life and family in the time since the accident. He knew full well what he had taken from them, and from her.
And he knew her image. The raven black hair combed in straight lines down to the middle of her back. The white porcelain skin and teal eyes. The clipped and puckered lips. The black polo shirt with the white and green trimmed coffee house logo silhouetted on the front breast. He knew what Moira looked like. He knew it was her. The only thing different about her appearance now than when she was alive was a slight misty-white haze clouding around her body. She was present in this reality, but not of this reality.
Tim stared at his car, and at Moira in his car, for several minutes. She remained there, unmoving. If she wasn’t leaving, he certainly was, Tim thought to himself as he began to walk home.
Along the route Tim stayed alert, scanning the area, walking briskly. No ghosts of dead girls followed. Just scattered trucks along Route 40 working the night hours to beat the daytime traffic and makeup mileage.
After fumbling with his key a bit, he entered his apartment and gave it a walkthrough. Walkthroughs of one-bedroom apartments don’t take very long, and once he was satisfied that he was alone, he showered and went to bed.
When Tim arrived at work the next day he walked to the rear parking lot before heading inside to clock in. He couldn’t start a shift without checking on his car…not in light of what he saw the previous night.
He rounded the corner and found his car where he had left it. And it was empty. No Moira. He unlocked the driver’s side door and after another quick peek he sat in the seat. Nothing. Just the same shitty $800 car.
He locked up the car once more and headed back toward Antonio’s. Back to his same shitty life.
His shift went by as uneventful as ever and he finished up 15 minutes before 11pm. Taking out the last of the day’s trash he looked at his car not sure what to expect. It was empty. Tim tossed the bag into the bin and unlocked his car door. No Moira.
Not yet anyway. She didn’t appear this time until Tim had started driving home.
Silent, unspeaking, unmoving. Moira sat in the passenger seat as she had the previous night and stared ahead.
“Jesus! What the hell?” “What are you?” And “What do you want?” were all questions Tim vocalized toward Moira. They were all questions that went unanswered.
Tim drove the remainder of the way home in a near panic. By the time he hastily parked the car and jumped out Moira was gone again.
Scenes like this went on in varying degrees over the next week, with Moira appearing off and on in the passenger seat as Tim drove.
While appearing at different times, each visit consisted of the same routine. She did not move. She did not talk. But Tim did. With his initial questions still unanswered, he began to calm himself and rationalize what he was seeing with attempts at conversation.
He apologized to her. He asked for forgiveness. Was this further punishment? What was she? Was she stuck between this life and the next? He asked for a response and got none.
Not that the accident would ever fade from Tim’s mind or that he’d ever wake up and have a single day where he wouldn’t be haunted by his actions and where they had left him in life, but now he had to deal with the girl he had killed, with Moira, directly every time he drove.
Midway through the second week of Moira’s appearances Tim was still attempting conversation with her.
“Look. I don’t know where you’re at or what’s on the other side. But this isn’t good for me and it’s not good for you either. You need to move on, and I need to move on as well. I’m sorry for what I did and I’m sorry I got you killed. But there’s nothing I can do about it and nothing here for you. If you want me to do something for you, let me know what you want, otherwise, you need to move on.”
When Tim had finished he expected the same unmoving silence as before, but was instead met with an icy hand. Moira had turned toward Tim and placed her misty left hand on his right forearm.
Progress.
“Moira,” was all Tim could muster.
Her hand remained on his arm and her face stayed focused on his.
“Why are you here still? What do you want?” Tim finally managed.
Her mouth moved.
It formed the shape of a smile before uttering the single word, “crush.”
Tim didn’t comprehend Moira’s meaning. He didn’t have time to. The sound of her word was followed immediately by the sound of a horn. Not the tame beeping of a car but the shuddering air horn of a semi-truck. The impact of the big rig into Tim’s car killed him instantly…. and Moira didn’t find it necessary to answer Tim’s question, with one word he got what she had wished for.
###
About the Author
Robert T. Belie
Robert T. Belie has lived all over the world including stints in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. As a former US Army officer, he has seen, experienced, and interacted with people and cultures from all across the globe. His travels have taken him to nearly 30 countries and just as many states. He holds degrees in History and International Relations from UCLA and Oklahoma University respectively. He has published several works of both fiction and non-fiction. Belie has had 59 of his travel photos featured on the travel website Travellerspoint.com.
https://roberttbelie.weebly.com/
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