“Come on, Charlotte. Just do it,” I will myself. With a trembling hand, I reach out and grab some of the wet shrub and pull it back. Casey’s killer didn’t do a very good job of hiding her. As soon as I pull the debris back, her skull is in full view, with what little is left of her blonde hair matted to it. I let the shrub go and stumble back, losing my balance and falling into the water, losing my flashlight as I land. The light immediately flickers out, and I fumble blindly in the dark murky water for it, but after several minutes I realize it’s gone. Standing up, I close my eyes, praying I won’t get sick. It’s the last thing Casey needs to see right now.
Crawling back up the hill to the SUV, I lean on my hood to remove my boots and dump out the water in them, before putting them back on. When I climb back inside, Casey watches me, but says nothing as I stare straight ahead, lost in thought. Casey found me just outside of Vermont at a restaurant her parents and sister were eating at. The moment I looked at her, she knew I could see her even though she was dead. When the dead appear to me, there’s no weird sound or blurred image. A warning sign of some sort would be lovely, but it’s not a luxury afforded to me. They look like everyone else. It’s only when they see me notice them that I figure out they’re dead.
“What now, Casey?”
She gently pushes her blonde hair behind her ear. She was a beautiful girl—the kind that couldn’t help but be noticed by every man she crossed. Luckily, the dead appear to me as they looked in their everyday life; not how they looked when they passed. “Now you call the police,” she says, simply.
“And say what exactly? They might think I was involved in your murder somehow.”
“Make an anonymous report.”
“What about the guy that killed you? Don’t you want them to find him?”
“They will. In time. There are other things more important.”
I start my SUV and let it rest idly for a minute, cranking the heat up to full blast. “And this is it? This is what you need to crossover?”
“My mother and father can’t move on until they know what happened to me. Once they know I’m dead, for sure, they can mourn and move on. Not knowing is destroying them, and my little sister is falling apart. I can’t leave until I know they’ll be okay.”
“Okay.” I nod and put the SUV in drive. I’m soaked to the bone, freezing, but the sooner I report this, the sooner Casey can be at peace, and I can be alone. Although, my alone time is always brief. There’s always a soul, everywhere I go, in need of closure, needing to settle some form of unfinished business.
Casey was killed by a guy she met at a bar her junior year in college. She didn’t notice he followed her when she left the bar by herself. It upsets me to rehash all the details; frankly, I wish I didn’t know them. Some things are just too hard to imagine. Her last moments in this world were the things nightmares are made of. But her family has been unable to let go, therefore she hasn’t been able to let go.
“Thank you for this, Char. I know you consider your gift to see the dead a curse, but you’ve given me peace.”
I don’t respond. I know I’m giving her peace of mind, like I have others before her, but their peace costs me my own. This ‘gift,’ as she called it, has cost me any semblance of normalcy; it’s cost me my family, my friends, and my hope. We pull into a gas station just off the highway. I grab my backpack from the backseat and pull out a notebook and pen.
There’s a body off of Highway 501 under the Ukon Bridge.
The note is short and sweet. No need to get too in-depth. I take out an envelope and write down the detective’s name in charge of her case and the address Casey recites for me. Once that’s done, the letter is sealed, and I place a stamp on it. We head into town and find the nearest post office, where I drop the letter in the box.
Casey lets out an audible sigh, filled with what I can only describe as relief. “I’ll go see them one last time, and then I can go.”
“Good luck, Casey,” I offer; I don’t know what else to say. What else could I say? Safe travels? Send a postcard?
“Thank you,” she says, softly. Then, she disappears.
I drive for hours after Casey disappears. At least it feels like hours. I have no map or plans of where I’m going, but I go anyway. My life has become one huge uncertainty.