Sara instinctively reached out to Mr. Benson and gently put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “I’m so sorry about your wife,” she said.
Mr. Benson’s expression quickly changed from concerned to alarmed. His eyes widened, and all of the color drained from his face as he stared at her in uncomfortable silence for a few moments. “How do you know about my wife?” he asked, his voice shaky.
Sara swallowed hard. How was she going to explain this? Would he understand or would he think she was some sort of freak?
“Well… I just heard,” she replied nervously, hoping that her explanation would suffice. “If there’s anything you need… anything I can do to help… please let me know.”
“You couldn’t have just heard,” Mr. Benson said, eyeing her suspiciously. “I haven’t told anyone yet. I just got the call right before I came outside.”
His lip began to quiver, and his voice became shaky. Sara noticed a tear forming in the corner of his right eye. He quickly wiped it away and cleared his throat. He strained to get the rest of the words out.
“My wife was driving home from a business trip and got into a terrible car accident. She was pronounced dead at the scene. So tell me the truth this time, how the hell did you know she died?”
Sara’s eyes filled with tears as she struggled to speak. “I… just… um… you know… see things.”
Mr. Benson’s face turned red, and he became visibly upset. “You see things? You SEE things? How does one see someone’s death?” he yelled, his whole body trembling. “Who are you? What are you?”
“I’m just an ordinary woman, and I’m worried about you,” she replied. “I want to help.”
“Ordinary people don’t see things like that, Sara. Are you some kind of witch? A demon? This can only be the devil’s work.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Benson, I’m not evil. I’m a good person. I didn’t ask for this; it just happened. And I really wish I could make it go away. I’d give anything to make it go away.”
She put her hand on his shoulder once again to comfort him. She could feel his escalating fear and sorrow.
“Don’t touch me!” he snapped. He pulled back abruptly. “Get away from me. I won’t have anything to do with one of the devil’s minions. For all I know, you caused my wife’s death. Do you know what they used to do to people like you? They burned them at the stake. Please go back to your house and your broomstick and never speak to me again. I refuse to get mixed up with this evil. I’m a Christian. I’m a good churchgoing man. I don’t know who or what you are, but the Bible forbids this kind of voodoo. And I won’t have any part of it. Now please, leave me alone. I just lost my wife. I really need to be alone.”
He bowed his head and put his hand to his forehead as he broke down and cried. Tears rolled down Sara’s cheeks as well. “I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely. “If you change your mind, if you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”
She turned around and headed back for her house. The aftermath of her vision settled deep within her body. The symptoms that followed such an intense experience were always the same: extreme exhaustion, lingering physical pain, and a sense of disconnectedness. But the worst part was the emotional pain, which invaded her heart with so much sorrow that it overcame her. It was like she had been crushed, every part of her begging to be put out of its misery. Death had found Sara once again.
A fuzzy drape encased her, and she no longer felt a part of the world around her. It was as if she were a distant observer, looking in on earth and all of its troubles. So much pain. So much suffering. And for what? This place, this existence, it was just a cruel, senseless joke. People were allowed to experience brief periods of happiness, moments of fleeting joy, only to have them abruptly taken away. They thought they were building a life. They believed they had a purpose to fulfill and, as a result, spent years trying to achieve and accomplish whatever it was they equated with success. Some accumulated wealth; others achieved career success. Many found love, formed families, and did whatever they could to nurture, protect, and provide for their loved ones. But it was all just an illusion. No one could ever really protect anyone. We all die in the end. Game over. There was no otherworldly reward for good behavior. Every living being suffered the same fate—death.
Sara’s fuzzy, detached state began to fade as everything came pounding down on her. The sunlight was too bright for her sensitive eyes. The birds seemed to screech in her ears like loud emergency sirens. The very air itself seemed to choke her as she tried to breathe. Sara’s whole world seemed to spin out of control and a whirl of dizziness overcame her. She thought she was going to vomit.
She bolted for the front door as death gained on her. Her head throbbed, and her heart raced. She tried to fight the overwhelming feelings of helplessness and despair. But there was no way out. No way to escape death’s powerful, persistent clutches.
She opened the front door and threw herself down on the black leather couch. “NO!” she screamed. “I can’t be a part of this anymore!” She whipped her newspaper against the wall and cried out in sorrowful sobs that filled the room with death’s tragic song. It had to stop here. She had to defeat it, once and for all.
Sara ran to her bedroom and retrieved the shiny handgun that was safely hidden in her nightstand drawer. She slowly raised the gun to her head and began to pull the trigger. She waited to hear the boom of the gun going off and expected to feel the bullet sharply piercing her skull. But instead she felt something unexpected. Someone pushed her, with a herculean strength that knocked her off her feet. She fell to the carpet as the gun flew from her hand and went off, sending the bullet into her bedroom wall. Sara lay on the carpet, her heart pounding and beads of sweat trickling down her temples. She cried once again.
After what seemed like an eternity, she finally rose. She looked around for her mysterious rescuer, but found nothing and no one that could explain what had happened to her.
She picked the gun off the floor and checked it before attempting to kill herself once again. It was out of ammo. How could that be possible? Sara was certain the gun had been fully loaded. She didn’t have time to trouble herself with details. Maybe she had just forgotten. Besides, it hardly mattered now. There was really only one thing left to do, and she had to stay focused on that. She again went to her nightstand drawer to find some more ammo but strangely could find nothing. Her plans to kill herself were thwarted once again.
What just happened? she wondered. How did I fall? And what happened to all my ammo? I was sure I had a full box just the other day. Sara was forced to remain in her tortured existence. Tears streamed down her face, leaving behind a smudgy mess of mascara. She breathed in deeply, but still couldn’t get enough air. She quickly darted to the window, flung it open, and drew frantic breaths of cool air into her lungs. Then she headed for the refrigerator and downed a bottle of tequila.
Her head spun into dizzying circles, and she passed out on the couch.
chapter 3
chance encounter
The pounding of Sara’s head felt like a large bass drum, thump, boom, thump, boom. But the tequila had taken the edge off. Now she needed to undo the effects of the alcohol. Groggily, she rose from the couch and decided to head outside for a walk.
As Sara exited her home, Mr. Benson was getting into his car. He flashed her an icy stare and then quickly pulled out of his driveway. Sara hated when people looked at her like that. She despised being thought of as a freak. And she especially hated when she felt like she had hurt or angered someone. Her mother had taught her to be kind and empathetic. Star had painted a hopeful picture of the world—one filled with honesty and forgiveness. But once she died, that world vanished right along with her. Sara was left to face the pain and the cruelty alone. There was no one to shield her from negativity, to protect her from hate, or even from herself.
Sara walked through her neighborhood in a haze. Her eyes glazed over, and she could hardly see where she was going. But she j
ust kept walking. She walked for hours, trudging through neighborhood after neighborhood until she reached town. A Starbucks stood at the corner and, for some odd reason, Sara felt compelled to go inside. She had no idea why she was there. Just a few short hours earlier, she had put a gun to her head. She had expected to be dead, but somehow she had managed to leave the house and enter the coffee shop. It was as if an unseen force had led her there.
As she entered the store, the aroma of various beverages filled the air and gave her a faint feeling of coziness and comfort. Several people were seated in various spots throughout the coffee shop. Some were chatting with friends; others were deep in thought at their laptops. Many absentmindedly fiddled with their cell phones. The atmosphere was casual and relaxed, the perfect escape for Sara. No one would care that she was here. No one would bother her. Maybe she could clear her head a bit and think about her next steps. She had failed to kill herself twice. There had to be a reason why. Maybe she had something left to do first. Sara headed to the counter and halfheartedly ordered a caramel flan latte. She paid the cashier and sat down at an empty table to gather her thoughts.
What is still unfinished in my life? she wondered. Why is it so difficult for me to die? Maybe a few minutes of quiet would allow her to bring closure to her mind and heart.
Her solitude was fleeting, however, and within minutes, two young men about her age approached her. One had messy brown hair and wore a Central Michigan University hoodie. The other, a curly blonde, was dressed in black sweats and a Detroit Lions T-shirt. “Well, look who we have here,” the curly-haired guy said. He grabbed Sara’s arm. “It’s that freak from campus.”
“Leave me alone,” Sara begged.
The guy still gripped Sara’s arm tightly and got right in her face. “Is it true what they say? Do you see dead people?”
Sara gulped, unable to speak. “What the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he taunted.
“I’ll bet it’s a black cat,” the other guy said with a chuckle.
“Good one,” his friend said with a snicker.
The blonde dude put his lips to Sara’s ear. She could feel his hot breath against her neck. She cringed. “I bet I could have some fun with you,” he said menacingly.
“Please,” Sara pleaded, her voice loud but trembling. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
“You heard the woman,” a kind but stern male voice called from behind her. “Now back off.”
“And who are you?” the college guy asked. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m someone who cares,” the voice replied. “This woman is a kind, sweet soul. She doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.”
“Oh, are you with her?” the brown-haired man asked, surprised.
“Yes, I am,” the voice said. “Now please go.”
“Sorry, dude,” the guy said. He removed his hand from Sara’s arm and backed away. “Didn’t mean to mess with your girlfriend.”
The two left Starbucks with their coffees.
“Are you okay?” Sara’s rescuer said with concern. He placed his warm hand softly on her shoulder.
Sara felt her body tingle. She reluctantly looked up at the stranger and was caught off guard by his appearance. She expected a much older gentleman, someone who was at least in his fifties. This man appeared to be in his late twenties, about eight years older than she. He was poised and collected and had the kindest blue eyes eyes she had ever seen. His facial features were soft, gentle. His wavy golden hair perfectly framed his face, and Sara noticed the distinct outline of his toned biceps under his shirt. She had never met him before, yet somehow he looked oddly familiar. A chill ran through Sara’s body. This man was staring at her—in a good way. But that’s not what drew Sara to him. It was the energy he projected. He was a positive force, someone who—even after just a couple of minutes—she could imagine curling up on the couch with in front of the fireplace.
“I’m Chip,” he said. Chip smiled and extended his hand.
“Sara,” she replied weakly.
“Nice to meet you, Sara.”
As their hands touched gently, Sara noticed a wave of powerful electricity run through her. Her whole body felt energized. She wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him. She could tell by the way he was staring at her that he felt the same way.
“Nice to meet you, too, Chip,” she said finally.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked. He glanced around the coffee shop as if there were nowhere else appropriate for him to sit.
Sara hesitated before replying. “Well… I don’t know if I’d be very good company,” she said, “but go ahead.”
“Somehow I find that hard to believe,” he said, smiling again. “You’re already good company.”
Why did I just tell him to sit with me? she wondered. A sad, hopeless girl like her didn’t have the time or desire for frivolous conversation. She wasn’t looking for a friend or a relationship. Those hopes had ended long ago, after her many attempts to connect to and relate with others had failed.
And now all that remained was the dismal abyss she had plummeted into. Until Chip sat down across from her, the only thing she could focus on was how to finally end her suffering. But somehow his very presence had her confused. He had stood up for her when those guys harassed her. What did he want now? Couldn’t he see she just wanted to be alone?
Chip reached over and instinctively put his hand on hers. His hand was soft, warm, and so full of life. He gave her a sympathetic smile. Sara looked down nervously at the table. Her conflicted feelings began to build. Even though they had just met, she surprisingly welcomed his touch. His warmth and compassion reached her heart, a heart that for years had been isolated and cut off from the world. A heart that had always yearned for love. It was as if a part of her soul had been reawakened with him.
The beautiful moment ended abruptly when Sara once again began to see one of her disturbing visions. The familiar feelings of fear and dread returned. This time, a gorgeous woman who looked a lot like Chip was frantically running down a neighborhood street. Sara’s heart raced as she felt the terror that pulsed through the woman’s veins. Sara then saw a shiny red Corvette accelerating toward the woman and then striking her. She flipped over the hood of the vehicle, screaming. Her blood splattered across the windshield. Sara’s whole body clenched. Then she felt the woman’s love and concern for her young son, the one she would leave behind. Suddenly, it became clear to Sara: this woman, Celeste, was Chip’s mother. Then, just like the thousands of other visions Sara had witnessed over the years, the scene ended, and there was nothing but darkness.
Sara tensed up and pulled her hand out from under Chip’s.
“What’s wrong?” Chip asked.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Sara said. She feared that if she told him, Chip would run from her just like all the others. He would think she was a demon or a freak, too. She couldn’t risk that. Despite Sara’s sorrow, he brought a strange sense of calm and comfort to her. Sara wanted him to stay, if only for a little while. She was compelled to know more about this mysterious stranger.
You will meet him soon. The words her mother spoke in the bizarre dream she had had popped into her head. No, it couldn’t be. Sara thought. It’s just a coincidence.
“Please, Sara, try me,” he said gently. “I promise I don’t bite.”
“You might if you knew the truth,” she said.
“I doubt that,” he said, smiling. “I can tell you’re kind, obviously beautiful, and the type of person who cares deeply about others. But you’ve got a secret. And it’s tearing you apart. I sense sadness… fear. You don’t have to be afraid with me, Sara. Trust me.”
Sara wanted to. Her whole being ached to be with this man, this handsome, kind, intriguing stranger. But life had taught her that death always got in the way of everything. She could never have any sort of relationship with a man. There was no future for him with her.
“My neighbor called me a witch and a demon this morning,” she involu
ntarily blurted.
Chip laughed. “A demon is the last thing you are,” he said. “Your neighbor is clearly off his rocker.”
“People think bad things about me,” she said. “You don’t want to get involved with me. I’m nothing but trouble.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” he said. He took her hand into his.
Again, she wanted to kiss him, but she couldn’t. Something held her back. She didn’t want to hurt him. She didn’t want to let him down. She didn’t want to drag him into her dark, tormented world. But why? She hardly knew this man. And yet he was so familiar.
Sara blinked hard and then focused again on Chip sitting across from her, looking at her with those caring eyes. Maybe he really could help her; maybe he really would understand. But as much as she wanted to let him, Sara couldn’t take that risk. Even though she had just met Chip, she felt something she hadn’t felt in years. It was powerful, and it filled her soul with a refreshing nourishment that blocked some of the sadness and despair she had suffered for so many years. In the few moments she had been with him, she had forgotten about wanting to kill herself. Instead, she felt love. Sara loved him. And she would do anything to protect him.
Oh crap, Sara thought. I’ve obviously been reading way too many romance novels. I can’t love him.
“I’m sorry, Chip,” she said. “I can’t get involved with you. I like you too much to drag you into my problems.”
“Don’t worry. Problems are my specialty. I’m working on my PhD in psychology.”
Oh great, Sara thought. A shrink. It figures. “I don’t need a therapist,” she said bluntly.
“I don’t want to be your therapist, just your friend,” Chip said, his expression turning serious. “Well, actually, what I really want is to be more than your friend. I’d love to take you out on a date, if you’ll let me.”
“I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” Sara said, her pulse quickening and warm tingling sensations traveling through her body.
Sara's Soul Page 3