Not Even Death

A slight breeze whipped up the leaves from where they had fallen and scattered them across the lawn on the other side of the path from the bench where Tansy sat. Her hands were in her lap and her mind almost silent, all but for that light breeze. She registered the rising gusts in the back of her mind as she stared into the distance. This was where she came to think, to sit and be, but not to care. It was a lonely, desolate little park, abandoned and all but forgotten by the people in the surrounding neighborhoods. The grass and trees were overgrown and the path was crumbling, with dandelions dotting the dirt-filled cracks. It was perfect and beautiful. It was her sanctuary.
The winds lifted again, rushing through the branches of the taller oaks and plucking the last of the fall leaves from their branches. Tansy was deep in thought when she heard a voice, ever so softly, call her name.
"Tansy..." it whispered into her ear.
Suddenly, she was back in the 'real world', her mind a thoughts frenzied as she tried to figure out who might have followed her here and how they knew her by name.
"Hello?" she called out, looking around as she stood from the bench. The wind lifted again, and with it, the voice.
"Taaaansy..."
Now she was starting to become frightened. Looking around, she called out again, a slight, unamused smirk on her face.
"Rod, if this is one of your little tricks, I'm not falling for it."
For a moment, there was silence. Not even the wind made a noise. Suddenly, someone gripped her left shoulder, pulling her around as if to face them. Tansy nearly lost her balance, catching herself on the bench and letting out a small shriek of surprise. Nobody was there. Another something grabbed her side, pushing her.
The wind lifted suddenly and eerily, whistling through the trees and calling loudly, "Taaaaansy! TAAANSY!"
Tansy could feel her heart racing, beating against her rib cage like a badly frightened animal in a box.
"Rod! This isn't funny anymore!" Tansy called, looking around frantically for the trickster culprit she knew she would not find. She was completely alone in the old park. The wind whipped again, stirring the leaves, chilling her as it bit through her light fall jacket. Or was it the wind? she though. She could feel two hands on her now, and arms, sliding around her sides.
"Oh, Tansy," the wind whispered against her exposed neck, "I miss you so much."
Tansy screamed in terror, flailing and trying to bat away the arms she knew were not there. Her waving hands touched nothing but crisp fall air. backing away from the bench, she bumped into a solid mass, not daring to turn around or move until she felt an icy cold finger brush her hair back over her ear.
"Tansy, why are you afraid of me?" the voice asked, closer than ever to her ear, "Tansy, don't you remember me at all?"
Without realizing it, Tansy had started to tremble in fear, having dropped her purse at her feet. Her mind was racing and at the same time, mired and turning slowly within itself. As the cold fingertip played with her hair, stroking and caressing it, Tansy tried desperately to recall who-or what-was speaking to her. Slowly, gently, the arms of the creature slid back around her waist. This time, though, Tansy did not fight back. She felt palms, then the insides of wrists, elbows, and arms. At last, she felt a solid and icy chest, pressed against her so firmly that she could feel the chilling of whatever was holding her through her jacket, as if she wore no jacket at all. She felt something solid hit her in the back, just to the left of her spin, between her shoulder blades. She passed it off as just a bit of soreness from beign touched by the cold.
"Oh Tansy," the voice lamented, softening now, "You can't have forgotten me."
All at once, she realized what it was, or rather, who.
"M-Michael." she gasped.
"You do remember, then?" he asked, resting his chin on her shoulder and tightening his arms around her briefly.
"Yes... I do. Michael, you're... you can't be. You're dead." she stammered.
The ghost chuckled softly. "Tansy, You don't believe in ghosts."
Tansy, closed her eyes, willing herself to resolve that, no, she did not believe in ghosts. Perhaps that would send him away. But he did not go, and slowly, he began to feel less icy, as if blood was again rushing through his veins.
"Michael, you've been dead for ten years. I'm re-married. Why can't you rest and leave me at peace?"
Again, he gave a small laugh. "I am at rest, Tansy dearest, now that you've finally joined me."
Tansy's eyes popped open. She hadn't realized she'd shut them, and began to look around frantically. The world seemed to be a veil, a ghostly mirage all around her. She shook her head, fighting the revulsion deep within, pushing away from her ghostly would-be lover.
"No." she gasped, "No, no, no..."
Looking over to the bench, now farther away, she saw her own body, crumpled on the ground before it, her purse nearby. Tansy ran towards herself, greatly confused until she saw the spreading pool of blood, her blood, that she was laying in. Kneeling down beside herself, she realized she couldn't feel the wind.
"No." Tansy whispered, reaching to touch the bullet hole through her chest. It was should blade height, and a little to the right side of her chest when she gazed at herself. As she watched, the living Tansy took her last, gurgling breath and passed away. As she did, the veil around her became even more transparent. Tears rimmed her eyes as she realized that she was dead.
Although she could barely see the 'real world' now, Tansy could make out a gang territory fight not far away. She must have been hit by a stray bullet, and they knew, for all the men were scattering quickly. Within minutes, as Tansy stood watch patiently, police and paramedics arrived on scene. She would never forget the despair on the first paramedic's face when he saw her body, laying in a pool of her own blood, pale and breathless. Dead.
Finally, her tears welled up, stinging her eyes as they rolled over and down her cheeks. Tansy turned, Michael opening his arms and placing them around her, hugging her tightly and resting his chin on her head. She was both mourning her own death, and suddenly overjoyed at being returned to her first love, her true love. But something felt strange about her, about the park.
It was if she was tethered to this park, the place where her first husband had been mugged and murdered brutally, back when the park was still a popular place to seek refuge. After his murder, only she returned to the park. None of the local residents would go near the place, for fear of being a victim of the same crime.

After death, she would wander the park still, hand in hand with him.