"No," she said. "Get it: I'm dead. I'm a ghost. For real. Can you understand?"
I turned and looked at her. Then, pointing my finger, I slowly and gently poked her in the arm. She was soft to the touch, much softer than I expected, but she was no ghost.
"You're real," I said. "You're not a ghost."
She scoffed and in a scornful tone said, "Oh, and you know all about ghosts, I'm sure!"
I bit my tongue for a moment, then told her, "I will drop you wherever you want to go, but I will not play this game."
Any other day, I wouldn't have stopped for her.
She was hitchhiking on the east end of the Gatling Bridge. Her right hand, her hitchhiking hand, was bent back to her shoulder. The other hand clutched her tiny black skirt, which fluttered dangerously but didn't flip up. Her heels were at least three inches high, and she was perched on the barest margin of road. The shoulder by the bridge is so thin, that if she took even the tiniest half-step backward, she'd tumble head over heels down the embankment.
Above the flimsy, shiny skirt, she wore an equally shiny top. It was white with black polka dots. A deep vee exposed the entire valley between a pair of very round, very full, very soft-looking breasts. Her legs and arms were bare. Her lips and nails were done in a red so heavy it was nearly black, and her eyes were dark and overdone, like a raccoon's mask. She looked as if she'd just emerged from a nightclub, or as if...
... as if... Honestly, my first impression — and it was a hard impression to shake — was that she was a prostitute, left on the road by her last client.
I didn't want to judge... and I didn't want to stare, but traffic was at a near standstill, so I didn't just glance at her; I had a full fifteen minutes to study her in detail. Not that I wanted to, but there wasn't much else to look at beyond the rusty bridge girders and the back ends of trucks. I did my best to not look at her. I was very careful to avoid eye contact, but her arms, her breasts, and especially her thighs, kept drawing my gaze. Her hair, too, kept grabbing my attention, the way it was pulled back from her forehead, then exploded in a mass of tight, light-brown curls. I'd turn my head away, but my eyes kept sliding back. I fought it. I tried to pretend I didn't see her.
I know I'm going to sound cold and mean, but there was no way on earth that I was giving that girl a ride. I absolutely did NOT want her in my car. I refused to get involved in whatever she was up to. I mean, what if she was carrying drugs, and the police stopped me? Or what if she really *was* a prostitue and they arrested me for soliciting sex? Sure, I'd say that I only gave her a ride, but no one would believe it. They'd take one look at her, and call me a pervert.
To top it off, she had a bored, sullen look that I've seen before. I've never experienced anything but rudeness and distain from a woman with that look. It spells trouble; trouble with no upside. It's all pain and no payoff.
As my car moved slowly closer, inch by quarter-inch, I realized — much to my chagrin — that I was going to be sitting right next to her for several minutes. Add to that the fact that there weren't many passenger cars in line for the bridge, which meant I'd be one of the few drivers at her eye level.
Still... I didn't have to give her a ride. I didn't! There wasn't any law. Why was she out there, anyway? She wasn't my responsibility. She couldn't expect me to pick her up.
In fact, dressed the way she was, standing the way she was, she couldn't wait for more than a few moments... if she really was looking for a ride. Any truck driver would scoop her up the moment he saw her.
When at long last, I came to a stop near her, she glanced at me. She must have sensed my disinclination, because the moment our eyes met, her mouth twisted and her face took on this expression that said: Yeah, I get it: You're not going to pick me up. I felt embarrassed and guilty, but at the same time relieved. Her gaze turned to the drivers behind me. My shoulders relaxed. The danger had passed.
And then I found myself shouting, "Hey! You need a lift someplace?"
I've been kicking myself ever since.
The ride was uncomfortable, but uneventful. We didn't talk much. I asked, "Were you out there long?"
"Forever," she replied in a flat, dismissive tone.
I told her I was on my way home from work; that I work nights. She gave me a look of disinterest, so I dropped the subject.
I asked her what she was doing out there by the bridge. She gave me the sort of look you give a dead rodent, and told me, "You know what I was doing out there? None of your business. That's what I was doing out there."
"Hey, I didn't mean anything..." I began, but she cut me off saying, "Nobody ever means anything."
In other words, she was exactly what I expected: rude, spoiled, disdainful, dismissive. And irritating! I mean, what she said made absolutely no sense at all. But who cares? So what? I understood. She was telling me to shut up, so that's exactly what I did.
I dropped her at a address on a bad stretch of Unionway Street — not that there's any good part of Unionway. It's a neighborhood I usually avoid. She disappeared while I was doing a K-turn. I shook myself, locked my car doors, and got the hell on out of there.
I never expected to see her again, but two days later she was standing there again, at the east end of the bridge! Once again, the traffic was at a crawl. My heart sank. If I could have zoomed past her, I would have shot right by. Instead, here I was, stuck again, determined to not look at her and ABSOLUTELY to not give her a ride.
This time, though, she was determined to get in my car.
She didn't wait for me to roll up next to her. Instead, the moment she saw me, she came walking up the line of cars, her heels wobbling on the narrow strip of gravel. She looked directly at me, right into my eyes.
I was uncomfortable, to say the least. For some reason I was even afraid, and started looking around as if there was somewhere I could run, or to find something I could use to ward her off.
But of course there was nowhere to go. And she kept coming, not even looking at the other vehicles.
I shook my head in a slow, very deliberate NO.
When she saw that, her lips compressed to a tight straight line. She looked angry. And I'll admit, that made me feel a bit more afraid. After all, she could pick up a rock and scratch and dent my car... she could bust my windows, if she felt like it, and there was little I could do to stop her.
She stood at my passenger door, glaring at me. She tried the door, rattling the handle insistently, but I'd already locked it. She pounded on the door.
"Go away!" I said. "I'm not giving you a ride!"
"Come on!" she shouted angrily. "You *have* to! Come on! Open this door!"
"I don't *have* to do anything!" I shouted back. "Leave me alone! Get away from my car!"
I turned to look at her, and in that moment her hard, angry look fell apart. Her lip trembled, her shoulders slumped, and she looked as if she might cry. "Please?" she asked. Her voice struck me in the heart. She sounded like a little lost child.
I set my jaw and looked straight ahead. I would not. I could not. There was no frickin' way. I was not going to fall for her crocodile tears. She was NOT getting in my car ever again. I did NOT want to get involved, even minimally, in the life of someone like her.
She knocked on my window with her ring. The sharp sound made me turn my head, and when I did, she looked me in the eyes. "Please!" she pleaded. "Please!"
Now she looked afraid, even desperate.
I sighed, reached over, and opened the door. I only opened it a crack and let her do the rest. I wasn't being rude; if I pushed the door too far, she'd fall down the steep embankment. As she gingerly slipped inside, I braced myself for the smell. She was wearing the same clothes from last time, from two days ago. They had to be pretty rank by now.
To my surprise, they weren't. I mean, she wasn't. I mean, I didn't smell a thing. Not even perfume.
Once she settled inside, I couldn't help but exclaim, "Why in the world are you out here... again?"
She glanced at me, then down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. She looked miserable. In a whispered groan, she answered, "I was waiting for you."
Oh no. Oh no no no. I was not falling for this! I was not going to pity her. She was not going to weasel her way into my feelings, my life, my bank account, or my apartment! There was no way! So I laid it out straight: "I can give you a ride," I told her. "Today. But that's it. I am not going to pick you up every time you end up at the bridge. I don't care what you do or why you go there. I'm sorry if you're in trouble, but I don't want to know anything about you. I don't know what you want from me, but you're not going to get it. I am NOT interested. Sorry."
"I don't want anything from you," she said in a cold tone.
"Then why were you waiting for me?" I shot back.
"Why are you so hostile?" she asked in a tone of offended surprise.
"Why am *I* hostile?" I repeated in disbelief. "The other day, I gave you a ride, and you wouldn't even give me the time of day. I tried to make polite conversation, and you were nothing but rude! You didn't even say thank you!"
"Thank you," she said in a small voice, taken aback.
In spite of myself I laughed. It was ridiculous. But she wasn't laughing. She looked deathly serious.
"I'll tell you why I was waiting for you," she said. "You're the only person who can see me."
I scoffed.
"Look at me," she went on. "How long do you think I'd wait for a ride, dressed like this?"
I glanced at her bare legs and arms, and her nearly naked breast. Hell, any guy with a half an drop of testosterone would pick her up in...
"Half a minute," I replied. "Tops."
"I was there for hours before you came. Hours! Nobody even honked at me!"
In my mind's eye I remembered her there, waiting, two days ago and today, and I realized she was right. I'd expect the truck drivers to hoot and holler and honk, but there was none of that. All you could hear were truck engines idling. Not one toot or shout. Just as if she wasn't there.
"So nobody noticed you—" I began, but she cut in: "No! Not *notice*! See! NO ONE *SEES* ME! NO ONE!" Then she added in a quieter voice, "Only you."
"I'm the only one who gave you a ride—"
"No," she said. "Get it: I'm dead. I'm a ghost. For real. Can you understand?"
I turned and looked at her. Then, pointing my finger, I slowly and gently poked her in the arm. She was soft to the touch, much softer than I expected, but she was no ghost.
"You're real," I said. "You're not a ghost."
She scoffed and in a scornful tone said, "Oh, and you know all about ghosts, I'm sure!"
I bit my tongue for a moment, then told her, "I will drop you wherever you want to go, but I will not play this game."
She didn't answer.
"Shall I take you to same place as yesterday?"
"Only if you stay," she answered.
"No way," I said. "Look: I am not going to be a part of... whatever scam you're running. I don't care what you want from me or think you need from me—"
"I told you: I don't want anything from you," she countered. "I don't need anything from you!"
I fumed in silence as I headed toward Unionway Street. Suddenly, my stomach growled.
"That's it!" she cried. "Let's go somewhere for breakfast!"
I shook my head. "I'm not going to buy you breakfast."
"You won't," she said. "You can't! You have breakfast. I'll just stand there. If anyone can see me, I'll walk away and leave you alone." She was intense now, focussed like a gambler.
"Okay," I said slowly. I considered her proposal. There had to be a trick in it somewhere, but I couldn't find any possible snag. In fact, her suggestion suited me pretty well. Of course I knew that other people would see her, but that didn't matter. I didn't expect her to keep her word. Whatever happened, whatever she'd say happened — and even if by some wild, crazy chance no one could "see her" — as soon as we got to a coffee shop, we were done. The minute she stepped out of my car, I'd make damn sure she'd never get back in.
I pulled another K-turn on Unionway and headed across town toward the University district.
We drove in silence, both of us looking straight ahead, until she suddenly said, "My name is May. Like the month."
"I'm Ben," I replied, "like the uncle."
There were a few coffeeshops I knew in that area... places I used to frequent a few years back. I stopped in front of one I used to like: a short brick building that used to be a tiny single-engine firehouse. The new owners had done minimal improvements, but it was clean and charming, and their muffins were exceptional.
There was a handful of small metal tables and chairs outside, but the cool weather kept the customers inside.
May trotted in ahead of me and stood in line next to me. A moment later, a petite blonde, dressed in pale earth tones, followed us in and took her place behind us.
I glanced at May and noticed for the first time that she wasn't carrying a bag, a wallet, or anything. Her skimpy clothes were unlikely to have pockets. I sighed, and informed her in an impatient tone, "I'm not going to get you anything, you know."
The blonde behind me frowned. "I don't want you to get me anything," she said with a little sniff.
It was my turn to frown. "I didn't mean you," I told her. "I meant her," and gestured to my right. A woman sitting at the table behind May gave me an strange look. She raised her eyes quizzically at the blonde, who responded with a cautious shrug.
"They can't see me," May explained.
"Phffft!" I replied. The blonde and the woman at the table exchanged big-eyed glances.
When I got to the counter, my manners got the better of my resolve, and I asked May, "Do you want anything?"
The girl behind the counter looked amused and told me, "No, I'm good."
"Not you," I said. "Her!" I pointed directly at May.
The girl behind the counter bit her tongue. I glanced from her to the blonde and back again. "Are you telling me that you don't see this woman here?" They both shook their heads, with a very wary look.
"You're putting me on!" I exclaimed.
"You better pay for your stuff," May said helpfully. "They're starting to think you're nuts."
I handed the girl a five and picked up my coffee and muffin. I stepped out of line and was about to go, when I stopped. There were seven people sitting in the little cafe, and they were all looking at me, waiting to see what I'd do next. So I said, "Don't mess with me, people. You all see this girl standing next to me, right?"
There was silence. I looked from one person to another, incredulous. "Nobody?" I demanded.
There was one guy in the place. He cleared his throat and asked, "What is she wearing?" His girlfriend gave him a look and punched him in the arm.
"Phffft!" I responded, walked out the door, and sat down at one of the tables near the curb. It had to be an elaborate joke, I realized, but I couldn't see how it was done. Sure, May had suggested breakfast, but *I* chose the place.
"How did you trick me into choosing this place?" I asked. "Is this some TV prank, or something?"
May rolled her eyes and glanced at the people inside. "Do you have a cell phone?" she asked me.
"What does that have to do with anything? Do you need to make a call?"
"No," she replied, "but if you put your phone next to your ear, they won't think you're talking to yourself."
"Screw that!" I replied, and she shrugged. I bit angrily into my muffin, and burned my lips a little on the coffee, but I didn't care. May smoothed her skirt and waited patiently. I made the effort to pull my eyes up from her thighs. My glance got stuck on her breasts until I wrenched it away and looked at the empty tables nearby.
"I can see you," she chided.
"Sorry," I said, but I wasn't.
Oddly it seemed that the more I ate, the hungrier I felt. I was considering getting a second coffee and muffin, when the door of the cafe opened, and the blonde who'd been behind me came out. She looked at me in a funny way, as if she was trying to decide something.
May's eyes scanned the girl from foot to head, and I could see from her expression that she was not impressed. Turning to me, she said, "You're covered in crumbs. You look like a slob."
She was right. Blushing deeply, I fluttered my fingers over myself, sending the crumbs flying. May rolled her eyes and shook her head.
The blonde hesitated another moment and then she walked over. "Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked. And as I was saying yes she added, "... and ask you a few questions?"
She put her hand on the chair, then stopped. "Oh, your, uh, friend isn't sitting here, is she?"
"No," I replied, "She's over there," and gestured to my right. "But seriously, you can drop the act. I know that you can see her."
May sighed heavily. "She can't see me," she explained impatiently. "How many times do I have to say it?"
The blonde shook her head no, and said, "Sorry." She hung her bag on the back of the chair and pushed her long straight hair behind her ear. "My name's Claudia," she said, "what's yours?"
"I'm Ben," I replied, shaking her outstretched hand, "and this is May."
May huffed loudly in exasperation. "Get with it, Ben! She can't see me!" She fidgeted for a moment, then tilted her head to look at Claudia's bag. "She can't see herself either, obviously."
Claudia was almost cute, but she had this business-like act that ruined the effect. She crossed her legs, took a sip of coffee, and asked, "How long have you been seeing May?"
"All told, less than two hours," I said. "I gave her a ride Tuesday morning, and I picked her up about a half hour ago today."
Claudia raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean when you say you gave her a ride?"
I frowned. "I picked her up in my car. She was hitchhiking. What else could I mean?"
"I don't know," Claudia replied. "I just wanted to be sure."
"You know she thinks you're nuts, right?" May put in. I gave her a look.
"What was that?" Claudia asked. "Did May just say something?"
"You know she did," I replied. "She said you think I'm nuts."
"Do you think you're nuts?"
"No, I know that I'm not." I was getting a little heated, but hadn't lost my temper yet.
"Then how do you explain that you're the only one who can see May?"
"I'm not the only one who can see her. You can see her, too."
"What do I have to do to see her?"
May huffed loudly in exasperation. "She can't see me! I'm a ghost! I'm dead!"
"If you're dead, how come *I* can see you?" I shot back.
"I don't know!"
Claudia's head jerked back and forth between me and May. "May is dead?" she asked.
"No, she's not dead," I said. "She says she's dead."
Claudia made a strange little noise that sounded like an amazed coo. "This is SO interesting! I mean, a person might say they see a ghost when they're really hallucinating, but you insist that she's not a ghost! I don't know what to make of that!"
I scratched my neck. "What are you, some kind of amateur psychologist?"
She looked offended. "I'm a graduate student in psychology," she countered. She was about to say more, but I jumped to my feet. A policeman was walking around my car, shaking his head. I ran over as he pulled out his ticket book.
"Is this your car?" he asked me.
"Yes, officer," I replied, "Is something wrong?"
"You got an expired inspection sticker," he said, pointing to my windshield. "It expired the end of May, and here it is June."
"Huh!" Claudia exclaimed. "The End of May! Isn't that fitting?"
May scoffed loudly.
"Oh my God," I said to the cop, "I didn't notice."
"Well, look," he said. "You're in violation now. I could put a hook on this car and tow it away. Then you'd be looking at the cost of towing, the impound, and the ticket."
"I'll get it done, I promise."
"That's not good enough," he said. "Any cop that sees you could stop you and take your car. You've got to get it done now and hope nobody stops you on the way."
I looked up, and realized that there was a garage across the street that did inspections. "What if I pull in there right now?" I asked, pointing. "And get it inspected this minute?"
The cop glanced behind him and back to me. "That works," he said. "But if you don't do it, and I see you again with that sticker, I'm going to seize your car. Okay?"
I thanked him effusively as I fumbled for my keys. The policeman stayed there until I'd left my car with the mechanic. I told them I'd be back for the car at five. They told me they would call if there were any problems.
Claudia was still sitting at the table, eating her croissant. May was nowhere to be seen. I didn't bother looking for her. I didn't even glance up the street. One more cup of coffee, I told myself, and then it's home to bed.
While I waited for my coffee, I looked through the window at Claudia, outside. There was something about her that I liked. Regardless of her role in the prank about May, I decided that I wanted to get to know her better. So I brought my second muffin and coffee outside and sat back down. "You still want to talk with me?" I asked with a grin.
She shivered and replied, "Yes, but could we do it inside? It's kind of cold out here."
After we sat down inside, I got her a fresh coffee.
"Where is May sitting now?" she asked.
I shrugged. "She's gone. I couldn't care less where she is sitting or standing or whatever."
Claudia pondered this as she sipped. Then: "Were you worried about the safety of your car?" she ventured.
"No, why?"
"No reason," she lied.
Our conversation stumbled along until she finally understood that I didn't want to talk about May. Once she got off that line of questioning, we suddenly clicked. I don't know where the time went, but we ended up talking for an hour and a half, and it was the most interesting conversation I ever had in my entire life. The only reason we stopped is that my energy began to seriouly fade. I explained to Claudia that I work nights and needed to get to bed.
She gave me a ride home. She told me her last name. She gave me her phone number.
She didn't give me a kiss, but she did give me a smile that I will never forget for as long as I live.
Yes, life was beautiful until Claudia drove off and I entered my apartment building and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
May was sitting, her legs curled under her, right in front of my apartment door.
"No," I said, in a very firm tone.
May huffed and frowned at me.
"You're not getting into my apartment," I told her. "In fact, if you're a ghost, how come you're not already inside? Why didn't you just float through the door? Or better still, the wall?"
"I did do that, Mr. Smarty Pants," she retorted, "but then I realized you'd get all upset if you saw me in there, so I waited for you out here instead."
"Oh, bullshit!" I replied.
At that, my neighbor's door flew open, and Mrs. Laverty put her head out. She was an older lady... not grandmother old, but old enough to think she could tell me what to do.
"Was that you swearing, Ben?" she asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Laverty, that was me."
"I'd don't appreciate that sort of language, Ben, and I'd like to ask you to stop. What on earth are you swearing about, anyway?"
"It's not a what, it's a who," I replied, gesturing at May.
"For the love of God, Ben!" May shouted. "She cannot see me!"
"Who what?" Mrs. Laverty asked.
"What?"
"There is no who," Mrs. Laverty replied. "There is me and there is you, and I certainly hope you aren't swearing at *me*!" She gave me a sharp look, then went inside and closed her door.
"Can I come in?" May asked me.
"What the hell," I replied, exasperated. "You might as well."
Mrs. Laverty knocked rapidly on her door. "Benjamin!" she called, "Language, please!"
"Oh fuck me," I said in an quiet undertone, to which Mrs. Laverty replied, "I can hear you!"
May giggled, and seeing her smile... well, I almost liked her in that moment.
Once she got inside, though, I began mentally kicking myself.
"How did you know where I live?" I asked her.
"I read your address on your registration at the car place," she replied.
"After I left?"
"No," she said. "When you handed it to the man. I don't know why, but I was invisible then."
"Right," I said. "Invisible."
She didn't reply, so I said, "Look: you can't stay. I need to get some sleep."
"It's okay," she said. "Now that I know where you live. I got some things I need to do."
"Cool," I almost said, but the end of the word stuck in my throat as May faded, then vanished, right in front of my eyes.
© 2012 by Kaleigh Way
I tried to think of what I knew to be true, and my first thought was of Claudia...
the solid sense of her reality, of our conversation together...
but then I realized that May had seemed no less real. After all, I'd poked her in the arm.
She shut the door of my car after getting in. And she opened it when she got out — didn't she?
I couldn't quite remember. But it didn't matter: if I was the only one who saw her,
then everything she did and said could easily be figments of my imagination.
For several minutes after May vanished, I stood stock still, my mouth hanging open, my hair standing on end. I'd spent the morning debunking everything May had said, and now my world flipped upside down. I still felt pretty sure that Claudia at least was wrong: I mean, I know that I'm not crazy. On the other hand, until a few moments ago I was sure there was no such thing as ghosts.
I sat on the edge of my bed and ran my hands through my hair. God, I was so desperately tired, but I needed to sort this out. Was May really a ghost? Or is something seriously wrong with me?
The moment I asked the question, a wave of fear swept over me — or at least it started as fear, but grew quickly into a feeling of utter terror that poured into every corner of me. It was overwhelming... to the extent that, if I wasn't already nuts, my growing panic could unhinge me forever.
I can say without exaggeration that I have never been so afraid in my entire life. What if I'd gone crazy? Would I even know? No, of course not! I'd be the very last to know, if I ever knew at all. Even if I were stark raving mad, my wildest thoughts would make perfect sense to me.
I tried to think of what I knew to be true, and my first thought was of Claudia... the solid sense of her reality, of our conversation together... but then I realized that May had seemed no less real. After all, I'd poked her in the arm. She shut the door of my car after getting in. And she opened it when she got out — didn't she? I couldn't quite remember. But it didn't matter: if I was the only one who saw her, then everything she did and said could easily be figments of my imagination.
Claudia, on the other hand, had given me a ride home. Could I have imagined that? No, I didn't think so.
In the end I decided that Claudia had to be real: the other people in the coffee shop had seen and interacted with her. But May? No one had seen May but me. May could well be imaginary from start to finish.
And maybe in the end, I was just overtired. Maybe May was nothing more than a waking dream.
I lay down fully clothed on my bed. How could I sleep? Adrenaline was coursing through my veins, giving me the shakes. Even so, I clasped my hands behind my head. I took slow breaths and tried to calm down. And I did start to relax, at least a little. As I did, something came floating up from the depths of my memory. Something I'd forgotten long ago; something my grandfather told me.
"Ben," he said, "Seeing a ghost is like love at first sight. You can only believe it if it happens to you."
I was twelve at the time, and I reacted like any teenager would: I scoffed.
But now... both things had happened to me, on the very same day.
At twenty past four in the afternoon, my eyes snapped open and I was wide awake. Claudia was coming to pick me up so I could get my car. I hadn't slept anywhere near as much as I should, but I felt great. Later tonight I'd be dragging for sure, but right now I was all systems go.
I didn't remember falling asleep, and yet here I was, lying on top of the covers. I didn't remember getting undressed either, and yet here I was, naked. Still, being naked saved me a few moments: I stepped into the shower, did a quick shave, and brushed my teeth. I pulled on some clean clothes, and dashed downstairs just in time to see Claudia drive up in her old Corolla. She was smiling, I was smiling, and spontaneously, without a thought, we had our first kiss. It was electric. There was an amazing physical chemistry when our lips touched, and when her skin touched mine. It was like the sun coming out. It was warm, it was magnetic, and I wanted more, but she put her little hand on my chest and said, "I have to drop you at the car place and go, remember? I've got an evening class."
As we drove, Claudia gave me a playful nudge and asked, "May's not in the back seat, is she?"
I gave a careful look behind me, and said, "Nope!"
Claudia, her eyes on the road ahead said, "Let's hope she's gone for good."
"Oh, yeah," I agreed, and decided to keep May's fade-out to myself. There was no point in making myself seem any crazier than I had already.
Later, I realized that Claudia had decided to treat the whole May episode as a joke.
I didn't see May again until the next morning. She stood in the very same spot, on the side of the road just before the bridge. This time there was no traffic. I had to stop to let her in. A truck driver behind me nearly blew my car off the road with his powerful horn.
"Why are you always there?" I asked her.
She made an irritated face. "No reason," she said. "I'm just there." She shrugged and shook my question off.
"Anyway," she went on, as if I'd interrupted her, "I wanted to see you because I need your help. It's something simple. Simple for you, but important for me. And then I think I can leave you alone."
"Forever?" I asked.
"Yeah, sure," she replied, turning her head away and looking out the window. "Forever and a day."
She wanted me to drive her back to Unionway, to the address where I first left her. "I need to get into my house," she explained.
"No," I said. "I'm not breaking into anybody's house."
"You don't have to break in," she said. "There's a key behind a loose brick. And it's not anybody's house — it's mine."
"Why can't you get in?" I asked. "Can't you just walk through the wall or the door or whatever?"
"No, I can't. I don't know why. I've tried different times, but it doesn't work."
"Can't you pick up the key yourself and use it? You've opened and closed my car door."
"I don't know!" she replied, exasperated. "I don't know. Nobody gave me a rule book or a manual when I died! And I can't ask any other dead people." She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. In a small voice she said, "The only person I know now is you."
I let out a long heavy sigh, then said, "Okay. But the moment anything looks or sounds fishy, I am out."
"Fine."
May pointed out the loose brick. I got the key, unlocked the door, then wiped the key off and put it back behind the brick.
As soon as the door was open, May dashed inside. I didn't see where she went. I entered more cautiously, looking around, trying to not touch anything, but it was obvious — much to my relief — that this really was May's house. There were pictures of her everywhere. None of them were pictures of herself alone: it was always May and someone else. Most of the pictures featured May and two other women: from the resemblance, they had to be her mother and her sister. Other photos were from family vacations or events like birthday parties, a wedding, and so on.
As I looked at one picture after another, it struck me that the May in the photos was always happy, sunny, and smiling. The May I knew was never that way.
And the May in the pictures wore a lot more clothes than the May I knew: I didn't see a single one where she bared as much cleavage or showed as much leg as she did now. She must have died in the most provocative clothes she owned.
Then, from another room, came the sound of May stamping her foot. "Damn!" she shouted. "Damn it! Damn it to hell!"
"May?" I called, quickly making my way through the rooms until I found her in her bedroom. "May, what's wrong?"
She was sitting on her bed, crying. The closet was open, and so were the two top drawers of her bureau. From what I could see, most of it was a lot more modest than the clothes had on: jeans, cotton shirts, and dresses she could have worn to church.
"May, what's wrong?" I repeated.
"These clothes!" she cried. "My clothes! I wanted to come here so I could change my clothes! I don't want to wear these all the time..." she gestured, waving her hand at the clothes she had on.
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem is, I can't change!" To show me what she meant, she ran to the closet and tried to take out some pants and a top. It was the weirdest, most unsettling thing to watch. Her hands scrabbled desperately at the items, but the clothes didn't move at all, and as hard as she tried to close her hands on something, she couldn't get a grip. It was the same with the shirts in the drawer. I lifted a t-shirt and tried to place it in her hands. In a creepy, indescribable way, it slithered over her hands and fell to the floor.
"See?" she sobbed.
"Is this what you were wearing when you died?" I asked.
"Yes."
"May?" I paused for a moment, feeling the delicacy of the question, and unsure if I dared, but then I went ahead and said it: "How did you die, May?"
She stopped crying immediately. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. First she said, "I don't want to talk about it." Then she added, "Let's get out of here."
I followed her back to the kitchen. There was a woman standing in the doorway, and I was sure she wasn't a ghost. She was in her thirties, had platinum blonde hair, and wore skin-tight jeans and four-inch heels. Her body was amazing, but her expression was ice cold, and she was holding a telephone in her hand. Her thumb rested on the SEND button.
"That's Ms. Krylova," May explained. "She's my neighbor."
"Hi," I called to her. "Are you Ms. Krylova? I'm a friend of May's."
"You're friends with May?" she asked. "I never seen you here before."
"Well, I'm here now," I said. "I'm looking for May. Have you seen her?"
Ms. Krylova wasn't entirely convinced. She kept a wary eye on me, but she replied, "I haven't seen her since Monday."
Monday. And the first time I picked her up was Tuesday morning.
"Maybe she finally went to Chicago with her boyfriend," Ms. Krylova offered.
At that, May, who'd been standing by in silence, sat down at the kitchen table and fixed her eyes on one of the photos there. It showed her and a skinny, slick looking man who I disliked at first sight. I grabbed the picture.
"Hey!" May protested.
"Is this the guy?" I asked Ms. Krylova, who nodded.
"What kind of person is he?" I asked. "Do you know anything about him?"
Her face took on a flat expression. She looked me in the eyes for a moment, then said, "I know that he is a man. And men? You can't trust any of them."
"He didn't kill me," May told me as I was driving home.
"Who didn't kill you?"
"My boyfriend," she said with a sigh.
"What's his name?" I asked.
"What do you care?"
"Does your family know you're missing?"
She made a vague gesture.
"Can your family see or hear you?"
"No," she said. "I tried for two days to get them to see or hear. But they don't. I tried friends. I tried this card-reader my mother likes. But nobody sees me. Nobody but you."
"Why?" I asked her. "Why me?"
"I don't know," she said, and she sounded exhausted. She sounded emotionally drained.
We drove in silence for a ways, and then she said, "Can I stay with you tonight?" Before I could answer, she added, "I was there last night. I was so scared and so alone, I just wanted to listen to your breathing. I felt like it was the only thing on earth that kept me sane."
"Mmm," I said. I could understand that... and then I had a strange idea.
"May?" I asked. "Did you undress me while I was asleep?"
She looked at me with a complete lack of embarrassment and shrugged. Then she said, "I was curious."
I wanted to ask, Curious about what? but I couldn't get the words out. Her answer sounded strange and wrong and very clinical, although I don't know why I thought of that word at that moment. In any case, it gave me the creeps — and yet, I still brought her home with me. I didn't see how I could keep her out anyway, and I was beginning to feel very sad and sorry for her.
Four days followed in pretty much the same pattern: I'd pick up May at the bridge on my way home in the morning. She'd sit in a chair or look out the window until I fell asleep. She'd be gone when I woke, and I woke up naked and uncovered. Then I'd go see Claudia until it was time to go to work.
I didn't mention May to Claudia, and I didn't bring Claudia home.
The fact that May undressed me each night was weird, but not any weirder than May's being a ghost. I didn't mention it to Claudia. It was just a strange little thing that was part of my life. That's how I looked at it ... at least until I realized that I wasn't sleeping very well.
It was Tuesday that it finally came to a head. Tuesday, a week from the first time I'd picked up May by the bridge.
I was achey and stiff. I had funny pains everywhere, even on the soles of my feet. I wondered whether I was getting the flu or something, because I felt nauseous in a weird way, almost as though someone had kicked me in the balls. I didn't have a fever or chills or sniffles or any other signs of infection.
So, anyway, it was Tuesday morning. I was heading home from work. I picked up May at the bridge and brought her home. I was so tired that I didn't bother getting undressed. I thought with some irritation that May would do it for me anyway.
Feeling utterly spent, I fell onto my bed and immediately dropped into a heavy, unrestful sleep.
After a while I started to dream. I dreamt that May had just finished getting my clothes off, and she was naked, too.
In my dream, she was rolling me onto my back. I could see my face. It was tense and pained, even in sleep.
Then May did the most creepy and bizarre thing. First, she lay down next to me, all the while murmuring softly, "Sleepy sleep, sleepy Ben. Stay asleep, sleepy sleep..." She went on and on like that, oh-so softly and ever so quietly. It was such a hypnotic drone that I nearly fell asleep inside my dream.
Then in a sudden moment May's body flattened out. Flat, like a piece of paper. I was terrified, but I couldn't wake up. I was watching the two of us from above, seeing me looking up, seeing her flattened out, as if a steamroller had squashed her flat, like in a cartoon.
Then May slid underneath me and her smooth, flat body turned into a cold white pool, like quicksilver, if quicksilver could be white, or latex, if liquid latex could be cold. I felt the icy liquid sensation of her underneath my back, my butt, my legs, and the backs of my arms. And then that white quicksilver began to gather and rise and flow up my body, covering my sides, creeping from the edges to cover my belly, my chest, my head, my face.
All the while, May kept up her hypnotic murmur: "Sleepy sleep, sleepy Ben. Stay sleepy sleepy sleep..."
My body wiggled and tried to fight, but it was no use. Gradually the whiteness covered me completely, so that I couldn't hear or see or speak. And all I could do was whimper. And all I could see was the white film that covered my eyes.
I felt myself get up. The film that covered me was May herself, and she was forcing my body to move. I walked, making a few turns, then stopped. Then tiny openings appeared where my eyes are, and I saw that I was standing in front of the mirror, the full-length mirror mounted on my closet.
As I watched, looking at the fear in my own eyes, I saw and felt what May was doing. She was pulling at her skin — and mine underneath it. She was trying to make cat eyes, pulling up the outside corners of my eyes. It hurt, but not too badly.
I looked horrible. My body, my head, was covered in May's pale skin. The only openings were two tiny dots for my nostrils and two for my eyes.
I wanted to scream and cry out, but all I could do was make noises in my throat, sounds something like a gargling whimper. It wasn't loud at all. I couldn't move my jaw, which was covered by the tight, skin-like covering.
"I'm sorry," May told me, "But I can't stop. This is the farthest I've gotten, and I need to try. I need to get this right."
That's when she began to tighten her grip on my body. She tried to mold me, to make me look like a girl. You have to understand that it was hopeless: I look nothing like a girl at all.
She began with my midsection: squeezing first like a vise, then like a corset, constricting my waist down, pushing the little fat I carried up to my breasts and down to my hips. It was so relentless, so forceful and unyielding, that I could barely breathe. I was afraid I was about to faint, when she suddenly stopped. She then tried squeezing my legs to make them slimmer, gave that up as well.
I could hear May grunting with effort as she tried to mold the spare skin and small amount of fat on my chest into a pair of breasts. It hurt like hell to have my skin pulled like that, and the result was not very good. The breasts she tried to mold were tiny, far apart, and nothing like a woman's breasts.
But the worst was yet to come. She pushed my testicles up inside me, pressing without any sense of the pain she was causing. It hurt so bad that tears came to my eyes. She flattened out my penis, kneading and pushing and trying to shape it into something that vaguely resembled a vagina. The pain was excruciating.
In my mind I was screaming at her, screaming at the top of my lungs, sending her the violent, pain-filled message, "May! MAY! For the love of God, stop! May! Let me go!" But I realized that she couldn't read my mind, and I set to screaming, making noise in my throat just as loud as I could (which was not loud at all), and I fought with every ounce of my strength, pushing, resisting, and straining to break free.
"Stop!" May told me. "Stop fighting! I need to do this! I need to try! If I can do this, I can wear my clothes and talk to people!"
"No, May, No!" I screamed in my throat.
"Stop fighting!" she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. "I NEED to do this! Please, Ben, please don't fight me!"
But fight I did. I struggled to get free, until at last I blacked out from the pain.
I knew nothing until I woke the next morning, exhausted, aching to the bone, and scared almost literally to death.
© 2012 by Kaleigh Way
"No, Ben, No. There are no ghosts in real life. It's only pretend. Ghosts exist only in stories and movies, never in real life."
I sighed. "Okay, then. Let's talk about a story. Let's say we both just started reading a story, a ghost story. And in this story a man named Ben sees a ghost named May. Not in real life; just a story. In that story, what would Ben do?"
Claudia's lips tightened, and she looked angry.
Without bothering to shower or shave, I hurriedly pulled on the clothes that lay in a pile by my bed — right where May dropped them. They were wrinkled and dirty; they were the clothes I wore yesterday; but they were closest to hand, and I had to get out and away as quickly as possible.
Even in my hurry I couldn't miss seeing the bruises on my sides and hips, and the painful scrape marks on my chest where May had tried to pull my skin into a breast-like shape. I hurt all over. I hurt in ways I'd never hurt before. There didn't seem to be an inch of me that wasn't in pain. I whimpered as I pulled on my shoes. I didn't bother to tie them. I hobbled downstairs, got in my car, and drove to the coffee shop where I'd first met Claudia.
The two of us were still meeting in public places. I hadn't yet been to her place, and she hadn't been inside mine.
"My God, Ben, look at you!" Claudia cried in alarm."What happened? Did someone beat you up?"
I lowered myself into a chair slowly, like an old man. Once I settled into what seemed the least painful position, I began to tell her what had happened.
As she listened, Claudia's face went white, then red, and white again in turns, as she was shocked, dismayed, upset, or frightened.
You have to understand that neither of us had mentioned May for a week, and Claudia was doing her best either to forget what happened or to treat it as a joke.
Now that I looked like a victim of torture, she could see there was nothing funny about it at all.
Stupidly, I told her everything: the visit to May's house, the conversation with Ms. Krylova, May undressing me each night, and her nightmarish attempts to transform me. I suppose if I hadn't been in so much pain, I would have thought about how it would sound to Claudia — or I would have realized, seeing the expressions on her face — but the effort of sitting upright in my chair took so much out of me that my brain could only run on minimal power.
Once I started talking, I couldn't stop. It poured out of me. In retrospect, I should have told her that May was still appearing to me, and stopped there. That fact alone would have been quite bad enough from Claudia's point of view.
Claudia was already afraid that I had some sort of psychological issue, and everything I told her confirmed that opinion and locked in her conviction that I desperately needed help. In her mind, my injuries, my bruises, my difficulty sleeping, and even my belief that May was real, were all caused by my own inner conflicts and illness. The more I had to complain about, the sicker I must be.
After I'd finished talking, I did something that topped all my stupidity so far: I showed her my bruises and scrapes. Claudia was horrified. She was devastated. It took several moments before she overcame her shock and was able to speak.
"Ben," she said in voice that was cautious and tender and yet extremely frightened, "Do you understand how far out you've gone? Ben, you *have* to see someone. You have to see some one today."
"I'm already seeing May," I lamely joked, but of course she didn't laugh.
"Ben, look at you. Can't you see that you're a danger to yourself? And you broke into that house... who knows who really lives there, and what they would have done — or what you would have done — if they were home? I'm frightened, Ben. I'm really frightened. And I'm not just frightened for you, I'm frightened for myself. How do I know you wouldn't hurt me, too?"
"Claudia!" I protested. "I would never! May doesn't tell me what to do."
"And yet, look at what you did to yourself," she replied, choking on the words. She sniffed and wiped a stray tear off her cheek, and then she began to cry in earnest. She bent over, put her face in her hands, and cried. I reached out my hand to comfort her, but she pulled away from my touch. I took my hand back, hurt more by her fear of me than by anything May had done.
"You really need to see someone," she repeated. "Today. Today. I need to draw a line, Ben: As hard as it is to say this, I have to. If you don't get professional help, I will not see you any more. Not at all. You're ill and you need help. You need a kind of help I'm not qualified to give. If you don't get it, I will make a clean break from you. Otherwise, you'll drag me into your—" she paused, searching for a word "—your pathology. It will hurt me and it won't help you. It won't help you at all."
I suddenly realized how easily she could cut me out of her life. I don't mean emotionally; I only mean physically. Separation would hurt her just as much as it would hurt me, but she would do it. It wouldn't require much of a change: All she had to do was stop meeting me. I didn't know where she lived. I didn't know where she went to school. I didn't know whether she had a job. I hadn't met any of her friends or family.
Until that moment, I hadn't realized how much distance she'd been keeping. I was too busy worrying about her coming to my place; too concerned about keeping her and May apart.
I was crushed... crushed and humiliated. But the worst was yet to come.
"... and another thing," Claudia said. "I had no idea that you want to be a girl."
"I don't!" I cried, as if I'd been stung.
"It must be a really strong desire if you've pushed it off onto May."
"What!?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What are you talking about?"
"I wondered why you pictured May so sexy and provocative. You told me that she looked like a prostitute—"
"I was wrong!" I interrupted. "She isn't that way at all!"
Claudia waved her hand and shook her head. She didn't want to hear it.
"I don't know whether we have any future at all," she told me in a low voice, heavy with emotion, "But I know that you need to get help."
We both fell silent as the weight of her words sank deeply into both of us. She sounded like a judge pronouncing sentence. I didn't dare speak or move — or even breathe! — for fear I'd make things worse. I swallowed hard, looking down, thinking as hard as I could. There was something I needed to say, something I needed to ask her. In spite of what she said, I did need her help. But how could I begin to ask her?
The silence was suddenly broken by the ear-splitting siren of an ambulance that burst out of nowhere and tore down the street. As its wail faded in the distance, I cleared my throat and spoke.
"Okay," I said. "If you give me the name of someone, I will go see them. Today."
Claudia lifted her face and looked into my eyes, but she didn't show any emotion. "Good," she said in a flat, neutral tone.
"But first I have to say something, and I'm begging you to hear me out. I want to make it clear: I'm desperate. I've already agreed to see whoever you choose. Today. But please listen to one little thing."
I licked my lips, which were very dry, and swallowed hard. Claudia handed me her half-empty water bottle, and I drained it.
"Okay," I said. "Let's say — just hypothetically — that May is real—"
"No," Claudia said with finality. "Stop. May isn't real. There are no such things as ghosts."
"Are you so sure?" I asked her. "Do you really know that? Can you prove it? That there is not one in the entire world?"
"No, but..."
"Please, Claudia. Just wait for a few moments and hear me out, okay? What if—"
"No, Ben. I'm not going to listen to any what-ifs. This is just a sidetrack: a way to avoid getting help."
"No, it's not." I said. "I've already agreed to get help. Today. I'm going to go. But I've got one mental knot that maybe you can help me untie. Can you humor me for just five minutes? Afterward, no matter what either one of us say, I will go see a mental-health professional and follow their advice."
She looked at me and said nothing. When I saw she wasn't going to speak, I began again. "So... just hypothetically, if there really was a ghost—"
"No, Ben, No. There are no ghosts in real life. It's only pretend. Ghosts exist only in stories and movies, never in real life."
I sighed. "Okay, then. Let's talk about a story. Let's say we both just started reading a story, a ghost story. And in this story a man named Ben sees a ghost named May. Not in real life; just a story. In that story, what would Ben do?"
Claudia's lips tightened, and she looked angry.
"Please, Claudia: talk to me, just for a little bit. Take this obstacle away from me. What would Ben do in the story?"
She covered her face with her hands and made a small stifled scream of frustration. Then she took a deep breath and uncovered her face.
"Okay," she said. "If this was a ghost story, May would be around because she had some unfinished business, and Ben would have to help her with it."
"What kind of unfinished business?"
She frowned. "I don't know! Maybe she has to tell somebody something. Maybe it's something about the way she died!"
Something about the way she died. That made sense. May never talked about how she died. Not that I often brought it up, but every time I did, she'd flatly refuse to discuss it.
"Okay," I said. "So let's say — in this story — that it's something to do with how this person died. How does the guy in story find out what the problem is?"
As I said that, Claudia's expression abruptly changed. It was as though a light came on. Her mouth opened slightly, and she turned her head slowly as an idea took shape. Then she looked me in the eyes. I waited, watching the wheels turn inside her head, until I couldn't wait any longer.
"Claudia?" I asked.
"I've got it," she said. "I've got it! Listen to me: if May is a real person who died on Monday night, then the police must know."
"Yes, I guess they would," I agreed.
"And if there is no such person, they would know that too! I mean, if she doesn't exist, they wouldn't know about her."
I shrugged and scratched my head.
Claudia pulled out her cell phone and looked through her contacts. "My cousin Walter happens to be a police detective," she said, and punched a number. She smiled and sat up straight.
"And so?"
"He will be able to tell us for sure that there is no May," she crowed, "and then you'll see: she's only a figment of your imagination!"
"Wait," I said. "Be careful what you say. If you tell him that I know about May, he might think that *I* killed her."
Claudia rolled her eyes and told me not to worry.
Walter answered, and Claudia became all bright and chatty. She act as though she'd called on a whim, just out of the blue. Walter seemed to have time to talk — or listen at any rate — as Claudia filled him in on family news and gossip. Then she told him about school, and just when I thought I couldn't bear any more, at long last she asked how things were with him. After listening for a bit, she threw in, "And do you still like being a cop, Walter? You're not working on any murders or kidnappings or anything horrible like that, are you?"
I couldn't hear his answer, but whatever he said wiped Claudia's smile right off her face. "Really? Seriously? What's the girl's name?" she asked, and when Walter replied, her face went white.
Claudia listened for a little while longer, but every moment Walter spoke only added to Claudia's nervousness. When her agitation grew to the point that she was trembling, she signed off, making a poor show of seeming nonchalant and cheery. She folded up her phone, dropped it into her bag, and sat in stunned silence. I waited for her to say something, and at last she said, "What's May's last name?"
"I don't know," I replied. "I never asked. Why?"
"Because a girl named May Repton has disappeared. Her family reported her missing last Tuesday."
Of course, the first thing I wanted to say was, "See? I'm not crazy!" but I resisted the urge. Instead, I asked about May's boyfriend.
"Yeah," Claudia said. "He's gone, too. He ran. The police were going to pick him up for check fraud... forgery... check kiting — whatever that is. They think he took off for—"
"Chicago," I interrupted, and she said "Chicago" a beat after I did. She gave me a look that unnerved me: the sort of look you'd give a creepy, scary stranger who comes too close.
"Yes," Claudia agreed in an uneasy tone, "That's what Walter said. The Chicago police are on the lookout for him, and hopefully May will turn up when he does."
"She won't turn up," I said. "You know she won't."
Claudia lifted her face and looked me in the eyes. It was a look I'll never forget; a face written on my heart with a searing knife. At the time I didn't understand it, but now I do. It's the look someone has in the moment before they close a door... a door that they will never open again. Her eyes were big and liquid. Her nose was red from sniffling. Her lips were parted and moist. She never looked so beautiful, but I'd never seen her in such pain.
"Claudia," I said softly, "Now you know that it's true."
She swallowed hard and sniffed. She fixed her eyes on me, as though she was memorizing my face, and then she set her jaw and spread her hands, fingers wide, palms facing me. It was a gesture of total refusal.
"I don't want to know," she whispered. "Ben, I do not want to know." She abruptly stood, knocking her chair over. She let out a single, high whimper followed by a sniff. I thought she was about to cry, so once again I reached for her, and once again she recoiled from me in fear.
"Don't call me, Ben," she told me in a fierce whisper. "Don't call me, ever."
She ran to her car, revved her engine wildly, and drove off as quickly as she could.
I never saw Claudia again.
In the weeks ahead I felt the pain of it, but at the moment I was feeling something else entirely.
A burden had been lifted off me. A knot had been untied.
Her cousin had confirmed that May was real. Not only that, but he confirmed that she had disappeared on Monday night, the night before I first saw her at the bridge! It was a vindication, a liberation. I wasn't crazy! I didn't have to be afraid any longer. All the things I'd done with May were real!
My sense of relief was indescribable.
And then another sensation hit me: I had to pee like mad! I'd run out this morning without using the bathroom at all.
I sighed as I stood at the urinal, and for some reason that was the spot where it all came together. Now the whole thing made sense to me. The pieces of the puzzle suddenly fit together. I knew what happened and why. I knew why May had appeared to me and no one else. There was one thing that I did every day: one thing that I did and no one else.
I drove across the bridge. Every day. *That* was the key.
And so, right now there was only one thing to do. I had to deal with May's unfinished business. I got in my car and headed for the bridge. This time I didn't cross over. I parked my car on the west side. There is no space for that on the east side of the bridge; where I'd met May there was barely room to stand.
I trudged across the bridge alone, the wind from the big trucks pounding me like fists. I thought May might appear and keep me company, but I guess the place was too painful for her to bear.
As I walked, the picture of what happened became clearer. May's boyfriend had to run. The police were about to nab him. He wanted May to come with him, but she didn't want to go. They'd argued; he stopped the car and shouted at her. He couldn't understand why she wouldn't leave with him, but May... May just couldn't go. She couldn't leave her family. She couldn't go so far from her mother and her sister and all the rest of them. Upset, confused, frustrated, and afraid, May got out of the car, barely thinking where she was. And there, on that tiny margin of roadway, on those high tiny heels, she either fell or was pushed. I never knew which it was, and I never cared. The boyfriend, when he was taken, said he hadn't touched her. His fingerprints on her left shoulder weren't proof enough...
... and that was the end of May.
A few yards from the east end of the bridge, I saw her. Not the hitchhiking ghostly May, with her skirt fluttering dangerously in the wind. No. It was her crumpled broken body that I saw, lying part way down the rocky slope where she'd fallen... or been pushed. I called 911, and a police car came at once. I told them I was looking for something that I'd lost... something that I'd left on the roof of my car before I started driving.
And no surprise: I never saw May again.
But I did meet the two women in her pictures, the two people she wanted to talk to: her mother June, and her sister April. They came to find me, to thank me for finding May's body. I had enough sense to not mention that I'd met May; that I'd known May in a strange and twisted way. Instead of talking, I just listened, and heard about the May they knew — a May I wish I'd known: A funny, sunny, happy girl, full of life and love; a girl who died too soon.
© 2012 by Kaleigh Way