Miranda stalked out of the Police Station feeling like a complete idiot. What did she think they would say anyway? "Thanks a lot drippy, now I have a few more people I can add to my list that think I'm crazy."

A disembodied voice echoed in her head, "The rookie believed you." A cold breeze grazed her face and pushed tiny strands of her hair off of her forehead.

"Great! That's just great! Maybe later we can hop on our bikes and solve the big bad mystery like Nancy fucking Drew and the fucking Hardy Boys.

The ghost howled in her head.

"Oh shut up!" Miranda clutched her fists at her side as she walked toward the corner of Lincoln and Springfield.

"Look, why don't you just go away and find another clairvoyant. Maybe someone else would be a little more effective. I hear Allison Dubois's pretty good at it. Yeah right she snorted, she wished her life was like that, each week she could catch a perp and go back to being a Mom and wife like nothing ever happen. In real life, her gift was a debilitating curse that left no room for any emotional attachments.

"Don't you see," she pleaded with the disembodied spirit, "the only thing I was able to accomplish in there was to ensure that none of them would ever take a meeting with me again, and now I look like I'm talking to myself."

Miranda clutched her head as an image invaded her mind of a wailing baby. Oh dear God! Would she never have peace? "What are you trying to do kill me? You know I can't see a fucking thing when you do that. Do you want me to run into traffic?"

"No, but I'll never stop," the ghost said angrily. I can't contact anyone else. I need you to find me and bring me home."

"Well tough beans!" She used another one of her Gran's euphemisms.

"I'm out! I've done my part; now it's your turn to do yours so put an egg in your shoe and beat it, or better yet, get the fuck out of my head." Miranda yelled to the empty sidewalk.

She couldn't help but think her Gran would be appalled at her choice of recent vernacular, but she was through playing. She needed to get rid of the dead bitch before she truly did drive her crazy.

"Let me just point out that people have suffered psychotic breaks because of a lack of REM sleep. Now think about it; how much help would I be to you trussed up in a straight-jacket?"

The wailing came to an abrupt stop and the thing backed off. It was a relief to feel the pressure that had invaded her brain for the last 20 days subside.

"Here's the deal. I will continue to try and help you if, and only if, you do one thing and that is to leave me alone at night. Let me sleep, and I will humiliate myself as much as needed in order to get the job done."

"Do we have a deal?"

The ghost remained surprisingly quiet. Say something or I swear I will drown you out the only way I know how ─ addiction or no addiction.

It was an idol threat. She would never resort to drugs again, not after what she had put her Gran through, but the ghost didn't know that.

Her temple seared with pain and an image of a clock with hands running faster and faster jumped into her line of sight.

"No shit Sherlock! You've sent that little diddy my way before remember I know you think time is running out, but really how urgent can it be you're already dead."

"SO either you agree or I walk. You don't have any choice."

"I'm going to count to three, and if you don't answer I will assume that you don't agree, and either way I will sleep tonight. One...Two..."

"Okay, Okay I agree!" wailed the angry spirit, "just please, please get me home."

The beautiful August morning came rushing to the froe. She could hear the birds in the trees and the car horns in the distance. And she breathed a deep sigh of relief.

But her peace was short lived. Suddenly an image flashed in her head, and she knew it wasn't the spirit's doing.

She had a clear image of a Mazda 5 coming down Lincoln Street at a good clip. Inside the late model car was a stereotypical family. With the Dad at the wheel, while the mother struggled with her seat belt and raised her voice to tell her little girl to get back in her car seat. The little girl refused to listen she had dropped Victor her mother's tiny handmade yarn doll. At three years old she was unaware of the danger she was putting herself in. Her mother began to yell at her husband to pull over so she could get Olivia safely back in the seat which distracted her husband from looking at the street lights and the approaching intersection.

The Dad turned his head to implore his daughter to get back in her seat. They were already late for church. So pulling over wouldn't be his first choice. It was then that they went through the intersection on a stale amber light. They had done nothing wrong other than to not pay attention. They were going north on Springfield as the semi was going East on Lincoln. Neither one saw the other and the impact was immediate and intense. The unsecured daughter was thrown through the rear passenger side window, while the similarly unrestrained mother was thrown through the front windshield. The father although he was restrained received the brunt of the blow as the truck had hit his side head on and as a result the force of the impact of the crash had crushed his spinal column and killed him instantly. The only survivor of the horrible accident was the truck driver, but she knew for a fact that to call the rest of his life survival would have been too generous a word.

Her vision cleared as she looked up to see the Mazda heading toward the intersection. She had mere seconds to do something or suffer having to witness the accident all over again ─ in real time.

She began to sprint toward the intersection waving her hands in the air, and as she ran with all her speed and will; she screamed,

STOP! STOP! You'll all die! For God sake please stop!" she bellowed!

◊◊◊◊◊

Nick stood outside on the front steps madly pulling on his half smoked cigarette; his lungs burned with each drag. He was frustrated with himself for going off on the poor nut job. She couldn't help her delusions, and he more than anyone should realize that, yet he had been a grade A asshole to her, why? 

He should have offered to call a family member to pick her up, instead of accusing her of wasting his time. What if something happened to her while she was in the grip of a manic episode? He didn't think he could stand the idea of having one more fatality to add to his never ending list. And to live through not being able to stop or prevent the seemingly inevitable downward spiral of a clinically insane person again, now that would be truly unthinkable. Hadn't he become a cop to help people like the woman who had asked for his assistance today?

He sighed and ran his hands angrily through his hair. Just when he was about to light another cigarette with the dregs of the last, he looked down the street to see the lady seeming to be arguing with an imaginary person. He was right; she was going off the deep end and he had kicked her out of his office and into the busy street.

Shit! He had to catch up with her and get her back to the precinct. Then he could call someone to do a 72 hour psych eval.

He dropped his lit cigarette, from his now dry mouth, when he saw her suddenly start sprinting towards the intersection.

Fuck, he thought, she's not only delusional; she's suicidal. The familiar scene was playing out in front of him again and he was powerless to stop it.

He took off like he had been shot from a cannon. He covered the distance surprisingly fast for a smoker and that was only due to the 5 miles a day he did religiously even though he hated it with a passion.

He could hear his breath in his ears and his footfalls on the pavement, and as his long strides ate up the distance as he bellowed for her to stop. He wanted to yell for her to think of the loved ones she would leave behind, and that suicide was a selfish act, but there was no time. He was within grabbing distance when she jumped out in front of a black Mazda 5.

He got her around the waste just in time to tackle her and roll into the middle of lane mere inches from the cars left front wheel. The car came to a screeching stop just short of the stop light as the semi barreled through the intersection just inches from them and the car. The trucker slammed on his breaks, finally screeched to a halt one hundred feet away.

Nick could hear the sobs of a young child from the backseat of the car. He hoped to hell she had been restrained. The crazy bitch had struck her head in the tumble and was just now staggering to her feet. If he was angry before now his rage was volcanic. She could have killed everyone: all the passengers in the motor vehicle, the truck driver, herself and him. Shit, she was really far gone.

He limped over to her realizing that he had triggered an old sports injury. His brother and he were very competitive when they were growing up and although his brother had the academic prowess, he could never hold a candle to him on the field. One day during a particularly intense practice his brother had hooked his knee with the lacrosse stick. He had thought it was an accident at the time, but months later when his brother's behavior had become more and more erratic he was not at all convinced that it hadn't been intentional.

His knee cap was dislocated again making it next to impossible to put weight on the leg. He fell to the pavement as the rest of the precinct crowded into the now busy intersection. The rookie looked like he had no idea what to do first. He really was going to have to keep an eye on this one.

The still crying little girl was being carefully removed from the car by the EMTs. He must be in shock, because he hadn't even realized that they were on the scene. The rookie was talking to him and he had no idea what he was saying. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the unstable woman. Although she had hit her head pretty hard she seemed more lucid than ever. He saw the husband go over to her to scream at her that she was a lunatic and a menace and that she would pay for injuring his daughter. She just continued to cry at his hateful words. He would never forget the words she couldn't stop repeating over and over.

He would hear these words for the rest of the time he knew her, and they would haunt him.

She locked eyes with him and with an intensity that was electrifying she screamed, "They all died. Oh My God! Don't you see? They all died?"

He couldn't tell if the shudder that raced through his body and overtook him was the shock of the accident or in response to the realization that she was right. He had witness more than a few fatal accident scenes to know that she was right -- deadly right. The truck would have hit the car side-on if she hadn't dived in front of it to stop it.

She had saved everyone and risked her own life in the process. And to think he had treated her like shit earlier. He owed her the opportunity of retelling her story, but this time he would really listen. 

Poor Nick he's beating himself up pretty bad over turning her away. I hope he decides to truly help her this time. 

Please continue reading.  And if you like it. Don't forget to vote, comment, add it to your library or suggest it to a friend.

Cheers Deborah