The Veil between the worlds is thinner than you think!

Diana Lancaster
Detective - Chicago Paranormal Division

Don't let the title fool you.

I can see between worlds. Really, I can. You may think that this is a very special gift. It is, it can be. But I dread when the veil dissipates and one stares at emptiness. The emptiness of a murderer's soul. The absolute lack of regret or sense of any wrong-doing. They act as if they smashed a bug when actually, they butchered a family. Little children.
Some say they are evil. They have not seen evil. I have. And it can swallow your existence whole if you are not diligent.
Let us set the ground rules. Ghosts are not some hapless person stuck between worlds. It is much more complicated. The tragic ones don't even know they are dead. Why should they? They weren't truly alive when they inhabited this three dimensional world that we experience. Others, whose souls are stained by viciousness and hate are enjoying the indignity of God's wrath. Sometimes a residue remains that is most unpleasant. But I jump ahead of myself.
Most of the entities I have dealt with suffered such a quick and sudden departure that they are unsure where they are. Comical as it may sound, there is some deed or knowledge that they must release before they can move on. What is really pitiful is that in most instances they don't know what that is.
And they come to me.
I didn't ask for this. I never wanted it. But to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't know what to do otherwise. As miserable as it can be, they remind me of the delicate beauty of life. And yet we squander it as if were a cheap pastry.
Some are silent. Some don't know when to shut the hell up. Their voices, a bit altered, heavy, drunken, laden with guilt and regret.
And I, this peculiar English woman points the way for them.
No, I haven't seen the light that is often spoken of. It is what I don't see. Their absence indicates that they journeyed to the hereafter. And left me alone.
Alone in thought. Alone to let the runaways of the spirit world visit me and haunt others. Alone to hear the still voices whisper to me in anguish. Alone to smell the odd fragrances that sometimes proceed them. Alone to see how they were taken from us.
My special little gift to the world.
I am not complaining, merely stating.
It's a job, someone must do it.
Luck of the draw they say. All that and incorporating my particular talent with Chicago's finest.
At least I'm not boring.
I know what life is and am not letting go.

Diana L.

P.S. Say what you will, but half of you would trade with me in an instant if you could see what I've seen.