as my skin, to cold enough to leave red marks on my body. Alice just felt like someone with poor circulation. “I'm alright, it gets easier every time,” I reassure her.” “It must be such a queer feeling, absorbing another person.” “It's really not they just leave their knowledge, I know how to read ancient languages and cast spells like I know 1+1=2.”

“Cole you have visitors, time for cuffs,” one of the male orderlies shouts unceremoniously. I look up annoyed. “ I oughta teach these brutes a lesson in manners,” Alice huffs, her gray-white tones flashing into color. Her eyes are this striking blue and her blonde hair is in the softest curls. The only harsh things are her blood red lips and nails, and of course the malice in her eyes.

“You can try later Alice. We need to know who the visitors are” I whisper. I stand in position as the guard places the cuffs. They had medicated me to near death and no change in my “Severe Schizophrenia”. So they kept me on low dose antipsychotics and cuffed me in the presence of other patients.

Doug the orderly was superstitious, he recited the exorcism from the exorcist every time he had to check on me. God himself couldn't stop me from killing him if I wanted to so it was pretty useless. Lucky enough for Doug I didn't want to kill him. We had a ghostly entourage as he led me out to the visiting area. The news of living visitors brought everyone out from the grey.

Two men were waiting. One was definitely blind and most definitely a lawyer. The second was wearing an overpriced suit and a little too much confidence for his own good. As we neared I realized the latter was Tony Stark. It was impossible to escape tabloid magazines even living under the rock that was Michael Bronlittle’s hospital for the criminally insane.

“You can take the shackles off of Miss cole” the lawyer speaks. He had the seal of approval from Sister Anne “a good Catholic boy” Alice was raving about how handsome he was and Martin had heard of his humanitarian work in NewYork. He was good in my book. “Are you sure sir, she's killed two men?” Doug sounds shocked that he even considered it.

“Doug look me in the eyes” I say exasperated. I turn around and he looks at me like I might bite him. “Doug if I had any desire to harm you I would have done it by now, I have been here seven years and the only trouble I have ever caused was Jackson three years ago.”

“We both know for a fact he wasn't checking on me just like he wasn't checking on Marcie before she got pregnant and just like he wasn't checking on April before she killed herself.” I can see in his eyes he knows, everyone knew. I was going to end on that note but then I remembered I had a promise to fulfill.

“Also before you go your Aunt Perla says you need to man up and propose to Rebecca already and the secret ingredient in her pound cake is just sour cream not anything fancy.” Perla was a dear, but she was ready to go upstairs and didn't have the energy to deliver the message herself. He goes silent then he sputters and stutters. “We’ll take our chances with Curly Sue Lady of Darkness” Stark Quips. Doug uncuffs me and leaves locking the door behind him. He’d be okay. Eventually.

“Have a seat Ms.Cole?” says the Lawyer “Matthew, Matt Murdock” Martin informs me. “You can call me Sylvia Mr. Murdock, as can you Mr.Stark, it's best to be on a first-name basis with a girl before she performs a seance or discusses her motive for murder.” I state simply sitting down across from them.

“Manners Darling, small talk, polite language.” Alice reminds me looking disdainfully at the shocked faces in front of me. “Oh I'm terribly sorry I'm quite rusty when it comes to conversation. I don't get visitors so I assumed those would be the only reasons someone would bother to come here. I apologize.”

“That's alright I like to cut to the chase, small talk is overrated,” says Stark taking off his shades.” We need to know about your Father he invented a certain device of sorts that we need to know about. It's for the sake of humanity.” My body stiffens and I feel Alice's embrace Wyatt steps forward placing a hand on my shoulder

“Alan has never been my father and he never will be, the last time I saw him was when I killed him and I would do it again. Anything he ever touched turned twisted and broken. Anything he created wouldn't be for the better of anything.” I can feel my nails digging into the skin of my palms and the phantom pains on the parts of my body I can't technically feel anymore.

“Anything at all would be incredibly helpful to our case.” Mr. Murdock urges gently. I feel the floodgates in my mind break open. “What I remember Mr.Murdock doesn't matter in any court of law. I'm just the psycho little girl, the murderous schizophrenic, Humanities little freak show to ogle from time to time,” I snap.

“Everyone says it's such a tragedy, what happened to my poor poor Father. What kind of little girl comes up with such horrible things!? What kind of monster murders her own father and blames it on ghosts!?” I mock the comments I've heard over the years. Hot tears beginning to roll down my cheeks.

“According to society and a multitude of mental health professionals, I'm a violent schizophrenic with extreme and vivid delusions,” I repeat the diagnosis that’s been told to me time and time again. “They say that the only thing in my life that gives it any meaning or inkling of joy is made up in my head,”

I pause for a ragged breath but they still don’t dare to interrupt me Some days I don't know if what my father did to me caused it or if he didn't even do anything at all.” The words are strained. “Even I know I am not sane Mr. Murdock, and I have more faith in myself than anyone else” I finish looking up at them with contempt in my eyes. “Memories, anything at all?,” Stark questions me.

He crossed an invisible line in my head. “What I remember was a man Who was a Sadistic Narcissistic Sociopath, a pedophile and a necrophile.” the list nearly makes me vomit. “A man who got off on my pain and my fear. A man who I know within my heart of hearts killed girls before I killed him.” I look in their eyes silently begging them to believe me.

“The man I know invented and built all manner of things to hurt a person no, a child and not leave a mark.” I’m seething at this point. “A monster so good at manipulating that he did it from his grave.” No one believed me not over him. “Mr.Murdock, Mr.Stark I remember a man that exists to no one except for me and the ghosts of little dead girls.”They're watching pale faces as one does when someone breaks down in front of you. Somehow I just know what I need to do.

“Tony, your mother loves you more than anything and she says that you shouldn't worry about living up to your father because you're ten times the man he ever was and a thousand times better Father. “Mattie I hope you really have the devil in you because God has no domain over where I'm sending you.”

I grab a file and a pen sitting on the table and I begin to write out the address. “Matthew, your father wanted me to remind you that you don't have to win every fight you just gotta survive 'em,” I say, trying not to imitate the man’s accent. “The well at the front of the estate is real but the one in the garden is a tunnel.” I turn to Stark. “I wouldn't recommend visiting all you'll see is your little girl or if I'm as insane as they say you'll find nothing.”

They both start to ask questions but I silence them. “I know what I know. I've already talked more today than I have my entire life,” Maybe it's a deathbed confession of sorts I think to myself. “I truly wish the best for both of you” . I pause cringing at the intense feelings in my body. “I'm sorry for not being able to help you more and for the fuss I'm about to cause.” I'm partially aware of the fall from my chair as I lose control of my body to a Grand mal seizure. I swear I can hear death and the devil laughing at the irony. How funny, a dead girl that's afraid of dying.