Flowing Jealousy

The cop and I arrived at my dorm after I led him to it. I stepped in first and saw Brad keeping something in his backpack. He immediately closed it and stood up to hide it behind his legs when he heard me. We stared at each other for a second.

What?

"Suspicious," Clara said, levitating beside me.

Brad's mouth opened but the cop commanded first, "Step in."

I followed his instruction. He followed me behind and closed the door. Brad's face kept getting whiter and whiter.

"I'll check what he hid," Clara said and flew towards the backpack, sticking her head inside it.

As I was about to respond, the cop started his discourse.

"I'm here to ask some questions, you don't have to worry."

"I'm sorry for my roommate, officer. I told him not to go out but he didn't listen," Brad fretted.

"It's fine. He was in shock, it's understandable."

"Who wouldn't?" Clara chortled, still searching inside the backpack.

Brad let out a deep breath, yet he didn't seem to calm down. I wanted to ask Clara many questions, but I couldn't distract or talk with other people around.

"As you know, Clara Norris was found dead in the women's bathroom a few moments ago," the cop stated.

Though I was seeing her right in front of me, those words still pierced my chest directly into my heart. My body felt empty and pressed, unable to believe it.

Clara took her head out of the backpack and looked at me, worried.

"We just discovered her identity ourselves. We haven't been able to tell anyone, which means that you knew before us," the cop added, looking at me. "And you told me that your roommate told you."

Brad suddenly bowed with his head all the way down to the floor, shivering. "I swear I overheard it on my way here! The cops were already at the girls' dorm and everyone was mentioning Clara's name!"

It was the first time I saw him terrified like that—though we only knew each other for two months.

"It's okay, I'm not here to blame anyone," the cop comforted. Then he took a notepad and a pen out of his shirt's pocket. "I just want to ask some questions, alright?"

"Alright…," Brad shivered, almost crying.

"First of all, you," he said and looked at me. "What's your name?"

"Matthew Scott."

"You said you were her boyfriend."

I nodded. "I am—was…"

"For how long?"

"One day."

The cop's mouth opened and breathed some air in, but he stopped himself from saying anything and kept writing on his notepad.

"Do you know any of her friends? Maybe someone that didn't like her?"

I lifted my head and stared at Clara's eyes, but she didn't say anything.

I shook my head. "No, officer. She was an angel, no one hated her."

"I see. I must say it's weird this happened just one day after you started dating her. Do you know anyone that might like you?"

Clara's eyes suddenly gleamed.

"Not that I know," I answered.

"Right," the cop said, still writing. "There's no information yet, but there have been a lot of cases where jealousy makes people act aggressively. However, there were no visible wounds on her body."

My brain connected the dots. That's why she doesn't have any blood or scars?

"Probably," Clara replied.

"Which means that someone might have intoxicated her. Maybe herself. Do you know if she was struggling with something?"

"Are you insinuating she killed herself? No, she was always happy and smiling. That's impossible."

"Understood. I'm just ruling out possibilities, Matthew. It's going to take a few days before we get the results and even longer to find the culprit."

"Please find them…"

"We will, I assure you that. But, for that, we need the most leads possible. Kid, what's your name?" he asked Brad, already standing up but looking like about to pass out.

"Brad Cook."

The cop wrote down on his notepad. "Okay, Brad. Do you have anything to tell me? Where did you overhear her name? Did she have enemies?"

He kept asking questions for a few minutes before leaving the room. Compared to our first encounter moments prior, he wasn't bad at all.

I finally was able to collapse onto the floor and let my emotions flow. My fist swung up and down to hit the floor repeatedly as I stared at the ceiling. More and more rage and sorrow grew inside.

When Clara suddenly appeared above my face. "Are you alright?"

"How am I gonna be alright?!" I yelled.

Brad seemed confused. "Matt?"

"It's just… Fuck!" I yelled as I kneeled up and hit the floor once again. "What are you hiding, Brad?"

"Please calm down, Matt. I'm here with you!" Clara smiled.

But you are a ghost… How? Are you really here? Am I going crazy? What happened? Was it Brad?

"I'm real. Well, a real ghost. You aren't crazy," she answered, but her words didn't give me the peace I expected. "Before I tell you what happened, Brad is hiding—"

"So you saw me," Brad said. He turned around and crouched down to open his backpack. My heart raised and I prepared to defend myself in case he had a weapon.

He took out a can of beer. "I got this—why are you getting ready to fight? I thought you told me you weren't going to hit me!"

"And I told you I don't hit anyone! Why the hell do you have a beer?"

Then he took out a whole pack of cans. "Someone offered them for very cheap, so I wanted to try them. And I thought you liked beer."

"You idiot… You look smarter than you actually are."

"Hey, that hurt."

Clara laughed as I hadn't heard in a long time. That was what gave me a bit of peace.

"So you don't like beer?"

I sighed. "We can't have beer, get rid of them. I'm going back to bed."

"You'll be able to sleep knowing there's a murderer on the loose?"

"I don't care. If they come, I'll break their bones one by one until they run out of breath from screaming."

"I thought you said you weren't aggressive…"

I climbed the stairs up to the top bunk and faceplanted onto my pillow.

"I said I don't hit anyone, but I recommend you not to piss me off."

"Okay… Are you sure you don't want a beer? I heard it's great when you're down."

"I said… You know what? Fine, give me one."

He approached the bunk and handed me a can. I took it and sat still, looking down at it. After a moment of retrospection, I pulled the tab—making the typical hissing sound—and tilted it in front of my mouth. But before any beer flowed, someone snatched it out of my hand.

What?

"You can't drink beer!" Clara yelled. It was the first time I had seen her furious.

Clara… You took my beer.

"Yes, because you can't drink it! Is that how you're going to cope with things?"

No! Clara, you took my beer but you're a ghost!