“This is hell,” I mumble to myself. So lost in my own thoughts, I don’t notice the faint light ahead until I’m just about to step onto the bridge.
“I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m sorry, Axel. I’m sorry I’m not stronger.” My thoughts are interrupted when I hear a woman crying. My eyes whip toward the sound of her voice; a thin woman wearing a rain parka that’s way too big, her dark hair plastered to her head as the rain beats down on her. Water drips from the tip of her nose. She’s standing on the railing of the bridge, sobbing loudly. I’m frozen in place, unsure of how to react, but when her sobs suddenly cease and she lifts her head, my breath hitches. Before, her emotion showed her uncertainty about killing herself. Now, her expression is void, as if she’s decided something. She inhales deeply as she comes to terms with her decision and what she’s about to do. And I’m certain she’s going to jump.
“Don’t!” I shout as I run toward her, even though I know she can’t hear me, but I can’t help my reaction. When her head jerks toward me at the sound of my voice, I nearly fall on my ass in shock. Her dark eyes meet mine and she tenses. She heard me.
“Go away!” she shouts back. I stare up at her, my eyes wide and mouth hanging open. She sees me! She can hear me! “Just go away!” she shouts again, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her jacket.
“You can see me?” I shake my head in disbelief.
She clenches her eyes closed and groans. “You’re dead.” It’s not a question, but more of a statement. The rain stops and silence falls between us.
“You can really see me?” I ask again, convinced I’m going mad.
“Dead and stupid,” she mumbles. “Obviously I can see and hear you.”
“But . . . how?”
She turns away from me, and I stare at her profile as she clenches her eyes closed again. “Go away. I can’t help you. I’m done helping the dead. Just leave me alone.” She stares down at the water, her gaze lingering longingly.
Shit. She’s going to jump. “Listen. What’s your name?”
“My name doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” I argue. “My name is Ike. Ike McDermott. Please, just come down. Let’s talk about this.”
“Why?” She laughs hysterically, but it just sounds cryptic. “So I can help you settle your unfinished business so you can crossover? Well, guess what, Ike?” she says, bitterly. “I have nothing. I have one hundred dollars to my name, my vehicle is out of gas, I have no friends or family to help me, and it’s all because of your kind. Because the dead won’t let me be!” Her voice shakes with emotion as angry tears fill her eyes.
I rub my head as I struggle for the right words. She can see dead people. Although it seems like a plus for me, it probably has a lot of downfalls for her. She’s obviously alone in the world. My gaze meets hers again and I ask, “What if I can help you with all of that? Well . . . most of it. What if we make a deal?”
“A deal?”
“I’ll introduce you to some nice people, help you get a job, a place to stay, and you . . . you can help me settle things.” She stares down at the water and shakes her head, dismissing me. “Listen, I don’t know you or what you’ve been through, but I know I’d give anything to still be alive right now, no matter what.” Tears stream down her face, and I think my words have gotten through to her. “Don’t waste what so many of us never got the chance to have,” I plead.
She continues to stare down at the water, her sniffles the only sound to break the silence, when she shakes her head and slides down the railing back to the road of the bridge. “You people won’t let me be. I can’t even kill myself!” she groans as she tromps in the opposite direction toward her sport utility vehicle.
“Where are you going?” I yell as I jog to catch up to her. My mind is on overload. She can see me and speak to me. I’ve been dead for months with only myself to talk to. This is incredible!
“My 4Runner is this way,” she mumbles, stating the obvious, as she shivers.
“Well, if you need gas, the closest station is this way.” I jab my thumb over my shoulder. “The Mercers own it. They’re nice people. They’ll help you out.”
She stops and faces me for a moment, and her face is turned in such a way that the lights from her vehicle show me her gray eyes and they nearly take my breath away. It’s hard to explain why the pain in her gaze seems so beautiful. She looks like a wild creature, a being meant to be free and roaming, that’s somehow been entrapped. Her dark hair is wet and stuck to her face, and I so badly want to reach out and slide it back to see all of her. Our gazes remain locked for a long while when her almost blue lips tremble. She’s freezing.
“We have to get you warm. Let me help you . . .” I let my last word trail off, hinting I’d like her to tell me her name.
She takes a deep breath and sighs. “Charlotte,” she says, quietly. “But people call me Char.” Charlotte. I smile softly at her name. It’s pretty, like her.