I stood behind him in my ethereal form as I watched him tighten his necktie in the mirror. I raised my hand to his shoulder for a test touch, but flinched when he turned around and proceeded to walk right through my body.

I worried for a second, but quickly remembered the spirit's instructions. It had informed me that I would have an entire day to roam the town of my death, and when I wanted to be physically interactive all I had to do was think it true. My choice to torment the man that single-handedly caused my death costed me a demotion in the afterlife placement ranks, but for what he did too me it was worth the revenge. It was one thing for him to get off with a harsh warning, but apparently the bastard didn't even have the audacity to apologize to my family for his drunken mistake.

I continued to watch him as he dressed for work, and I struggled to find a way to make an impact on his life. I had already dipped his toothbrush into the toilet, turned the refrigerator temperature knob all the way down, misplaced his car keys, and flushed all of his hard liquor down the sink but none of my actions felt rewarding. I stood there contemplating my next disastrous ploy as he stuck his arm into the loop of his jacket.

Dalingalingaling

Dalingalingaling

We both looked at his phone. It vibrated across his dresser and nearly fell to the floor. He scooped it up, swiped the screen and put it to his ear.

"Hello?"

I moved closer to try and distinguish the mumbling speech from the tiny speaker.

"It's Barry... He's hurt."

I couldn't make out the entirety of the sentence, but the voice on the other line sounded worried. A foot away from him I stared at the man that killed me so I could interpret the situation. His face tightened with concern.

"What?" He looked flustered. I leaned in closer to the phone for the response.

"Barry," the woman's voice begged, "It's Barry!" She screamed.

"What about him?"

"He was hit crossing the street! Oh God Dave I think he's gonna die!"

The man's face contorted with a mixture of sadness and disbelief. He looked up at me and I tightened my eyebrows. He marched for me and I started backpedaling away. He look determined to grab me, but I slipped beyond the hard surface of his bedroom wall. Only then did I realize he had been looking at a picture frame on his dresser. I merged back into the bedroom and I took a couple steps until I was behind him.

The voice on the phone spoke, but the man didn't answer. He held the picture frame in his hand and stayed silent. Only until the voice demanded he responded did he finally speak.

"I'm on my way," he set the frame down and wiped his head. "I'll be there soon."

He held the phone out in front of him and pressed end. For a quick moment he looked up at his ceiling and mumbled to the sky.

"What have I done?"

He shoved his phone into his pants pocket and rushed for the side of his bed. He ducked down with a rigid pace and bobbed his head in search for his keys.

"Come on..." He grunted.

Rushing for the shelf next to his front door, checking the coat that he had just put on and digging into the pockets of his pants he couldn't find the keys that I had set on top of the ceiling fan. I stood there finally amused at his peril. I crossed my arms and smiled. I watched him run around the house looking for his keys until he stopped and put his hand on the couch. He was panting and gasping for air, but still snapping his head to different locations in his house.

"What the FUCK dave?" He yelled at himself. Not holding back an ounce of force he slapped himself hard across his own face and left a red mark.

"Where the fuck did you put em!?!" He turned to continue searching but tripped over his own foot. He crashed loudly onto the floor and then his phone rang in his pocket. Scrambling onto his knees, Dave answered.

"Yeah, Tricia? How is he?"

I wasn't close enough to the phone to hear Tricia's response, but before I inched my way towards him he yelled into the speaker.

"What? No!"

I tilted my head downward and felt my eyebrows curl with curiosity. I crept forward stealthily as if it mattered and leaned in. I still couldn't make out Tricia's words but Dave continued to yell at the phone.

"No, no no!"

Before I could lean in and listen he threw the phone onto the hardwood floor and the screen made a loud crack. Falling onto the ground in a praying position, Dave started to cry.

"Why!!!" He banged on the floor with his closed fists. After three successions of calling to the skies he ran for the photo on his shelf. The tears streamed down his face as he eyed the picture of he, Tricia and the boy in the park.

"It's my fault," he cried, "Oh God, it's my fault."

I wasn't confused or happy with his pain, but torn. I stood there watching him eye the picture of his family. After a moment of tears he looked up at the sky again.

"I'm sorry. It's all my fault. Why couldn't it have been me?"

I looked into his eyes and the severity of his loss clicked within me. He cried into his palms and I looked at the ceiling fan. In that moment I knew what I was going to do, but I didn't know if I was going to regret my choice. In his world he heard the phone ring, and saw the keys fall from the ceiling. He seemed shock by the dropping of the keys, but it didn't stop him from rushing to the floor to grab them. He answered the cracked phone and bolted for the door.

"I'm on my way Trish, oh God I'm on my way!"

He opened the door and stopped for a second. I stood there with my arms crossed. He looked around uneasy, and then looked up at the sky again. Shaking it off, he closed the door behind him and left me alone.

I cut my day short, but still got my permanent afterlife demotion. That day I watched him from above as he rushed urgently to his kid's hospitalized bedside. Apparently the boy was hit by a drunk driver, oh, how it was fated. I asked the spirit if it was just a coincidence but it had no say in the matter. Since my death I've checked on my family everyday, and occasionally I check on Dave, Tricia and Barry. My wife and daughter seem healthy, and even Dave's boy has recovered.

The pain and suffering I wished to bestow upon the man that killed me was rash and unjust, but it felt so needed. Only after I visited him in his home and witnessed his loss and forgiveness did I realize that he truly was sorry. I would like to sacrifice another level in heaven to take him out for a drink, but he never did pick up a bottle after that day, so there's that.