Echos of Despair

I walked down the creaky steps of my porch toward the bright light I noticed among the trees. The forest hadn’t looked like that before, and something about the luminescent twinkle strongly urged me to come closer. The light brightened as I neared, and the air thickened with unspoken words. The energy guiding me was unlike anything I had ever experienced. In the near distance, I could see what looked like hanging lights through a patch of sugar maples.

Despite my nerves, I hurried forward until I came upon a pathway. The walkway was perfectly lined with autumn leaves and triangular lanterns strung throughout the trees. Each was so luminescent that I could see every orange and yellow leaf swaying in the breeze. I looked toward the end of the path to see a figure sitting on a large rock. My stomach dropped, and my heart raced. I hadn’t expected to see anyone out there so late. She turned to look at me, and that’s when I realized the surrounding forest had dissipated into shadows, shutting me into a thick bubble of energy.

“Mia.” The woman's voice echoed.

She had long black hair and haunting, empty white eyes. Her silver-lined white gown flowed behind her, the train gently caressing the rock. Her fair skin emitted an elegant luminance.

My weak knees somehow held me up as I wondered if I was awake. She was obviously not human, but for some reason, I stayed, my feet planted firmly on the ground.

“Do you like the lanterns?” She gestured toward the array of lights.

“Ye-yes.” My voice quivered. “They are beautiful.”

“Each one contains a soul. Trapped. Someone who has unfinished business.” She slowly walked down the path.

“If you listen, you can hear their faint whispers. Calls for help.” She looked up, the yellow light drawing attention to her eyes. They were like white pearls. I tried not to look at them.

She put her finger to her lips. Hushed voices threaded through the breeze past my ear, bewildering me.

“Choose one, and their soul will fuse with yours, becoming part of you. You will have a chance to fulfill their last wish, setting their soul free…” She walked toward me slowly, the whispers getting louder.

“But if you do not complete the task, they will stay with you forever.”

I looked at the lanterns, swinging slightly. “What kind of wishes did they have? Do I get to know first?”

“I must not say anything else.” She spoke firmly. “If you choose one and set them free, you will gain the power to do what your heart desires most.”

My mind immediately switched to my mother… weak… fading before my eyes. Doctors gave her only a few months. The cancer was taking her, and there was nothing I could do… unless there was. Nausea and desperation took over. What if there was just a small chance I could help her? The breeze and whispers surrounded me, and before I could think, I grabbed a lantern.

“Good luck. You will know what to do.” The woman became more translucent. Before I could respond, the light from the lantern overtook me, blocking my vision. It grew and engulfed me, an intense energy flowing through my fingertips, up my arms, through my stomach and legs, and into my head, weighing me down. For a second, the intensity lessened, and I felt faint, like I could float away. As the brightness faded, I realized I was back in the dark forest, alone.

I blinked, getting my bearings. The path, the woman, the lanterns, and whispers were gone… except for one. I heard it in the back of my mind, almost like a thought, but louder.

Michael Ashcraft…

It was subtle but clear. A name I had never heard before, but the second I heard it, a mixture of anger and despair overtook me. My stomach twisted, and I saw red… desperation and vengeance. Right then, I knew deep within me what this soul entangled in me had wanted. Their wish was clear: kill him.

***

I sat on my bed, dawn peeking through my blinds. I still couldn’t process the forest events. Every minute brought more disbelief. However, the voices and emotions coursing through me reminded me it was real. I felt helpless and desperate, knowing I could never kill anybody.

I forced myself to my desk. Despite my defeat in this mysterious quest, I needed to know who this man was. Why was this vengeance so hard-wired? I opened my laptop, and my heart hurt when I saw:

Michael Ashcraft, convicted of unspeakable acts against three women, has been released after serving ten years.

I scrolled through the names: Lina Daughtery, Jessie Smith, and Emilia Jay. Right when my eyes caught the last, I immediately knew it was her. Soft whimpers floated in my head, fading just like the forest whispers. I was disgusted. He walked free, and she was trapped, unable to move forward because of her hatred.

I felt even more defeated and nauseous. Despite sorrow for this woman, I knew I couldn’t help her. I wiped a tear, forcing myself to get ready for school. My father wanted me to keep a sense of normalcy, and making him worry wouldn’t help.

School came and went. For days, I went through the motions, a ghost around my friends. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. Where would I start? So, I stayed in my bubble.

My father and I visited my mom daily. At times, she would give the biggest smile and ask about our lives. I made up fake stories, not wanting her to know I was at my lowest. Other times, she would sleep so deeply it almost seemed like we were tasting what it would be like when she was gone. Her arms lay limp, her fuzzy orange beanie resting softly on the pillow, her mouth still. The only sign she was alive was the slight rise and fall of her chest.

I tried to shut out the voices, the emotions. But despite everything, I couldn’t. They grew stronger, even by her bed. This soul, this woman… was so defeated, so angry. I could feel how small she had been made to feel, her freedom stripped away by this man.

As the days went on, her sinking feeling took root in my bones. I was shocked when I realized I was beginning to feel this anger almost as often as sadness for my mother. I was a good person, always had been. Never one to scorn the good or the wicked. But that was before I felt the feelings of someone harmed so deeply. Before I was haunted by the soft whimpers of someone estranged from herself, so much so that she wanted to end a life.

I knew I was no murderer. So how, overwhelmed by the troubles of not one, but two, did I for a second consider the possibilities?

***

I pushed through Wednesday and Thursday at school, my brain scrambled. Friday, I couldn’t help but deep dive into Michael. I HAD to know more. Before long, I knew which warehouse he worked at, only a 20-minute drive from me.

When I visited my mother on Saturday, she was awake. Her weak arms slightly rose from the bed, gesturing for a hug.

“Mia!” she rasped. I hadn’t gotten used to seeing her like that, but I pushed down the lump in my throat.

I leaned down and gently embraced her, holding on for dear life. I sat by her bed, asking how she was feeling. She said she was fine, but I knew it was a lie. The cancer had spread to her bones, and I knew she was in pain.

I looked at her, slowly closing her eyes and smiling. “I love you, baby,” she said quietly.

I was always terrified when she went to sleep, worried she wouldn’t wake. On top of everything, I had still not gotten used to the whispers. They were apparent, even with my mother. The rage I felt for Emilia, combined with my loss of hope for my mother, was enough to drive anyone crazy. I sat by the hospital bed, tears rolling down my face. I covered my face, hushing the cries forced out. I was small, miserable, and helpless. My life was overrun with despair and desperation.

Once in my car with the door shut, I wailed. Tears streamed, turning my face red. Sorrow grew inside me, Emilia’s emotions amplifying it all. Whimpers and whispers filled my mind with noise. Why would a monstrous man be free while I am at wits’ end, battling a world’s worth of terror and guilt? It wasn’t fair, and I was furious. I started my car through tear-filled eyes, knowing EXACTLY where I was going.

***

Memorizing his schedule was easy. I sat in my car across from the warehouse where he worked for a week. When I first saw him walk to his car, my stomach tingled, and whispers grew louder, more desperate.

Finding out he was allergic to peanuts was a bit harder. I followed his truck to Jerry’s Diner after he got off work on Wednesday. From two booths away, I heard him ask the waitress if a certain dessert had peanuts in it, telling her he was very allergic.

With the weekend to prepare, I devised a plan, the energy in me encouraging every step of the way. Monday, my heart raced, and I FORCED down the guilt and fear building within me. As I rounded the corner to the warehouse, sweat dampened my shirt.

He had ordered lunch delivery from the same place every day the week before. I clutched the brown bag next to me, containing the vanilla cupcake I baked the night before, full of peanut oil.

The rest went by in a blur. I barely remember giving the deliveryman the “allergen-free” sample from my “new business” to include in the order. He was young, probably my age, naive, which helped. He eagerly took it inside. I began my drive home and sat in my dark bedroom, waiting. Since dessert was normally eaten last, I assumed the moment was nearing.

I lay on the soft blanket in the dark, knowing I had company I couldn’t see, and that she wanted the same thing I did. Somehow, despite the act I committed, I felt my eyes getting heavy. As they began to close, my heart raced, and the small strands of light coming through my blinds grew. I sat up, and the light engulfed me, just like in the forest. All I could see was white, and my entire body tingled. It was loud in my head, echoing white noise. I knew exactly what was happening, and for the first time in months, I felt hope.

A faint but joyous laugh echoed through my head, then out into the light. Then, for a moment, I saw her. Emilia stood in front of me, looking just like in the picture I saw online, and she was smiling. I could see genuineness and relief in her eyes and the light she emitted. She wasn’t just smiling; she was smiling at me, directly into my eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she stepped closer, tipping her head, thanking me. A tear rolled down my cheek. I felt close to her, connected. I looked into her blue eyes, and I KNEW she felt connected to me too. I helped her find a way out of the limbo she had been trapped in for who knows how long, and my remaining shreds of guilt had disappeared.

I reached forward to grab her hand, and she vanished. It all vanished, and I was in my room, in the dark… like it never happened. I started to cry. Not from sadness, but relief. I knew I was going to miss her.

I forgot what quiet felt like. No voices, no emotions but my own, just a quiet room filled with my thoughts. Not even a second later, the tingling came back. It felt like when your foot falls asleep, but over my whole body. It was intense, soon accompanied by soothing warmth, relaxing my muscles one by one. I felt stronger than ever, mentally and physically. Like a new person.

I immediately remembered what the woman had said in the forest:

If you choose one and set them free, you will gain the power to do what your heart desires most.

Before I could think, I ran to my car and drove to the hospital. With every mile, strength and hope grew, two things I had not felt in a long time.

When I got to the hospital, my father was already in the room, sleeping in a chair near her bed. He rarely left her side. I quietly walked over and looked down at her, sound asleep. Her arms were so thin that bones showed through, and her face was pale. I gently placed my hand on hers. Instantly, warmth flowed through my hand into hers. It was smooth, quick, like water. A smile broke on my face, and I silently laughed out of sheer joy. I knew what it meant, and big changes were coming.

When my father and I returned the next day, a doctor pulled us aside.

“She is doing great today. She has more energy and a bigger appetite.”

My dad’s eyes welled, but he smiled with his lips, holding them back. “That’s… great. Thank you.”

The following days felt like a fever dream. Her energy continued to increase, and she could eat more than she had been able to in months. Before long, she could stand again. The physical therapist and doctors reveled in the newfound miracle with my father and I. Every person in the hospital was in disbelief when we were able to take her home. I would have been too, had I not seen a new realm of possibilities weeks before.

I knew Michael was dead, and I felt no guilt. Every once in a while, I thought about him. I wondered if, wherever his soul ended up, he knew it was me. I HOPED he knew it was me. Embracing dark possibilities and new sides of myself brought me the most joy and power I had ever felt in my life, and I hoped he knew that.

I wanted to use my new ability for good, and I quickly figured out how. I thought about Emilia and how defeated she had been. I hadn’t fully understood what the experiences she had could do to a person until she fused with me. After setting her free, I knew I wanted to help others like her.

The year before, I had heard about a program that escorted assault victims to the hospital to provide support. They took applications online, and I waited until my 18th birthday to apply.

Before my first shift, I sat next to my mother, who had almost fully recovered. A miracle. I hugged her, smelling the coconut shampoo in her thin, newly grown hair. I missed that smell. She kissed my head and smiled. My father had a new glow to him. As I got ready to leave, he carried over a tray with her favorite foods. He caressed the back of her head ever so gently, kissing her. He was smiling exactly like Emilia was once she was freed. Knowing he was happy again brought me peace.

Later that day, my trainer and I were called to help a 14-year-old girl. Upon arrival, she was terrified, holding her bruise-ridden arms to her chest. Her hair was frizzy, and her eyes were wide. She looked down at the ground, not saying much.

I focused as hard as I could, looking her way. I let the warmth flow from me, through the energy between us, into her brave heart. She looked up a moment later, her eyes beginning to slightly relax, and said…

“Thank you.” She gave a half smile, keeping her head up.

Her small smile filled me with hope and purpose. The darkness I had trouble embracing allowed me to help mend what cruelty had broken. The feelings of justice, hope, and healing trumped all in my mind, and I came to accept one important thing:

If all murderers are monsters, then maybe I am the monster the world needed most.