It could be said that Xander Davis was once an ambitious man. The keyword being, ‘once’. Lying face down on the ground with a half-broken bottle of beer in one hand, in a dimly lit alleyway near the poorest corner of the city, he could pass for a drunk, homeless man were it not for the pool of blood that had formed a puddle around either side of his abdomen.

One could perhaps call it a unique quality of Xander Davis, or perhaps it was his tall stature and bulk that made him more resistant to alcohol, but he was not a man who was easily drunk. Perhaps the gods were mocking him, denying him even the right to drown his sorrows with liquor. Regardless of the reason, Xander was not as drunk as he wanted to be, not as drunk as he should have been.

A random mugging? How…. fitting? No, no. He, a tall, thin man with a long, unkempt beard, unwashed, tattered clothes, sunken eyes, covered in grime and dirt, was hardly a prime target for mugging. Was it a gang induction ceremony? He had only gotten a glimpse of the man’s expression… which looked to be… uncertain? Perhaps… remorseful? Without warning, without reason, without provocation, the man had pulled out a knife out of seemingly nowhere and thrust it into his abdomen.

The first time was a cold, sharp, agonizing pain that erupted in his abdomen, making him scream out loud in agony. The second, third and fourth thrusts followed in quick succession, but the pain was no longer as sharp as before. He crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes, the beer bottle in his hand shattering, its fragments digging into his right hand.

He could hear the sound of two rhythmic impacts on the floor, growing distant from where he lay, helpless and defenseless. His attacker ran from the scene of his handiwork, too scared to bear the consequences of his actions. Should he be angry at the man? Should he hate, curse, and wish for him to die a miserable death? Or should he thank the man, for ending one cycle and beginning the next, if there was one?

Second by second, the time passed. With the passing of each minute, the pain grew duller, his senses grew weaker. He knew that his consciousness would not accompany him for much longer.

In the last moments of what he could only think to be his life, barring some cosmic miracle, he…. laughed. Laughed and laughed till tears ran down his eyes, a laugh that spoke of immeasurable pain along with inexplicable amusement…a paradox in itself.

At the last moments of his life, the final thought in his head was,

‘At least this time, the dagger came from the front.’

============================

For the second time in the day, Xander was surprised. To the ordinary man, surprises come in many forms, shapes and sizes, sometimes pleasant, sometimes tragic, but they come nevertheless. For Xander, a man whose daily, meaningless routine involved little interaction with others, a man who cared little for himself and could no longer bear to care about the world around him, surprise was a long-forgotten concept.

When a random man on the street had pulled out a knife and stabbed him without saying a word, Xander was surprised. What surprised Xander was not the action of pulling out a knife or the subsequent stabbing that occurred, no, nothing as mundane as that. What surprised him was the sequence of events. Were it a young, skittish, late teenager that jumped him and shouted, ‘give me your money… or else,’ Xander would not be surprised. If the act of him reaching for his wallet, despite all the precautions he took, caused the skittish teenager to stab him out of reflex, Xander could accept that. It was simple ‘cause’ and the subsequent ‘effect’. While the cause had nothing to do with Xander, and more to do with economic inequality, the structure of society, or whatever damned reason that led the young man down this path, it was a cause nonetheless. There was an element of rationality to it, a series of logical events that led to the hypothetical situation Xander had envisioned.

But reality was cruel, and no matter how Xander tried to justify the man’s actions… he couldn’t rationalize them. ‘A gang induction ceremony’ was the closest scenario he could envision in an attempt to comfort himself, to rationalize the irrational.

Thus were the chain of events that led to Xander’s first surprise of the day, and his subsequent death. As he was dying, all that came to his mind was grim humor and a sense of poetic fulfilment- taking a dagger aimed openly at his heart was far more satisfying than the assassin lurking in the shadows, waiting until your most vulnerable moment to strike stealthily from the behind.

Yet, the second surprise of the day took even that fulfilment from him- Xander did not die. Or perhaps he did.

The sequence of irrational events sent a chill down his spine, followed by a sensation of absolute, unrestrained terror enveloping the entirety of his being. The memories he had sealed in the depths of his being came roaring back like an unstoppable tide that could no longer be restrained.

This was not the first time.

This was the second.

The second time a series of irrational events had occurred.

The second time his life was ruined.

============================

Xander, dressed in a plain white shirt, an elegant black tie, black trousers and ludicrously expensive brown shoes looked down at the ground with a blank expression on his face. It was almost as if the rest of his body could no longer keep up with the torrent of memories that had broken out of their seal, and the subsequent realizations that followed.

A toned, fit body that spoke of regular maintenance. Silky, smooth black hair combed neatly to give an elegant, refined look. Light green irises that contained an unnatural depth to them, a well sculpted nose, even lips and clear skin. The man could easily pass for a model, if he were to be inclined towards the profession.

A minute passed in silence, and two tears trickled down the man’s cheeks. His eyes were red, bloodshot, and his expression, although restrained… spoke of an anger that was hard to quantify with words.

For the first time in a long time, the man spoke with intent and purpose, “I…” his voice, hoarse from unuse, uncertain like a young child’s first steps, “… was right.”

For the man, the world itself seemed to pause at his declaration.

He was Xander Davis, son of Frank Davis.

He was right. He had been right.

He… was not crazy.

Tears tricked down from his aggrieved form and down to the body of a tall, thin man that lay crumpled face down onto the ground, his long, unkempt hair sheathing the side of his face from view. A puddle of blood had formed near his abdomen, now starting to coagulate. The world seemed to resound with his sorrow, as the first drops of rain struck the ground with a gentle hum, transitioning into an abrupt downpour a mere minute later.

That was his lifeless body.

============================

Many years ago....

They were childhood friends. One, the sole heir to an amount of wealth unimaginable and unattainable to the common man. The other, the daughter of a famous actor couple, wealthy and influential enough to come into contact with the former.

The former, Xander Davis, was intelligent enough to know that most people who wished to interact with him was for what he represented, and not who he was. Even by general standards, Xander Davis was first an intelligent child, and later, an intelligent man. By no means was he a child prodigy, a paragon of business or someone who deluded himself into believing he was the former. He would be the first to admit that he didn’t deserve to go to the college he graduated from, but such was the way of the world and Xander, comfortable as he was, did not have the heart nor the will to reject it.

The latter, who’s name brought Xander too much pain to recall, had inherited the looks of her father and the seductive guile of her mother. She… was different. High society was no different from a game of chess, the children of influential families no different than chess pieces in the hands of their parents. She… out of all who approached Xander, she was different. While the rest of them were constrained by the rules, she was one who could assume the form of any piece as she willed it. She… was genuine.

Her words were open, and her intentions were clear for all to see, brandished like a sword. As they grew up, the games only intensified, yet she remained unsullied. She did not see through the game, but instead, ignored it entirely. Ignorance is bliss, and selective ignorance was a tool she employed to live a life that was honest and free, her smile radiant, infectious and… irresistible.

Their marriage, an event that was grander than life itself, was a time of joy and celebration. If someone were to ask Xander when he was at his happiest, if he could pause time for one moment and then relive it for eternity then his marriage would be that moment. Only later would Xander realize that …

She… was a calamity.

No, perhaps that would be inaccurate.

She was the harbinger of doom.

But she was not doom itself.

============================

Calamity struck exactly three years and four months after their marriage. His father died at the age of 62, in a helicopter crash. He was not the only one in the helicopter. Mr. and Mrs. Williams died at the age of 51 and 39 respectively, along with three bodyguards, one company executive and the pilot, as they were returning from the family retreat, some bonding between the in laws resulting in a disaster.

Federal investigation later revealed clear evidence of foul play, direct tampering with the helicopter’s engine that should have been checked multiple times. At the funeral, Xander, who was yet to know this, openly broke down into tears as he supported his mother and his wife. His wife though, only looked on blankly in response, completely disconnected with the world.

After the evidence of foul play was released to the Xander family and later, to the public, all hell broke loose in his life.

His wife, who Xander had cried along with, supported and tried to heal along with, finally broke at the news.

They say love is irrational. Or rather it can be irrational.

But most tend to omit the latter half of the saying.

Hatred can also be irrational.

It was ultimately concluded that the target of the assassination was Frank Davis, his father, and the William’s family was just collateral damage.

Investigation after investigation was done, private investigators were hired by both the Davis and the William’s estate, the media coverage was like wildfire. The world’s smartest investigative minds, and the only conclusion they could come to was that the helicopter engine was fine… until it wasn’t.

It was as if the helicopter was fine until the moment of takeoff, but someone had tampered with it while it was midair and then vanished. The impossible crime. Verifications upon verifications upon verifications, yet no culprit could be found. Many people from all walks of life tried to demystify the situation, but the only conclusion they could come up with…. It was as if the world itself had conspired to bring that helicopter down, and no amount of intelligence could bridge the gap between what should be true and the truth.

It almost drove Xander crazy, but this was just the beginning.

============================

Xander Davis was the only heir of Frank Davis. He would receive all his assets upon his death. He loved his father, and his father loved him. She knew that. There was no logical reason Xander Davis would assassinate his father. She knew that.

No logical reason

Logic

Rationality

Irrationality… Love…. Hatred.

The deeper the love, the crueler the hatred.

============================

The news outlets, the media and the internet, tired after spinning theory after theory ultimately came to the age-old conclusion- The inheritance game.

Who would gain the most from Frank Davis’ death?

Xander Davis.

Who was in a position to tamper the helicopter of a reclusive billionaire?

Xander Davis.

Who would have the financial resources to bribe investigating authorities?

Xander Davis.

Who would have-

Xander Davis.

Who wou-

Xander Davis.

Who-

Xander Davis! Xander Davis! Xander Davis! Xander Davis! Xander Davis! Xander Davis! MURDERER!

Once the attention of the world is garnered at one spot, and the greatest minds of the world failed to reach an outcome, this critical mass of attention needs an outlet. And the only one positioned to perfectly receive the collective attention of the world was- who else but the son of Frank Davis, the new youngest billionaire in the world?

Even rumors can destroy a life in the modern world, where a tidbit of information is like the spark of a flint in a forest. Usually, it is harmless. Positioned correctly, at the right place, at the right time, and that small spark can lead to a forest fire.

============================

His wife, the one person he trusted more than anyone else in the world, left the Xander Estate without saying a word.

The only thing that was left behind was a penned letter that contained five bitter words.

‘I will destroy you, Xander.’

The word destroy, can mean a variety of things depending on the context. In this context, destruction did not amount to killing Xander. It meant the complete spiritual, mental, psychological and comprehensive destruction of the individual that constituted Xander Davis, for death for too lenient of a mercy.

The divorce, under the pre-nuptial agreement, took away a tenth of Xander’s assets. A tenth of an unimaginable sum still results in an unimaginable sum.

============================

Xander Davis was an intelligent man. Which is why he knew that what happened next was not something planned by his wife. The scale, the sheer ingenuity of the attack against his assets, the intelligence behind the unseen hand that used his wife as a sharp knife to carve out his heart… it was simply unfathomable.

Of course, his wife could hire a capable advisor. He himself had a dozen on his payroll. But he already knew that the two men on his wife’s side were not this capable, or they had concealed themselves to such an extent that it was impossible to see through them.

Key proprietary information, leaked.

Multiple counts of harassment allegations against top level employees, out of which only 5% were found to be true later on.

Endless media smear campaigns against his reputation, social media manipulation to cement his image as a murderer.

And so on and so forth.

However, this was not what terrified Xander.

The unseen hand could plot, and Xander could counter.

However, what if… the unseen hand not only knew what Xander was countering with, but also had the next ten sequence of moves planned ahead?

What should Xander do if the unseen hand was not just plotting against Xander… but it was as if…. He or she had the ability to see the future?

At first, he believed that he had spies among his employees.

Xander could not trust anyone.

Chief of staff, fired.

Advisors, fired.

Housekeeping? Fired. The youngest billionaire in the world did his own laundry from now on.

Fired, fired, fired!

It did not matter. Anything Xander could do, conceptualize, or even think of would be countered. The unseen hand was not human. He could not be human. Even a series of completely random actions, even a series of completely irrational actions, anything he could think of, everything he could think of, would be seen through as if the walls themselves had eyes.

What is a man to do, if the world itself wishes to conspire against him?

What can a man do?

============================

Thirtieth of June, Year Two Thousand and Twenty-One.

The day Xander Davis declared bankruptcy.

The day Xander Davis, eyes bloodshot, face haggard and aged, wrote a letter of invitation to Ava Williams, his ex-wife.

Four bodyguards sat around his wife, who wore an enchanting red dress that was no doubt, created by some famed Hollywood designer. Enchanting brown eyes, auburn hair, a small, dainty face that spoke of the innocence and charm it once represented, now the face that haunted him in his nightmares. A small shapely nose, rosy red lips, upon which rested a self-satisfied smile, that could be mistaken for the devil’s smirk. Two bodyguards stood behind him, their fake hands in their pocket, while the real one was no doubt resting on the trigger of a concealed gun.

Xander Davis looked at her, examining her from top to bottom with unconcealed interest in his eyes. Ava Williams mouth fluctuated slightly, and from the expression on his face he knew that she was waiting for him to beg him for mercy, to perhaps lower himself and ask her for money or to apologize to her and admit that he was a murderer.

All Xander Davis did was say five words, in response to the five words she had once left him, “You are not the one.” He raised both his hands, to indicate that he was not a threat.

“If you want to shoot me, just shoot,” he said to the bodyguards, and slowly walked out of the premises, leaving Ava Williams with an expression of shock, confusion, resentment and… doubt on her face.

============================

Three days later, his mother disappeared from the world. Not died, but disappeared without a trace from their ancestral home. His father’s side of the assets were destroyed, but wealthy families seldom keep their eggs in one basket. His mother still had a sizable fortune… well, sizable by Xander’s standards, which meant mindbogglingly vast for most people.

From their ancestral home, under the guard of three hundred professionals, in the middle of a secluded estate with aerial surveillance, a person just disappeared.

The impossible had happened once again, and all Xander could do was scream at the top of his lungs. But will the world believe him? Evidence can be falsified. Videos can be deepfaked. Difficult for most, but not impossible for those of endless wealth. Testimonies tampered.

Sure enough, her wealth disappeared days later. However, this time, the world did not come after him. When he went to the bank to check the deposits under his mother’s name, they simply did not exist. She did not exist. No matter who he asked, it was as if she never existed. Only he knew that Shelly Davis, his mother, was once a resident of this world.

Naturally, a man cannot be prosecuted for the death of someone who didn’t exist.

============================

Present Day

The man who was dressed complete office attire, looked down at the body which he once resided in, tears trickling down his eyes without restraint. If one were to look closely, one would realize that the present Xander was like a projection, a hologram being cast onto the world.

Xander Davis knew, the moment he died… yet did not die, he knew that he was not insane.

No, it was not just that.

He was not insane.

He was extraordinary. In the supernatural sense.

He knew now. He understood. Something in his soul made him understand.

The others were irrelevant. His wealth was irrelevant. This world, the people on it, were irrelevant. Not to him, but to the person that was targeting him.

He was the target. He had to die. But the world could not kill him. That was a violation of the natural order. He had to be made to want to die. But he did not.

He was extraordinary. Even in the natural sense. He had long suspected it, and this confirmed it. The world itself targeted him, the world itself wanted him to die.

He had been given everything since birth. Son of a man with endless wealth. Two loving parents that would give him anything and everything he would ever want. A beautiful wife that he loved even more than himself. The world belonged to him.

Until it did not.

Take! Take! TAKE! TAKE!!!!!!!!

The world would take everything from him. Everything he valued, would be destroyed. Everything he desired, would be snatched away. Everything he loved, either taken or corrupted!

The world was the world, yet at the same time it was not.

Any normal man would lose himself to insanity by this point. Xander knew…. He had known all along. When his mother was taken, he was supposed to doubt his sanity. Yet, something inside him told him that what he saw was real, and it was the truth. Even when the world wished for him to die…. Something inside him, akin to a will, vehemently resisted. Vehemently denied. Vehemently refused!

If the world wanted him to die, then it could come and finish the job itself! Xander even felt a sense of disdain towards the world, an innate arrogance the origin of which he did not understand. It was something that belonged to him, yet felt alien at the same time. It was the feeling of looking down on the world, for its petty tricks. Some part of him wanted to goad the world, mock the world, and ask it, “Is this all you got, fucker?”

The pain of losing his father, the pain of having his lover corrupted and used against him, the pain of his mother disappearing, it all tore at his heart every moment of his existence. Yet it was that very pain that was like coal added to stoke a fire, that boiling rage, that smoldered inside him… refusing to let him simply lie down and accept death! He wanted vengeance against the world, a concept so absurdist and insane to normal conceptions that he was no doubt a ‘lunatic’ by Earth’s standards. Yet, something inside him ratified this desire, and even encouraged it. It was possible. How? What? When? He had no idea. But he knew it was possible.

The world wanted him to roll over and die.

All he had in response was the words that originated from the very core of his soul…

“He could break, but he would not bend! He could die, but his will would not wither!”

At that moment, Xander Davis stopped crying. His eyes, that were glazed over with confusion, helplessness and self-pity, turned sharp. If one were to look and Xander Davis at that moment, they would feel as if they were staring down the tip of a sword. His posture subconsciously changed, as if he were an ancient tree that had taken root- an existence as ancient as time itself.

Before Xander could introspect and consider where this confidence and bravado was coming from, his eyelids suddenly felt heavy and he felt a strong urge to lay down and sleep.

The last thought before everything went dark and he lost consciousness was,

“Since when do ghosts need sleep?”