I hate graveyards.

Not the best condition for being a lawyer for the bloody dead, but what can I say? Shit has to be done and the dead are known for paying beforehand. Mostly in cash. The important word here is m-o-s-t-l-y. I have no luck with my new client so far.

“I will sue her”, says a unhappy voice in a mudy hole. A really unhappy voice. “You hear me? I will make her pay. I will make her life miserable. I will burn her to the ground. I will drink her tears and bath in her blood - ”

“Marvelous.” I check my watch. It’s after midnight. “You see, Mr, Bellmouth. You were gone for a while. I have quite shocking news. Your wife is dead.”

Heavy Breathing.

“She is gone?”

“Yes. Since sixty years.”

“But – my revenge! I want to take her life like she took mine!”

“The lover of your wife was faster, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

“The guy she run away with after she killed you. This twenty-something bloke who worked as your driver? He shot her in the middle of the day. In Paris. Romantic.”

Silence.

“She is really gone? Like… gone?”

"Yes, indeed. Also the most part of her head.”

"What?”

"There was not much from her left. I'm sorry.”

Silence. Again.

"And my son? What happened with my ungrateful son?”

Bloody hell. Here we go. I check my watch again.

“Well, Mr. Bellmouth. Let’s wrap it up. Your son got arrested for blackmailing, twice, and had a lil’ gambling problem but no luck. He lost a lot, Mr. Bellmouth. Your son knocked some poor woman up and was a shitty father, until the booze killed him. Your daughter in law tried to hold on the family fortune but your son left her nothing expect a lot of debts and a unloved boy. Your grandson was called Percy and died far too young in the first world war at age nineteen. And yes, I said the first world war because we had a second one while you were gone, sadly. It was a bloody mess. So, that’s it. The whole story. Your murderous wife is dead and your family fortune and name are no more. If you allow me a comment, Mr. Bellmouth. Try to find your peace without revenge or a lawsuit. You are stuck here. Welcome back to life. Excuse me now, I have to catch a night bus.”

I start to move, my only pair of fancy looking shoes gets stuck in the mud. I really hate graveyards. Especial old and abandoned ones.

"Wait!”

Some shuffling behind me.

"Will you come back, Mr. Wisniewski?”

I take a deep breath. There is nothing what I can do for this man. Not as a lawyer. I checked what happened to his family after his wife killed him. The chance that Gloria Bellmouth would also come back was high, but this woman was a special kind of badshit-crazy as a living being. Sometimes a soul is just tired of all the shit what happened over a lifetime and leaves for ever. The death it's mostly freedom for troubled soules. And this freedom came in the brutal way of a bullet right between the eyes. In fucking Paris.

I would rather die in a ditch full of dead rat corpses.

"Mr. Wisniewski.”

I breath out. Long and tired.

"Yes, I will come back. I can’t promise anything, but perhaps we can do something about the current situation. Until then don’t even try to leave this graveyard, Mr. Bellmouth. Dou you understand that? Under no circumstances. I’m sure my assistant explained everything to you.”

More shuffling, but no body to see. I can hear the dead, but not see them. They are just voices. Voices with money. Old fortunes. Mostly.

“Your assistant?” It sounds like Mr. Bellmouth leaves his grave – or at least he is trying. “Oh, yes, yes. The mean looking witch who can see me, right? I have to say he was very rude. More than that. He was a -”

“- a very difficult person to talk to. Yes, indeed he is.”

Tjark is no gentleman. To say he is a very difficult person to talk to was like to say something obvious in a hard-trying-nice-way. Like the queen is quite old, isn't she? I mean she is a bloody dinosaur. And Tjark is a rude idiot with issues. It's easier to chat with a stone for a while. It's even more likely to got an actual friendly reaction, too.

“I will be back in two nights.”

Breathing. Behind me. Sometimes I wish I could see the dead. But Tjark can see the dead and he is fucked up in the head.So, no. Thanks. I just need the voices to work with. At least for some time. The voices fade after a while. Nobody knows where they go after that what means nobody gives a shit. Nobody gives a shit about the dead. 

“Two nights?”

“Yes, Mr. Bellmouth. You have my word.” And because the dead can’t do anything with time anymore: “In two nights. Watch the moon. When the moon is full I will return. Hopefully with news. Or at least with an idea what we can do so you can leave this bloody graveyard. And please be aware I tried really hard not to sound like a crazy witch as I said that with the moon.”

I know how a crazy witch sounds. I work with one. At least when he opens his mouth and tries to talk like a human being for once.

Mr. Bellmouth is silent for a moment. I can hear him shuffle around. He has no body anymore. At least not for blind eyes like mine. I wasn’t born with any magic. But I’m still alive and Mr. Bellmouth was a kinda powerful mage and got killed. By his crazy wife. He has no name, no family and no money anymore. Everything burned to ashes. Bones and a tombstone are everything what is left of him.

Benedict Percy Bellmouth

1851-1899

They didn’t even add something nice like beloved husband and father. Murderers, yes, but no liars at the end.

“I will be back at full moon, Mr. Bellmouth. Do not leave the graveyard. I can't stress this enough. Do. Not. Leave. This. Place.”

He can't leave, not yet. Not like this.

But I can leave and that is exactly what I'm doing.

My shoes are dirty.