Chapter 1. Sae

I woke up with my face pressed between a steel pillar and what had once passed for a pillow. The lumpy, faded, grey thing now more closely resembled a torture device than something you were supposed to sleep on. Possibly because it had the exact opposite effect of helping you sleep. Not that the pillar was any better.

This pillar ran up the length of my building, passing through each room and beside each bed as it did so. Acting as both structural support and a wonderful carrier of sound. Every night, if I press my ear against it, I can listen to my downstairs neighbours fighting and then having surprisingly good sex from the sound of it.

Half crawling, half sliding out of my bed, I was careful to avoid the broken spring in the corner that had cut me and more than one occasion. Eventually, my feet hit the wooden floor with a familiar creak that meant I was safe from needing another tetanus shot.

The floor groaned beneath me as I shuffled over to the sink beside my bed and started peeing in it. You would too, if you saw the state of the communal bathrooms. Legend has it that the last time the toilets in there had been cleaned there were dinosaurs living on the second floor. Still are, by the sounds coming from the pillar.

I've been living here, in this wretched apartment for almost half a year now, each day is worse than the last. This means that every day is the worst day of my life.

After peeing, comes brushing my teeth. No toothpaste. Too expensive. And then some rice to fill the gaping void in my stomach, I buy it in bulk. Not family bulk, restaurant bulk. Almost a quarter of my single-room apartment is full of huge bags of rice that I only throw out when they start growing new plants because of the damp.

Shuffling over to the window now, I pulled open the curtain, letting the painful evening sun fall in. My skin aches as I stare down at the city below me. Cars crawl through ever-flowing and winding traffic jams, as neon lights flicker and gleam like stars. Everything is happening down there. Sometimes it's overwhelming. Sometimes it's beautiful.

Perhaps the only good thing about this place is the view. And if that's the case. Then why am I living here? It's simple really. When I showed up at the estate agents looking for a place to live, they took one look at me in my battered clothes and messy hair and passed a docket full of the cheapest apartments in the city.

I took one look at the docket and picked the cheapest one.

My job… if you can call it that, is to investigate, well… things that go bump in the night. I don't really get paid in money per se, or anything at all. It's more of a personal passion project of mine. And there are other reasons. I'll get to them in a bit.

Wincing away from the window, I stepped back into the shade, the cooling touch of shadow enveloped me, and I felt whole again. That's strange actually, although I've never been a fan of daylight, it's not usually this bad. But I have other things to worry about. Like last night.

Pushing that thought to the back of my mind where it joined the long queue of, where was I going to find next and last month's rent and how much did I spend last night (A thought I was trying to ignore). I shuffled across the room and put on some clothes.

I like to dress in a way that could be considered suspicious. I wear a lot of clothes and most of them are dark. Perhaps it reflects my inner self, although when I do it, dressing like this is more for the practical benefits than any stylistic choice. You're harder to spot when you dress like this. At night anyway.

Making my way over to the wooden desk that was on the brink of falling apart, I took a sip of last night's coffee. Still Shit I muttered. Placing the mug back down, I looked over scattered pieces of paper on my desk. Various reports of missing people in the area. The cause is unknown.

That is what I had been looking into last night. Until… until when? After a certain point in the night, my memory goes dark. Like I was a camera that had run out of battery. From between about 12 and now, I couldn't remember anything.

I was at, hm… what was it called again? Thatcher's? no, Matcher's and I asked to see Anne, the one whose friends had gone missing. Anne came out and we had a few drinks, just to get her talking of course it's not like I wanted to drink or anything, we went up to her room and… what? What happened next? I muttered.

I looked over my notes. Matchers is a cabaret club or to put it bluntly a brothel. In the last three months, four prostitutes there went missing.

Of course, prostitutes going missing isn't exactly unusual. Any number of unpleasant things could happen to them. In the seedy underbelly of society, they were some of the most helpless and downtrodden people that I've seen.

But this was strange. Partly because all of them were from the same club and partly because all of them were known to be close friends with Anne Summers. A relatively new girl who joined the club recently and almost immediately befriended everyone she came across.

Bright, bubbly, pretty… I stopped myself. Now that I thought about it, I could barely picture her. Seeing as I just spent the night, and a depressing amount of money with her that was strange. I should at least know more than her name.

I closed my eyes and pinched my brow, the chair creaked as lent I lent back into it. When she first came down, she smiled and sat right beside me. I remember being shocked by how good she looked in that dress. She never seemed to get drunk although not for lack of trying. I can't seem to remember what we talked about, whatever it was isn't important, although I have a vague idea that she was funny.

But my memory ends there. We went upstairs and that was that. Next thing I knew, I was here. Pushing the thought back into the ever-growing queue, I glared at the offensively bad coffee, before getting up from my seat and stumbling over to the door.

On the way there, I grabbed my headphones. Dirty old things that were practically falling apart. When I go out into the city, or anywhere with a lot of people, the noise is too much.

Now is perhaps a good time to get into the reason I do this job. As I stepped out into the hall, flickering yellow lights blared, illuminating the place in a weird alien way, that sometimes reminds me of a prison. I walked over to the elevator and briskly walked past it. Even with my headphones, I could hear the screaming.

Even though I live on the ninth floor of this building, I have never once used that elevator. Partly because of the out-of-order sign that's plastered all over it. But the main reason is because of the dead people in there. I don't know when, but a lot of people died in that elevator. This presumably has something to do with it being out of order.

Back to the reason I do this job, since I was a kid, maybe 5 or 6, I've been able to see otherworldly things. I know this sounds cliché but it's a real pain you know.

It all started at my mother's funeral, when she stood up from her casket and started cursing me. Even through the shock and tears, it was plain to see that nobody else could see her. Only me.

But even though I can see otherworldly things, ghosts, for the most part, that doesn't necessarily mean I should try and solve the crimes of monsters. Everyone in the world knows that murders happen, and that crimes are committed, does that mean everyone is a policeman? No.

So why do I do it? Is it out of a sense of duty or fear? Not really. More of a personal interest. You see, there's another symptom I have that isn't connected to seeing the unseen. It's hard to put into words, perhaps the best way to describe myself is a magnet of misfortune.

Going back to my mother's funeral, I try my best not to see her cursing me as blame for her death, it wasn't my fault... really. The other driver's brakes just happened to fail, and she just happened to be looking away at that moment. It could have happened to anyone. It wasn't my fault. I swear.

Many times, as I've gone down the 198 steps between my floor and the ground, I've thought about depressing things like this. My misfortune being the key one.

But I guess you could say my ability isn't all bad. By resolving the grudges of the dead or eliminating the supernatural, I can relieve that misfortune and improve my luck, even make some money if I go about, it the right way.

My ultimate goal is to win the lottery through sheer luck alone. And although there's no scientific way to measure luck or misfortune, I can tell I'm not close to that yet.

Going down the stairwell, I passed the second floor and felt a shiver run up my spine. Since I'm a divining rod for the supernatural, this always happens. I don't actually know what lives there but whatever it is, it's too strong for me to deal with. For now, I'll stick to giving dead people closure.

And finding out what's been killing those prostitutes, I guess. This is the new me after all. I moved to the big city. I'm going to do big things. And get big Karma.

Hurrying up as I passed the second floor, I almost ran down to the lobby and out of the building. A towering slab of concrete and steel that was as ugly as something man-made could get.

Thankfully, since it was dusk, the bustling streets were quieting down a little, although I did notice that even the setting sun was particularly harsh on my skin. I could feel it even through my clothes.

Walking at a brisk pace, I hurried over to the street corner, ducking through the crowd like some sort of moving obstacle course and doing my best to ignore the sounds coming from the sewer that only I could hear.

I dashed across the street and turned into a claustrophobic alley, the stairs at the end of which led down to the river. From there, I crossed the street again, ignoring the crying child in the middle of the road as cars drove through him. He isn't real. I can't help him.

My goal was the big iron monster of a bridge that spanned the river running through the city. A hulking remnant from before engineering and architecture had advanced past bigger is better. On the way, I nabbed an orange from a greengrocer who wasn't looking and as I began peeling it, I stepped out onto the bridge.

The murky waters beneath have swallowed many unfortunate souls and the person I was going to meet is one of them. He even talked me down one time actually. That's how we met.

In the middle of the bridge, I came to a stop beside a middle-aged man sitting on the fence just above the water. Thinning grey hair matched well with the bags under his eyes to create the perfect picture of exhaustion. He was wearing a rumpled suit and carried a battered briefcase in his ever-clenched fist.

"Evening Sae," The man said with a weary smile. His tired face brightened when he saw me. "Evening Michael, you look like death you know," I replied habitually. "You don't look much better," Michael shot back. I smiled weakly and shrugged; "I don't feel much better," I said. "Did last night not go well?" The ghost asked, looking slightly confused.

"Not go well?" I snorted "I don't think It could have gone worse. Not only did I spend god knows how much money at that glorified brothel but I can't even remember what happened." I said exasperatedly. "Still, at least it looks like you got some action," Michael said with a smirk as he pointed towards my neck.

With a frown, I took out my phone. The screen was cracked to hell, but it worked. Opening up the camera, I aimed it at my neck. Right there, in the middle of a huge bruise that I hadn't noticed this morning, were two small puncture wounds. Barely noticeable if you didn't look hard enough.

"Oh shit!" I cursed "This is bad dude," Michael peered closer wincing when he saw the bite marks. "Oh, shit…" he echoed. "That doesn't look good."