4

“Where are we?” she asked. Blankly, I stared at her. This couldn’t be real. She’s a figment of my imagination. She’s not there. She’s not there.

She turned to look at me with those haunted eyes. I didn’t see hate or anger on her face. Uncertainty, yes. Confusion. Definitely. And something else. Something lurking under that hauntedness. Fear. Then clarity in her eyes.

“Please. You have to help me. She won’t let me go”, she begged. “I just want to go home. Please.”

I stared at her, disconcerted and bewildered by her plea. “You want...me..to help you? But, I was the one that hit you that night on the road.”

“Yes, I know”, she replied. “Don’t you know, you saved me. From her. She kidnapped me. She’s evil. She..she..killed my boyfriend. She tortured him before killing him. She would have done the same to me. You saved me from the torture when you hit our car that night. But her evilness. It’s still there. Her spirit won’t let me leave this place.”

“Please”, she begged again. “She won’t let me go and I just want to go home. I want to go where I belong. It’s not here. I know in my heart I belong somewhere else.”

I knew then that there was hope. Hope to redeem myself. I cowardly drove away that dark, drunken night. Here was my chance to set things right. But how can one help a spirit?