Madam Vadoma's eyes glistened with a distant sadness, yet no tears fell from her dark eyelashes.

"Rain Wilson? Who could ever forget," she concentrated on the tarot pile before her.

"Did you know her?" Carmen asked softly.

"She's a town legend, I'd be surprised if someone didn't. Everyone who's lived here long enough knows her name, but not her story."

"What do you mean by that?" Amber leaned an elbow on the lunar embellished table cloth.

"I'm sure you've heard about the hanging, in the graveyard," the woman looked at them somberly.

"Yes, but it's difficult to know why she did it. As a matter of fact, we were wondering if you had any advice for us. Like, is there a better way to communicate with her?" Shelby pondered. "She reached out pretty aggressively when we went out last time. We just want to give folks the full story, you know? We want to be safe."

"Rain wasn't a bad person when she was alive. At least from what I've heard. But if her spirit reacted so aggressively, she must have suffered terribly until her last day."

"I would expect so. I mean, she ended her own life," Amber deadpanned.

"But she didn't."

"What?" the girls said in unison.

"I'm going to let you in on a secret," the psychic leaned in close, and the girls leaned in closer. The tang of heavy perfume and fine wine hung around her. "I knew Rain when I was younger. She was bright, adventurous, and had her whole life set in front of her. I knew her. She wouldn't have killed herself."

"Then what are you proposing happened?" Amber stood up and stared horrifyingly at the woman.

"Rain Wilson was murdered." She stared back into Amber's eyes with fierce determination and anger. "You three had contact with her spirit that night. She reached out to you for a reason. You have to find her killer and serve justice. Please, you're her last hope. Tell her true story."

"Wait, hold on," Carmen clutched her head. "Why me? Why did she show me her life through dreams? Why not Amber or Shelby?"

"I'm sure she wouldn't reach out to just anyone," Amber sat back down pensively.

"Yeah, we're not the only ones who have tried talking to her," Shelby added. "A lot of kids from our school have gone hoping to see something but nothing happened to them."

"Hmm," Madam Vadoma rubbed her chin, deep in thought. "It could be that one of you carries a connection between this world and the spiritual realm. Specifically, to Rain's realm of existence."

"What, like the ghost world? The eighties?" Shelby threw her arms up.

"Something like that. Until you figure it out, you should keep communicating with her. You need to find out what happened in her past."

"Look ma'am, with all due respect..." Carmen stood up slowly and pushed in her chair. "I'm sorry for what happened to your friend. I really am," she offered her sympathy in a shaky voice. "I just don't see why any of this is our responsibility. You're asking us to risk a lot here. Do you not see the scratches on my friend's neck? What if something worse happens? It's just too dangerous. I'm sorry."

Carmen flung her tote bag over her shoulder without looking back as she left and shook her head, her heart heavy with disillusionment. She was aware she might have acted like a Class A b*tch, but to her, it simply wasn't worth the risk.

It's not like she wanted to go to the graveyard in the first place. It was supposed to be all fun and games, just a push to see how far she could go before being scared. If she wasn't terrified before, she was even more terrified now. Hopefully this ghost wouldn't haunt her. Hopefully, this cowardice wouldn't haunt her.

"Carmen! Wait!" her friends called as she walked hurriedly down the street.

The sun was beginning to set. She decided she'd tell her mom her teacher wanted her to stay after to deliver some good news. It wasn't exactly a lie, right? After all, it had happened. Just not at this exact time.

"Carm! Please," Amber panted.

"I have to get home!" Carmen yelled back. I have to get home. So what, some girl died. Even if they did find the cause of her death, it wouldn't bring her back. The girl the psychic described seemed the total opposite of the one in the dream. If by having her whole life set in front of her meant she would be a party girl, then sure, she had that going for her. Yeah, people do stupid things when they get caught up in the party scene. She would know.

"Don't go alone..." their voices faded away as Carmen started running, tears burning in her eyes. Screw them. They were probably going to convince her to join the pity mission, and of course, like always, she would drag herself along just to show them she wasn't scared. Just to prove to herself she wasn't really as frightened as she felt deep inside.

***

"Hola mija," Carmen's mom's voice echoed from the expansive marble kitchen next to their cozy living room. "I'm making pabellón criollo for dinner, do you want to help me cook it?"

"Not today, I have a lot of homework, sorry," Carmen called back as she ran up the stairs.

Once alone in her room, she shut the door and sighed.

What now? She wondered as she fell on her neat purple bed and stared up at the ceiling.

A tear fell from her eye as she turned and studied the frame on her bedside. Hugging her pillow, she cried gently, "I wish you were here, papá."

Her father always knew how to brighten her mood. She tilted the frame to see the photo of a smiling young man in his mid-20s with doe eyes and short fluffy brown hair holding a laughing five year old Carmen. He had an electric guitar slung over his back, a gold cross around his neck, a leather jacket, and smudged black eyeliner under his eyes.

Carmen held her necklace sentimentally. He had wrapped it around her neck proudly after delivering a successful performance with his rock band. He was ready to go on tour for the first time, and he wanted Carmen to have something to remember him by while he was gone. Who would have imagined he wouldn't come back?

She picked up the camcorder and skipped past some recent images.. blurry photos, scenic shots, pictures of her friends acting like Vogue models, videos of sleepovers... Carmen tapped the tiny screen until an old recording showed up. She let it play.

"You're a big girl now, aren't you baby?" Her father squeezed her cheeks and ruffled her curly hair as they sat in their kitchen.

"Papi!! I'm not a baby anymore, I'm five. See? Five! I can count!" She held up five chubby little fingers to her dad's face.

The older Carmen chuckled.

"Ah si, miraaa! You're right, you're right," her dad laughed.

"Who's ready for some yummy pastel?" Carmen's mom poked her head out from the doorway. She grinned photogenically at the camera, her teeth shining and poofy blonde hair framing her face.

She looked so much younger back then, Carmen realized. And happier. More than ten years had passed, but the creases on her mom's eyelids conveyed way more time than that. Carmen concluded that stress must have caused her to age faster.

"Yo, me me me!!!" toddler Carmen jumped up and down enthusiastically.

"You really outdid yourself, amor," he pecked her mother on the cheek as she set down the cake.

She flipped her hair and smiled. "Of course, what else did you expect from a master chef?"

He chuckled.

"A la una! Tres, dos uno," her father counted down as her mother lit five candles.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Carmensita..."

A tear fell onto Carmen's cheek as she discerned her father's voice over the rest. She couldn't remember who was recording, it may have been one of her father's bandmates or one of her great grandparents.

Her father was raised with his grandparents from an early age due to family issues. Mamá always said his parents were dangerous individuals, but she never said why. Her own mother's parents didn't attend the birthday that year, or any for that matter. They'd practically disowned their daughter for dropping out of college after finding out she was pregnant.

Sometimes Carmen blamed herself out of frustration with life, but she knew it wasn't logical. Her mother often reminded her of that. To her, she wasn't a mistake. She was a blessing that connected her to another path in life: motherhood and the culinary arts.

She was impatient with academics anyway and preferred creativity, similarly to her dad.

Carmen's eyes began to get heavy as she went through the different videos and old photos of her father. There was one of Christmas, a video of his concert, young Carmen drawing smileys on the wall with a crayon, picture of his new guitar...

She went back days and months and years. There she was as a baby, there was papá without his iconic stubble, there was papá's favorite Mexican dish that her Venezuelan mamá had attempted to make that day.. Carmen as a newborn baby, in the arms of her great grandparents, in the arms of her own parents...

Carmen smiled to herself, imagining how life would have been like if she stayed in those times forever.

As she began to doze off, the screen gently flashed a low battery warning. Carmen's mind had low battery too. Whatever had happened today was replaced by mostly fabricated memories of years ago.

Her breathing slowed, and her eyes finally closed as she lay sleeping on her comfortable bed. A soft breeze rolled in through the window, causing the curtains to flutter in a sleepy lullaby.

Without her awareness, the camera started playing back photos in reverse. A disarray of old timey images flashed.

Band mates, guitars, tables, beers, concerts, friends, fists in the air.. graduation gowns, caps in the air, old faces, new faces, nervous smiles, hand shakes, diploma, certificate...

Tattoos, Mohawks, graffiti art, the moon at night, neon lights...

The screen went black.